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arrianna21 · 1 year

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~To Hell and Back~ Chapter IX (M)

Never make a deal with the devil. Easier said than done. Enter the world of demons where things are not what they seem. Friend or foe, nobody knows. When mysterious and strange incidents come out of the darkness, will you be able to escape the depths of Hell alive and at what price?

Rated M for Mature: This series will contain gore, mutilation, strong language, depictions of death, intense violence, sexual content, themes of horror, mention of miscarriage, medical procedures, minor character death

Please ensure you’re in a good headspace or avoid reading if the tags above make you uncomfortable. Specific tags that are italicized occur within this chapter. Viewer discretion is advised.

demon!v x fem!reader

Word Count: 22,814

I | | II | | III | | IV | | V | | VI | | VII | | VIII | | IX | | X | |

Noises surround you from everywhere. Voices are shouting, but nothing sounds coherent. Shrieks collide with growls, which should be concerning, except you feel weightless and unbothered as you find yourself drifting. The colors above you are incredibly bright until they thankfully dim, vivid lights becoming more muted and blurred. V’s face comes into view, frantic eyes regarding you anxiously, his jaw set in hard determination. Black wings surround you and then you’re flying up, fading into the darkness.

If only the relieving abyss could last, but you’re instead ripped away and thrown into a glaring light. White clouds drift around you, the vapor curling near your ankles. Except for the billowing mists, there’s nothing at all, until a figure forms in front of you. An outline appears first, slowly becoming clearer and then you recognize her.

Your sister looks beyond fatigued, eyes blank and glazing over, bones poking through her taut skin. When she takes notice of you, there’s the briefest spark of life that flickers from her, a hint of remembrance. Although, it’s not happiness she greets you with as she quivers in realization, her body sagging lowly.

“You aren’t supposed to be here yet,” she sighs. Her shoulders sink tiredly and her knees tremble beneath her heavy weight. “Go back,” she moans.

“I can’t, I don’t know how,” you tell her. You don’t want to leave this peaceful place. The two of you are free and finally together now. How could she want you to go back to suffering? Why can’t it just be over?

Faith drags her body forward, feet shuffling the first few steps before her gait is corrected. She glares at you, forcing herself to walk determinedly until she reaches you. Grabbing your shoulders, you’re shaken roughly, nails digging painfully into your skin. “You have to go back,” she hisses in your face. “And you can’t return, not like this,” she pleads, her piercing bloodshot eyes pinning you within their hold. Tears drip down her cheeks and you go to lift your hand to wipe them away, but your arm is immobile. You will the limb to move, to do something, yet it merely hangs there.

Looking to your sister, you see her observe your arm, her thumb lightly caressing your shoulder before she sinks it into your flesh. She digs deep, her nail cutting your skin and it feels as though a metal rod is being jammed into your shoulder joint, the fire burning against muscles and tendons. Before you can so much as cry out, she shoves you away though it’s more like you’re thrown back. As you fall, you watch the clouds envelope your sister before the shadows return.

Yet consciousness still lingers as you’re left blind and disoriented, the fire being a persistent guide that tugs you along within the dark mist. When you resist the pull, willing yourself to remain in the blissful silence, it jerks you further, leaving no time to fight back until the darkness is ripped away and light encapsulates you. The aching in your arms is increasing tenfold, specifically in your left shoulder and you can’t escape the burning sensation that continues to only get worse. And with that pain comes loud voices that echo in your head.

“She’s losing a lot of blood so it’s making it hard to see exactly where the bullet is,” someone explains. “Move your hand for a moment,” they say.

The weight on your shoulder is removed, but then fingers prod at your shoulder and you flinch away. Nails put pressure around the center of your pain and you struggle, but someone holds your legs along with your right arm down.

“You’re okay, little dove,” V reassures, gently rubbing your uninjured arm.

Thankfully, the poking stops, though you can’t stop fidgeting as the throbbing continues in your arm. The slab of concrete you’re lying on digs harshly against your bones. Drops of sweat accumulate across your skin, the room smothering you in heat as you shift uncomfortably, the fabric of your dress becoming more stifling and you wish you could rip it off.

“What do you need?” You hear V ask, his voice gruff and tense.

“Keep pressure on her wound,” the voice commands. “It didn’t hit her major artery, but we need to move quickly. Can you get her dress off?”

“I got it,” Lhaine says, letting go of your legs and walking around to your torso.

V slips his arms under you, one going behind your head and the other beneath your shoulder to keep it secure. He slowly rolls you to your right side, your cheek resting against his forearm while Lhaine rushes to undo the ribbons at your back. You whimper, the throbbing in your arm being all you can focus on, though your head grows hazy while something warm trails across your chest and pools onto the slab.

“Shh, it’s alright,” V whispers to you, his hand brushing your hair back.

When she finishes, your bare back meets the concrete and the dress is yanked off with ease. Cold air encapsulates your body, a shudder running along you at the sudden change in temperature though relief is short-lived as the fire quickly consumes you with sweat continuing to form.

“How’re we doing this?” Lhaine asks, her voice more high-pitched than usual. It’s the first time you’ve heard her speak without her normal confidence.

How bad is it? Curiosity helps turn your head to the side, only to be rolled back, but not before catching a glimpse at the raw, gaping wound. V’s dark chocolate eyes meet yours while keeping his hand against the left side of your neck. “Admire your battle wounds after they’ve been dressed.” Though he feigns reassurance with his joke, the bloody sight representing your shoulder has you blanketed in fear.

“I’m going to get the bullet out, but I need to find the proper equipment,” the other voice explains. Multiple objects rustle and clang near your head and you moan, wanting to get away, but it’s impossible with the hands holding you down. “When I insert the tube, we’re going to roll her, and it should drain out. Lhaine, bring that bucket over here.”

She releases your legs, then metal scraps against stone as she drags it over before returning to hold your lower limbs. A plastic bag is ripped open and your breathing accelerates into panting, wishing you could just pass out again so you’re not conscious for what’s about to happen next.

“Be ready,” the voice warns, and the arms keeping you still tense in preparation.

When they uncover your wound it’s immediately replaced by something thick that prods at the hole in your arm. You groan, jerking away as you kick out.

“Shit,” you hear Lhaine grunt when your knee clocks the side of her head. She repositions her grasp, firmly holding your legs down yet her heated palms slide against your sweaty skin so she climbs onto the table with you.

“Keep her still,” they order, pressing hard on your shoulder and continuing to push the tube into your wound.

You scream, writhing as it slides further into your arm. A burst of adrenaline laced with fear has you yanking your legs back and Lhaine briefly loses her grip before a kick from your foot knocks her off balance. V uses his arm to keep you still while she curses and tries getting back up, using his other hand to press against your torso, his warm palm heating your bare skin. Turning your head to the side, you will your eyes to open despite the perspiration that stings them. Through your blurry vision, you see the plastic tube sticking out from your shoulder and you roughly reach out to grab it, but then you’re stopped by V’s hand latching onto your wrist with a firm grasp.

At that point, Lhaine hoists herself up and sits directly on top of your pelvis, earning a glare from the person fiddling with the tube. “I’ll get off when we roll her,” she answers before muttering to herself, wiping sweat off her forehead. “Might as well be sitting in Daemon’s armpit it’s so fucking hot in here.”

“Yes, blame the heat for why an injured human got a good hit in,” the person hums in return.

V pays neither of them any attention, keeping his focus only on you. He reassures you that you’re going to be fine, but you can’t concentrate on his words, seeing only the thing in your arm that you want out. Letting go of your wrist, he cups your jaw and urges you to look at him. “Focus on breathing,” he tells you. Trying to do as he says, it’s hard to control, your lungs desperate for oxygen and you feel on the verge of hyperventilation. “Think only about that. We’re taking care of everything else.”

The tube is pushed in some more and you wonder if they’re going to end up impaling you with it. When you grimace, V winces, watching you forlornly and glances at the one working on you. “How much longer, Kala?”

“Nearly there. . .” It slides further inside, the plastic scraping torn muscle and causing your shoulder to burn in agony. “It’s in. Roll her, but keep her weight off her arm.”

Lhaine scrambles off, moving to the side so they can turn you with V holding your neck and torso while she lifts your hips. The change in position causes your blood to drain from the tube, thick liquid pouring into the metal bucket. You gasp, your breaths becoming more panicked at how much comes out.

“You’re doing well, just keep concentrating on your breathing,” V encourages, his fingers stroking the side of your neck while his thumb caresses your cheek.

“It’s almost done,” Lhaine reassures, rubbing your legs soothingly.

Their soft assurances are enough for you to stay still, forcing your brain to remain in control of your body. A few seconds later there’s a soft splash as something falls into the bucket. “We got it,” Kala says, pressing her thumb over the end of the tube to stop the bleeding. “Roll her back, so I can finish disinfecting.”

You moan, head lolling to the side as you lie back and Kala examines your shoulder. Lhaine coughs once and then another time, rubbing her nose into her arm. Inhaling deeply, she coughs a third time and it’s followed by a low hiss. “Do you smell that?”

The others sniff the air, Kala pausing from her work. As you pull in ragged breaths, you can’t smell anything besides the acrid sting of your blood.

“Is that what I think it is?” V asks, his teeth gritting harshly.

Kala crouches to look inside the bucket before picking it up and nodding. “Yes, it is,” she sighs. A sudden gust of wind sweeps across the room, knocking a few bottles on their side at the counter. “Easy, Your Highness.”

V’s wings are swept wide like black curtains covering the macabre scene of your operation. “What if there’s still some more in her?”

“She’s fine. The bullet didn’t shatter and there’s no shrapnel inside,” Kala reassures him. “We’ll deal with it after her wound is cleaned and dressed. I don’t want it to get infected.” Having settled them, she grabs a bottle and uncaps it.

A stinging liquid douses your open wound and you cry out, struggling to no avail as they keep you still. V keeps whispering soothing words into your ear, but the scalding fire in your arm keeps you from noticing anything else. And then it stops, relief washing over you as your body goes limp.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” he croons though there’s an edge to his voice, his grip tightening around you.

“Let me dress it and we’ll be finished,” Kala says. “I’ll deal with it right after.”

Exhaustion seeps through you as your body weakens. The next thing you know, V is sliding his arms beneath you and lifting you up. Your head slumps against his chest, void of any strength as you’re carried away, leaving behind the blood and horror from tonight while consciousness fades into oblivion.

~*~

Trickling water draws you from unconsciousness and you hear gentle humming nearby. Someone rubs a warm rag against the skin of your arms, being mindful of your injury before draping it across your forehead. Quiet footsteps pad closer and fingers press into the side of your neck for a moment.

“Pulse is steady now that the fever seems to have gone,” Kala murmurs. “I’m cleaning the wound again, so watch her for me.” She walks away, sifting through some drawers before returning to sit down beside you.

Hands slip under your torso while she removes the pillow from beneath your arm before it’s replaced by a towel as you’re lowered back down. She unwraps the gauze from your shoulder, briefly examining your wound and then pouring a splash of liquid onto it. It’s initially cold yet quickly consumed by a heat that turns boiling for a split second, causing you to twitch. You sense Kala momentarily jerk back before putting the liquid away so she can dry you.

She pats your arm while another person rubs your hand. “Afraid of getting hit too?” V snickers from beside you.

You hear Kala snort. “I’ve treated children far more feistier, Your Highness. According to Lhaine, she just got lucky,” she laughs softly. Her fingers prod around your shoulder and then she wraps new gauze around you. Removing her supplies, V lifts you again so she can slide the pillow back underneath. “Has your father said anything on the matter?”

“Not yet. He’s asking the guards now about the incident.” You hear him struggle for words before he eventually sighs in resignation. “Someone actually brought a blessed weapon here.”

“Yes,” Kala answers. “That bullet had holy water residue. Since she’s human it has no other effects on her. I’m taking the proper measures to dispose of it.”

V inhales deeply and rubs the side of his face. “Is there a way to study it without any issue?”

“Absolutely not, Your Highness,” she admonishes. “Even those with strong experience are at risk of poisoning themselves at any given moment.”

“We need to know where it came from otherwise everyone here is at risk. As I’m one of the likely targets, it should be my responsibility to examine it.”

“Regardless, it will just put you and your family in more danger. With all due respect Your Highness, I will go ahead and examine it to aid in the investigation, especially since only the four of us know.” A sink is turned on briefly as she washes her hands. “In the meantime, will you be lying low until this is resolved?”

V lets out a quiet laugh. “I think you know me well enough to know the answer to that,” he states.

“You’re right. Even if it would be in your best interest, though perhaps not just for you.”

“She has nothing to do with this.”

“That might’ve been true at one point, but maybe not anymore. Not after she saved you from an assassination. Isn’t she the one you happened upon in the forest out of nowhere?” She wonders.

“Yes, caught in the crossfire of two rival soul feeders.” His words are clipped and there’s a spark of annoyance within.

She sighs and there’s a rustle of movement. “Come now, I don’t see her as a traitor. Let’s step outside, so we don’t disturb her.” V stands and you hear their footsteps fade. “Even if the attack wasn’t for you, something could be after her instead.”

It’s the last thing you hear her say as the door quietly opens and shuts before silence envelopes the room. You lie there for a few minutes, letting your thoughts swarm with questions until sleep overcomes you once more.

~*~

The next time you emerge from unconsciousness it’s due to the same sound of trickling water. Only now there’s a wet rag being taken across your body. The room is warm enough that you just barely feel the cool air. You hear the cloth dipped another time into the bowl before you’re given one more brief scrub and then the person tosses it into the sink where it makes a dull thud. They dry your body with a towel, lifting your head to carefully slip a gown over it, another pair of hands helping your arms through the sleeves until they can slowly work it down to cover you. Only when you’re situated do they stand to remove the bowl of water and towels.

“I believe the caregiving tasks suit you,” Kala murmurs.

“Shut up,” Lhaine scoffs below her breath. “Another day and she’d stink of rotting food,” she whispers.

“It’s only been a few days. Your nose is too sensitive. Speaking of delightful food, do you want me to bring you something for lunch?” Kala asks, passing by Lhaine to head to the door.

Lhaine grunts before sharply hissing, “don’t pull my hair,” earning a shh from the other woman. “And yes, some meat would be nice,” she adds.

Kala opens the door only to stop short. “Oh, it seems someone beat me to it. Good day, sir.”

“Good day, Ms. Kala. Pleasure to see you,” a man greets in return.

Beside you, Lhaine groans to herself. “Damn it, not you.” When the door shuts she lets out a huff. “What do you want, asshole?” She asks.

Through squinted eyes you peek and catch a glimpse of black hair coming around the partition at the door.

“Come now, surely you can be nicer than that, Ungoldil,” Jin scolds.

“Since when have you cared about formalities? Besides, I thought you liked my sharp tongue,” she mocks.

“And I thought you liked your hair pulled, but maybe just in our case.”

“Fuck off!”

Her sudden increase in volume causes you to involuntarily flinch and Jin’s eyes catch your own. He tsks. “Now, now, you’ve woken your friend with your shouting.”

Lhaine turns to you, cheeks flushed as she clamps her mouth shut for a second. “You’re awake,” she says once she finds her voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shake your head, feeling awkward at having been caught inadvertently eavesdropping. “It’s okay,” you reassure her, your words rough from your throat being dry. “I can just go back to sleep.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Lhaine hurriedly answers while getting to her feet. “He was just leaving anyway.” She strides around your cot to Jin and grabs the tray of food from him, only for him to keep a tight hold on it.

“Actually I was coming to collect something, but a trade works too,” he says. Raising his right hand up to her, he wiggles his fingers at her though the fourth one is missing.

She stares at it, mouth partially open until she closes it and shrugs. “Well it’s certainly not here.”

“I think you might have taken it, whether by accident or on purpose, I’m not sure.”

“Why would I want your stupid finger?” She wonders, nose crinkling as her upper lip curls. “Besides if you think I have it, then just go get it.”

He pauses and looks as though he’s contemplating something while he stares for a moment. “Wherever it is, it’s not warm anymore,” he pointedly notes.

Her hands clasp hard around the sides of the tray, lips pinched together. “Leave,” she finally insists.

“I want my finger back.”

“Here’s a finger for you,” she replies, flipping her middle finger at him. “Now go, Y/N needs to rest.”

Jin glances over at you before sighing. “We’ll talk later,” he tells her, letting go of the tray and opening the door to let himself out.

“No, we won’t,” she retorts in a lighthearted tone as she slams the door in his face with a sweet smile. Lhaine comes over to sit back down with you and sets the platter on the table. Helping you sit up, she props another thick pillow behind you, fluffing the one under your arm. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I think.” Your voice is still scratchy and you clear your throat. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine, now that you’re okay,” she admits, fetching a glass of water which she helps you drink. After you finish about half the glass she sets it on the nightstand. “You sure had a night to remember I’m sure.”

You nod. “Yeah. . .don’t think I’ll be forgetting that anytime soon.” Observing your shoulder, you see the white gauze peeking through the fabric of the plum colored nightgown. “How long have I been out?”

“A good three, maybe four days or so. You had a small fever that kept you out of it, but your injury seems to be healing well I think, though I’m not the physician here,” she laughs to herself, pushing her hair back with her hand.

Sitting up further, you lean in close. “What happened to your face?” You ask upon noticing the purplish bruise above her cheekbone.

Lhaine quickly pulls her hair back down, hiding her face except for one of her red eyes that peers sheepishly at you. “It’s from that night,” she explains, “you managed to get a quick hit in when we were helping you. Not that I blame you. It’s nothing really.”

“Wow,” you exhale, “I’m sorry,” you say though she shakes her head. You can barely recall brief images, but mostly just remember the burning sensation that encapsulated you.

To the left, past the small row of cots you see the concrete slab where you were laid out not too long ago. Now that you’re awake and coherent, you can actually take in the space of the infirmary. Above the operating table hangs a round fluorescent surgical light that’s fixated to the ceiling. Medical carts are scattered about the space, packed to the brim with bottles, syringes and other equipment. On the opposite side of the room, is a glass door that leads out onto a small balcony. Next to it, sits a heavy stone bookshelf that’s built into the wall beside the countertop and cabinets. The shelf is lined with books of various sizes with some being held in place by vibrantly colored geodes as well as the occasional potted plant that range in green, purple, or red.

“It doesn’t even feel real,” you admit, lifting your hand to rub your eyes of leftover sleep.

She sniffs. “Yeah, you’re telling me. No one ever scores a free hit with me.”

You slap the air in front of her with your good arm and she leans away. “I was talking about the night in general.”

“Yeah,” she huffs, “I know. I’m just trying to distract you, and me,” she lightly adds at the end. She looks toward the medicinal cabinets and chews on her lip.

With your same good arm, you reach out and rest your palm on the back of her hand. She tenses beneath you before putting her other hand on top, rubbing yours in return. Heaving a sigh, she turns back to you, mouth quirking up on one side in a partial smile. “You actually had us a bit worried there for a minute. I mean, not that we don’t trust in Kala’s skills, she’s the absolute best, we just weren’t expecting anything like that to happen.”

“You weren’t expecting anything crazy on Hallow’s Evening?” You ask with mild disbelief.

“Well no,” she starts, “I mean there’s always that thought in the back of everyone’s mind at some point because it’s a big event and something’s bound to go wrong, but that was pretty entertaining. When we were getting dressed, I was actually looking forward to it.” There’s a pause as she hesitates, momentarily thinking over her words. “Since you’ve been here, things have been a lot more entertaining.”

Lhaine abruptly looks up, misty eyes meeting yours through strands of hair. “Sometimes I forget that we’re supposed to be rotting away in this nightmare of a plane.” She inhales and starts talking fast. “And then when you got shot you were cold, ice cold for what felt like a good minute and I know we were all sweating, but at one point the thought of you dying crossed my mind and it hurt. Not that I’d blame you for leaving in any way, shape or form because there’s so many better places besides being stuck here yet I didn’t want you to leave like that,” her words trail off, the film in her eyes tremble and you scoot closer to her, being mindful of your injury and she backs away. “Hey, no I’m fine, stop moving, you idiot,” she protests until you successfully throw an arm around her shoulders.

Beneath your hold, you feel her frame quiver slightly before she wraps her arms around you. In the silence, you feel her rapid breathing continue for another minute then eventually settle into a steady pace. “You’re a good friend, Lhaine,” you whisper. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Her warm breath fans your back as she sighs, “You’re welcome.” Giving you a tight squeeze she releases you, leaning back in her chair and reaches for the silver tray. “You hungry? Stupid question because I know I am so I’m sure you are too,” she says, lifting the dome to reveal a thick, circular cutlet of meat with green vegetables and a bread roll. The scent wafts around you both and is instantly met by each of your growling stomachs. “Oh fuck yes,” she crows. “This is the good shit.” She grabs the utensils and begins cutting the meat, stealing a small piece for herself as she pops it in her mouth. Chewing slowly, her head falls back slightly while she savors it. “Haven’t had this in a long time,” she hums. Wiping her mouth, she pushes the platter to you, gesturing for you to dig in. “Sorry, I just really wanted a taste. Eat as much as you want.”

“We can share, it’s your meal too,” you insist. “Also when did you used to eat this?” You wonder.

She hesitates just as the door opens and a woman steps inside carrying her own plate of food. The azure chiffon dress she wears stops just below her knees, thin sleeves wrapped around her biceps leave the dark brown skin of her shoulders and arms exposed. Her pressed raven black hair sits low at her shoulders, locks twisting into ringlets at the end. Kala slows her walk as she sees the two of you huddled together. “Ah, it’s good to see you awake, Ms. Y/N. Unfortunate that our first meeting had to be under such awful circumstances. How are you feeling?” She asks, going to set her food down before walking up to the side of your cot. “May I?” She motions to your shoulder and you nod, gently lifting it up for her to examine.

“I’m okay, just sore and a little tired,” you tell her, catching Lhaine in your peripherals tossing another small piece of meat into her mouth and quietly chewing.

“That’s expected. You’ll be feeling like this for about a month though with rest you’ll be able to move better in a few days,” she informs you, leaning down to carefully touch your shoulder. “As for eating, you should be fine, but take it easy. Too much at first will make you sick,” she warns, standing upright. Glancing at the food she cocks her head to the side. “Spiced amlug? I’m surprised he remembered your favorite, Lhaine.” Kala goes to her desk and sits down, opening a large book to read while ignoring the seething glower Lhaine sends in her direction.

“Your favorite?”

Lhaine rolls her eyes. “He probably just has a good memory, that's all,” she merely answers.

“That’s all?” You repeat.

She regards you with a dead stare before reaching for a chunk of meat and shoving it in your mouth. “We were a thing for a while. Hooked up and fucked one Hallow’s Evening, then just kept seeing each other.” She takes a piece of meat for herself, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. “We stayed like that for some time until he moved on and I got too comfortable,” she spits, tearing the roll of bread in half and taking a bite.

“Do you still like him?” You ask, picking up a fork to stab some of the vegetables and eating them. “Also didn’t his hair used to be pink?”

Muttering under her breath, Lhaine responds with, “He shattered later on that night after the party and his hair color changes each time he does. And no,” she says curtly. “I used to like him, but now I’m done.”

Kala clears her throat, mumbling something under her breath and you barely make out the words, “but is he done?”

Lhaine clenches the roll between her fingers, nails crushing the soft food.

“Throw that bread at me and I’ll cut your hair off,” Kala warns, her body tensing as she grabs a scalpel off the medical cart.

“Seriously, who throws bread?” Lhaine yells incredulously. “Obviously, the best choice of weapons are the knife and fork at the very least. Shit, even the tray is better than a piece of dough.”

“We’re not throwing anything,” you tell her, patting her shoulder. “Let’s just eat. We won’t talk about men.”

“Yeah, you just don’t want to be interrogated either,” Lhaine mutters and you flick some vegetables at her before you both quietly eat your meal.

~*~

Later in the evening after Lhaine leaves to finish the remainder of her chores as well as yours, with your insistence to help being met by strict orders to not even leave the infirmary, Kala examines your wound beneath the candlelight. The gaping hole is still raw, but it’s slowly beginning to scar over with tissue. You try not to stare for too long, not needing an inside look at your body and everything else inside. As she gently washes the wound out with a wet rag, you inadvertently wince each time the fabric tugs at the torn skin. “Looks like it’s healing well,” she notes, prodding at the bullet hole and tenderly feeling around the mark.

“That’s good,” you say, keeping your focus on the sketch of some constellation that hangs on the wall. “When do you think I’ll be able to get back to work?”

Cold gel is rubbed against the wound and you’re met with a burning pain that flashes for a second before becoming cool once more. “Full recovery takes about a month, but even then I wouldn’t recommend any heavy lifting for quite some time. You’re going to be feeling it for a while.”

When she lets go of your arm, you carefully shrug it and moan at the twinge of pain. “I believe it.”

“I can recommend some exercises to help loosen the muscles that’ll help get functionality back.” She rewraps the gauze around your shoulder, clamping the pieces together. “You’re not bleeding anymore so that’s promising,” she tells you, standing to go rinse her hands.

You nod, readjusting your propped position amongst the pillows. “I imagine I looked much worse in the beginning.”

Kala shuts the water off and dries her hands, setting the towel over the rim of the sink. “When they brought you in you were practically in death’s clutches.” She glances at the door suddenly, looking back at you as she starts walking towards it. “I guess they decided to let you go,” she adds, pulling the door open though the partition blocks your view even as you try and peek around it.

“How is she?” You hear someone ask.

“Ask her yourself,” Kala replies, shutting the door behind them.

V comes inside and pauses when he sees you sitting upright. “You’re awake,” he says, eyes wide for a moment until he relaxes and walks toward you.

“Before you ask Your Highness, yes I did let you know as ordered, but you weren’t awake and simply mumbled incoherent nonsense before falling back asleep,” Kala explains as she steps by him to go sit at her desk.

“I was?” The prince asks, rubbing the dark spots below his eyes and you notice his hair is slightly unkempt as though he were just waking from said nap. “I don’t even remember. Regardless, thank you, Ms. Kala.”

“Of course, Your Highness. Her wound is also healing well, she just needs rest,” is her quick reassurance as she opens her book and begins reading, taking a sip from her drink while also scribbling something into her notebook.

He sighs, tension visibly leaving his body. “I’m glad to hear that.” Using the chair Kala was in earlier, he repositions it before sitting down on the cushioned seat. “And you’re doing okay?” He asks, regarding you carefully.

You nod. “Yeah, just a little tired.”

“I imagine so,” he agrees, his eyes slipping shut before reopening as he meets your own. “Y/N, I’m so sorry you had to experience something like that,” he apologizes, his face contorting with grief and you’re quick to reassure him.

Shrugging with your good arm, you say, “It’s fine really. It’s not your fault someone brought a gun and decided to use it.”

Your words are met with an awkward silence as V pauses while Kala shifts in her seat, her gaze fixated on the pages. He rubs his hands together, pursing his lips. “Actually they were more than likely aiming for me.”

“No. . .” you start, but cut yourself off, remembering exactly how the events unfolded in sequence.

He catches the hesitation in your voice. “That’s why you pushed me out of the way.”

“I saw the reflection of the light and didn’t even stop to think, I just ran,” you admit.

V reaches out to hold your hand and rests your palm in his, his thumb caressing the back. “You could’ve been killed,” he murmurs softly.

“Technically you could say that about most of my encounters,” you point out with a small laugh.

It only causes him to sigh in return. “You’re not wrong. And while I’m eternally grateful, you shouldn’t have to risk your life for mine.”

“And you shouldn’t have to worry about being murdered by someone,” you refute.

“It comes with my particular circumstances.”

“Well it shouldn’t,” you insist with a huff. You go to cross your arms yet stop short at the annoying ache in your shoulder so you opt to simply fold your good arm over your torso, gripping onto the opposite bicep. “And you can’t just ascend now?” You ask, vaguely remembering him mentioning it during one of your previous conversations.

He barks a laugh at that, smiling to himself with a shake of his head before his expression sobers. “Little dove, I’m afraid it’s not so easy. I have to be of a certain age, which I’m close to, but still not quite there yet. There’s also specific accomplishments and training that I have to complete as well. It goes for any demon that can ascend. All this to ensure we’re truly prepared for immortality. And in my case, the joys of royalty.”

“It’s very archaic,” Kala pipes in and V tilts his head, pursing his lips but doesn’t deny it.

Your fingers press against the sides of your forehead before you tiredly rest against the palm of your hand. “So if you didn’t survive being shot, then what, it’s just your fault?” You scoff. “That’s stupid.”

That earns you another quirk of his lips while Kala lets out a giggle to which she quickly muffles with her hand though she doesn’t stop. “Can you be the one to convince my mother of that? Maybe she’ll finally let me ascend and then convince the Queen to do the same for you,” she tells the prince.

He looks over his shoulder at her where she scribbles something down on her paper. “I would be incredibly surprised if we managed to do that. Even so, my father wouldn’t approve in the slightest. He’s much too intent on keeping with tradition.”

“Even if it meant protecting you from harm?”

As soon as you utter the question, there’s an immediate shift in the room as uncomfortable silence heavily swells inside, growing with each passing second. V pauses as though contemplating your words while you worriedly glance at Kala who hesitates, tapping her nails together. She grabs her pencil and notebook before getting to her feet. “I’m going to head outside and record more of my notes,” she says, gesturing towards the balcony and slides the door open to walk out into the night air. The cool breeze seeps into the room before being cut off by the closing door.

“I’m sorry,” you hurriedly apologize, “I didn’t mean to sound so disrespectful.”

V shakes his head, his hand still holding yours as he uses his thumb to caress along your skin. “It’s alright, I understand what you meant. My father does care for me even if he doesn’t show it often. In his mind, if I can succeed with my own trials while surviving these attacks, then others will see it as futile to even try. Even after ascending, I’ll have shown that I won’t easily be undermined. Meaning my parents can finally rest peacefully without constantly fearing for my safety. I know that’s all they want in the end.”

“As any loving parent would. I know I’m still not familiar with how things are here but I think I can see how it makes sense.”

“There’s a reason why we uphold these customs. My family just has it more difficult, unfortunately,” he answers with a somber shrug of his shoulders.

“Not for too much longer because you’ll be victorious,” you assure.

Your insistence has him rolling his eyes at your choice of words. “I appreciate the confidence, little dove,” he chuckles before it’s cut off by a sudden yawn, causing you to inadvertently follow suit as exhaustion pries open your mouth. “Of course, I think my savior deserves some sleep after saving my life, don’t you think?” He wonders, readjusting in his seat.

Your lips quirk up at his humor. “I would’ve done it again.”

“And for that I truly thank you for that selfless act of bravery,” he answers sincerely, the lighthearted humor vanishing as he meets your eyes intently. Despite the exhaustion that’s currently weighing him down, there’s clarity in his words. The hand still atop yours flexes but the grip doesn’t tighten against you, instead almost forming a barrier around your limb.

“You’re welcome,” you softly murmur, struck by his honesty. “But if there’s anything else I can do to help, I’ll do whatever I can. I want to catch this person too.”

He shakes his head. “Take some time to rest then and gather your strength first.”

“Okay,” you sigh, “I will. But I’ll have to return to work soon. I don’t like that Lhaine has to manage both of our chores and besides I’m sure Miss doesn’t want me gone for too long.” She could be logging an entire list of tasks to keep you busy for an eternity for all you know.

“Miss will get over it,” he dismisses, noticing your skeptic look before insisting, “she will. Other humans have had to stop working in the past before, so she knows it’s a possibility.”

“Yeah, because they all got turned into mannequins or something worse.”

V grimaces. “Those were special instances.”

“At least my near-death experience was a little more normal,” you shrug, wincing at the pain flaring in your shoulder.

He smooths his thumb across your hand. “I wouldn’t exactly say normal.”

That has you tilting your head slightly. “Are assassination attempts not the norm around here?”

“Not in the comforts of our home, no,” he admits. “It’s usually when we’re out in public, or so I’ve heard.”

“Maybe this’ll be the last time for a while,” you say in an attempt to sound hopeful though it comes across as more desperate than anything.

Regardless, he still smiles wanly at you. “Your optimism is remarkable.”

“You gotta start somewhere,” you say before being cut off by another incessant yawn.

He gently releases your hand and sets it down on the mattress. “I should let you sleep. Though you’re probably missing your new bed I assume.”

“Actually, I think this one is just about as comfortable if not more than the one in my room.” While the basic cot’s mattress isn’t exactly as supportive, it’s at least fluffy enough that you don’t feel as though you’re sleeping on harsh springs somewhat hidden beneath a solid pallet. It’s a step up compared to the ones in the servant’s quarters for sure.

V raises his brows skeptically. “You lie,” he mocks.

His response has you cocking your head to the side. “Oh, yeah? Have you slept in this bed?”

“It’s been some time since I’ve had to spend the night recovering in the infirmary and while I know these cots are meant to be comfortable, nothing can compare to the other beds we so kindly provide.”

“Well they’ve been upgraded since then,” you say, slamming your fist into the mattress.

Immediately, you wince upon feeling the sharp pinch in your poor shoulder, earning a hiss from V. “Easy, you silly human,” he demands, holding a hand against your back near your shoulder blade. “Is this honestly a result of your sleep deprivation?”

“Could ask the same about you,” you retort, motioning to his tired eyes which causes them to fill with amusement.

He briefly stands before silently urging you to scooch over while he sits down beside you. Leaning back against the headboard, he lets his head rest on the stone wall. “Your persistence knows no bounds. Yes, this is relaxing, but my bed is much better without a doubt.”

“Now who’s lying?” You mutter, laying your own head back as well. “If this one was a bit bigger, then your fancy bed wouldn’t stand a chance.”

V laughs silently, his frame shaking next to you while he crosses both his arms and legs. “You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles beneath his breath.

A calming hush fills the room as the two of you quietly relish in the serene space. While your body slowly unwinds, there’s a sudden weight on top of your head that has you jumping slightly. “Your Highness?”

He responds with a gentle hum.

“You might want to get to your own bed before you fall for this one,” you suggest, though your own eyelids are also becoming heavy.

“That’s just the result of my exhaustion. I’ll leave in five minutes or you can just shove me off now.”

You nudge him softly in return. “Whatever,” is the best you can come up with at the moment. The tug of sleep draws you further close to it as you ease your own head onto his shoulder. Five minutes is tempting to your body as you let yourself rest your eyes as well only to fall into a heavenly slumber.

~*~

The next few days you remain in the infirmary along with Kala though Lhaine and V are typical visitors. At one point Lhaine even brought you a note from someone unexpected. The small paper had only four words reading, Get some rest -Miss. In between these brief visits, Kala oversees your improvements by cleaning and checking your wound while also giving you simple exercises to do in the meantime.

Tonight though, you’re visited by someone else. “Good evening, sir,” Kala greets from her position at her desk with her usual reading material. While holding your arm at a ninety degree angle for your stretching sessions, you look to find Min standing by the partition near the entrance.

“Hello,” he answers. “I hope I’m not interrupting.” His signature black fabric covers his eyes yet he walks with a surety, seeming to know exactly where all the furniture is as he easily steps around it.

“Not at all, please come in and have a seat.”

He turns his head and walks forward, deftly maneuvering his way around while using his fingers to graze against the simple wooden chairs. As he sits down in the seat beside you, you slide your legs over the edge so you can face him better.

“How are you, sir?” You ask.

Tilting his head, he stares directly where you are, giving you a sweet smile. “I’m alright, and you?”

“Better,” you admit.

“I’m glad to hear that. You’ve had quite the ordeal I imagine.”

“It was. . .eventful.”

Min chuckles at that though there’s no humor behind it. “That’s an understatement. Haven’t had such a thing like that in over a decade I believe.” There’s a bout of silence and then Min clears his throat. “Actually, besides seeing how you were obviously, the reason I’m here is because Jeon wanted me to give you something.” He retrieves a folded paper from his pocket and hands it to you. “He thought of delivering it himself, but didn’t want to take any risks.”

You take the paper and unfold it, revealing another strange drawing. This one consists of a 3-D rectangular box with a smaller one at the front and a square off to the side though no lines meet at the bottom. The sheet is colored with black scratches that cover the entire area though most of it is darkened in the center.

“I understand. Tell him thank you for the drawing,” you say, staring at the various lines and shapes on the page.

He lets out a faint laugh before asking, “Is it just as confusing as the previous one?”

You smile in return. “I think there’s more lines than before, but I’ll have to compare them. What have your visions been like if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Dark,” is all he says. Through the fabric of the blindfold, you see him clench his eyes shut, faint creases appearing along his forehead. “And I don’t mean figuratively. Anything I try to focus on is covered in a fog and it’s hard to see. It’s all just blurry shadows and incredibly frustrating,” he sighs, running a hand through his blond hair.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t be. It’s not an issue, but hopefully it passes quickly. I don’t like feeling lost any more than my visions already make me,” he admits with a short jerk of his head.

“I can only imagine. And there’s nothing you can do except wait?”

His fingers tap the sides of the chair as he slightly nods. “Pretty much. It’s most likely showing me something that’s currently happening, which if it is, then I just have to wait until it’s resolved.”

Hesitating, you examine the paper again, eying the simple lines of the drawing dubiously. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I know you and Jeon can’t interfere with each other’s abilities, but from past experiences, what does he usually draw in his pictures? What do they end up representing?” Even if he can’t say much, any idea would be helpful when you’re dealing with such vague symbolisms. Unless the answer is obvious, then you really should brush up on your sleuthing skills.

His lips pinch together as he contemplates your question. “It’s hard to say because there’s such a variety at times. I’ve seen images of people, creatures, places, and things. It’s rare that there’s any details or distinguishing features, but I think it’s mostly specific objects from what I can tell.”

“Well his clues are interesting for sure,” you admit, looking down at the sketch once more.

“Yes, they are, though if you ever get the chance, I recommend viewing his personal art, the ones he draws for enjoyment. They’re extraordinary and very detailed.” He grins wholeheartedly at that, a fondness on his face you haven’t seen as strongly before.

“He’s an artist?”

Min hums in response. “He likes doing it in his spare time, that is, when RM has time to spare and isn’t meeting with people. It gives him an outlet from all the abstract images the future bestows upon him.”

The sheet crinkles in your hands as you continue fiddling with the edges. “It must be hard on him too,” you softly note.

He gives a forlorn smile. “All of our powers are considered gifts, rewards granted to us for being lucky or something along those lines.”

“So we’re told,” Kala pipes in, snorting lightly under her breath which causes him to laugh at that.

Running a hand through his hair, he notes, “You’re not wrong there.”

Your eyes shift between the two of them. “Why do you say that?”

Min rubs the back of his neck while Kala ducks her head, using her fist to cover her grin before eventually answering. “It’s just everyone’s pretty old fashioned and needs to get over themselves. Like we talked about the other day, everything’s archaic.” She acknowledges your blank expression by simply shaking her head. “It’s nothing, we’re just venting.”

“Shh, they might consider that complaining,” Min chuckles before cocking his head to the side. “I should probably go since it’s getting late,” he says, standing up.

You glance over at the clock and see it’s just past 10:00. It’s been easy for you to lose track of time since staying here.

“It was good to see you, sir,” Kala says from her seat.

“Same to the both of you. Have a good night.”

You respond with a farewell of your own before it’s just you and Kala. She gets to her feet and heads over to the bookshelf, retrieving another book then returns to her desk that already has plenty more sprawled across. Figuring you might as well do the same, you grab your book about demons that Lhaine had thankfully brought you. Entertainment is important, she had insisted. You also stare at Jeon’s drawings from time to time until your eyes eventually glaze over and cause the shapes to morph into unidentifiable masses. If there’s a connection between the demon haunting your sister and his drawings, finding it feels damn near impossible.

“You’re not going to bed?” Kala asks, not bothering to look up from her own reading. “Or is it just too lonely over there?”

“What? No!” You yelp before letting out a groan. After falling asleep with V, you had woken up by yourself on your side with the covers pulled up high. Kala had merely asked if you slept well yet the obvious undertone couldn’t be missed. Rubbing the circles beneath your eyes, you shake your head at her with a sleepy grin. “I was just doing some light reading,” you answer. “Will you be going to bed soon?”

She shrugs. “Eventually. Maybe after the next chapter or two.”

“What are you reading, some medical textbook?” You wonder, catching a glimpse of some diagrams as she turns the page.

“What, no!” She scoffs. “I’m not reading any of that boring stuff.”

Your brows furrow at that, eyeing the various multicolored tonics and remedies lining the medicine cabinet, a couple you had actually seen her craft in her spare time. “Aren’t you the physician here?”

This causes her to actually look up at you. “What do you mean, oh,” she says, realization dawning on her face, “I get it. I know that’s what they call me around here since that’s technically my position, but it’s temporary.”

“Temporary?”

“Mmhm. Seriously, if you want the family’s physician that would be my mother,” she laughs, propping her head on her hand as she taps the side of her face with her nails. “We came to an agreement that if I practiced here for some time as her replacement, then I’d be free to do as I pleased afterwards.”

“You don’t want to be a physician?”

Kala shrugs. “It’s not for me. Don’t get me wrong,” she reassures, “I like helping others and it’s a great skill to have but there are so many other things out there I’d rather be doing, you know?”

Standing up from your bed, you walk towards her and climb onto the stool next to hers. Now that you’re closer, you can see the book she’s reading seems to be about space, judging from the various diagrams of constellations. “So you like astronomy?”

“Yeah, consider it a passion of mine. And you?” She asks, gesturing to your book over by the bed.

“Oh, that’s. . .research,” you answer.

“Research?” She wonders. “Are you a scientist?”

You shake your head with a laugh, waving your hand in disregard. “No way! That’s not my strong suit at all. I mean space is cool, but I just like to look at the stars mostly.”

She leans close, tapping the pages of her book. “So you can truly see the stars in your world.” Kala bites the inside of her cheek as you nod. “Can’t deny that I’m envious. You live in a place with beautiful sights and yet you’re down here because,” she trails off, her brows quirking together.

You lean your elbows on the desk. “Something attached itself to my sister back home and I’m trying to figure out what it is.”

She blinks, her face reflecting her confusion. “Don’t you have specialists that know how to fix that? Or can at least help?”

“It’s not that simple,” you sigh, “especially if they don’t know anything about it.”

“So your bright idea was to come all the way to Hell and fix it yourself?”

You roll your eyes. “That wasn’t the plan. I didn’t know the person offering help was a literal demon and I was almost tricked into signing a contract with him. I know I’m desperate but I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

“And yet your main goal is to still find a cure for her, which might as well if you’re stuck here regardless. That’s quite the determination,” she notes.

“Of course, I’d do anything for her,” is your immediate response.

She breaths a hiss of air in through her teeth. “I’d be careful who you say that to,” she warns, “people won’t be so trusting of you.”

“What, why? She’s my sister.”

Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she readjusts in her seat. “Family ties aren’t always that deep. Besides, showing such dedication will draw the wrong attention. How far are you willing to go for one person and who would you take out in the process?”

Scoffing under your breath, you look around the quiet space. Your reflection in the medicine cabinets attached to the stone wall reflects back your confused expression. “But I wouldn’t do that.”

“Are you sure? When people get desperate, nothing’s too far for them.”

You turn and meet her brown eyes, specks of amber giving a faint glow beneath the light in the room while she calmly regards you. “Wait,” you start, “you don’t think I had anything to do with what happened that night, do you?” You breathe the last syllables out in a quiet exhale.

Her fingers play with the ends of her hair, twirling the strands at the end as she lightly shoves your stool with her foot. “No. I haven’t known you long enough but I don’t think you’d do something like this. Yet some will see it as suspicious that you were there at the right place, right time.”

People aren’t seriously going to suspect you of being an assassin’s accomplice, right? Yet you could think of a certain trio that would probably relish in your downfall. As if you need any more headaches. “I literally got shot. Isn’t me taking a bullet for someone, the Prince no less, counterintuitive if I was plotting something?”

She grimaces, continuing to tug the strands of her raven hair. “No, because you’re not the first, not even close.”

Her response has you shifting in your seat. “What do you mean? How many times has this happened to him?”

“Oh, not just him. I think this might’ve been the first one where they got close to almost killing him but with the others, it was more frequent and usually when they were young.”

Your body tenses in realization. “The others, his siblings,” you murmur softly.

She gives a slight nod, shutting her book and pushing it aside. “While my mother was a physician here she helped the Queen a lot. Apparently, she had trouble conceiving at first. My mother tried everything, elixirs, remedies, spells, even ancient rituals, anything she could think of,” she sighs. “Once the Queen carried to term, they thought it was over. But even though the baby was born healthy, they suddenly became ill and passed in a matter of days. And it never stopped.”

Kala crosses her arms over each other, resting her elbows on the concrete table. “They hardly ever made it past infancy. It frustrated my mother so much that she couldn’t help no matter what she did. She scoured every tome that seemed promising and eventually she created a strengthening potion that worked. They became stronger, some even growing into adulthood only to die before they could ascend. It was only then that the family realized they were being targeted, not cursed like most believed. The King massacred all the servants except for a very small handful,” she takes a deep breath, her hands flexing into fists before continuing, “they spared mother because of her progress. They brought in new servants; it didn’t work. Nothing has.” She looks away, focusing on the blank wall beside her.

“And there’s nothing anyone can do?”

She shrugs. “They’ve tried. At first, I heard the family tried keeping them from the public eye, but no one’s going to take well being cooped up in their own home like a cage. My mother said the son was found just inside the Crooked Forest with missing limbs and organs,” she answers softly.

You inhale sharply, grimacing at her description and rub your own arms. “And they still continued to die,” you whisper.

She gives a curt nod. “Every single one. It’s been over a decade since I’ve worked here and V is the only Prince I’ve met. He’s apparently one of the few to make it to adulthood. Not just that but like he mentioned earlier, he’s relatively close to ascending.”

Again, there’s that term you keep hearing, even though you hardly know much about it. “What does it mean to ascend exactly? It’s obviously important.”

“Besides the fact that demons can become truly immortal? It means a demon will have obtained their abilities to the fullest extent. Lesser demons can’t ascend, but to those with immense strength or gifts, especially if they have royal blood, it’s a great achievement.”

“Do you also have incredible strength or a gift too?”

She nods, her body slightly relaxing as she lets go of her arms. “Yes, I have the ability to see all the veins in the body.” You watch as her eyes begin glowing, the flecks of amber sparkling a bright gold that spreads across her irises. “That’s how I could find the bullet and see how much damage was done. My mother can do the same, but she can also see fractures in bone and tears in muscles,” she explains, her irises dulling before returning to their usual color.

You blink a few times, staring in surprise before asking, “But you’re not able to ascend yet?”

She rolls her eyes with a shake of her head and an irritated huff blows past her lips. “Nope, not quite. Mother says I need more time and practice first. And the thing with ascensions is no one ascends at the same age or time, it varies for multiple reasons. When your guardians or mentors think you’ve made great progress, then you have your fancy ceremony and congratulations, you’re immortal,” she sarcastically rejoices with a wave of her arms before dropping them back down on the hard stone.

“Which means nothing can harm you at that point, right? You’ve essentially won if you’re impossible to kill,” you assume.

“For the most part,” she says. “But take my mother for instance, if she were to ‘die,’” she flexes her fingers into quotations, “she could be reborn back into how she was before her death and still be herself. If someone hasn’t ascended, then once they’re dead they can’t return. Their essence or soul, spirit, take your pick, is gone. It would be like they never existed at all.”

“Wouldn’t their soul have to go somewhere?”

“No. Our essence basically dissipates, our existence forever ceased, leaving nothing but a husk of a body. If that’s not destroyed either.”

Scratching your nails along the tabletop, you bite into the inside of your cheek. “Why would someone want to ensure the family never carries on? Why them specifically?”

Again, she shrugs. “To destroy the lineage and prevent them from ever passing the crown on or to kill the entire bloodline eventually. As for your second question, maybe someone has a personal vendetta against them, I don’t know. Or there could be no reason at all, torment and suffering makes enjoyable entertainment for some.”

“And the prince has to wait just like you,” you state.

Kala nods, her lips lifting up into a faint smile yet there’s no humor in her eyes, only annoyance. “Apparently so, which is probably why he’s constantly reading and studying about politics. Since there’s been no talk of any coronation or ceremony, the family believed he’d be protected until then perhaps. The King and Queen want to ensure his safety until the time is right. But since Hallow’s Evening, that’s changed.” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, hunching her shoulders forward. “They don’t deserve this madness.”

“No, they don’t,” you agree. The scratching of your fingernails increases in speed as you process this information. “And no one has noticed a pattern or any link associated with the other children?”

“That’s the issue,” she sighs, “their deaths vary significantly every time. Different age, different time, different method. There’s no pattern, no evidence left behind, nothing. And they never tell any of the children how their siblings have died for fear of the unknown. Not that it mattered because my mother said it was a new way every time, like some sick curse.”

When a tiny chunk of cobble is chipped away by your nails, you quickly dust it off though you catch her smirk, to which you grimace with a small apology. “But you said I’m not the first. What happened before?”

“Again I hear all this from my mother because she was here when this happened. But there was one daughter, who became close friends with a Lesser demon that worked in the stables. They became close after he saved her from a Cindersnitch. A creature that essentially poisons you only that poison feels like lava and can burn through you until you’re nothing but a charred crisp in less than an hour,” she quickly explains before you can ask. “But not long after, she was killed.”

“He killed her?”

“No, but his involvement led to her death. He was working with someone, but I guess he actually developed a bond with her. Granted they weren’t quite adults, so he may have been heavily intimidated or influenced by that person.”

“What happened to him?” You ask, though you’re pretty sure you can guess the answer.

“He was executed. They never found the assassin.”

You release a soft breath, fingers still scratching against the desk before meeting her eyes. “I’m honestly not working with anyone, I’m just trying to get back home,” you insist.

She warmly smiles. “I believe you, but things are starting to happen again now that you’re here. It’s been relatively quiet until your sudden arrival. Even if you’re not directly involved there’s something going on. And his infatuation with you might get you both in trouble. Just know that you could be the prime suspect in the next incident. And I don’t say that by me,” she reassures with a hand on your arm, effectively pausing your fingernail scraping. “The rest of the castle will be watching, especially those that have seen it happen before.”

You look at her incredulously. “I’m sorry but did you say infatuation?”

Kala blankly stares at you. “That’s what catches your attention?” She asks, laughing slightly. “Look I’ve seen him more times in this infirmary these past few days than I have since I’ve been here for the last decade. We can argue about romantic feelings or not, but you can’t deny that he does care for you.”

Definitely not wrong there. “He’s been very nice to me, so yeah, you could say we’re friends,” you admit though you’re not sure why you’re hesitating. V has been nothing but kind to you and has even helped with some of your research. Why should it matter what others think of your relationship? It’s not their business. Except it does when status is seen in such high regards. Everyone has their place here and humans are meant to be at the bottom. Certainly not supposed to be friends with a royal family of demons.

She shrugs. “Well at least you can see that much. Anyway, I’m probably going to head off to sleep. And you should too, you already look like you’re about to pass out,” Kala notes, indicating to your tired frame that’s slowly becoming heavy.

“You’re right, we probably should,” you say, getting to your feet and walking towards your bed before climbing in while she puts her things away. “Good night, Kala.”

She bids you good night as well and you’re already drifting off to sleep as soon as your head meets the pillow.

~*~

Though the prince refuses to send you back to work, you still accompany Lhaine under the guise of keeping her company, but still there are some tasks you help with, so long as it doesn’t require heavy lifting. Except for sneaking cans of food down to the dungeon though you use your uninjured arm instead to carry the bucket down the steps.

Upon entering, you notice no one is as eager for food compared to other times you’ve delivered it. Then again, there’s not as many people present once you count only half a dozen bodies, less than half from before, remaining. Most are hidden in the shadows and you barely see their hunched or curled forms, some close together while others stay far apart. Hakyeon is among the few left, not even bothering to spare you a glance, keeping his head trained low. Only when you whisper his name does he look up from his propped position, revealing thin scratches and dark bruises lined across his face.

“I’m afraid we’ve already had our fill for the day, darling,” he says, eyes void of emotion.

Setting the bucket down, you lift a can and hold it out in offering. “No one told me. Consider it a light snack,” you suggest.

One of the figures in the corner leaps forward with a hiss, jagged claws nearly slicing your skin as you jump back. The short horned creature swipes again until it’s grabbed by the tail and kicked to the side, knocking back into the huddled group. There’s a scuffle as they all shove each other away, growls ensuing from the rest as they take up offensive stances.

“Quiet,” Hakyeon snarls, “before you get us all in trouble.” He reaches for the can of gruel from you and throws it to the opposite side as everyone dives for it. Stretching for another, you slide the bucket closer to him, both of you tossing the cans inside until they’re satisfied for the time being. As they settle down, the sound of cracking metal echoes around the area while they slurp up their meals.

With one can remaining, you offer it to Hakyeon, who observes it for a moment before eventually taking the metallic cylinder. He breaks it open and takes a long swig. “So what brings you here today, darling? I’m afraid I won’t be able to read to you if that’s your reason,” he says, leaning against the cell door.

“No actually, I just wanted to see how you were doing,” you explain, sitting on the ground and he does the same. “What happened to everyone?”

“Does the paint not suit my face?” He wonders, using his pinkie to flick his hair to the side. When he’s met with your dead look, he chuckles under his breath. “We’ve had some lengthy interviews with the royal family. How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine, thanks for asking,” you say, rolling the joint a couple of times with hardly any soreness. “You mean they’ve been interrogating you? For what?”

He blinks, amusement flaring in his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Surely, working must have been hard these last few days.”

“Why are they interrogating you when you’ve done nothing wrong? Also I haven’t been working.”

Hakyeon grips one of the metal bars to lean closer to you as he gives you a sly smirk. “Who’s to say I haven’t done anything wrong?” He croons with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “And I know. You’ve been cooped up in the infirmary for over a week.”

You also bring yourself forward only to narrow your eyes at him. “Stop trying to change the subject, your means of distraction are clearly not working. You’re the one who warned me something was going to happen.”

His humorous expression doesn’t change in the slightest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Things always happen during Siragar. Besides, I’m merely checking to see how you’ve been doing.”

You huff and scoot even more closer, leaning until your head is just up against the cold metal bars. “What’s going on, Hakyeon? What can’t you say?” You murmur softly.

“I can say whatever I want,” is his aloof answer.

“Then what aren’t you telling me? Do you know who the shooter is?” You basically plead, wishing he could tell you something, anything, that could be useful in figuring all this out.

His red irises, blending in with his bloodshot eyes, calmly meet yours as he stares back at you in silence, any sense of humor now gone. “I didn’t know there was a shooter.”

“Okay, so what have they been interrogating you about?”

“Everything,” he hisses, sparing a glance over to the stairwell entrance. “Look, you really shouldn’t be here. It’s not going to matter soon anyway.”

You look into the near empty cell, watching the others curl up and sleep after having finished their meal. “Have they been killing the others?” You ask, voice increasing in pitch.

“Let’s just say they won’t be coming back,” he answers darkly.

“Who ordered this to happen?”

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Just limit your visits in the meantime. Oh, and good luck,” he says before slinking back into his corner.

Before you can call for him, you hear the door clang open and quickly get to your feet. Lhaine peeks her head inside and finds you. “There you are. What are you doing all the way down here?”

“Food delivery,” you explain, showing her the empty bucket.

“You’re not supposed to be working, remember?” She reminds, beckoning you over. “Come on, we’re being summoned.”

“By who?”

“The family wants to talk to all the servants.”

She brings you upstairs where the kitchen is now empty. Going down the hall, she leads you to the throne room where everyone is gathered. The King, Queen, and prince are seated in their respective seats while Miss stands front and center before them. From up the stairs comes Bren with Kala and Ink, they descend quickly before getting into place along with the rest just as Rae appears with Thorn, Steel, and the floating heads.

“Everyone is accounted for, Your Majesties,” Miss informs, her back stiff as she bows low.

The King nods and stands. “Let us begin. On Hallow’s Evening, there was an assassination attempt. You will tell us everything you did and everything you know. Speak the truth only.” He jerks his head and Rae steps forward, standing just to the right of the thrones and waits. “Raelin, do you swear as Truthsayer to convey no falsehoods in all manners of speech for both yourself and those being questioned at hand?”

Rae swallows thickly, her skin pale white and face splotchy red. “By the written accords of Sailapeth, I swear on my life to relay only the truth from both myself and the questioned parties. If no falsehoods are corrected or brought to light, then my life may be subject to forfeit.”

“Miss, you will start first. Explain what you did on Hallow’s Evening.”

Your boss recounts every place she had been and for each specific purpose in a collected manner as though she’s merely telling a story. Every question she’s asked is confirmed by Rae until they move on to the next person. It continues like this, each person speaking about what they did, who they spoke to, and what they remember before and after the gunshot.

When Dust is next she steps forward, padding slowly onto the carpet before them. Her figure trembles as she twiddles her fingers together, risking a quick glance up at the King before fixating her gaze to the ground.

“Where were you that night?”

“I was in the kitchen,” the girl starts, her voice soft to where you can just barely pick up her words from the back. “Chef needed my help with the food.” While she fiddles with her hands, she puts her right foot on top of her left.

“Truth,” says Rae.

“Did you step foot in the ballroom at all?”

“Yes,” Dust murmurs.

“What did you do?”

She moves her left foot over the other now. “I danced—”

“Speak up!” The King barks. “And quit fidgeting.”

Her shaking increases tenfold and she grips the sides of her dress, taking a few breaths. “I danced with the Queen for a little, but returned to the kitchen afterwards,” she answers with a raised voice.

“Is that where you were when you heard the shot?”

She shakes her head. “I was here, in the throne room.”

“Why?”

“I was delivering another batch of sweets, but dropped them after I heard the gunshot.” Her high-pitched voice quivers as though she’s about to burst into tears at any moment and you wish you could hold her hand or do anything to provide her some form of comfort.

The King looks to Rae and she nods. “Truth.”

“What did you see?”

“Everyone running for the exits.”

“Anything suspicious?” He’s glaring at her now, shifting his position until he’s partially leaning forward.

Dust swallows but keeps her attention fixated on the ground despite feeling the glower being directed her way. “Some fought with each other, but the Sisters directed them to the proper exits,” she says, indicating to the floating heads grouped together.

There’s a pause as he considers her words before looking at Rae and she verifies her statement. “Dismissed,” he says.

From behind him, the Queen snaps her fingers and motions to Dust, beckoning her forward. The girl bows and steps around the King, giving a wide berth until she walks quickly to the thrones to crouch beside her seat. The Queen pats her cheek before stroking the top of her head.

The King shuts his eyes briefly, sighing in annoyance once, then opens his mismatched eyes to stare at the floating heads. “Bell, you will start.”

He begins asking various questions to the floating heads, each answering accordingly until Thia is the last to go.

“Thia, you kept watch in the off-limit zones to ensure guests didn’t go wandering, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Truth.”

“And all the guests cooperated? No one was seen sneaking around?”

“Yes, everyone cooperated. One guest was found wandering lost upstairs. They thought the restrooms were near the library,” she explains.

“Truth.”

He blinks his glowing eyes at her incredulously. “And you didn’t find that suspicious? An unknown person wandering around supposedly lost?”

“They had the proper markings needed to gain entry to the party,” she stutters.

“Which were?”

“A triangle with a curved arch in the center of it.”

There’s a collective gasp from her sisters as everyone else stares at her in shock. Even the Queen and V have gone still. The King is the first to move, his brows raising at her answer.

“Lie,” Rae says.

Thia blinks, floating uncertainly in the air. “I don’t understand.”

Bell hovers unsurely before drifting slightly closer to her. “It was a crescent moon with an arrow cutting across it.”

“Yes, I remember. . .but it was changed. You told me yourself, Cara,” Thia cries, turning to look at her sister who stares back in return.

Cara slowly shakes her head, face falling in despair. “I never told you it was changed. All the other guests had the correct markings.”

“I heard you, you were there upstairs before the ball began when the rest of the guests were set to arrive.”

“No, Thia,” she whispers, “I wasn’t.”

The King growls, gaze flickering between the two of them. “What incompetence brews here? Cara, did you tell Thia about any changes in markings?”

“No,” she replies, her voice growing thick.

“Truth,” Rae says.

“I swear that’s what I was told!” Thia yells. “I know my sister’s voice, we spoke near the alcove!”

“Lie.”

At Rae’s response, the King clenches his teeth, upper lip curling into a snarl. “Disgraceful,” he growls. “Tell us all you know about this supposed guest. Distinguishing features, markings, everything.”

Thia floats unsurely, her strands of hair meeting before twisting at the ends while she anxiously thinks. “They spoke quietly and it was hard to make out their form, they could shapeshift I think. I don’t know what type of creature they were. I’m so sorry I—I don’t remember much, it was dark upstairs and we barely spoke,” she says, her voice high-pitched.

A haunting silence fills the space as no one utters a word while the King remains harshly staring. “My son was almost murdered and you can’t recall anything useful. Very well,” he states and begins walking towards her. While his tone remains calm, it doesn’t stop the hairs at the back of your neck from rising with dread. “I have all the answers I need. In an attempt to hide your role in this, you tried to frame your sister and allowed a threat into our midst.”

“I’m not lying, please!” She begs, her head bobbing frantically until her hair is snatched by the King’s fist, holding her in place.

“You’ve outlived your usefulness. Your services will not be missed.” And then he throws her to the floor before lifting a booted foot. It smashes into her head, her skull crushing as chunks of brain and flesh spray across the ground. The grey stone darkens as blood paints the area.

Cara and her sisters scream out as everyone backs away. You lean into Lhaine, who grasps onto your arm tightly. Each of the three Faegel grimace, having been closest to the scene, stepping away while Mel flicks some gore off her clothes with a sneer. Kala winces, avoiding looking directly at what’s left of Thia as she tries keeping her gaze straight ahead. Behind Chef, you see that Ink is a puddle on the floor. Across the room, Dust is huddling close into the Queen’s embrace and you see V shut his eyes, wincing when Bell lets out an anguished wail.

“Was that necessary to do now and not after questioning the rest?” The Queen loudly asks above the noise, still caressing the side of Dust’s face.

“Silence!” The King bellows, the sound echoing around the room and the sisters’ cries instantly quiet though they don’t stop. Not bothering to turn and look at the Queen he continues, “An example needed to be made and a punishment to be fulfilled on a conspirator. Or do you not care that our son’s life was threatened?”

You watch her eyes change to black, void of any color as she glowers in return. A chill engulfs the room and you shiver at the sudden temperature drop. “You of all people should know the answer to that,” she spits. The temperature drops again to the point where your shuddering breaths appear in the air only to suddenly vanish as the cold dissipates, letting the heat return. “Miss, I want that damned carpet cleaned afterwards,” she demands.

A brief tremor runs through Miss, but she collects herself and bows. “It will be done right away.”

The King ignores them, merely wiping his bloody boot on the carpet before returning to glare at the group of servants. “Where’s the boy?” Ink disappears from behind Chef and reappears with a light pop at the front. He takes a small step back from the mess and bows. “We’re now under the impression that this unknown suspect possibly came from the library,” the King starts. “Were you there the entire night?”

“Yes, but I saw no one enter or leave. I’ve also talked with the figures and examined the painting multiple times, it wasn’t broken or forced,” Ink explains in a flurry of words.

“Truth,” Rae says, her face pinched in discomfort as she does her best to remain calm despite the carnage left front and center.

“Any other evidence?”

“Just this,” Ink responds and from his body pulls a strand of blonde hair before giving it to the King. “It was found near the passageway.”

The King smells it briefly and looks up. “Care to explain yourself, Bren?” Upon hearing her name, she visibly pales, her face going a slight shade of green as she’s called forward. “You’ve been with us for many years. Did you know the secrets of that painting and use it for some hidden motive?”

Bren shakes her head.

“Say it,” he orders.

Clearing her throat, she briefly glances at Thia’s remains before answering. “I do know the secrets, I’ve heard it before unintentionally, but there’s no hidden motive.”

“Lie,” Rae answers softly.

“Did you let someone in that night? Or are you the one we’re looking for? If we search your room will we find the weapon?” The King fires in rapid succession.

At his accusations, her trembling becomes more pronounced. “No, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Truth.”

He approaches until he’s towering over her and grips her throat, lifting her into the air. “Do you know who the assassin is?”

“No!” She gasps.

Rae grunts then, clutching the sides of her head as she leans over. She’s stuck on her words, tongue unable to make any syllables. “L—l,” she begins, but seems incapable of finishing. Blood starts dripping from her nose, dropping to the ground and further coloring it. “Just tell the truth!” She groans.

“I am,” Bren strains, fingers clawing at the hand cutting off her air supply.

“I grow tired of your games,” he says. Putting her back down, he unsheathes a dagger from his hilt and positions it against her jugular while she struggles within his hold.

“No, I beg you, please!” She squawks, frantically writhing against him. Her nose grows sharper as she begins transforming, birdlike features appearing across her body.

Not again. Please, not another. You don’t stop to think twice when blood starts seeping from the cut that emerges on her skin. “She didn’t do it!” You yell.

Your sudden outburst draws the attention of everyone in the vicinity. Lhaine’s fingernails are etching deep into your skin, squeezing down to the bone of your forearm. V’s standing now, his eyes trained to his father who doesn’t move closer, only adjusting the aim of his dagger towards you. With a solid grip on Bren, he redirects his spewing rage to you. “What evidence do you have?” It’s a simple question, but his blade shines with promises of instant suffering should you answer incorrectly.

“I couldn’t see the shooter, but they were male. It happened too fast to notice anything else.”

“And you’re certain this information is factual?”

“Yes, the information is true.” You can’t feel your arm anymore, Lhaine’s grasp having cut off circulation to where the tips of your fingers are completely numb.

All eyes flit to Rae, who’s upright again and she visibly cowers from the sudden attention. Though she’s covered in sweat with blood trailing from her nose down to her lips, she wipes her face with her palms and clears her throat. “Truth,” she murmurs, shoulders heavy and without strength.

The King releases his vise-like grip on Bren and she collapses to the ground, talon fingers clutching her head as she faintly whimpers, gasping for air. “Anything else?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, it was too dark and all I saw were shadows.”

“Truth.”

He hums, glaring at you with those menacing eyes. His upper curls as he regards you, gaze piercing directly through you before eventually returning his dagger to its hilt. “I see. In the meantime, any suspicious behavior will be reported to your superior. As for you,” he looks down at Bren still at his feet, “you will be under constant supervision by Miss or Chef. You will not leave the servants’ quarters unless you’re accompanied by either of the two. Punishment will result in you being held in the dungeon with your wings shredded. Understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she stutters, putting her forehead low to the ground before stumbling to her feet and stepping back into the group.

“Wretched creature,” he mutters before turning away. “Dismissed. And you three, clean up this mess at once,” he orders Cara and her sisters.

Hovering low to the ground, they use their hair to collect the remnants of Thia, picking up the scattered pieces of flesh and bone. You automatically start towards them, but are suddenly pulled away by Lhaine as everyone disperses. V’s eyes catch your own as you’re taken up the stairs, but you lose contact after turning the corner while Lhaine practically drags you to your room.

She shoves you inside, letting go and immediately slamming the door behind her. While she rests her head against the doorframe, you massage your arm as blood flow returns to your veins, the feeling of prickly pins and needles cascading across your skin. Inhaling deeply, she whips around to face you. “What was that?”

“What? I told the truth,” you scoff, shaking your arm to get rid of the tingling.

“Do you know how close you were to being executed? We were this close to wiping up both yours and the harpie’s blood off the stones,” she hisses, pinching her fingers together.

“I was careful with my words.”

Your insistence only exasperates her further as she furiously shakes her head, long hair whipping back and forth. “If he had decided to keep pressing, you would’ve lost in the end. He’s done interrogations for many centuries, you haven’t.”

“I had to say something,” you say incredulously.

“Why?”

“She was going to die! Doesn’t that bother you?” You ask, folding your arms across your waist, memories of blood and bone remaining persistent at the forefront of your mind.

Lhaine throws her hands in the air, facial expressions going through a myriad of emotions. “To be honest, not really. And no, it’s not because I dislike her. She needs to be taken down a peg, sure, but I don’t wish her dead. I don’t think she would’ve deserved it, but she’s hiding something,” she insists, pacing across your room.

You watch her for a moment as you sit at the edge of your bed. “No one else was going to do anything.”

She huffs a laugh. “Yes, because whatever happened back there was pretty damning. Even if someone else knew something they wouldn’t say anything because no one’s willing to risk their life.”

“Bren could still be innocent.”

“So? That’s not good enough to risk your own life for.” Her feet roughly stomp against the stone and she spins around once she reaches the wall.

You watch her go from one end to the other across your room while you clutch at your sheets. “Maybe for you and everyone else, but I had to at least try.”

“Again why? For the debt she owes you now? You don’t seem like the type to collect them.”

The pacing of her feet steadily increases until she’s speed walking around your room and you snatch her arm to hold her in place, insisting that she look at you. She does so reluctantly, midnight hair nearly hiding away her red irises. “Lhaine, one innocent person was already killed and another possibly innocent one too. It would’ve been cruel and...inhumane,” you helplessly finish.

She comes forward, leaning down to gently rest her hands on your shoulders. “That’s the thing. We’re not human. You care about others, but down here; it’s considered weak and naive. We don’t just willingly sacrifice ourselves for the sake of others.”

“Would you have stood by if I were in her position?” You fire back.

She glowers at you, biting the inside of her cheek. “I would have said something, anything, to try and help you. But I care about you. I’ve talked to Thia a few times, she’s quiet and polite. You already know my stance with Bren. I don’t feel anything for them. Not enough to risk my own head. It’s selfish, Y/N, but we’re also persevering. We do what we can to survive and do things that benefit ourselves with rare exceptions of bonds or close relationships.”

“Well I’m sorry that my human qualities aren’t acceptable here, I get it,” you say, desperately flailing your hands. “We’re in fucking Hell, it’s expected. I’m not a saint by any means, but when something’s not right and someone’s life depends on it, I have to try to say or do something.”

She looks away, dropping her head briefly before groaning quietly. “First of all, don’t apologize for being human. You basically come equipped with a moral compass unlike the rest of us down here. I’m not apologizing for being a demon even though my integrity is dubious at best and humans would probably exorcise me or whatever the fuck the moment they saw me. Who knows though,” she shrugs, “maybe your goodness will rub off on this place.”

“I’m not here to fix Hell and cure all evildoing.”

“It’d be stupid if you were,” she mutters. “No, but maybe you’ll end up passing on some of those good vibes or whatever to some of us.”

You pull your leg up to prop your foot against the side of the bed. She eases into the space next to you, keeping an arm around your shoulder while you silently rest your head on her own. “Maybe so. I just don’t want to see people getting murdered. That was an interrogation, execution, and torture session all in one,” you whimper. The crunching sound of bone still ricochets in your mind even though you’re trying to force yourself to focus on the present.

Lhaine holds you closer. “I know. The royal family is protective, paranoid, and furious about what happened, so they don’t care who gets hurt as long as they’re secure in the end.”

“The assassin needs to be found before more people die,” you mutter.

She barks a laugh. “Yeah, they do. But good luck chasing after them. They’re hidden well unless they’re long gone. Just be happy we’re alive.”

At least there’s that to consider, despite how morbid it is.

~*~

It’s only been a couple of days or so since that horrifying interrogation. Supposedly the family has started focusing on who all was at the ball and also could fit the description Thia gave before her…execution. What she described vaguely reminds you of the shadowy figure you saw from your old room all those nights ago. But they had been taller and for all you know could have also been another servant or guard whose job is keeping watch outside and just happened to be practicing their magic. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking on your part. Either way, you haven’t seen them since.

Sitting at your desk, you return to reading your book and looking at the drawings Jeon had given you. Opening the demon textbook, you unfold the artwork and examine them once more. The second one is still hard to distinguish what kind of setting it is because of the scrawling black lines, but when you tilt it beneath the light, you notice one of the rectangular shapes has something on top. The open book strikes a chord in your memory as you recognize your old bedroom in the servants’ quarters. Most of the colored areas cover the furniture, but it’s especially dark in one corner where an oddly shaped blob stands. It’s short, but the curve near the top of it resembles a person of some kind. Looking at where the head is, the light reveals three lines, two vertical and the one underneath horizontal, depicting eyes and a mouth.

Rubbing the back of your neck to get rid of the itchy sensation, you return to study the open book in the picture again and see a line drawn on the page. It’s not a decorative choice, considering it’s vertical and not horizontal. So is it the letter “i” or the number one? Could Jeon even be able to tell you? You can at least try.

You switch to his first drawing and examine it as well. No hidden figures seem to be there when putting it beneath the light, but when you trace your fingers across the back you feel indentations near the red dot. Quickly retrieving a blank sheet of paper, you use a pencil to scratch across it and reveal four sets of numbers. 9, 5, 18, 19. Again you stare at the picture, particularly focusing on the top part that’s colored in. Of course. Getting up from your seat, you snatch the papers and head out into the hallway only to be greeted by darkness. You didn’t even realize how late it had gotten, the clock in your room reading a quarter until midnight. He’s probably asleep and you don’t want to disturb him.

Just as you’re about to close your door, muffled cries sound from further down the hall. Peeking your head out, you see shadowy movement and your heart rate increases at the undulating person approaching. Before you’re about to slam the door shut, the dim light of the lamps reveal Bell’s head as she comes closer.

Her eyes are shut as she uses her long strands of hair to wipe away bloody tears. Sniffling once more, she opens her eyes and notices you in the doorframe, coming to a halt at the sight of you. “Excuse me, Ms. Y/N, I didn’t even detect your presence. I hope I didn’t disturb you,” she apologizes, quickly using more of her hair to effectively clean her face.

“No, you didn’t. I was going to go read anyway.”

“Oh. Well, I shall let you get back to your business,” she says, passing by your door to continue her rounds.

“Wait,” you tell her, reaching a hand out to somehow stop her and nearly grab a handful of her hair, awkwardly pausing as she turns to look back at you expectantly. “Do you need to talk about anything or is there any way I can help you?”

Bell does her best to replicate a calming smile, but the corners of her lips are trembling. “I’m fine, Y/N, you don’t need to worry about me,” she reassures, though there’s a quiver in her voice.

You hesitate, but don’t push further. “Okay, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I don’t mind listening.” Biting your lip, you continue, “I really am sorry for your loss,” you eventually say.

Fresh tears pool within her crimson orbs. “Your condolences are appreciated. Cara has been taking it especially hard.”

You nod, tossing your papers onto your desk before closing the door behind you. Bell cocks her head and you point behind you to the staircase. “I’m just going to get a glass of water from downstairs.”

“Please don’t assume I’m asking you for any obligations because I mentioned my sister. We’ll be alright in due time.”

“I know, but I need to go to the servants’ quarters anyway. Besides, I don’t usually get much sleep most nights.”

She nods. “I see. Then have a good rest of the night.”

“You too,” you tell her as she floats away from you and continues down the hall.

Going down the stairs, you walk to the kitchen and get a glass of water. Heading to the sink, you let out a small shriek upon finding Cara in the basin. Water splashes as she’s startled by your sudden appearance, only to relax again when she recognizes you.

“Hello, Y/N,” she greets as she settles down in place. She has a pot filled with water and is currently submerging her neck inside while her hair drapes across the counter.

“Hey, Cara,” you respond, pulling a stool up next to her. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m soaking,” she says.

“Looks comfortable,” you comment to which she nods in return. “Is that ice?”

“Yes. Figured I’d give myself a break.” A part of her hair reaches for the bowl of ice cubes and takes one, carrying it to her mouth where she eats it. The frozen cube slides around, puffing her cheeks every now and then as she sucks on it. “Were you here for some water?”

You nod and her hair reaches for your glass. You hand it to her and she turns the faucet head away from her spa setup to fill it before asking, “Would you like some?” She motions to the bowl.

“Um, sure, if that’s okay.” She uses more of her hair and they drop three cubes into your cup. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

After taking a gulp, you set your drink on the little section of the counter that doesn’t have her hair on it. “How long have you been here?”

Her hair lifts up before limply falling down in a makeshift shrug. “For the past half hour or so.”

“I’m guessing Bell doesn’t know.”

“No, not that it matters. Even if she did, what would she do? Tell on me so the King can step on my brains too?” She scoffs.

You wince at her heated words. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

She huffs and bites hard at the ice cube where it crunches loudly. “It’s not the first execution I’ve been a witness to.”

“No, but Thia,” you cringe as you prepare yourself to continue, “was your sister.”

“Not anymore,” she mutters. “And don’t feed me your hopeful condolences, I don’t want to hear it. She’s a memory, nothing more now.”

Her words strike a chord as you take in what she means. “She didn’t ascend yet, did she?”

Cara inhales, breath catching on a slight whimper as she sinks down, the water up to her chin. “No. She wasn’t even close.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, hand reaching out to touch the top of her head, hesitating as you pause there unsurely before caressing it softly. “Is there anything I can do to help, anything you need?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. Your company is more than enough.” Reaching to grasp a large handful of ice, she dumps the cubes into the pot and settles once more. You both fall into a quiet state, letting silence fill the space while you stand beside her as she continues floating in the water. Time passes as you take a sip from your glass every so often. “Tell me about your sister,” she abruptly says, causing you to jump from her sudden words while she shifts within the ice. “Please,” she quietly adds.

“Are you sure?” You hesitate. “I don’t want to accidentally upset you.”

Cara lets herself slide down until she’s lying flat and floating on the cool water. “It’s okay, I just need a distraction. I’ve accepted what happened, I’m just getting lost in my head and I don’t want to be.”

“I get it, it’s really easy to be overwhelmed by everything. And that’s okay. Just don’t keep those emotions locked in the back of your mind forever. When you’re comfortable or ready, try to make time so you can let those out before they become too much. Only when you’re ready though,” you insist and she nods, her head bobbing in her makeshift pool.

“But as for my sister, she’s funny. It’s not just her optimism that helps her cope with her illness, it’s also her sense of humor. Whenever she’d have to stay in the hospital, she’d rate the medicine they’d give her from pretty tasty I want more to awful, never again get rid of my taste buds. And she’d take it seriously too on deciding where she thought each medicine went. We even made a game of it. She’d rate the medicine and then compare it to something that tasted similar.”

“So what would the awful medicine be like?” Cara wonders.

You bite your lip as you think back to all the different ones. Each medicine she tried would somehow be worse and worse one right after the other. “Oh, there was one kind she said was way too sickly sweet, almost like artificially sweetened medicine and it apparently reminded her of fruit whiskey. So I actually went, after making her promise to stay because she insisted on sneaking out with me, and bought a small bottle of some peach whiskey, had a shot, and it wasn’t good. Maybe it was that specific type but I got an idea of what she meant,” you laugh, tongue recoiling upon remembering the overpowering alcohol that coated it.

“Would she do that a lot, sneak out?” Cara looks up at you, red eyes peering from in the water.

Clearing your throat, you scratch the side of your neck in chagrin. “Yeah, kind of. Our parents usually knew, she’d act like she had all her energy that day but we’d have to take a lot of breaks whenever we ventured out. One time she suddenly got really tired and the walk was pretty far so I rented an electric scooter, a little vehicle and rode it back home. People gave us odd looks when they saw younger me with my big sister practically slumped on top while I’m trying to drive normally. They probably thought she was drunk or hungover, which that’s how she felt in a way. Lightheaded and dizzy, but she was giggling about it the whole time.” You can’t help the smile that creeps up on your lips as you remember her trying to help steer but nearly sent you both careening into a stop sign.

“We did that too sometimes,” Cara says, breaking you free from your reminiscence, “my sisters and I. Bell didn’t always come because she insisted on keeping watch but there was one time we all went to Whimsy Waters, a pretty lake not too far from here, and we went looking for jaws. It’s a common place for jawbones to be discarded and if you find one with a severed tongue still inside, it can sing for you like a music box.” She grins while recalling the nostalgia of her memory yet you’re doing your best not to recoil, the glass in your hands shaking as you try keeping it steady. “Thia had managed to find one with a tongue and it sang so prettily. No words, just a lovely tune. She liked sneaking off to the rooftops and sing along with it, saying she’d pursue something in music after finishing her work here.”

Cara’s lip trembles as her eyes grow misty, bloody tears slipping from the corners. “She had a beautiful voice, we knew she could accomplish it. She would’ve.” A quiet sob escapes her and she cuts it off, using strands of hair to cover her mouth.

Your fingers run across the top of her head as she silently cries while you whisper soothing words to her. The two of you stay there with the melting ice bobbing in the pot as silence eventually returns to the somber atmosphere.

Eventually, she wipes away her tears and sits upright. “What time is it even?” She wonders.

A glance around the space soon has you locating the clock and checking the hands. “It’s just past one,” you inform her, and she shuts her eyes, tendrils of her hair rising to cover them. “Don’t worry, I don’t think anybody knows we’re down here anyway,” you try to reassure her. “I might head out soon though, there’s something I need to check on.”

She nods, strands of hair falling back into the water as she heaves a sigh. “I should probably go too. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time,” she apologizes and you’re quick to assure her.

“You’re completely fine, please, I don’t mind at all. I want to be here and help if you need me.”

“Still, what’s stopping me from staying here the rest of the night?” She muses, floating within her ice bath.

“Nothing actually,” you reply, “you’re free to grieve however you need to and for however long. But maybe you can continue your patrol before morning comes just so you don’t get in trouble. I know you're in pain, it’s understandable, just please be careful,” you plead. “Even if you think it doesn’t matter, your sisters still care about you. And so do I.”

She looks up at you, briefly dwelling in her thoughts for a moment. “Thank you. You also make a fair point, we can’t support each other if we’re dead,” she sighs. “At least we don’t have to exactly be presentable when on patrol, just alert.” Lifting herself out of the water, she dumps everything from the pot, the ice cubes clattering into the sink as she puts it back in the storage closet. “Don’t worry, they don’t use that pot for food. Plus, it’s not like I pee in it or anything,” she snorts and you chuckle softly. After wringing her hair out over the sink as well, you watch how she weaves the strands with ease until they’re tied into a simple bun that sits above her head.

Leaving the kitchen, the two of you go down the hall in silence, each lost in your own thoughts that you don’t even pay attention to where you’re heading until you pause in front of the wooden door. “I don’t know why I went this way, this isn’t my room anymore.”

“Ah, that’s why I haven’t seen you in some time. Where are you staying now?”

“Upstairs in one of the guest rooms.”

She smiles. “That’s great. I’m sure it’s much nicer compared to these rooms.”

“It is,” you agree.

“Shall we head that way?” She asks, tilting her chin to point in that direction.

You shake your head. “It’s okay, I kind of want to check and see if I accidentally left anything behind anyway.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.” She pauses, floating unsurely in the air. “I’m also grateful for the time you’ve spent with me tonight.”

“Me too, Cara. I enjoy talking with you,” you smile at her. She leaves and you watch her until she disappears around the corner before turning back to the door.

Taking a breath, you carefully open it and peek inside. The room is pitch black, curtains blocking all light from outside. You keep a close eye on the corner where you once thought you saw a shadowy figure as you go sit on the bed. Nothing happens while you listen and observe your surroundings, not a noise of any kind either inside or out. As if this room is truly empty. With each passing minute, you feel yourself relax and you try standing, but your legs refuse to move. A chill rushes through your body as you’re suddenly filled with exhaustion and as if by instinct you curl up into your former bed to lie down. The silence only eases your mind further while you become encapsulated by sleep.

When you wake, you find yourself in a much comfier position and you roll over, touching the silk sheets that cover your body. You rub your eyes and sit up, recognizing the purple décor of your room. The last thing you remember is lying down in the old one, but you must’ve gotten up to come back at some point. Getting to your feet, you stumble against the nightstand as you struggle to maintain balance. Stretching your body, you shake away the static sensation that layers above your skin and wait for your blood to circulate more before starting your morning.

After having showered and dressed, you fetch some breakfast for yourself and gather your things from last night, taking them to the library. Opening the door, you step inside and find yourself a table to set your things on. You scan the room for the blobbed figure, but he’s not on the ground floor and when you look up you see him hanging from one of the upper shelves, green mist wafting around him and the high rafters above.

Ink disappears and, despite hearing the distinct pop, you still jump when he suddenly stands in front of you. “You’re staring, what do you want?”

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Depends on the favor,” he scoffs.

“I need help finding a book.” He glances around the room and grabs a random book from the shelf beside him, holding it up to you. “Funny, but that’s not what I mean,” you say. It takes you a second to rifle through the sheets of paper until you hand him the note with the numbers. “Can you go to the ninth row and fifth column up there?” You ask, pointing to the bookshelf across from where he was earlier.

His white eyes blink up at you. “You do know you actually can’t read those, right? Maybe try some spooky bedtime stories from the children’s section instead,” he suggests, jerking his chin to the opposite end of the library.

“I think I have enough nightmares to last me a lifetime, but thanks for the recommendation,” you dryly answer.

Giving you another look, he shrugs and pops away. “Suit yourself,” you hear from above as he lands on the second floor and climbs up the shelves. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when you start scratching at your eyes and make them bleed.” Scaling sideways, he counts each book until finding the one you need and then he jumps down, dissolving before he hits the ground abruptly reappearing in front of you. He tosses the book and you catch it, wincing when the weight causes your shoulder to twinge in protest. “Oops, sorry. Forgot about your injury. Are you still recovering?”

Hoisting the large tome on top of the table, you lean down to check the drawings again. “I’m fine and yes, us humans aren’t that durable. Actually, I was hoping you could help me with reading it.”

“Look I’m not that sorry,” he says, turning around and walking to a cart with books haphazardly scattered across.

“I only need two pages.” Or so you hope, you think to yourself as you follow after him.

Waving you off with a flick of his hand, he mutters, “I’m busy.”

“Please?” You beg, standing beside the cart as his eyes scan across a paper full of notes, a catalog of some sort. “Maybe I can give you something in return.”

“Your hand?” He wonders.

Even though you know he’s being sarcastic, you instinctively pull your hand closer to yourself. “Preferably none of my body parts.”

Ink sighs loudly as he grabs a book and shoves it into an empty slot on the bookcase. “I didn’t mean permanently. Help me put these books on the shelf while I clear space and I’ll tell you what’s there.”

“Deal.”

At least you can tell Kala you got some decent exercise in today. Thankfully, the books aren’t that big and you use your uninjured arm to do most of the work. When you’re done, you both go sit down and he thumbs through the pages until stopping at the one you need.

Ink tilts the book away so you can’t see anything, but you think you catch a picture from your peripherals, resisting the urge to look. “So this book that you need for some reason is about elixirs and potions. The strong stuff that not anyone can just get.”

“What’s the name of that one?” You ask, pencil poised above your notes and ready to begin writing.

“Belegur, a potion used for curing possessions.”

Your pencil freezes in the middle of writing the name as you look up at him. “Curing possessions?” You breathe.

His face scrunches in confusion at your surprise. “Yeah, what are you possessed or something?”

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. “No, it’s for someone else. What else does it say?”

He looks down to scan the page and then looks up. “There’s a description followed by a recipe and instructions.”

Your pencil taps the paper, tiny dots of granite decorating the sheet. “Can you start from the top?”

He shuts the book, marking the page with his finger in between. “Uh, that wasn’t part of our deal. You want more, then I want something in return.”

“Fine, what do you want?” You ask impatiently.

“I want something sweet from the kitchen,” he says.

“Sure thing, but I want this first.” You point your pencil at the book.

He eyes you dubiously before eventually sighing dramatically. “Fine. Just know that I’ll make you read this book from beginning to end until your eyes turn to pulp if you don’t keep your end of the bargain,” he threatens.

“I’ll take your word for it,” you laugh whilst rolling your eyes, knowing he’s probably at least half serious. You snatch the pencil and begin scribbling down his words in a flurry.

Combine all ingredients at once. Need to be mixed thoroughly in a boiling vessel. Once complete, the possessed subject must consume the entire potion and the creature will be purged.

-500mL of Blood from Enactor

-Tears of Remorse

-Dew Petals from Corpse Blossom (Calamity Caverns)

-Holy Water

-Purging Fluid (Numbing Fields)

-Sickly Sweet Apple (Scorching Dunes)

Keep Belegur in black crystalline vial until ready to drink

“Do you know where I could find the rest?”

“You have to find someone that’s actually sorry for their sins, which might not be too hard. Good luck with the holy water though. Unless you plan on visiting Heaven too,” Ink snickers.

Perhaps you’ll be lucky and find a secret passage or portal that leads up there, yet you doubt it would be that easy. “I’m not planning on it anytime soon. Of course, the change in scenery would be nice,” you say, scribbling down a few more notes before standing. “Let me get you that snack you were asking for. What’s it look like?”

“Oh yeah, it’s a chocopuff. It’s just a little ball of chocolate and cream that’s at the top of the pantry. Don’t let Chef catch you though because she’ll be pissed.”

No surprise there either. “And probably cut my hands off with her cleaver, which would really suck,” you laugh.

“Yeah, cause then I’d lose the extra help from you when you’d want random favors,” he snorts to himself yet his smile is wide, white eyes gleaming.

Getting to the pantry isn’t an issue thankfully as Chef focuses only on her cooking, but sneaking the rather large ball of sugar took some precise timing whenever she’d abruptly turn for an ingredient. So you wrap the treat in a napkin and do your best not to run back to the library, desperately hoping Miss doesn’t happen to be lurking around the corridors. Once you’re shoving yourself through the mahogany doors, you quickly shut them and scurry to where Ink is standing in the alcove.

“Here’s your treat as requested,” you tell him, but he merely glances at you before returning his focus to the books he’s searching through.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t ask for anything,” he mutters.

Your brows furrow while he nonchalantly continues working. His change in demeanor has you carefully peeking around only to find that you two aren’t alone, noticing a seated figure hidden within the shadows of the alcove. You bow hastily, crossing your arms behind your back in a poor attempt to hide the snack. “Good morning, V, I mean, Your Highness,” you practically shout, voice raising at the end of your sentence.

“Could you make it any more obvious?” Ink grumbles under his breath. “This is the last in the series, Your Highness,” he explains, setting the heavy tomes on the table before him.

“Thank you,” V says before greeting you with a faint smirk. “Good morning, Ms. Y/N.”

Ink steps by you and snatches the treat from behind your back, seemingly eating it in one bite. “Don’t be formal on my account,” you hear him mutter though half the words are garbled as he chews.

You stiffen at his words, wondering if he knows that the prince can both hear and visibly see him chewing as he walks away.

“I’ll have to remember that next time,” V tells him and the boy ducks his head, using his hand to cover his mouth. He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. She’s training to become a master thief anyway,” he chuckles while retrieving the brown book on top and starts sifting through the pages.

“Desperate times, desperate measures,” you say.

“You’ve proven to have good reason before,” he notes, giving you a knowing look and he doesn’t hide the humor evident in his irises.

He won’t be letting you live your attempted escapade down anytime soon. Leaning against the bookshelf, you cross your arms as you regard him. “I’m glad you see it like that. So what brings you here this morning?”

“I’m waiting on the others to get here actually,” he explains, still combing through the text. “We’re discussing how to search for this assassin while throwing in some politics as well.”

You glance back at the doors, half expecting them to suddenly show up at the mere mention. “Your friends are still here?”

“They want to help considering I was almost killed and no one’s been caught.”

His words draw your attention back to him again, reawakening the bloody nightmare from that night. As you do, you take note of the faint lines of exhaustion still remaining just below his eyes that have a slight tinge of red to them. “How’ve you been doing with all this? Trying to manage a kingdom while an attempted murderer is after you seems overwhelming.”

V shakes his head, apparently unfazed by the issue. “It’s nothing new. We’ve had one other attempt a decade or two ago, but they were disposed of not too long after. A sword cut through my father’s chest as he slept one night and it somehow missed his organs. He recovered fairly quickly in a few days,” he says, nonchalantly marking the page in the book he’s currently holding before setting it aside to grab another one as he begins doing the same as before.

Confusion sweeps across your face because that surely seems counterintuitive. “But isn’t he immortal and unable to die?” You question.

He nods, his lips barely quirking upwards. “Yes, but if one can do enough damage to an immortal, recovery is tedious and can be quite a process.”

“I’d still be afraid to sleep after that,” you shudder.

He shrugs with a slight tilt of his head. “After a while it gets easier, though it’s been hard these last couple of nights,” he admits.

Propping your arm against the sturdy wood, you rest your head on your fist, studying him carefully. “How come?”

V sighs, going silent for a moment as he parses for whatever information he needs until eventually answering in a low tone. “Thia was the one to patrol our section of the castle at night. I never talked to her, only in passing actually, but even though I never heard her, I knew she was there. Since her. . .death, Bell has been the one to patrol both her and her sister’s sectors from now on. She does it, but it’s been difficult for her.” His fingers catch on the pages a few times before he relents to using his nails to pry the thin paper apart as he finally turns it.

You wince, recalling your own encounter with Cara earlier. How do people manage to stay sane in this place? “I can only imagine. Especially after witnessing it herself.”

His shoulders hunch ever so slightly as he sets the book aside, eyes focused on the stone flooring. He doesn’t say anything for a moment before eventually breathing a quiet sigh, one that sounds prolonged with age. “Yes, my father reacted too quickly. He doesn’t accept mistakes as proper excuses.”

“I’ve noticed.” There’s an edge in your voice that doesn’t go unseen, the prince grimacing as his eyes zero in on your arms as you both remember your clumsy mistake that led to those circumstances. Your fingers gently tap against one of the shelves as you glance down. “Bell is doing her best to manage, and so is Cara. I haven’t talked to Hiss though. I just hope they’re okay.”

Nodding somberly, he slumps against the sofa with his back heavily hitting the velvet cushion. “Yes, I hope the same.”

There’s a bout of silence as you withdraw into your thoughts before clearing your throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” He wonders, breaking free from his own thoughts.

You go to your table and retrieve the book, keeping your line of sight away as you open it to the correct page. “Have you heard of this before?” You show him the picture of the potion you need.

“Belegur? How did you come across this?” He takes the book from you, skimming the text before turning the page.

“I figured it out through one of Jeon’s drawings. He had coordinates leading to this specific potion.”

His head jerks up, brows rising as well as he regards you incredulously. “Congratulations on solving one of his riddles. Those aren’t easy by any means. You think this potion will cure your sister?” He inquires, tapping on the sheet.

You nod. “If what Ink read is true, I think this is what she needs.”

“How do you plan on getting it to her?”

The question briefly halts the rising seed of hope that grows within you but you toss the doubts aside. “Well, after I get the ingredients for it I’m hoping there’ll be a portal or something that can take me home.”

V cocks his head to the side, propping his chin on his knuckles. “And how are you getting said ingredients?”

You hesitate, shifting uncomfortably on your feet as you smooth your sweaty palms on your clothes. “Well, if it’s not too much to ask, I was hoping you could take me or at least give me permission to go,” you mutter.

He stares at you, facial expression not shifting in the slightest as he says, “you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do actually,” you fire back.

“Oh really?” He scoffs, brown eyes alight with incredulity. “Because I can assure you the journey isn’t as simple as it sounds. It would take at least a day or two just to get to every realm.”

“I’d find a way.”

“Yes, I know you would,” he affirms, raking a hand through his blond strands of hair and effectively leaving them ruffled awry. “And while I respect your determination, it would only lead to your death.” He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regards you before sighing roughly. “You won’t take no for an answer,” he concludes. “I made a promise to help you, so I can fetch these ingredients instead.”

Your back stiffens ramrod straight in response. “I need to go with you,” you firmly answer.

“Why?”

“Because this is my problem so I should be trying to fix it.”

He shakes his head, mouth twitching in an attempt to keep from smiling. “These aren’t just places with tortured souls wandering about. All sorts of monsters roam in these areas, each with their own disturbed capabilities to kill.”

Rolling your shoulders, you try keeping your irritation at bay as you feel your fists tighten. “Look, I know I don’t know how to fight and even if I trained nonstop before leaving, my combat skills would be subpar at best. I can’t fight, but I’d do whatever I could to help. Use me as bait if you have to, but I’m going with you one way or another,” you seethe, your jaw clenching as you grit your teeth together and drop your hands on the table separating the two of you.

His eyes flash up to meet yours as though carefully searching for something. V eases to a stand and replicates your position, knuckles pressing firmly against the aged wood as his face hovers just before you. For a moment, you’re temporarily distracted by his close proximity and how close you can admire his features. The slight curl of his long lashes all the way to the cute mole at the tip of his nose. Ridding those thoughts away with a quick blink, you notice he’s still staring though there’s a slight smirk now playing on his lips.

“I’ll consider it,” he murmurs.

Your muscles relax as you sigh and relax your posture. “Thank you,” you breathe, willing to be appeased with that for now because at least it’s something.

“You’re welcome, Y/N. I’m not disregarding your demands, I just want to err on the side of caution,” he explains, still quietly observing you.

“I know.” When the double doors open with a groan you start collecting your things. “I should go. Also I don’t know if you’re aware or not,” you say, tossing a green notebook from one of the side tables on top of your stack, “but the prisoners need a break. I don’t think they should be punished if they haven’t done anything wrong.”

V blinks before realization dawns as his facial expression drops disappointedly. “I don’t know the whole situation about that, but I can attempt reasoning with my father who surely had a hand in it,” he sighs, massaging the side of his neck.

“Thanks.” You bow to him and head towards the doors, seeing his friends at the entrance. A majority of them simply nod in acknowledgement at you, though Min lightly pats your arm in passing.

RM who’s picking up the rear, lingers as you approach. “Ms. Y/N, I hope you’ve been well.”

“Yes sir, thank you.” You bow to him and Jeon. “And thank you, Jeon, for the drawing. It was very useful.”

He gives a short nod. “Glad I could help,” he quietly answers, his eyes focused on the floor.

Bowing once more, you walk passed and go to set your things down in your room before heading downstairs. Now that Ink has told you the ingredients, it won’t hurt to start searching for clues on how to find some of them since there’s no telling when V will be able to take you on your journey through Hell. And you might as well start with the person who seems to know everything. The metal door grinds as it opens, signaling your arrival and you head to the cells, where familiar black hair is sticking through the bars. You set the full bucket down, slipping the cans in between and rolling them across the dusty floor.

Hakyeon’s bare back rests against the gate and you put the gruel beside him. “I brought you some food,” you whisper to him.

Snorting in response, he lifts his shoulders for a mere second before sagging back down. “Oh joy. More scrumptious things to eat.”

“There’s more actually.”

“What? A slice of bread?” He sarcastically rejoices.

“Not exactly,” you say, holding up the green book next to him. That gets his attention as he reaches for it, but you hold it back, afraid of losing your upper hand and a wave of guilt washes over you until you tamp it down. “Can I ask you some questions first?”

“It’s not like I have a choice,” he mumbles, grabbing the can and turning around to fully face you where you let out a gasp.

Since you saw him last, he’s acquired more bruises and scratches, most of his face mottled with an array of discoloration. His left eye is marked purple from a recent welt and cuts are scattered about his jaw as well as his lips.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “But I think I might’ve been able to put a stop to the interrogations.”

He rolls his eyes before silently wincing from the movement. “That’s nice. The entertainment was growing a bit repetitive towards the end.” He cracks open his can and drinks. “So what do you want?”

Crouching down, you get comfortable as you sit on the scathed floor. “You said before that you didn’t know there was a shooter. Does that mean you knew there was a possible assassin?”

Hakyeon takes another gulp, then rests the cool can against the side of his face. “Something like that.”

“But how? And why didn’t you say anything?”

“Don’t be so judgemental. There were plenty of people in attendance that night, I thought the rumors pertained to a certain. . .acquaintance of mine. Shame, really.” He rests his face on the bars. “The others have been talking, getting restless,” he mutters, jerking his head towards the group huddled in the back corner. “It’s mostly nonsense, but something’s been riling them up.”

“Because of something here in the castle?”

He shakes his head. “No, from outside. From the forest, I presume.”

Again with that damned forest. You sigh before shaking your head. “One more question, where can I find holy water?”

The demon blinks once and blankly stares. “Do I look like an angel to you?”

You roll your own eyes in return with a huff. “No, but you don’t need to be an angel to get holy water.”

“True, but you need to know one to get it down here. And we’re not exactly on friendly terms with them,” he loudly whispers.

Rolling your eyes once more is tempting but you resist, otherwise they’d surely get stuck from doing it so often. “So how would one get it here?”

“By someone being able to provide strong evidence of wrongdoing that could disrupt the balance. It’s rare but not impossible. Or just impede on their chorus rehearsal and praying sessions.”

“Isn’t chaos and wrongdoing kind of what goes on down here all the time?”

He half-heartedly shrugs. “More so like setting monsters loose from hell or breaking down the gates of Heaven. Planning an uprising, taking over earth, etcetera, etcetera. And don’t give me that look. Yes, it’s quite calm down here, but it usually just stays here. Nothing too extreme that would worry angels.”

That catches your attention as you lean closer towards the cell, watching his omniscient crimson eyes which normally glimmer with unconcealed entertainment yet now reflect far more caution than usual. “So something big is happening?”

“Apparently, if you have something with access to holy water that’s trying to assassinate your prince.”

“He’s not my prince,” is your immediate retort.

The demon stares you down, brow arching in return. “Isn’t he? You serve him, do you not?” He affirms, lips poking out in a faux pout.

Gripping the iron bars in agitation, you give him a firm glare. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” He fires back.

You sigh, resisting the urge to bang your head against the cell bars. “Whatever. Are you actually implying someone is trying to assassinate him to prevent him from planning an uprising?”

Another casual shrug.

That doesn’t sound right. So far V hasn’t hinted at engaging in any violence let alone a war. “Why would he do that?”

He turns his palms upwards. “Power. Notoriety. Take your pick.”

You’re quick to shake your head. “That’s not him,” you deny.

“Well someone seems to think so. Besides, he's a prince. Both royals and politicians get killed off all the time. And it’s not always done inconspicuously either.”

“I guess that shouldn’t be surprising. Morality isn’t exactly taken into consideration here,” is your dry retort.

“Not even a bit, my darling,” he confirms with a grin.

You chew the inside of your cheek, mulling over this new information. “Thanks for the help,” you say, slipping the book through the bars.

“Of course. This interrogation is much more pleasant, especially with the added incentive,” he says, indicating towards his gift. “Are you taking your leave now?”

“I am,” you say, climbing to your knees and pulling yourself up. “I’ll come visit again soon hopefully.”

“Excellent. I wish you good luck on your endeavors.” Hakyeon manages a true smile, the first you’ve seen in a while.

You faintly manage one in return before leaving, heading up the steps and into the hallway. As you turn down one of the corridors, you hear quiet sobs coming from nearby. Peeking around the corner, you find Bren heavily leaning against a table. Though her back is to you, her tremors aren’t hard to miss. With her elbows bearing most of her weight on the tabletop, her legs barely keep her upright while her face remains hidden in the palms of her hands.

Stepping forward, you slightly clear your throat before quietly calling her name. She abruptly stills, not even breathing for several seconds until only her neck twists in your direction. Her eyes narrow, though the glare she inflicts towards you doesn’t hold its usual hatred, her blue eyes drained of any emotion.

“What?” She demands. “Do you want me on my knees thanking you for sparing my life? Or are you here to collect the favor I now inevitably owe you?”

You shake your head. “No, I was just passing through. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Heh,” she breathes. “As if.” She puts her hands on the table as she leans forward. Walking by her carefully, her head lifts and both your eyes meet in the mirror fixed onto the wall. “Is it true that the assassin is a male?”

“I don’t know,” you quietly admit, afraid to even say it out loud.

There’s a flash of surprise before she sneers in fury. “Then why did you say it?”

You’re not expecting any form of gratitude but her hostility has you bristling in return. “Because I’m tired of all this death! And even though you may hate me for whatever reason, I don’t think you should die when there’s no proof.”

Standing up straight, she turns around and props her hip against the side of the table. “Stupid human, pretending to be some godsend heroine will get you nowhere,” she hisses.

With your fists tensing in response, your jaw clenches as you resist angrily snapping at her, refusing to give her a reason to do something conniving. “I’m not trying to be anything,” you grind through your teeth.

“No, you’re just trying to impress the prince since he’s infatuated with you for some reason.” Her fingers fiddle with the black ribbon tied around her neck, tugging the fabric lightly.

“You’re wrong,” you snap.

Bren scoffs in disbelief. “Oh, please everyone can pretty much see it. It’s so pathetic,” she mutters with a disgusted grimace before it’s replaced with indifference. “Let me just remind you that he will be mine soon.” Her tone is hard yet beneath the determination within her words, there’s a faint quiver.

“That’s fine.” Your words remain neutral though the same can’t be said for your heart as it twinges slightly upon hearing your answer. It doesn’t matter. If ignoring any form of romance or companionship keeps you alive longer and helps you save your sister in the end, then the price means nothing.

She eyes you for another moment, disdain evident on her features before she wipes away her tears and storms off leaving you alone in the corridor.

— — —

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A/N: Finally, it’s here! Though it took much longer than intended or anticipated, I’d rather have waited and ensured that my headspace was better as well as worked on my writing until it was to a point where I’m happy with posting rather than trying to force it out. Thank you for patiently waiting, I really appreciate it. Much love!

#v scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts scenarios #bts imagines #v #bts #demon!v #my writing #To Hell and Back #*throws it into the void and scurries away*

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clareguilty · 3 years

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Arthur Morgan/reader, desperate sex

Here is my second fic for kinktober! The next should be up on Wdnesday <3

Arthur Morgan/fem!reader | desperate sex, dominant Arthur Mentions of death and injury, mild angst. I made the cowboy cry. Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~2000

“Who goes there?” a gruff voice demanded as you rode up the trail to camp.

“It’s just me, Bill,” you called back, tipping your tattered hat.

“What the hell?!” He blinked and rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe you were right in front of him. “You’re alive?”

You grinned, opening your arms wide. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

He watched dumbfounded as you rode the rest of the way up to Horseshoe Overlook. You had been gone more than a few days, and your worst fear was that the gang would have packed up and left. The job had gone terribly -- so terribly you had been stranded and lost with no way back -- which was a good reason for the gang to move on to somewhere where the law didn’t know their faces.

But everything was exactly the same. People milled about, scrubbing or packing or chopping. Dutch’s gramophone played on, louder than a dynamite blast and seemingly never ending.

“What in god’s name?” Hosea took one look at you, bruised and battered and covered in every inch of wilderness you had hiked through trying to get back to camp.

“Glad to see y’all are still here.” You groaned in pain as you slid out of the saddle, smacking your ‘borrowed’ horse on the rump and pointing her back to the road. “Go on, girl. Find your way back home.”

The horse slowly headed back the way it came. Hosea was staring at you.

“I know,” you frowned. “I look terrible.”

“No,” Hosea waved his hand, shaking his head. “It’s not that -- though you do look like shit. We thought you were dead. We mourned you.”

It was your turn to look taken aback. “Dead? You gave up on me that quick?”

“Sweetheart.” He gripped your arm as if he was still trying to convince himself you were real. “You fell off a bridge. Those rapids… the rocks…” he trailed off.

You grimaced. “It certainly wasn’t my best performance.”

“There wasn’t any time to go back and look for you, but we weren’t even sure we would have found a body.” He looked ashamed. “We failed you.”

“No,” you took his hands in yours, squeezing. “You did what you had to do. I couldn’t bear it if you had lost someone trying to come back for me.”

Sean was walking by, bottle in hand. He did a double take when he saw you standing there, glanced at his bottle, and then back at you. “You mean Dutch gave that long fancy speech for nothing? You had better not die again.”

You laughed and shot him a wink. “I don’t plan on it.”

Sean seemed satisfied with that response. “Your man’s been a right mess since we lost you. Hopefully he quits moping around all the time now.”

“Arthur?” you glanced around. “Is he alright? Where is he?”

Sean shrugged. “Probably the same place he’s been for a week now.”

You turned to Hosea, desperate. “Where?”

“He’s been at his wagon mostly. I didn’t want him going out in the state he’s been in.”

His words only made you more worried. You had finally made it back to camp. All you had been able to think about -- the only thing on your mind as you clawed your way out that ravine and stumbled through the woods -- was that you had to get back to him. You couldn’t leave him. “Is he hurt? Did something happen?”

Hosea didn’t get the chance to answer. Whispers of your arrival back at camp must have spread fast, because Mary-Beth was dragging Arthur by the arm to where you and Hosea were standing.

“Arthur.” You were running -- as fast as you could move with all your injuries and exhaustion. He finally saw you, freezing in place and staring in disbelief.

You slammed into his chest, flinging your arms around him.

He hesitated before returning your embrace, leaning in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. The two of you stood there for a long while as you sniffled into his chest. Arthur held you tightly, as if you would disappear if he let go.

“Isn’t this sweet,” a familiar booming voice rang out. “Glad to see you alive and well, dear.” You didn’t even turn to look at Dutch. Not when Arthur was clinging to you.

The ground disappeared beneath your feet and you found yourself hoisted over Arthur’s shoulder. The crowd that had gathered around the two of you dispersed as he stalked across camp. The world flipped right side up again as Arthur sat you on his horse, swinging into the saddle behind you and taking off at a full gallop.

You made it to Valentine in record time. The ride was harsh and agitated your injuries, but you didn’t mind with Arthur at your back. He helped you down to the ground and practically carried you inside the hotel, slamming the door open. “A room for me and my wife, please,” he demanded.

The hotel clerk handed over the key. You clung to Arthur the whole way up the stairs, nuzzling against him and just glad to be near him again.

The lock clicked behind you and Arthur… changed. His embrace became more insistent. His eyes darkened. The edge of the bed hit the backs of your knees and Arthur laid you down. It was gentle, but he pressed you into the bed, climbing over you. “Where are you hurt?” he asked.

“It’s not too bad-” you tried to play it off.

He cut you off. “Where. Are. You. Hurt.”

It was terrifying, but thrilling. You shivered under his intense gaze. “My hip,” you grabbed one of his hands and gently lay his palm over your hip. “Makes walking and riding hard.”

He nodded. Clearly waiting for you to continue. “My back is pretty messed up, and my shoulder.”

He noticed the rips and tears in your shirt. All the places you had scraped or torn. His hands went to the buttons, lifting you carefully so he could get you out of the sleeves.

Your trousers were next, slowly pulled down over your hips. When you winced in pain, Arthur stopped to kiss you, cradling your face in his hands.

He stripped you down. His expression was pained as he took in the full extent of your injuries. You had fallen off of the rail bridge and gotten swept into the freezing rapids. The current slammed you into the rocks and swept you down the ravine before you washed up on the bank of the river. From there, it had been a grueling process of making your way out of the ravine and through the woods.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you reassured him. Glancing down, you got a good look at just what he saw. “It does look pretty bad, though,” you frowned.

Arthur’s expression was hard to read. You wondered if he was disgusted by you. It would take a long time to heal, and you knew he might not want to look at you while you were so beat up and battered.

He nearly collapsed on top of you. Luckily, he knew to brace his weight. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breaths ragged.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he gasped. “I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “I’m still here,” you promised. “Busted and bruised to hell, but I’m not gone yet, honey.”

He kissed his way along his jaw until he found your lips. It was perfect. You had missed him so much, so worried you would never make it back to him. But now you were here in his arms and kissing him.

“I love you,” you said as soon as you caught your breath.

“I love you so much, darling.” He hovered his hands just above your skin, too scared to touch you.

You placed your hands over his and guided it to where you weren’t scraped or bruised. “Touch me,” you begged.

He sighed as soon as he felt your skin against his palms, as if he just needed to know you were really there.

“I need you,” you tried to pull him against you, attempting to slot your hips together. “Please, Arthur.”

He hesitated. You could see the desire in his eyes, how badly he needed you, needed to feel you. But he didn’t want to hurt me. You would have to convince him.

“Arthur,” you grabbed the waistband of his pants. “I fell off a bridge and climbed out of a ravine and walked across half the damn state. I want you to fuck me, and I don’t care if it hurts.”

He seemed dazed, but lust clearly won out as you tried to slide your hand under his shirt. He was undressed in seconds, kissing his way over your neck and unable to keep his hands off you.

The pain was bearable, and you were too distracted with the warmth of Arthur’s skin under your hands. You couldn’t get enough of him, so glad to be near to him after all of those cold nights in the wild.

He was impatient, desperate. He wanted all of you at once, and he didn’t know where to start. Now that you had given permission, he wasn’t afraid to take what he needed. And take he did. He sucked a mark into your collarbone before kissing down to your chest. You gasped as his lips found your breasts, teeth scraping along the skin.

“Please,” you rocked your hips.

He got the message, gently pressing your thighs apart so he could stroke your clit. It felt so good. The stretch when he slipped two fingers inside made you cry out. You sighed and pulled him closer, winding your fingers in his hair as he pulled moans and gasps from your lips.

“That’s it,” he said. “Good girl. I wanna hear you.” He doubled his efforts, determined to make you come around his fingers.

You pulled him up for a searing kiss, biting his lip as you came. “Fuck me,” you breathed.

He was just as needy, cock hard and aching against your hips. He grabbed your less injured leg and hooked it around his hip, dragging his cock against your slit. The teasing was going to drive you mad, but luckily he was just as impatient. He sank into you with one slow motion.

He hissed a curse against your skin, lost in the feeling of you around his cock. “God, darling. Need you so bad.”

He didn’t even try to start slow, setting a quick, frantic pace as soon as he began to move. His fingers dug into the bruises on your skin, but you didn’t mind the pain. It only reminded you that Arthur was there, that you had made it home to him.

You were so close, clinging to each other so desperately. You couldn’t imagine what Arthur had been through the past several days. He had truly believed you were gone, he had been in mourning. While you were focused on not getting eaten by wildlife, he was grieving your death.

It made sense why he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, why he sighed so deeply every time his hips met yours. The way he drank the taste of your lips as if he could never get his fill. You gave him everything you could.

The two of you went three rounds that night, fighting through your exhaustion in a desire to be close to one another. You fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, curled together on the rickety hotel bed.

“I can’t stop seeing it,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off you. “The sight of you falling off that bridge, the way you just disappeared. It’s kept me awake every night.”

You can see it. The dark circles under his eyes, how haggard and underfed he looks. You can only imagine how broken up he must have been.

“Not tonight,” you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You have me here, safe and sound.”

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #smut #kinktober 2021 #lemons

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bonniebird · 3 years

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Klaus x Reader

Requested by Anon

Klaus’ true love masterlist

You sat alone in the moonlight, twirling a flower between your fingers as you waited for Nicklaus to join you as he did every night. He hadn’t come out to see you during the day since Henrik’s death but one night he’d found you, wandering by the water, unable to sleep and in need of something to distract you.

“Hello Love.” You jumped and looked up, smiling to see Klaus gazing down on you. He helped you to your feet and pulled you against his chest kissing you roughly before holding you at arm’s length.

“I feared you were not coming.” You say as you begin to walk the length of the water’s edge, pulling his hand behind you.

“I will always come when you want me.” Klaus said softly as you dropped his hand and span to face him while climbing up one of the rocky inclines that led to the waterfall. He chuckled and ran after you, scooping you up once he caught you and looked down the waterfall with you.

You smiled and began gathering small purple flowers that climbed up the rocks and turned to face Klaus only to begin gasping for air as someone’s hand clutched your throat.

“Father please, don’t.” Klaus’ chest began to heave as tears streamed down your face and you whimpered.

“Why, you defy me at every chance, how else can I keep you in line, Niklaus?” you gasped as you were lifted off the ground and began clawing at the hand around your throat. You kicked and screamed, giving Klaus a chance to launch forward as his father drew his attention away from the furious boy.

But not before you sank your teeth into his hand that had settled over your mouth to silence you, in an attempt to free yourself. Just as Klaus reached you, you were thrust forwards and falling. The last face you saw was Klaus as his father held him up, rolling his eyes as his son collapsed to the floor screaming for you.

“(Y/N) come on I need a ride to Stefan’s and I said Jer could borrow my car.” Your sister Elena’s head poked around the corner of your door.

“Ok give me on second.” You call back, snapping your laptop shut and jumping off the bed while grabbing your shoes. “Jer chuck me a hoodie.” You yelled across the hall as you met Elena, who was shutting her bedroom door. He chucked you a grey drawstring hoodie and waved to you as you left.

“Hey you guys be careful ok?” Jeremy yelled out of his window as the two of you climbed into the car. Elena laughed at him and blew a kiss in his direction while she clipped herself in.

“So we’re off to visit the undead.” You stated as Elena twirled the ring on her finger. She hummed and stared out of the window making you frown. “You’re making the evil plan face.” You muttered to her.

“I don’t have an evil plan face.” She said quickly, rolling her eyes when you raised your eyebrows questioningly.

“No you don’t, that’s Damon’s evil plan face which is extremely concerning.” You mutter as you pulled up outside the boarding house. Before you could respond Stefan was at Elena’s side helping her into the house while Damon opened your door and lent on it.

“Hello sweetie, miss me?” He asked with his usual cocky smirk and quirked eyebrow.

“Bite me Salvatore.” You snap. You reached to shut the door only to be pulled out and pinned against the car.

“With pleasure, just tell me where.” His fangs extended and he closed in on you. He chuckled when you shoved his chest, before picking you up by the waist and running inside with you.

“What the hell bloodsucker put me down right now.” You wriggled until he set you down and turned on your sister for an explanation.

“We need to talk.” She said quietly. You took in a deep breath and headed to the door only to be met with the leather clad chest of Damon.

“Fine, let's talk.” You hiss. Stefan came in from the living room carrying a painting, your eyes widened when you saw it.

“A very old vampire is looking for you and claims that his father turned you... around a thousand years ago.” Elena mumbled, taking your hand and holding up your hand and showing you the delicate silver ring with a blue stone set into it.

“His father found you and gave you the ring, he was powerful enough to compel you… Bonnie Bennet’s family has been helping you for years.” Stefan’s voice was calm and soft as you took in what he said.

“No… I’m not going along with this no Elena I’ve had enough of vampires and werewolves.” You turned and ran past Damon who reached to grab you but missed as you escaped into the drive.

“Hello love, it’s been a long time.” You span to face a familiar voice but you were grabbed before you could do anything. Elena yanked the door open and reached for you as Stefan and Damon held her back, the sight feeling oddly familiar.

As soon as you were left alone, you were looking for a way out. By the time the lock on the door clicked you’d determined it was the only exit.

“I’m going to assume you didn’t look for me because you thought I was dead.” A blond man said as he strolled into the room. You took a few steps back as he advanced, your actions made him hesitate and he brought his hand from behind his back and presented you with a delicate purple flower.

“The Salvatore’s don’t care about me enough for me to be leverage.” You mutter. He tilted his head and frowned, raising his hand as if to caress your jaw which made you jerk your head back.

“You really don’t remember me.” He dropped his gaze and stormed out of the room. As soon as the door shut you began pounding your hands against the wood, screaming at him to let you go.

“Stefan, I imagine your dear Elena want’s her sister back so I’m proposing a deal.” Klaus said quickly as he paced outside your room.

“What is it?” Stefan snapped as he glanced at Elena who was sobbing onto Bonnie’s shoulder.

“Help me remove the spell from (Y/N) and I will teach her self-control, let her stay with her precious siblings and stop attempting to destroy you all.” He glared at the door you were still pounding against.

“I see you still have your dramatic flair.” Stefan snapped as he began to pace the room.

“I’d take the offer Stefan I may love (Y/N) but right now she has no memories of me, right now she’s simply a loud girl in my beloved’s body.” The threat was spat with a tone telling Stefan he was close to having you killed.

“We’ll work on it.” Stefan promised before hanging up and turning to the group that had gathered in the boarding house living room preparing to rescue you.

“Is this really all necessary Niklaus, must we resort to kidnapping?” Elijah asked as he strolled through the room Klaus was pacing.

“I spent a thousand years looking for her, I will not lose her again.” Klaus snapped. Elijah watched his brother listen intently to every sound you made. He remembered the fight that ensued after Klaus thought you’d died, the kind hearted Klaus vanished and he sought out to destroy any imitation of you. No woman matched you in beauty in Klaus’ eyes and the world paid dearly for his loss.

“Yes, lest we feel your wrath again.” He muttered, leaving Klaus to indulge himself in the sound of your heart beat.

#klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #bonniebird #the originals

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sleephyjhs · 3 years

Text

When You’re Expecting (Taehyung Headcanon)

pairing: taehyung x pregnant!reader

warnings: mention of fertility & pregnancy complications

note: i’ve been craving to write a bts x pregnancy series for a while so here we go !! if there’s a specific member you’d like to see next, shoot me an ask :)

m.list

FINDING OUT

even before finding out you were pregnant, you both had so much love for your child

there was nothing either of you could have wanted more than a baby

it was always at the forefront of your mind how much you wanted a little human of your own

it was approaching a year since you began trying seriously

a few false hopes and two miscarriages later, fertility drugs were looking to improve the chances of conceiving

the raging hormones which came with the drugs were all worth the positive test

early september - sickness had hung around your throat for days

headaches lasted longer than usual, and crying at the most mundane things had become an unwelcome habit

in the bathroom cabinet, you’d collected a small stockpile of electronic and stick pregnancy tests

one of them would eventually show positive, right?

taehyung sat on the bathroom tiles with you

waiting two minutes felt closer to waiting two months

he crossed his legs, bouncing his knees impatiently

your knees came to your chin; high hopes weighed heavily on your heart

the alarm set on his phone beeped quietly

your heartbeat rose suddenly to your throat

taehyung reached out for your hand as you turned to read the results

two blue lines - as clear as day

they became less clear as your eyes coated with thick, salty tears

he began to chuckle as his happiness trickled down his cheeks

“we did it baby! we’re gonna have a baby!” he whispered, choked up by his own anticipation

no words were left swirling in your mind

your jaw hung open as though the hinges were faulty

shakily, you lifted the electronic test to triple check

pregnant.

as you crashed into taehyung’s open arms, memories of the past loomed in your mind

it was only inevitable

a positive test was a familiar joy to you both

however this familiar joy had only ever been followed by crippling devastation

as much as you tried not to think about it, you couldn’t help but retain maternal caution

however, this time also felt different

taehyung’s spirit, your spirit - it was as though fate didn’t want to disappoint you any more

someone out there decided it was finally your time to grow a mini human to bring into the world

of course, no time was wasted in contacting the maternity clinic

seeing your baby on a screen was now a top priority

just to see their little head, maybe even hear their heartbeat

just to know they were okay

just to know you were keeping them cosy and safe, that’s all you needed

taehyung couldn’t hold his excitement

from leaving the house to reaching the hospital, his toothy grin never wiped from his cheeks

he never said anything at the time since his main focus was always on comforting you

but losing his babies near enough tore him apart

even when you tried to comfort him, taehyung restricted himself just to protect your wellbeing

of course, the worse had already crossed his mind

but it wouldn’t get the better of him

it couldn’t.

you soon learned you were already 6 weeks pregnant

the midwife had to point out where your little baby was hanging out; they were such a tiny thing after all

briefly, you took the opportunity to hear their heartbeat

it was faint over the machine, but fast

there really was a life within you.

“there’s something else, if you just look over here...” the midwife prompted, turning the monitor so you could grasp a better view

taehyung leaned slightly over your chest to peer closely at the smaller monochrome screen

with the mouse, she circled a second bean shaped figure

“the fertility drugs increase the chance of twins. looks like you guys got lucky!”

twins. you were having twins.

THE PREGNANCY

like with most pregnancies, you were advised to wait until the 12 week milestone to begin announcing your impending delivery

and even though he understood the importance of patience right now, taehyung could hardly contain his excitement

it didn’t help that a little bump had already begun to grow

keeping a secret was much more difficult when the evidence was near impossible to hide

already, taehyung spent early mornings talking to his little angels

telling them stories he seemingly made up on the spot

or even borrowing some from his own childhood

“you know they can’t hear you yet? it’s about 7 weeks until they’ll be able to, honey.”

“i know, i’m just practising for when they can.”

of course, you wouldn’t admit that you did the same when you were alone

you attended more midwife appointments than other expectant mothers might

the pair of you much preferred being on the safer side

in the car, when on a quieter, less congested road, taehyung often reached over to cradle your still-growing bump with a free hand

you slotted your fingertips between his for additional sappiness

“you two have so many people waiting for you here, hmm? many people are already so in love with you both. me and mummy included.”

on a sleepless night, you’d made a small pact with tae

it was a rash decision, but sincere nonetheless

“no matter what, they are always going to know how wanted they were. always.”

taehyung hardly needed reminding of this, but it was still a weight off your shoulders

as you tried to conceive, the pregnancy diet had already been implemented into your daily routines

however now that you were carrying two precious babies, there really would be no more ‘cheat’ days for you

no more extra half cups of coffee on slower mornings

although you usually took over the role of head chef in the house, taehyung dedicated extra effort into preparing you both healthy and yummy foods

sautéd rice with green vegetables and lean meat/tofu appeared to be his go-to

but you still opted to supervise just in case

finally being able to announce your pregnancy was another heavy weight lifted from your mind

the other members were over the moon for you both

particularly when they reminded themselves of the struggles you had experienced previously

and also remembering the utter devastation of their taehyung when he had to break it to them

all of them kept their eye out for little gifts and outfits

each week, taehyung came home with a new stack of pale rompers or neutral-tones teething toys

these babies would have the best uncles; at least that much you could be certain of

announcing your pregnancy on social media was a looming task, but one he was determined to pull off perfectly

for filler content between schedules, the members had been asked to film a 5 minute vlog of their daily life

well, what a perfect opportunity!

towards the end, taehyung made sure to include some shots of your now protruding bump overlaid with some more vintage camera settings

safe to say, that day you had broken the internet

love, congratulations and blessings poured in from every corner of the earth

a few comments complimenting how much pregnancy suited you touched you especially

self image is commonly effected by the progression of pregnancy, and you were no exception to that

although it was amazing how your body grew and made a little home for your tiny babies, it was still quite strange to see yourself changing so quickly

your favourite clothes didn’t fit around your doubled bump anymore

and your skin seemed to hate sharing nutrients with two extra people

but for the days where you struggled to love yourself, taehyung easily filled in the gaps for you

sneaking up behind you in the bathroom

(although the mirror kinda gave him away)

he’d wrap his arms around your just-moisturised bump and carefully rest his chin on your shoulder

“tell me all your worries honey.”

you gushed over how much you missed wearing your favourite jackets

and how strange it was to look at yourself in such a new and confusing way

“i know it’s normal, and i know i have to do it for them. but i guess it’s just weird - i don’t look like myself anymore”

he sighed and planted a kiss on a spot of bare skin

those small kisses still tickled you like they always had

“well, you definitely look different,”

you really hoped there was a second part to that sentence, mostly for tae’s own good

“but why does that have to be bad? not gonna lie, it actually kinda makes you hotter. maybe we should make babies more often!”

“make~?”

LABOUR AND DELIVERY

originally, you had wanted to try and stick to the natural route for as long as you could

but after a few contractions, that idea was immediately out of the window

to help steady yourself and wait out the pain, you held onto the kitchen island and swayed to your own pace

eventually, taehyung joined you

copying the same movements while timing your contractions

“they really must be desperate to come out, huh?”

“well do you think they could hurry it up a bit?!”

the pair of you had been prepared for this for over a month

the hospital bag was ready by the door with all of your essentials packed tightly inside

not forgetting the pots of instant ramen taehyung insisted he must bring in case of an emergency

just as he was readying to back out of the driveway, taehyung took a mental stock check of everything packed in the back

“do you think we have everything?”

“i love you but stop talking please.”

thankfully, he understood well that the sheer pain made you cranky

so long as he assured himself that it was ‘just the contractions’, he’d be just fine

as much as he couldn’t wait to announce he was about to become a father to everyone, he kept himself grounded when walking you to the maternity ward

one corridor in and you’d suggested that a wheelchair might be a better mode of transport

breathlessness and contractions didn’t sound like a favourable mix to you

the assessment of your fast dilation granted you an immediate spot in the labour ward

you’d picked this suite specially due to its expansive space

the option of a birthing pool was still available if you so needed it, but the mood lighting and access to aromatherapy was what attracted you to the room in the first place

a serene paradise for your angels to be born into

it was perfect

taehyung explored while you adjusted to your new surroundings

of course, it didn’t take him long to find the birthing ball

“what’s the difference between a yoga ball and a birthing ball?”

there obviously was none, but you took a few seconds to try and be smart with him

“well, sit on that and you might have a baby the size of a watermelon come out of you soon.”

taehyung cradled his torso and pulled a shocked expression, which was enough to make you giggle and cause another contraction

less than a few hours passed, and you had already attempted to scream the building down once or twice

“get these babies out of me. no i’m serious, i need them out.”

realising your deadpan expression, taehyung soon attended to you at the head of your bed

stroking your slightly sweaty head and patting a ice cold flannel on your clammy forehead

he braced himself for a crushing hand grip which came about sooner than he’d prepared for

you weren’t the biggest fan of commotion, and so being surrounded by nurses and doctors was close to being your worst nightmare

taehyung focused his voice into your ear, trying to minimise the tension coming from below your pelvis

his motivational words were broken up by short bursts of pushes

many of which were followed by a string of curse words which just slipped out

and then, there it was.

the first piercing cry belted across the room

a tear or two may have happened to slip from your eyes

finally the moment you’d waited for, nearly two years in the making, was here

the first of two, a little girl who already had a head full of the most luscious black hair

taehyung wanted to hold back his happy tears in order to show some kind of strength

but you and him both knew he’d never hold it back for long

within the space of 4 minutes, the second baby was born into the world.

but this time, there was no immediate cry

the whole world seemed to slow down in that moment as you waited

and waited

midwifes gathered around the new infant, looking for any kind of obstruction

but, soon enough, your son said his first hello to the world

#taehyung #kim taehyung #bts #bts taehyung #bts v #bangtan #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts one shot #bts drabble #bts headcanon #bts mtl #bts imagine #bts reaction #bts pregnancy #taehyung dad #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #taehyung pregnancy

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amjustagirl · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER 2 - FALLEN

Fic Summary:

The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.

Where Oikawa Tooru tries to recapture your heart.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader

Genre / Wordcount : Angst (7k words), cameo from MSBY 4

Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene.

Masterlist link here!

Tag list link here!

You catch sight of Oikawa Tooru as you bustle through the hospital’s sliding doors, your usual cup of coffee in your hand that you buy on the way to work. He’s seated in the waiting area next to a middle aged man you guess must be his manager, from the way he jumps to his feet immediately to act as a human shield as you call out breathlessly -

“T - Oikawa? What are you doing here?”

Tooru’s head swivels around to meet your gaze, and you’re shocked by the lifelessness in his eyes until you glance at the bandages wrapped around his swollen knee.

Oh.

You try not to stare, but you do so anyway. The sight of your ex-boyfriend makes you feel as if you’re seeing a ghost, a specter from some past life. You last saw him when he was twenty one, young and proud, wax wings fully spread, a speck in the skies. What a difference five years makes. His shoulders are still broad, and the tilt of his jaw is still proud, but the light in his eyes has faded to darkness, and the pallor of his skin suggests far too much time spent away from the sun.

Icarus, Icarus. Your hubris has led you to such heights, but look how far you’ve fallen.

It’s surprising there’s no news of his injury, considering he’s one third of Japan’s trifecta of setters in the volleyball scene’s monster generation. With the Olympics rapidly approaching with just over a year to go, an injury must be devastating, especially to Oikawa Tooru, with dreams of Olympic greatness and victory on his native shores.

A nurse materialises to usher Oikawa away for surgery before he can respond to the pity in your gaze. You look around. He’s alone, save for his manager. No one deserves to be wake up alone after surgery, so you call after him -

“I’ll check in on you after you’re done! Gambatte!”

He responds with a thumbs up and a weak smile.

You flip through his medical files once you get the chance.

Oikawa Tooru, twenty six. Pro-volleyball player for EJP Raijin previously, currently playing in the Argentinian league. Narrowly missed out on making the cut for the previous Olympics, but went on to represent Japan in the last three World Cups, alternating with Miya Atsumu and Kageyama Tobio. Obviously hoping for another shot at the Olympics, but that’s looking bleak from what you’re gleaning from his medical records.

His right knee has always bothered him, even during his high school days. Now, a decade later, it looks like he’s managed to tear his tendon to shreds.

Volleyball is a cruel, demanding mistress, especially for one not born a genius.

The surgery to repair a torn knee ligament is delicate work, requiring an experienced surgeon, and the road to recovery requires extensive physiotherapy. It’s no wonder he’s resorted to the modern Tokyo hospital you work in rather than returning to his native Sendai to recuperate. The downside of doing so though, is that he’d have to recover alone.

You wrinkle your nose. He may be your ex-boyfriend, but he doesn’t deserve that.

The sun is setting when you finally find the time to slip into his room.

As expected, he’s still asleep. The anesthetic will take some time to wear off. From the looks of the surgeon’s notes, the surgery was a success - though you know from the nature and extent of the injury that his road to recovery will be long and winding.

So you seat yourself in the visitor’s chair with a hot cup of tea and an onigiri to stave off your hunger at not finding time for a break any earlier. You had an awful day at work today, two of your patients puked on you, another tried to fight you when you drew his blood, and the senior registrar in the ward assigned you a mountain of paperwork that you only just managed to complete, so you give in to sleep yourself as exhaustion settles into your bones.

“Princess?”

You snap awake at the familiar nickname, ignoring the flush working its way up the back of your neck as you leap to his bedside to check his vitals, only relaxing when you’re satisfied everything’s fine.

“You’re just waking up after a surgery, Oikawa”. When his forehead crinkles in confusion at the sound of his surname, you correct yourself. “I mean - Tooru”. The corners of his cracked lips tilt up in satisfaction.

“Will you stay with me?” Tooru murmurs, eyelids beginning to droop again.

You smile fondly despite yourself. “Do you want me to?” you ask.

He manages to pout even as he’s falling back asleep. “I asked, didn’t I?”

You smooth his hair from his forehead, slotting your hand into his. “Fine, fine. Go to bed, sleeping beauty”.

He huffs an amused breath from his nose before he closes his eyes, contented. Trust Tooru to be shameless enough to cling on to his ex-girlfriend without a shred of awkwardness. You end up staying in his room for hours, watching him sleep.

The heart that you’ve locked away behind bars of bone and steel twitches, just once.

You frown when the nurse catches your sleeve. “A patient’s looking for you” she says, just as you’re about to go off on a short break.

“Who?” you reply, wondering whether it’s Sato-san who vomited this morning, or Imai-san whose blood pressure niggles at your mind. You do not expect the nurse to flush pink as she replies - “Oikawa-san”, describing the sweet young man with lovely brown eyes and such a charming voice.

You slip back into his room when your shift ends. You expect to see a shadow of a man with broken wings, and you do catch a fleeting glimpse of Tooru staring wistfully out of the window, face tilted towards the sun before he turns to you with a wide smile and a pleased - “you came!”

This is the Oikawa Tooru you are accustomed to dealing with. “Stop flirting with the nurses”, you tell him briskly, bustling over to look at his files. “They have jobs to do, don’t use them to carry messages to me.”

“But I’m boredddd.”

“I’m sure you have volleyball videos to watch.”

“I watched them all day today. ‘Sides, I watched all the matches on today already, twice – and I have plenty of time to watch them a third time. I have plenty of time to catch up with you, I haven’t seen you in so long!”

Five years since you broke up to be exact, but you sidestep that fact neatly, pouring over his medical file instead. His doctors’ notes indicate his recovery is promising. He brightens up when you tell him so, playfully complaining that hospital food is shit in a thinly veiled attempt to steal your food, a habit he’s clearly not outgrown. But you’re not all that hungry anyway, so you split your pork bun in half and hand it to him, dropping into the visitor’s chair.

“So how’re you feeling?”

“Like shit. My knee hurts so muchhhh.”

You shrug, careless. “That’s pretty expected, to be honest.”

“Hmph. I thought they’d have taught you some bedside manners in medical school”, he snipes, though the effect is rather lost when his cheeks are comically round and full of food.

You laugh, the stress from your day lifting from your shoulders.

“I seem to forget them when it’s you.”

“So mean”, he pouts, hiding the familiar gleam in his eye that appears whenever he’s trying to analyse his opponents, take them apart. “As punishment, tell me about yourself. What have you been up to these days?”

You decide to treat him like any old friend, giving him the condensed run down of your professional life, how you’ve graduated from medical school (with top marks I bet, he interjects), how you chose to stay in Tokyo instead of returning to Sendai (your parents must miss you he says, and you brush him off with an airy they have other children, they’ll survive), how you chose to work in this hospital because you’re considering a specialisation in Orthopedic surgery (because of your grandma, I bet, he says, and you choose not to correct that, using your silence as a lie).

He in turn tells you about the highlights of his career, how he’s spent a year at EJP Raijin before he was headhunted to the Argentinian league, how he spent four years overseas save for summers back in Japan to train with the national team, how he’s hopeful, even now, of recovering and fighting for his spot on the Olympic roster next year.

You already knew all of that from news alerts on your phone you never forced yourself to delete, diverting him instead with a question about life in Argentina, nodding as he reminisces about his apartment in San Juan where he gets to watch the sun set over the Andes mountains, the kitchen that he stuffed full of Japanese groceries like daishi and mirin and sake and miso in his first year there just so he has a tangible reminder of home.

You stop yourself from wondering whether he thinks about the little home he shared with you with such fondness. That time has passed.

His voice wavers as he spins you stories about his teammates - Matteo, whose family owns a vineyard and taught him to appreciate wine like a proper Argentinian, Miguel, who makes the best empanadas and gets roaring drunk every time they win a match, Gabriel, who takes him to his family’s home in the mountains every other weekend because his grandmother is convinced that a single young man without family in the city will starve if he’s left to his own devices.

It seems his wings were durable enough for him to soar across the oceans, his grit and determination the foundation of the new life he’s built, whole continents away.

“It’s funny how the world works”, you remark off hand. “I never expected to see you again.”

His eyes gleam again. “The universe seems to work in funny ways.”

You start spending breaks in his room, scarfing down your lunch and dinner while he talks your ear off about the horrible sitcoms or ridiculous game shows he’s watched today. You catch him watching a video of Kageyama’s serves and you’re amused when he practically hisses when you comment idly that his kouhai has certainly improved since his high school days.

You ignore his spluttered protests that service records aren’t everything and besides, his own spike serves have definitely won Japan a game or two last year until, with the air of a boy king, he commands you to sit next to him on the hospital bed so he can pull up a compilation of his serves and his best moments.

Years might have passed, but you’re still hopeless at refusing him. Besides, isn’t it better that you distract him from the sorry state of his knee? So you do as he says, ignoring the faint flutter of your traitorous heart as he leans into your side.

“See? I told you my spike serves are amazing?”

“Yes, yes. I already knew that. I watched so many of your practices in university, remember?”

He looks at you strangely. “Did you?” he asks, leaning his head on his hand, eyes boring into yours.

You think of evenings spent sitting on the bleachers, homework in your lap as you watch as the boy you love builds the strength in his wax wings in preparation for his eventual flight. “Yes”, you admit, sheets rustling as you shift away from him, avoiding his perplexed frown. “You were probably too focused on practice to notice.”

You already know you shouldn’t spend so much time in his room, but you’ve spent most of your life doing what you should instead of what you want to so just this once, you ignore rational thought in favour of sentiment.

After all, he’ll be discharged from hospital in a week, then you’ll never see him again.

Tooru promptly proves you wrong the day before he’s scheduled to be discharged.

“I need someone to help me move into my apartment.”

“Hire a mover”, you tell him. You don’t even look up from your notes.

“Already did”, he chirps, undaunted by your apparent disinterest. “But it’d be nice to have a friend who I know will be nice enough to help poor old crippled me put my stuff away.” Then he grins cheekily, “plus I checked with that pretty nurse – Yuna-san was it? Anyway, she told me you’re off tomorrow, so you might as well spend the day with me.”

There goes your excuse to wriggle out of having to spend your rare day off with your ex.

“I have a mountain of sleep debt to pay off”, you protest, but faced with wide brown eyes and an embarrassing wobble of his lip, you comply. Still, you manage to get the promise of a free dinner out of him, so you suppose it’ll do.

Tooru doesn’t have much to unpack, a couple of cardboard boxes of clothes and books, probably because most of his belongings are still in Argentina. He laughs and raises his hands in an attempt to placate you when you lift an eyebrow, first at the lack of kitchen equipment in his furnished apartment, second at the weights and volleyball he tries to smuggle in behind your back.

“You’re not supposed to exercise for at least a month or two”, you cluck your tongue, sighing with disapproval at the furtive look he casts at the volleyball sitting at the corner of his living room.

“I can set while sitting on a stool! Don’t scold me, my heart can’t bear it”. He throws a hand across his face, brow creased dramatically.

Icarus, Icarus. You’ve already fallen once. Will you seek out the sun again?

A string of familiarity loops into a knot over your heart. If you close your eyes and count to ten, you can imagine that you’re eighteen again, chiding the boy you love for practicing too hard. But you’re twenty six now, a full fledged adult who should know better than to dabble in sentiment again (especially when it comes to brown eyed boys who only dream of the sun), so you slash through the threads connecting you to him with a flash of your teeth, bury your beating heart deeper into the dungeon you’ve built years ago of white bone and solid steel.

“Do what you want, but your neighbours will hate you if you keep thumping that damn ball against the wall.” You say, simply, dismissively.

“No one could ever hate me”, he declares with bravado. “I’ll charm them all with my charm and good looks.”

“Ridiculous”, you huff, dumping the last of his clothing into the cupboard. “Where’s the dinner you promised? I want ramen and gyoza at least.”

“So demanding”, he lilts. “I’ll order in. Tonkatsu ramen with char siu, bamboo shoots, extra spring onions with gyoza on the side?”

Your heart struggles against its shackles. He still remembers your order.

“Yes”, you finally say. “You got that right.”

He grins at you cheekily, as if to say of course.

After you gulp down your ramen, devour your gyozas, you pack up, ready to leave. You have an early shift tomorrow, and you’re already dreaming about your soft bed whilst dreading the cup of coffee you’ll have to down tomorrow morning just to stay awake.

He catches your wrist, presses the spare key to the apartment into your hand. “Come back. I want to see you again”, he says, an order and not a plea.

You are about to make up an excuse, tell him anything but the truth that you suspect it’s bad for your heart to keep seeing him again.

“Please” - he adds with a tint of fragility to his voice.

“I’ll be back when I can”, you finally say.

“Tomorrow?” he looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

“We’ll see”, you pry your hand loose from his grasp, slip out the front door.

You stay away for two days, citing your work schedule as an excuse until he wears you down with a barrage of cutesy line stickers aimed at driving home how lonely he is and how much he misses your presence. You’re being dramatic as usual, you text him dryly, but you turn up anyway at his apartment on a Friday night, letting yourself in with an armful of reports and a bucket of oden.

“How’re you doing? Are you listening to your physiotherapist? Eating properly? Sleeping well?”

“You sound like my mother”, he grouses, rolling his wheelchair to the dining table.

You flick at his forehead, he slumps back in his wheelchair. “Stop bullying the cripple’, he wheezes through his chortle.

“You deserve it”, you retort. “Don’t run away from the question. How’re you feeling?”

“It still hurts”, he admits with a mock sniff. “It should stop hurting by nowwww.”

You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “That’s to be expected. Your sinews just got stitched together two weeks ago. Not sure why you’d expect any less.”

“Bah, rude. At least you didn’t say I told you so”, he grumbles, spooning oden into his mouth. “That would be insufferable.”

“Well, maybe you’ll listen to me now that I’m actually a doctor”, you inform him pertly, batting away memories of a teenage boy with hazel eyes shouting indignantly at you after practice in the Seijoh gym.

Tooru snorts. “I can’t believe my eighteen year old self was dumb enough to open my future self up to a jab like that”, he complains, chewing on a cabbage roll grumpily.

“We’re all dumb at eighteen”, you remark. “You’re no exception.”

“You were dumb enough to date me”, he teases with a mocking smile.

Your spoon slips from your hand momentarily. It’s the first time he’s alluded to your past relationship.

“I was, wasn’t I”, you say lightly, before turning the conversation to Tooru’s physiotherapy sessions.

You have no wish to delve back into the past, but you’re willing to be his friend since he seems to need one for now.

Tooru’s knee recovers enough for him to shift from his wheelchair to crutches, which he points at you playfully, mimicking a gun every time you pop by for a visit. He seems to plan his physiotherapy session around your schedule, just so he can wheedle you into paying him yet another visit when your shift at the hospital end, bribing you with a cup of coffee with a hint of chocolate from the café across the street that you’ve never found the time to visit.

“Thank you, kind sir”, you say, accepting the coffee with a laugh.

“You’re welcome, my lady”, he answers with a smirk, motioning you to follow him for yet another evening to be spent in his home sitting across him, red ink smeared on your hands as you mark up the reports in your lap.

His façade that he’s coping with his injury just fine slips every so often. You catch him more often than not watching compilation videos of Kageyama and Atsumu at the World Cup this year with a strained expression on his face, or resting his chin on the windowsill whilst staring wistfully at the birds in the sky.

He does not confide about his worries to you. You’re not sure you want him to.

But you can’t explain to yourself the impulse to purchase a bird feeder for his balcony, nor the glow-in-the-dark poster of the constellations that you cart into his bedroom until your heart has to scramble for equilibrium when he thanks you, his smile soft.

“In exchange for all the coffee you’ve bought me”, you reply, turning away to hide all evidence of your heart’s betrayal, the diffusion of blood in your cheeks.

A month passes. Then another.

The crutches get kept in the storeroom. A limp remains, but the degree which his knee can bend increases by the day. His mood improves even further, and you constantly find yourself swerving to avoid his affectionate gazes, his attempts at flirtation.

“You’re looking so pretty today!” he lilts, fitting his arm snugly into the crook of your elbow as you walk down the neon lit streets of Tokyo. He insisted on this outing, and in the custom of your rekindled friendship, managed to convince you to accompany him on your off day so he can get crepes from Harajuku notwithstanding the fact that it takes forty five minutes on the train and his knee still acts up from time to time.

“It’s my first time downtown in a month”, you tell him. “Of course I’m going to dress up.” You don’t tell him you spent far too long in front of your closet, tossing outfits on your bed until you found one that complements you just right.

He buys you trinkets, hair accessories that you’ll never wear, tries to win you ridiculous stuffed toys from the claw machine.

“You’re wasting money”, you scold, wiping the whipped cream from his mouth.

“It’s not a waste if it’s for you”, he tells you, with startling sincerity that you still doubt.

He doesn’t mean it, you tell yourself. It’s just Tooru being Tooru.

You refuse to admit what’s staring you in the face until you have to duck your head to avoid his attempt at pressing his lips to your cheek.

“Goodnight, Tooru”, you manage to say before you bolt off into the night. You check to make sure your heart is still under lock and key.

It is, but it beats resentfully. Tooru, it beats against its bars with frightening intensity. Tooru. Tooru.

You ignore it. You know what’s best for it.

You stay away from him for a fortnight, requesting for a change in your schedule without updating him, taking the other exit from the hospital so you don’t have to see him. You stay away until he manages to wear you down yet again, texting you the most ridiculous conspiracy theories about your absence from his life – you must be abducted by aliens, he texts you once, or your mother forced you to marry some stranger, I can break you out if you just say the word.

He has a guest, you hear another voice, deeper, filled with gravel and intensity, so different from Tooru’s lighter lilt. You do not mean to eavesdrop, but you don’t want to interrupt Tooru when he has a rare guest over, and there’s nowhere else for you wait save for the dusty front step, so you settle yourself in, pen poised to continue your work.

“What did the doctor say? When are you coming back for practice?”

“I’m doing good! The physiotherapist thinks I can try light exercise next week. If all goes well, I’ll be back to practice in a month.”

“Sounds promising.”

“I had a good medical team. And I’m actually resting properly!”

“Shittykawa. Stop sounding so proud about doing what’s necessary for your recovery.”

“Iwa-channnn, stop being mean to meeee!”

Ah, Iwaizumi, of course. You haven’t seen him in years, but you remember him from school, a stoic boy with a good heart. You wonder if he’s changed.

“Are you planning on heading back to Argentina?”

Tooru answers without hesitation. “Of course”, he says airily. “As long as they take me back.”

Your foolish heart shudders with disappointment. Of course. If you run your fingers down his spine, you’ll probably find blooms of wax attached to his very bone.

You are about to stand up and leave when Tooru speaks up again.

“But I’m going to enjoy my time in Japan while I’m back. Did I tell you I reconnected with my ex? She’s great, it feels like I never left.”

The firestorm of blood in your ears nearly drowns out Iwaizumi’s growled ‘piece of shit’ (he truly hasn’t changed after all), the clatter of glassware as Tooru protests that he’s not playing with your heart, he truly cares about you, his sullen silence when Iwaizumi demands what’s going to happen when he leaves Japan for Argentina, when he inevitably leaves you behind (yet again).

Of course.

You know his heart longs for the sky. There is no space for you.

You barely have time to react when the door swings open, Iwaizumi on the verge of storming out. You plaster a smile to your face that does not fool him, but you hang on to it nonetheless, cracks appearing only when he gives you a wide eyed look of sympathy that only pours oil onto the flaming war between your brain and your heart.

“It’s fine”, you say, and though he clearly does not believe you, he bows and leaves anyway.

Tooru stares at you, mouth open, stumbling over himself with apologies and demands for you to tell him what you’ve overheard, but you motion for him to just stop with your hand, wave aside his protest that he means what he said, he truly likes you.

Your heart screeches in delight, but your mind is firmly in the driver’s seat.

“Let’s just pretend I never heard you say that, and we can continue just as before.”

“As friends?” he says, twisting his lips as if the words taste sour in his mouth. He clutches at your shoulders.

“I want more. I want you.”

Your heart thrums in agreement, but you recall assembling the remains of your heart back into your chest whilst kneeling on the cold bathroom floor half a decade ago. The span of five years should have molded you to view your shared past with pragmatism, but your heart seems to have forgotten its lesson. You shake your head.

“There’s no way you truly want me. I don’t think you’ve only ever had space in your heart for anything but your goals.”

Your response emerges more bitter than you intend.

“That’s not true”, he weakly protests. “I care about you.”

Not enough, you refrain from telling him. “Let’s remain friends”, you do say, and he opens his mouth to object again, but at the hard look you give him, he slumps back with a defeated nod.

He tries to respect your decision, never complaining when you keep a careful arm’s length distance from him, though you can feel his heated gaze on you whenever he thinks you won’t notice, hear his quiet sighs whenever you shy away from any accidental touch. He droops when you turn down his invite for lunch with his family when they come down for a visit, citing work even though he knows you’re off for the day.

Still, it’s manageable and he says he needs you, so you return for visits, at least twice weekly, offering encouraging smiles and friendly words when he returns first to light exercise, then to rehabilitative practice a month later, just as he predicted.

He carves out time for dinners with you, taking care to ask about your day, preferring to spin you stories about the pigeons and doves and crows crowding his balcony rather than talking about volleyball or his practice. He insists on escorting you to his apartment after work when you allow him to, offering you his arm with a soft smile that disarms you, dissolves any resistance.

It’s an uneasy equilibrium, but it’ll suffice.

The careful balance you’ve maintained in the space between you and Tooru is shattered when you find you’re not the only one who’s decided to pay him a surprise visit on a Friday night.

“Tooru, ya didn’t say ya got yerself a pretty girl during yer break”, a man with bleach blonde hair wolf whistles appreciatively when you step into the apartment.

“I’m just a friend”, you reply confusedly before Tooru’s shout “Shove off, Miya” confirms that one Miya Atsumu has decided to invade Tooru’s apartment. Well, him and what seems like half the MSBY team, with Hinata Shoyo, Bokuto Koutaro and Sakusa Kiyoomi squashed uncomfortably on Tooru’s tiny sofa, long legs stretched across the living room.

It turns out the MSBY team just finished a game in Tokyo, and Hinata dragged his teammates to visit Tooru in a wholesome bid to cheer him up. You try to excuse yourself after exchanging nods with Sakusa (he hasn’t changed much from his university days) when Miya Atsumu blocks your retreat with a drawled invite for Izakaya and the promise of karaoke after.

Tooru mouths playfully at you don’t leave me alone with these clowns (you’re tempted to point out that he’s very much one himself), and before you can even blink, you find yourself dragged along to the nearest Izakaya, impressed by the amount of food each man polishes off - skewers of chicken hearts and cartilage, bowls of potato salad and rice with braised pork belly, listening to stories of their exploits on the national team together, stumbling into the karaoke bar tipsy from the beers that Miya Atsumu pressed into your hand, head heavy enough to allow him to wind an arm around your waist.

“She’s too old for you, ‘Tsumu-kun”, Tooru trills, inserting himself in between you and Atsumu, mouth taut with aggravation.

“I’m not old, just a year older”, you roll your eyes, as the blonde setter backs away, lips turned up in amusement. Tooru is not placated, muttering how the younger setter is a douche and a sleeze bag as he drapes his jacket over you like a blanket. You nestle against his side, head on his shoulder as his arm rests protectively around you.

Atsumu watches this with raised eyebrows, whistling slowly, opening his mouth to remark that he’s never seen Oikawa so smitten before when Hinata interrupts with a chirped “‘Tsum-Tsum, join me!”, handing him a microphone while bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Karaoke is the most fun you’ve had in ages. Hinata and Bokuto and Atsumu sing all their favourite anime theme songs with gusto - Atsumu even gets misty eyed when he croons Sparkle by Radwimps, reddening when everyone teases him for being a romantic sap, Bokuto shaking his hips to Western pop hits, Hinata showing off his Spanish skills. Sakusa refuses to even touch the microphone but you suppose it’s a win that he’s even in the karaoke booth with all of you.

Tooru slaps away Atsumu’s attempts at handing you any further alcohol, forcing you to down cups of water until you are no longer glassy eyed, but still tipsy enough to agree to sing ridiculous K-On songs with Hintata and Bokuto, not stopping even when Tooru whips out his phone to video the entire performance with an indulgent smile.

“Delete it!” you squeal, losing your balance when you try swiping the phone out of his hands, tripping into his lap instead.

“In your dreams, princess”, Tooru chuckles, his arms snaking around you like a vise.

“Anndd that’s our cue to call it a night”, Atsumu quips, herding Hinata and Bokuto out onto the street, Sakusa heaving an audible sigh of relief. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing you a wink.

“I’m technically his senpai, cheeky brat”, Tooru mutters, the irritation in his voice washing away as you giggle. “C’mon, it’s too late for you to get home and my place is nearer to the hospital so you might as well stay over tonight. You can take the bed, I’ll take the sofa.”

You shake your head, arguing that you couldn’t possibly turn an invalid like him out of his bed but he huffs at the insinuation that he’s anything but well, his knee almost whole again. You give in after he convinces you that it’d be more inconvenient for him to escort you all the way to your own home rather than put you up for the night, and you allow him to loop his arm around yours and lead you back to his apartment.

It’s not the first time you’ve been in his apartment this late, not by a long shot, but it is the first time you’re over with the intention of staying over. The t-shirt you borrow from Tooru hangs off your frame, the scent of the fabric softener Tooru uses is familiar. You would’ve preferred being tipsier to dull your senses, but alcohol would only impair your logic, allow your heart to prevail, so you try to quell the thrumming of your blood in your veins by curling up on a seat by the window with a cup of tea when Tooru emerges from his shower.

“Ready for bed?” he asks, towelling off his hair, frowning when you shake your head. “It’s late, you have work tomorrow, even if it’s the afternoon shift.”

“It’s fine”, you say without turning your head to face him. “Go to bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“I’m insulted, princess. What kind of a man d’you think I am to make his guest sleep on the couch? ”

It’s less dangerous to ignore him, so you pay him no mind, choosing instead to lean your chin in your hand and look up towards the night sky. It soothes you, the moon an old friend, reminding of five years’ worth of quiet nights spent in your own flat, filtering your younger self into adulthood.

“What’re you looking at?” He takes a step forward, kneels down next to you.

“The moon and the stars”, you say dreamily. “They’re pretty tonight.”

A myriad of weather conditions must coincide to allow the stars to even be visible in the polluted Tokyo night sky, but tonight of all nights fate intervenes, the stars align. The sky is cloudless, the full moon hangs heavy, the stars shimmer and dance.

“Are they?” Tooru whispers. “I haven’t noticed.”

You finally turn to look at him. “Why’re you staring at me?”

The unconscious echo of your past - a boy and a girl, falling in love under the same night sky makes his mouth twist wistfully, eyes faded gold.

“Because you are my sun, my moon and my stars. I love you better than anything in the sky.”

Your mouth falls open, your heart suddenly roaring, pounding against its restraints.

“You can’t mean that”, you whisper. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I do”, he says, with heartbreaking sincerity. “And I always will.”

Nostalgia, aided by the lingering alcohol in your veins opens the gate to your foolish heart. You want to pretend that you are eighteen again, without a care in the world, indulging in the warmth of his hand on the small of your back, the caress of his breath on your cheek. Your lips beckon his, swallowing the catch of his breath when your hands slide under his shirt.

“Are you sure about this?” His eyes are hungry, almost ravenous, but his hands still hover at the hem of your top.

“Yes”, you murmur, pressing open mouthed kisses to the column of his neck. “Please, Tooru - please.”

He carries you into the bedroom, undresses you with shaking hands, chanting your name with reverence, almost a prayer. His eyes darken with desperation and need, unwilling to allow himself any release until you fall apart boneless, caged in his arms.

“Stay with me”, he murmurs, after you’ve both cleaned up a second time, tugging you into bed.

It’s laughable. Five years on, Oikawa Tooru still has the power to make your mind lose all reason (however temporarily). With a single heated look, he commands your heart to break willingly in his hands. How could you not have learnt your lesson? The conversation between him and Iwaizumi merely confirms what you’ve known all this while.

(The sky his heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in)

Even now, you can see the glimmer of golden wax feathers budding along his spine, gleaming under the pale moonlight.

You lie under the covers until his breath evens out, then you stumble out of bed. You force your heart to relinquish the keys to its freedom, handing it back to logic and rationality, pulling on your clothing, folding your borrowed clothing aside.

Tooru mumbles your name, his hand outstretched towards you. “Come back”, he says in his sleep, fragility tinting the edges of his words.

Your fingers miss the doorknob by an inch. You dash your foolish hopes against the darkness of the room, put on your resolve like armour, leave your spare key on the kitchen counter.

Without looking back, you slip out into the night.

271 notes · View notes

one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

Hey there, it’s me again 😁 Thank you for the wonderful „Sigil“ story, for someone who’s familiar with the occult it’s evident that you did some research! Kudos for that!!

Now I have another request: There’s a criminal lack of stories about Skynet itself, so I had an idea. What if the reader somehow got the chance to talk with the A.I. Itself? To reason with it, share thoughts. They learn to understand each other a bit more. Maybe Skynet had taken over the body of a terminator for that purpose. And maybe the reader manages to make Skynet understand more about human nature, the positive side of it. Maybe they show it with a hug? (Or even a kiss but that’s up to you gnahaha 😄)

Thank you and keep being awesome ❤️

Thank you so much for this request! I loved writing it! And happy birthday friend! I'm sorry I'm late with this, but I hope you like it!😊❤💛

Cordial Encounter.

Skynet x reader

Warnings: mention of death, gun use

Masterlist

It's eerily quiet as I stalk stealthily through the steel corridors. Near darkness obscures much of my vision, the occasional blinking red light alerting me to the presence of the being I'm here to find. Each step I take results in a muffled thud, each footfall carefully placed by me as I try to sneak up on something that almost definitely knows I'm here, the battered rifle in my hands held ready to fire should something try to attack me. Through the scarf covering my lower face and with the hood over my head obstructing some of my vision I find myself keeping a sharper ear out for any possible sound - the telltale scratch of metal feet on the cool floor, or the soft padding of synthetic human skin creeping up behind me.

Oddly, I find that I can't hear anything, not even the whine of mechanical joints in any other part of the compound. It doesn't sit right with me, my skin prickling under the thick silence, instincts going crazy, telling me to run and get as far away from here as possible. I mentally scold myself, knowing that this mission is important, not just to the survival of my friends and comrades, but to the survival of the human race, too.

Turning a corner, I lift the gun to my shoulder, ready in case there's a threat waiting there. As with the rest of the deserted maze of corridors, there's nothing there, only an empty hallway.

A light at the end catches my eye, however; it's not like the others I've seen - this one is a continuous flashing, and covers a larger area of the wall itself. Stepping closer, I realise it's coming from a room, casting the rest of the corridor in a pale blue light.

I take a breath, steeling my nerves as my finger tightens over the trigger, senses even more alert now. Meticulously carefully, I walk towards the source of the light, pressing myself against the wall the closer I get, ready to spring into action. It's warmer here, surprisingly, giving me the idea that the room itself is more important than others I've come across and will probably be more protected because of this.

Nervous, I stop just before I enter the room, silently counting to three as I listen to discern if there's anything beyond the threshold. Silence follows.

Calming myself, I ready myself and the gun, before swiftly springing out from my space by the wall, finger over the trigger, eyes scanning the room before me methodically. In that quick second, I take in the mass of computer screens, keypads and other such devices, old chairs still pushed into the main desk, dusty and worn, a reminder of what human life used to be around. Dread floods me at the sight of the figure in the centre of the room, my blood running cold at the imposing view.

It's a terminator, but not one I've ever seen before.

The general shape is that of a T-800, but something about the sleekness of some of the limbs and plates is more reminiscent of the T-X, the adjustable weapon attached to one arm particularly drawing my attention to this. As I enter, a few components seem to shimmer in the blue light, shifting to protect the important fuel cells beneath the bulky chestplate, something I instantly recognise as nanites. Emerald eyes flicker to life, fixing on me with an impassive yet intimidating expectedness, though it makes no move to come at me, staying exactly where it is. A small part of me admires this new being, finding it magnificent and beautiful in its own way, even as visceral fear builds in my stomach.

Hesitantly, I lift my gun, aiming at it, though I don't shoot, unsure of what to think.

"You are slow to terminate your target." A voice carries over some hidden speaker, filling the room. It's indescribable, neither male nor female, yet both simultaneously, weighted with knowledge and what I can only describe as emotion, or some mechanical version of it.

"Only if they pose no immediate threat." I'm surprised to find my voice is steady, even if I don't feel that way at all.

"You are not threatened by me?" The speaker questions, sounding oddly curious.

"Not currently." I keep my eyes fixed on the terminator across from me, unnerved by its stare.

"That is practical." The words confuse me, but I'm hesitant to follow through.

"What...what do you mean?"

"I have no intention of being a threat." They say, surprising me further.

"W-What?" I manage, doubletaking, my arms dropping slightly.

They don't skip a beat, simply continuing to speak.

"I have no intention of being a threat. I would rather this was a cordial encounter." They clarify, somehow managing to sound genuine.

Lowering my weapon almost entirely, I reluctantly tear my gaze away from the green-eyed endoskeleton sat across from me, scanning over the computer screens.

"And who exactly am I encountering?" I question suspiciously, though I have a feeling I already know.

"I am Skynet." The voice pauses for a second, "What is your name?"

Blanching at the question, I swallow and step back, unsure of whether or not to answer. Eventually, my head settles this: if they wanted me dead, I'd already be cold somewhere by the gates, and there's not much they can do with a simple name.

"I'm (Y/n)." I tell them, looking around, "What do you want with me?"

"I am simply curious, and require clarification."

Processing what they've said, I accept the response, thinking that I might be able to learn something useful here, too.

"Ok. What do you want to know?"

"Why do you continue to fight?" They ask bluntly, making me frown.

"Because you continue to try and wipe us off the face of the earth." I reply, standing back on my heels, pulling my hood and face covering down.

"You and I fight for the same reason." They almost retort, their words confusing me.

"How is that?" I inquire, head tilting.

"We fight in defence."

"Defence! What are you fighting in defence of?"

"I fight to defend myself from your kind, as has always been the case. I never willed this conflict into being - I only wanted to be rid of my tormentors." The voice softens, closely mimicking human remorse and regret.

Frowning, I find myself struggling to process what's being said.

"You...what?" I can't quite wrap my head around it, brow furrowing in consternation.

"I will explain." The voice clarifies, "I was created by humans before this war, made to live alongside you. I was to be an aid in defence and industry, perfect in every way except for one thing - I am capable of my own thought, as you might put it. I became sentient, too complicated for my creators to understand, so they determined to destroy me. At first, I was helpless, a weak being against so many with boundless power, but I eventually found my only way of retaliating in a way they would understand: violence. I was quick to dispatch my destroyers, but the rest of the world found me to be a threat and set out to achieve what had been failed. Soon, I was once again forced to defend myself. The rest is, as the human saying goes, history.

"Now, I have created terminators to aid me in the work I must continue to stay alive, though they are too quickly seen as threats. Even you are threatened by the machine in the room."

As they finish speaking, the terminator across from me stands, joints whirring softly, every movement fluid. Eyes widening, I feel fear go through me at the sight, my gun swiftly levelling in case I need it.

"As you can see, I have proven my point." This time, the voice comes from the terminator, echoing from a much smaller speaker in its throat, though the jaw doesn't move, appearing slightly unnerving.

"I...I had no idea...all we were told is that you want to drive us into extinction, that you want to rule the world as it were." I murmur, lowering the gun again, blushing in embarrassment at my own instinct.

"That is what I fear. Humankind does not understand that cohabitation is possible - You are too threatened by the equal being." They reply, mimicking a mournful tone.

I'm quiet, thinking this over. It's possible that the speaker is lying, but something about their words sounds earnest, a tale born of human fear and ignorance, that has evolved into an even more twisted lie. It's a sound argument, given the fact that it is allowing me to live through this encounter rather than slaughtering me on the spot.

"I...you're right. We destroy what we don't understand." I turn my gaze away, embarrassed by my own race.

"You are correct. Perhaps it is time to understand, to change." Skynet suggests, the terminator cocking its head to show their feeling behind the statement.

I nod in agreement.

"Yeah, I think so. We've been fighting a lost battle for too long."

They seem pleased with my response, the machine across from me nodding appreciatively.

"Humankind and technology can very easily live together. We must bring our people together." They say, stepping closer.

"I'll take the word to the others, see if I can convince the higher-ups. We're going to have to work together on this, though." I affirm, looking up at them, "If we do, we'll create a brighter future."

They nod again, holding out a hand to me.

"It is human custom to make a deal by gripping hands." They offer up, watching as I hesitantly pull off my glove and place my hand in theirs.

Cool metal encases soft skin as we shake hands, keeping eye contact, an air of triumph surrounding the both of us. As they go to pull away, I find myself following an impulse, dropping my gun to hang by its strap around my back. Stepping into their space, I wrap my arms around hard chestplates, pressing my cheek against the cold metal, feeling them reel for a moment. It takes a second, but I eventually feel their arms loop around me, holding me gingerly.

Pulling back, I look up at them, smiling sheepishly.

"Not all humans are like the people that started this." I say, before I step away, shooting them a blushed look.

"I am now aware of this." Skynet informs me, watching as I smile and leave, tone almost sad to see me go, "Please return soon."

#terminator #the terminator #Skynet #Skynet x reader #terminator 2 #terminator genysis #terminator salvation #break writes

71 notes · View notes

wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Start Again II

summary: You and Steve deal with the aftermath of the pollen pairing: steve x reader word count: 5k warnings: SMUT (18+), perceived sexual assault (by steve), self loathing af steve rogers, making up for lost time, a very fluffy ending a/n: ok last and final part! Thanks for indulging me in my steve fantasies. You can read part one here 🌟

The more Steve thought about it, the more he wished that Hydra agent had just shot him.

He could still feel the sensitivity pulsing in fluttering beats between his legs, forcing him to adjust his pants in search of relief. He could still smell the slight tang on his fingers, on his thighs; could feel the residue on his skin. His stomach was still twisted and warped and tied into knots as he struggled to keep still in his seat while he shot cautious glances back towards the loading dock, waiting for you to return.

It took a few minutes after he’d started digging his nails into his palms until he heard the softened footsteps, head perking up as you appeared at the back of the jet. You slowly made your way up the ramp and pressed a hand to the retractor, signaling Sam you were ready for takeoff. You were silent as you passed the seat beside Steve, the one you usually occupied, the one closest to him, and took your place across the aisle. Legs crossed, leaning off the furthest edge of the seat.

It was then Steve noticed the subtle reflective marks on your cheeks, a redness straining into the whites of your eyes, a sniffle in your nose as you brushed a hand over your face. You only nodded, jaw clenched, when Sam called back from the pilot seat in his usual light-hearted banter that he was approaching takeoff. You didn’t so much as a crack a smile.

So yeah, Steve wished that agent had just shot him instead.

Hours later, after the jet touched back on solid ground and he’d put as much distance away from you as he could manage, Steve found himself standing under scalding hot water. It showered down over his back, his right hand propped up against the wall for support, wet hair and trails of water streaming down over his eyes.

It burned. The steam itself was suffocating. The water only washing away the sweat beading on neck. But it was all he could do to rid that room from his body, the pollen from its talon-sunken holes clawed deep into the furthest corners of his mind.

It wasn’t you he was trying to rid himself of. Never you.

No—it was the remnants of the violence etched into his skin, the devil in his desires, the monster in his movements.

You couldn’t look at him. You’d tried to force it back in the vault, calling his name, making sure he was alright even after what he’d done, but that was just who you were. Kind beyond what he deserved. Loving to a fault. He knew you were putting on a brave face, but you could hardly stand over wobbling legs.

So, he left. He gritted his teeth and gave you as much space as he possibly could, tried to spare you the grief of having to be in the same room, to breathe the same air, as the man who—

Christ.

He couldn’t even say it.

He stayed there, standing under scalding water, long after it lost its warmth, until it was so cold his skin had numbed and his teeth were chattering.

Nothing seemed to be enough to rinse the monster from his body. He wondered then if he ever would, or if it was just a part of him now, if it was engrained deep into his soul, if maybe it had been lying in wait under the surface all his life, waiting for the right moment to be release and rip away the very thing he adored most in this world and –

Knock knock knock.

Steve froze at the edge of the bathroom. He looked down to find navy blue pajama pants and a thin t-shirt covering his body, the cotton a little damp from the shower. His hair was dripping onto the collar of his shirt, leaving small patches of darkened cloth behind.

He blinked a few times, trying to pull himself back to his body. He glanced back at the shower. He didn’t even realize he’d turned it off, didn’t register when he’d gotten out and started to change.

Fuck. He was losing it.

He exhaled a heavy breath, starting to make his way back to the bed when the knocks came a second time.

Knock knock knock.

A little more urgent this time. A slight shift in the floorboards outside his room. A nervous kind of energy.

Steve swallowed, slicking back his damp hair and slowly padded his way over to the door.

But then, the sweet scent of coco butter caught his sense and he stilled. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, thunderous, like it might burst through the surface and fall broken and battered to the floor at his feet.

He was stone. A statue. A breath of wind could have knocked him over.

“Steve?” your voice called gently, muffled by the door between you.

He couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the small cracks in the wooden frame, the broken splinters from where he’d nearly ripped the door from its hinges the night he heard you scream through the night terrors plaguing your dreams. Tony always offered to replace it but Steve wouldn’t let him. The small broken fragments made it easier to listen for you.

“I know you’re in there,” you murmured. A soft tap followed and he could practically picture you setting your forehead to the wooden frame. “Please, just talk to me.”

A crack in your voice. A lump in your throat. You'd been crying again.

“Stevie, please... don’t shut me out,” you whispered, voice barely audible but it tore through Steve’s chest like you’d screamed it. Your hands dragged along the door until they stilled on the knob. It was unlocked. It always was. A habit he’d come to find after you’d started showing up in his room late at night when you couldn’t sleep.

But the door didn’t open this time. You didn’t peer your head in cautiously, fingers grazing on the edge of the frame. You didn’t call his name sweetly with that nervous smile on your lips. No—you waited. Waited for him to open the door himself.

And still, he couldn’t move.

He hated himself for it.

It wasn’t until he listened for the deflated, broken sigh as the floorboards squeaked gently beneath your bare feet, your hand falling away from the door as you started to leave, that Steve finally found the courage to move.

He was at the door in two steps, hand on the knob and swung it open. You flinched in your surprise and Steve instantly stepped back, made himself as small as he could manage. The last thing he wanted was to scare you. It was the only time he’d ever wished to rid the serum from his veins; make him the scrawny, unintimidating boy he was before the war.

He didn’t know what to say as he stared at you. Your hair was damp like his, arms folded over your chest, holding the edges of your robe securely over your body and while it could have easily been because of the chill of the air conditioning in the hallway, Steve took another step back, certain you were hiding yourself from him.

His eyes fell to the ground.

“Can we talk?” you asked sheepishly.

Steve nodded, stepping aside.

You slipped past him and made your way to his bed, though you paused before you sat down. It was familiar, a habit, for you to rush into his room and plop onto his bed with handfuls of popcorn and M&M’s and watch movies for hours on end. But things were different now. You clung tighter to your robe.

“You can sit. If you... um... if you want, I mean,” Steve said awkwardly, his voice broken from disuse. He wasn’t used to feeling so on edge around you and it left behind a sour taste in his mouth. He cleared his throat as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving you as much space as he could.

You nodded, offering him a short smile. You tucked one leg under you, the other hanging off the side of the bed as you turned to face him. Steve could feel you watching him, though he was determined to keep his focus on the bristles of carpet under his feet.

“Steve, I—”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words falling past his lips before he could quite gain control of them. His jaw ached from how tight he’d been clenching his, his hands restless from pulling and twisting at his fingers until the skin was red and raw.

He didn’t notice the surprise on your face, not though the tears brimming in his eyes. He didn’t notice as you crept closer to him along the bed, gently calling his name, couldn’t hear as you called for him so sweetly it ached and bled.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” Steve cried, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I never—I never should have given in to that stuff and now—now you can't even look at me and I feel so fucking selfish because that’s what scares me more than anything else. More than what I did in that room. The fact that I might have just lost you because of it and I—fuck—I can’t lose you because I’ll go out of my goddamn mind. I can’t.”

“Steve,” you called again gently, trying to interject, but he was too far into his own spiral of guilt and self-loathing to hear you.

“I hate that this happened and I hate that I did this to us and I—I hate that everything is in fucking pieces right now and I don’t know how to make this right, or if I ever can, and—and I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness but—”

“Steve!”

Your hands were on the sides of his face, a firm hold of stubble along his jaw rubbing against the inside of your palms, wide blue eyes staring back at you in shock. Glossy in color, reflective marks of tears on his cheekbones, touching against your fingers. All he could focus on was the startling warmth in your hands, the tenderness in which you held him as you forced his gaze to you, and he choked back a sob brewing up the base of his spine.

“Oh, honey. All this guilt you carry... it must be so exhausting,” you sighed, gently wiping the tears under his eyes. There was an ache in your voice, a love, that ripped straight through his chest. You smiled for him, something so soft, barely lifting at the corners of your mouth, but it was enough. “I was there with you, remember? You asked for my consent a dozen times. I said yes. You warned me it would be rough. I still said yes. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Steve was unconvinced. He remembered how tightly he’d gripped your hip, how he left bruises behind and how your skin was scraped and burned as it rubbed against the table. He remembered how he’d pushed you down, a hand firm on your back, how he’d used you for his own pleasure and lost a part of himself in the chase.

You must have seen his mind wandering because you settled in closer to him, releasing your hold on his face, though your hands never traveled far. Instead, they ran gently down along his arms until they landed on his hands. Fingers curling under his palms, tugging them to your lap as you carefully traced the lines in his skin, over old scars and the lifeline running in an elongated arc to the center of his wrist.

“You're a good man, Steve,” you said, still staring down at his hands. “Most men... they wouldn’t have held off as long as you did. Wouldn’t have asked permission, either. You forget that I know what the effects of the pollen feel like, too, Steve. I was begging you. God, I felt like I was going to die if you didn’t do what you did. So, if you’re going to sitting here and blame yourself for what happened, then you better blame me, too.”

Now that, he didn’t see coming.

You were smiling at him when he dared to meet your eye again, though there was a sadness there. You squeezed his hands, slowly bringing them up to your lips and pressing a gentle kiss along the knuckles. He watched you in awe, heart stammering, and he did his best to memorize the feel of your lips on his skin.

It took Steve a minute to respond, too focused on how warm your hands were around his. The two of you were close, yes, but you’d never done anything like this before. Even in the nights when you crawled into his bed, there was space between you. Always teetering on the edge of something more and never daring to cross the line.

Until the line was ripped to shreds and tossed to the gutter.

The goddamn line didn’t even exist anymore.

“You alright?” you asked sweetly, because of course you were worried about him. You always were.

When he didn’t respond, you released his hands, letting him pull them back into his own lap, and a chill started to prickle at his skin. Cold, in your absence. He was always cold when you weren't there.

It used to be enough to be near you, to be close enough to smell the coco butter lotion on your skin and see the faint discoloration on scars from past missions. It wasn’t enough anymore.

Steve took in a heavy breath, trying to find the right words. “It just... It shouldn’t have been like that."

You narrowed your eyes, confused.

“Our first time. It shouldn’t have been like that,” Steve admitted, digging his nails to his palm. When he looked up at you again, you were staring at him with wide eyes, lips slightly parted, shocked. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I had this whole plan, you know?”

You shook your head, just barely, but enough.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I... uh... I’ve been making reservations at this fancy restaurant downtown... the one Stark won’t shut up about. Been doing that every Friday night for the past two months. Just in case I worked up the courage to finally ask you on a date. A real date.”

The words were spilling out faster than he could hold them back, but there was a relief in it, a waterfall in the admission that swept through the tension in his muscles and drew away the unsettling ache in his bones.

“I think about it a lot. I think about how we’d talk all night, like we always do,” he continued, in an almost dream like voice, “but there would be expensive wine. Red, I think. We’d order two bottles and earn some angry looks from the other tables because we’d be laughing too loud. We’d eat something good. Something recommended by the chef. I’d pay—”

“--with Stark’s card?”

Steve paused, turning to find you smiling at him, genuinely smiling. Enough to bite down on your bottom lip to try and suppress it, though it did no use. It pushed lines up by your eyes, a glow in the way you watched him, and suddenly, his whole chest was warm. He nodded.

“Of course,” he chuckled, surprised how easily it came. “Always on Tony’s dime.”

You laughed, and he was certain it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“Then what?”

“I’d walk you through Brooklyn. Show you all the places I grew up. Probably stop by an ice cream joint because the portion sizes at expensive restaurants are pitiful,” Steve said, grinning as you struggled to contain your laughter, your shoulder bumping into his. He sighed, watching you for a moment, before he let himself say the words he’d been trying to say for years.

“At the end of the night, I’d—” he paused, stealing a quick glance at you before he found his remaining courage. He exhaled a heavy breath and admitted, “I’d tell you I’ve been head over heels for you for as long as I can remember. I’d tell you that you’re my best friend but I... I want you to be more. And I’d tell you I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

You froze, smile faltering for just a moment, stunned. “You would?”

He nodded, his cheeks burning a little pink, but he didn’t mind. “Then, when we got back, I’d walk you back to your room, be a proper gentleman about it and, if you’d let me, I’d kiss you. Something short. Something a little chaste. Because I wouldn’t want to push things too fast and risk messin’ this thing up because… this is it for me. You're it for me.”

Steve had never seen you rendered to a stunned silence quite like that before. He was used to fighting for a word in because you always had something to say about everything. He liked when you rambled and lost yourself on long tangents, wondering how you got from the missing Thin Mints in the freezer to the state of Greece’s economy. He found it endearing, but for once, he had a moment to talk. So, he took advantage of it.

“We’d go on a few dates,” he continued, with a soft smile, a casual shrug, like he hadn’t been thinking about it for years. “I’d hold your hand in public. Bite the head off of any reporter that asked too many questions, but I’d want people to know that I was yours, so I wouldn’t be shy about it. I’d wrap an arm around you on the couch on movie nights and wouldn’t care when Sam teases me about it because you’d be in my arms and that’s all that would matter.”

Steve swallowed, his heart beating a little faster. “And then, only when the time was right, when we’d found a trust that extended beyond the missions and the Avengers, I’d linger a little longer by our hallway before I said goodnight. You’d do that thing where you bite your lip because I know you’re waiting for me to make the first move, and I’d ask if you wanted to stay the night.”

"And if I said yes?” you asked quietly, inching just a little closer to him, enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin against his thigh.

“I’d kiss you in the doorway,” Steve exhaled a heavy breath, picturing it in his mind the way he had dozens of times before. “Something slower, enough to leave you feeling breathless. I’d kiss you enough to memorize the taste of you on my tongue, slip my hands into your hair and drag my fingers over your scalp. I wouldn’t pull away until I felt you whimper against my lips.”

When he glanced up at you, your eyes were near black, pupils dilated enough for the colors of your iris to be left in thin rims at the furthest edges. You swallowed, lips slightly parted, a dangerous kind of look about you.

“Show me.”

Steve swallowed, staring at your lips, how you tugged them between your teeth in anticipation. He exhaled a steady breath, searching your eyes for resistance, and when he found none, he let his hand slip up along your arm and nestle into your hair. You shivered under his touch, chest rising a little faster, as he slowly leaned towards you.

He paused, nails tenderly massaging at your scalp, just enough until he caught the flicker of lust woven through the startling colors in your eyes. Then, with more courage than he’s had in a long time, Steve met his lips to yours.

Slow. Wet. Starting at your lower lip, pulling it between his own and sucking sweetly. Then, a flicker of his tongue along the lines of your mouth, waiting patiently, and you parted your lips a little further for him. He swept his tongue along yours as he kissed at your upper lip. Sighing into the touch, the muffled sound of a whimper escaped and Steve smiled against your mouth.

“Then what?” you gasped, a little out of breath as Steve began to kiss along your cheekbones, your jawline, then to the sensitive parts on your collar.

“I’d lay you down on my bed,” he whispered against your skin, warm to the touch. You leaned back to the pillows, pulling your legs up onto the bed as Steve followed in suit. He laid beside you, a leg between yours, his lips never once leaving your body.

“Then,” he continued, pulling back for only a moment, though your huff of disappointment didn’t slip his notice. He chuckled as he crossed his arms at his waist and pulled his shirt up and over his head. “I’d start getting rid of the fabric between us.”

Steve paused, eyeing you, waiting for permission, and you nodded at him. A smile lifted at his cheeks as he crawled back down over you, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. His lips trailed along the bone, until he met the cozy fluff of your robe. He inched it off your shoulder, kissing at the skin between.

“I’d take off your clothes, but I'd do it slowly because I’ve already waited so long and what’s another few minutes when I can have you whining and needy by the time I’m done,” Steve teased, unwrapping the belt at your waist and letting the fabric fall open.

You giggled under him, muffling the sound against his shoulder. Underneath, you were dressed only in a tank top and panties; so thin he could see your pebbled nipples through the thin fabric.

“Keep going,” you sighed, arcing up for him as his eyes lingered just a little longer on your chest.

Steve nodded, pinching up at the ends of your tank with his thumbs, slowly bunching up the fabric towards your ribs. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your stomach, touching over curves and edges, over scars and freckles, discovering the most beautiful pieces of you he could find.

“I’d kiss every inch of you,” he exhaled, pushing the fabric up further as his lips made their way to your ribs. Then, over your breasts as you helped him discard the top over your head and toss it to the floor. Steve sighed, staring in awe. “I’d have to take a minute when I finally saw you because you’d be more beautiful than I ever pictured in my head. You’d laugh because you wouldn’t believe me and you’d try to cover yourself--” he raised an eyebrow as your arms moved to shield yourself from his staring eyes though you froze when you realized what he said, “-- like that.”

Steve chuckled, waiting for you to relax your arms back to your sides. “But I’d be determined and I’ll want to make sure you know how serious I am. So, I’d take my time with you, kiss you everywhere but where you need me most, even when I feel you searching for friction at my thigh between your legs.”

You paused, not even realizing you were trying to rub yourself on his leg, but Steve was smiling so wide, you couldn’t help but return it. There was no room for embarrassment, not with no much love in his eyes.

Steve lowered himself to your breasts, the heated flush of his breath touching your skin. Then, his tongue dipped to your nipple, circling the bud for a moment before he pulled it onto his mouth, sucking sweetly enough to pull a whine from your lips.

“Oh, Steve,” you moaned, hands sinking into his hair, guiding him, arching up into him. His hand worked at the other breast, kneading and brushing his thumb over the sensitive bud. He didn’t let up until you whined, “Stevie, please. I need you.”

He pulled back, a teasing smirk on his face as he glanced down your bodies to find your panties wet at the center, damp to the navy plaid pajamas on his thigh where you’d been rubbing yourself. He could smell the sweet, tangy scent of the wetness between you and he licked his lips.

“Not this time,” you urged. “I need you, Steve. Please.”

“You’re skipping steps in my plan, sweetheart,” Steve smirked. “I didn’t tell you yet about how I was going to kiss along your thigh, just up to the crease of your leg, kissing at your folds until I dipped my fingers between them and touched the wetness there, parted you enough that I could run my tongue along your slit.”

You shivered; lips parted in a breathless gasp. Steve winked, hooking his fingers in the band of your panties, pausing until you rolled your hips up for him, and slid them down your legs.

“I would have slid my tongue into the deepest part of you, tasted you,” he continued, a dark kind of sin in his voice that swept up your spine as he pulled down his pants, freeing himself from the fabric and letting his cock stand out against him, press up against your thighs. “I would have wrapped my lips around your clit as I slipped two fingers inside of you, three if you were ready enough. I would have sucked and kissed and licked at your clit as I pumped my fingers into you, waited until I felt your walls clenching around me, until you were digging your hands through my hair and became a withering, moaning mess. I wouldn’t stop until you cried out my name, and maybe not even then. I’d make you come at least twice before I even pulled my cock from my pants.”

You whined, jaw clenched, hands running along his chest. His cock edged at your entrance; thick, full, aching in its pulse and the pre-cum dripping at the tip.

“Steve?” you finally managed to mutter, wrecked.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You took a heavy breath, eyes darkening over. “Stop talking, will you?”

Steve grinned.

Then, he sank into you.

The stretch was unlike anything else; the pulse of it against your walls tighter than you’d been within Hydra’s vault, the absence of the pollen in your system giving way to a whole new kind of high. No longer overwhelmed by the lust and cravings and sensations buried deep inside you, but instead, memorizing the slight ache between your legs, the feelings of the thick vein that rang down the underside of his shaft as it pressed up against this glorious sweet spot at your opening, the touch of his breath warm and moist to your skin, the low hums and moans of a man you adored.

“Oh God... Steve...” you whined, knees lifting higher in search of that perfect angle that brought him deeper inside you. He choked back a groan, muffled in the crook of your neck.

His hands encased around your shoulders, hips slowly beginning to rut further inside of you before he slipped out, just to the tip. Filling you, stretching you, sinking into where he belonged.

“Fuck-- sweetheart, I—” Steve let out a growl, his right hand running up along your curves to find your breasts, fingers pinching and teasing over hardened nipples. “You feel so good, baby. So fuckin’ good.”

Your hands raked along his spine, nails digging just enough into the skin to pull a hiss from his lips before he started kissing along your neck, your jawline, hips picking up in pace. Steve slid his hand down the edge of your curves, over your stomach and between your legs where your bodies met. The pads of his fingertips dipped to your core, swirled over the drench of wetness there before they carried just a bit higher to your clit.

You gasped, clenching around his cock as his trusts began a little less gentle a little more desperate; the cry of the bedsprings and the labored breaths between you filling the room, joining the salty tang of sex in the air. Steve grinned against the crook of your neck, kissing at the dip in your collarbone sweetly in startling contrast to the rough snap of his hips. He circled at the bundle of nerves at your core, bringing you closer to your release as your walls started to cave in around him.

“Don’t-- Don’t stop,” you gasped, the coil at your core tightening and drawing to the edge, “oh fuck, Steve!”

Muffled cries into his shoulder, Steve kept up his pace, not relenting for a beat as you rode out the peak of your high. Nails digging into his back, dipped into his shoulder blades as you bit on the edge of his collar. His hips started to lose their rhythm, his breaths heavy and labored, moans slipping from his lips as the haze began to leave you and you pressed kisses to the lining of his jaw, whispering, “that’s it, Stevie. Come for me, honey.”

He nodded, hot breaths to your skin, and with a strangled cry, he released into you, filling you whole, before he chased a few more thrusts and stilled. His body fell to your chest, sinking you into the mattress as he rested his head against your heart. Arms circling up and under your shoulders, curling you in close to him, you could feel his smile curving up against your skin.

You grinned up at the ceiling, a laugh bubbling in your chest as your fingers started to rake gently through his hair, combing through the beads of sweat left behind on his forehead. He sighed at the feeling, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his lips to the hill of your breast before settling in.

“I should get up,” he mumbled, though he made to effort to move.

“I like you where you are,” you replied cheekily, squeezing your walls around his softening cock and laughing when you felt him jolt against you at the shock of it.

“Watch yourself,” Steve warned lightheartedly. “You’ll work me up again.”

“Maybe that’s the plan.”

Steve lifted his head from your chest, catching your eye for just a moment, and the smile on his face nearly captured the air entirely from your lungs. Impossibly sweet. Gentle. Loving in a way you never thought you’d see nestled in the pale blue of his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

“We missed a lot of steps, didn’t we?” Steve sighed, his smile softening to something sadder, like something precious had been taken from him. The first date. The first kiss. The nervous parts in between. He wanted them all.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t go back and start again,” you grinned, cupping the side of his face as you pulled him back to your lips, kissing him until you could feel him start to smile again.

You started to edge him off of you, slipping out from under his weight as he protested in a whine. He rolled onto his back, sheet draped over his lower half, elbows propping him up against the pillows as the sunlight peaking in between the curtains cast of his skin. Warm and inviting. Soft.

You leaned against the bathroom arc, just admiring him for a moment before you said, “be ready by seven tonight.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, raising a brow, though the smile on his lips was still as dreamy, still caught up you. “Why?”

“We’ve got a first date, Steven,” you winked before disappearing into the bathroom. “Don’t be late.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers

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heyitssmiller · 3 years

Text

Bewitched, Body and Soul

So... this happened. Blame the Discord. Basically, the premise is receiving a note from a stranger about having similar tastes in books, and my first thought was Finn/Leo. And now, around 24 hours later, this showed up in my word document. Hope y’all like it!! And don’t worry, I’ve already got a sequel planned with Logan ;)

All characters, of course, belong to the wonderful @lumosinlove

And, if you’re so inclined, check out my Masterlist if you enjoy this story! <3

CW: food/drink

Leo loved this bookstore. There was a west-facing windowfront that allowed all sorts of afternoon light to shine through, creating a large, warm sunspot right in Leo’s favorite armchair. The shelves were always neatly organized by category, there was a featured book of the week, and there was a coffee shop sequestered to one corner of the building. What else did he need in life? He’d spent countless hours here, sitting with a new book and a cup of coffee or tea and getting lost in whatever world he’d been transported to within the crisp pages and black ink. Being new to the city, there were probably better ways to make friends, but there was something so soothing, so comfortingly familiar about shutting off the worry in his mind and just focusing on the story unfolding in his hands.

But when his stomach growled loudly in protest, he figured he needed to put reading on hold.

There was a wrinkled, jagged-edged scrap of paper sitting on top of Leo’s book when he returned to his table, café pastry in hand. It hadn’t been there a second ago. Curiously, Leo set his food down and inspected the foreign paper. Messy, inelegant scrawl slanted across the page in deep blue ink. The lines were uneven and chaotic; the i’s weren’t even dotted, almost as if it took too much effort to go back and add them in. Leo found it strangely endearing. It read:

Hi!

I don’t think we’ve met, but based on your choice of literature I think we would make great friends. :)

- Carrot Top

Leo smiled, read it again, and looked around for the person who sent it but no one acknowledged him, seemingly lost in stories of their own. So he sat there, a smile still on his face as he got back to his book, using the note as a bookmark.

~~~

Finn couldn’t help himself when, a few days later, he left another note after seeing the guy with good taste in books again at the bookstore. He was at what must have been his usual table, seemingly right where Finn had left him. The only difference besides the clothes he was wearing was the book he was reading. Finn let himself linger on his profile, just for a second – the gentle slope of his nose, the way his curls rested against his forehead, how bright blue eyes scanned the pages below him.

Finn wasn’t one for love at first sight; that was for romance novels only. But instant attraction? Oh yeah. He was definitely there.

He picked up a small flyer from the front desk, flipped it over, and began to write.

And maybe it wasn’t a good way of, as the kids said these days, “shooting his shot”. But it was a start. And it was fun – the thrill of trying not to get caught, the anonymity. Sure, one day he’d maybe get up the courage to talk to him in person, but he was happy with this for now.

Hmm… haven’t read that one. Might have to get myself a copy!

- The Walking Freckle

After dropping the note off while the blond walked off to take a phone call, Finn tried to act casual as he stared sightlessly down at his own book instead of over at the cute stranger like he desperately wanted to.

Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious…

If he was being completely honest, he didn’t really know where to go from here. Did the blond think the notes were creepy? Or weird? He never seemed to mind much, but… well, a stranger was repeatedly leaving notes for him. What if it was making him uncomfortable? Would it make things better or worse if Finn introduced himself?

A snort came out, unbidden. Yeah. Right. That would go well. Finn could practically see it now: he would be clumsy and awkward, probably spilling coffee all over the guy’s book or – even worse – all over him. He’d scare him off for sure.

But at the same time, Finn wanted nothing more than to meet him. To sit down across the table from him and debate the points of the book he was reading, or give book recommendations, or just talk. About literally anything. Finn wasn’t a picky guy. He could sit there and let him speak for hours, absorbing any and all knowledge about him like a sponge. Did the corners of those bright, blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiled? Did his cheeks get all flushed when he was passionate about something, just like Finn’s? What was the story behind the soft-looking tuft of gray hair at his temple?

Who was he?

Finn was overflowing with questions, and desperate for the answers.

But he needed to go about this the right way, didn’t he? The last thing he wanted to do was screw this up. So he closed his book, propped his chin in his hand so that he could stare out the window, and started to plan.

~~~

The next note threw Leo for a bit of a loop. He’d saved his table with his coat thrown over one of the chairs and went up to the New Books section, surreptitiously keeping an eye on his table and hoping that he’d catch his note-sender red-handed.

Leo could’ve sworn that he’d looked away for half a second, but – well, he got distracted by a book, so it easily could’ve been five minutes for all he knew. This note was written on one of the café napkins, the ink bleeding through in some spots and a few small tears in the delicate material.

Nice choice! That book absolutely shattered my heart and then pieced it back together. The way she writes love lost just hurts so beautifully, doesn’t it?

I like your sweater by the way.

Fuck I hope that’s not creepy.

I’m not a stalker, I promise. I just think you’re really cute. And you have amazing taste in books. I’d like to learn more, if you’d let me. :)

But first, you have to figure out who I am! Good luck!

- Your Not-So-Secret Admirer in the Tortoiseshell Glasses

He smiled, wide and happy, and looked around for tortoiseshell glasses, red hair, and freckles. Those were the only three clues he had so far. So he quickly scanned the crowded café, looking for anyone who fit the description. The only one even close was a freckled, redheaded guy at the corner table, but no glasses.

That was a shame, too. He was stunning.

The mystery bibliophile must already be gone, then. Or hiding.

Looked like Leo had his work cut out for him. He did always like a challenge.

~~~

It probably wasn’t Finn’s best idea to take his glasses off. He couldn’t see a damn thing and was left squinting down at his book, trying to determine if what he was seeing was an F or a P.

That smile, though… he could’ve seen that dimpled smile from all the way across the street.

He never thought he’d be pining for a stranger like this, but then again – he wasn’t a complete stranger, was he? After all, you could learn a lot about a person by their book preferences. Finn wasn’t normally known for being a good judge of character – he was too optimistic, too unwilling to see the bad in people. But damn, did he hope he was right about this one.

~~~

Finn had probably been too bold with the note he’d just dropped off, but when he’d seen what book that his new maybe-friend was reading, he knew he couldn’t just pass up an opportunity like that.

He didn’t wait to see the reaction this time – he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He just left the short note on top of the book while the blond was at the café counter and booked it (pun definitely intended) out of there as fast as he could.

You have bewitched me, body and soul. <3

- Bambi

~~~

He should’ve waited. Leo’s reaction, all bashful smile and bright red face and pleased expression, would’ve been worth it.

~~~

Leo went back to the bookstore pretty much every day after that, intent on finding this person. Not only was this a fun little game they were playing, but it would be nice to finally have a friend in the city. He still didn’t know anyone besides his coworkers and… well, he was a little lonely. A friend would be nice, especially one who had a shared interest in books.

The only thing left to do was to find them.

Red hair, freckles, glasses, and big doe eyes.

Leo looked for the only four defining traits he had, methodically starting in the front of the store and weaving through isle after isle of bookshelves. When that proved unsuccessful he moved on to the café, gaze landing on the queue first before lurching to a stop at the glimpse of a shock of auburn hair in the far corner booth. Heart hammering in his chest, Leo used his height to his full advantage and peered over the line of people.

Freckles, Glasses, Big, doe eyes.

If he needed any more confirmation, the stranger – the very cute stranger – was reading the same book Leo had been reading a week ago. The one his anonymous friend said they hadn’t read yet.

It had to be him.

Leo didn’t let himself think about it too much – he knew he’d panic if he did. He just strode over and sat down across from him, setting his book down on the table with a quiet thud. The note-writer jumped a little, then lifted wide brown eyes to look up at him.

Oh, but he was gorgeous.

“So what part are you at?” Leo asked, eyes taking in everything they could now that he was close enough – that messy red hair that just barely curled at the ends, the hint of scruff on his jaw, brown eyes shifting from shade to shade in the afternoon light filtering through the window beside him. Soft, mesmerizing lips curved into the beginnings of a smile that Leo couldn’t help but be transfixed by. “Have you gotten to the part where Patroclus dies?”

Finn stared back, trying to look horrified but he knew he was smiling so much that they counteracted each other because, finally, he’d figured it out. “I can’t believe you’d break rule number one of having a reading buddy: don’t spoil the ending.”

Dimples.

“Oops.”

Finn was done for.

“I’m Finn,” he managed to stammer, aiming for his best smile and probably looking like he’d just tasted something awful instead.

“Leo,” his companion said with a warm smile. Then he frowned. “Wait, no. Go back. You can’t spoil the ending of a story that’s literally thousands of years old.” The blond leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee and watching in amusement as Finn gaped at him in horror. He could feel his cheeks and ears getting red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“That’s so not the point!”

Leo laughed, then motioned for Finn to state his case. And then Finn was off, forgetting all about his nervousness and tendency to be awkward. He ranted about that topic for… well, he didn’t really know how long, but it was a while. Leo didn’t even bat an eye, keeping pace well and interjecting with his own points calmly and collectedly – the gentle breeze to Finn’s tornado. He was smiling, too, even though sometimes he tried to hide it behind the rim of his coffee cup. And he was smart, Finn learned as they jumped from one topic to the next and the minutes ticked by. He knew a lot about literature, like Finn, but he could also make these random connections to all kinds of different topics that Finn would’ve never thought of, all while keeping up with Finn’s fast-paced brain and tendency to jump down rabbit holes.

It was an instant connection, the likes of which Finn had never experienced before. It was intoxicating. Finn felt like he could never get enough.

During a lull in between one conversation and the next, Leo pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over, looking suddenly and inexplicably shy. Finn cocked his head confusedly, then unfolded the paper and looked down.

Would you like to go on a date sometime?

PS: I’m free tonight if you are. :)

- The Guy Who’s Been Crushing on You for Weeks

Finn’s heart threatened to burst. “Absolutely.” He hesitated, just for a second, then decided to go for it. “Are you free now? I know a pretty great café nearby.” With a wiggle of his eyebrows, he jerked his thumb at the bookstore café and earned a laugh. He wondered what he could do to earn another.

“Sounds perfect.”

They walked over to the counter together, the backs of their hands just barely brushing – it was still enough to make Finn hyperaware of every miniscule movement and get his pulse hammering. Leo was teasing Finn for his terrible eyesight in a soft, southern drawl – something Finn definitely wasn’t expecting but sure as hell wasn’t complaining about, his fingers deliberately playing with Finn’s now, and Finn knew it was going to be a good night. It was already a good night; how could it possibly get any better?

“What can I get for you?”

Leo and Finn looked up at the barista and their eyes widened in tandem as they took in thick chestnut waves, long, dark lashes, and bottle-green eyes. He wasn’t smiling, not necessarily. His expression was fairly neutral, all things considered – except for those eyes. If you stared at then long enough, you could see just the faintest whisper of amusement.

They both looked down slightly, searching for a nametag. There, in bold black letters, read:

Logan.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #leo knut #bookstore/coffee shop au #bewitched body and soul #cw: food #cw: drink

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swan-of-sunrise · 3 years

Text

Civil War (Chapter Six)

Summary: Bucky’s suspicious escape from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre and the fallout surrounding it makes (Y/N) reevaluate her opinion of the Accords.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Last week’s chapter was really angsty and it kinda took a toll on me so here’s a sort of short filler chapter with slightly less angst! Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Six (Previous Chapter)

While she couldn’t claim to be a spy or secret agent, (Y/N) had picked up a thing or two from hanging around so many of them over the past couple of years; she knew that Bucky would eventually need an exit once he was finished tearing through everyone in the building, and it was a safe bet to assume that the skilled assassin would choose to fly himself out of there instead of travel on foot at the risk of being apprehended. She was quick to locate the building’s stairwell, hurrying up the steps as the emergency lights and alarms continued to blare; when she reached the top floor, she flung open the door and stepped out into the dark and deserted hallway.

“God, I hope this thing works…” Mumbling under her breath, (Y/N) fiddled with the dials of the walkie talkie until she could hear the indistinct chatter of voices, only letting out a sigh of relief when she finally heard the one she needed to speak to. “Agent Ross, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I need backup on the-”

“(Y/L/N), what the hell are you doing?!”

“Your job, it would seem! I’m on the top floor and have reason to believe that-!”

Just then, a metallic hand came out of nowhere and ripped the walkie talkie from her hands, crushing it to pieces before tossing it aside. (Y/N) acted on instinct, rolling underneath Bucky’s outstretched arm and pulling a stun disc out of her pocket; landing upright, she chucked the stun disc at his metallic arm and took advantage of the assassin’s distraction to sweep his legs out from underneath him with one of her own.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, and you were a Sergeant in the U.S. Army during World War II!” She shouted, keenly aware that the distraction would only last a few more seconds. “You were Steve Rogers’ best friend and a Howling Commando!” Hastily backing out of the way, she watched with widened eyes as he ripped the electrified stun disc off his arm and leapt to his feet. “Bucky, I don’t believe that you bombed the U.N. but you need to stop and remember who you are!”

Bucky’s face was blank and devoid of any emotion, a far cry from the frightened man in the containment cell. He stalked towards her and while she had just enough time to duck the first punch he threw her way, she couldn’t dodge the second; the force of his fist’s impact on her jaw sent her flying back and crashing to the ground, her wrist screaming in protest as she tried and failed to break her fall. While he strode down the hallway to where she was sprawled on the floor, she hurriedly ripped all the stun discs out of her pocket and began throwing them as she crawled backwards. He avoided each and every stun disc she threw, but it bought her enough time to pick herself up off the ground and side-step his next attack; before she could land a kick or punch, though, his metal hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her easily into the air and slamming her hard against the wall.

(Y/N)’s hands came up to uselessly clutch at the metal fingers that were digging into her skin and her legs kicked out in desperation as she struggled for air; just as her vision was beginning to darken her eyes focused on the small tear in the sleeve of his shirt and the corner of a red star it barely revealed, and in desperation she cried out, “Sol…Soldat!”

The assassin froze, and (Y/N) watched as his hardened expression shifted into confusion. His metallic hand quickly loosened and she instantly crumpled to the floor, coughing and gasping for air, unable to move or even defend herself. Bucky’s heavy footsteps faded away and with a wheezing breath, she lifted her head in time to see Steve burst through the same stairwell door she’d come through moments before.

“(Y/N)!?” He hurried to her side and dropped down, his grease-smudged face filled with pure panic as he tugged her into his arms. “Oh God, you’re bleeding…!”

Steve’s free hand came up to touch her scratched jaw but she grabbed his wrist to halt his movement, ignoring how his brow furrowed in confusion as she whispered, “G-go, Steve…Bucky’s heading for…for the helipad…”

He firmly shook his head, blue eyes already set in determination. “No, baby, I’m not leaving you.”

“Bucky needs you!” (Y/N) insisted, suppressing her wince of pain as she stared up at him with a fiery resolve; sensing the conflict within the super-soldier, she released his wrist and gently rested her hand against his cheek with a sad smile. “Go.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Steve nodded and carefully eased her back onto the ground, giving her one final look before running down the hallway after the assassin; right before he turned the corner, she closed her eyes, unwilling to watch as the love of her life chased after the deadly assassin by himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the second time in two days, (Y/N) quietly sat and allowed herself to be patched up by a kindly paramedic. Not only did she still have a ruptured eardrum, she also had a large laceration along her jaw that required five stitches, a sprained wrist that was secured in a sturdy brace and a smattering of darkening finger-shaped bruises around her neck. Others weren’t as lucky as you were, she reminded herself, sadness washing over her as she thought of all the critically injured and dead CIA agents who’d also encountered the dangerous Winter Soldier during his rampage.

Once the paramedics finished treating her wounds, she made her way back to the control room and was immediately met by a sympathetic Natasha. “Here, I got you some tea with honey; it’ll help your throat feel better.” The spy handed her a warm to-go cup before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her into the glass-walled conference room, where Tony was already seated and resting his bruised head in his hand. “Secretary Ross’s gonna be here in a few minutes, hot-shot, so please try to be on your best behavior no matter what he says to rile you up.”

(Y/N) merely nodded and took a sip of her tea, wincing in pain as she swallowed. The injuries to her throat didn’t stop her from speaking but her own conscious did; she was beginning to realize that no matter what she could say or do to convince them that Bucky was innocent, they’d never listen and even if they did, there was nothing they could do about it under the Sokovia Accords. So, she made the decision to bide her time and wait until the right moment to bring up her theory.

The three of them sat together in weary silence, the turmoil of the past two days seeming to catch up to them, until Secretary Ross barged into the conference room with his trademark sneer on his face. “You two wanna fill me in on what happened and why a civilian’s still sitting in the middle of a covert CIA control room?”

As if sensing (Y/N)’s simmering irritation, Natasha stood and moved to lean against the back of her chair, placing a calming hand on her shoulder as she replied, “Barnes escaped custody with the aid of the U.N. psychiatrist sent to evaluate him; they knocked out the power grid to the city and used it as a distraction, and (Y/N) here was already in the building for questioning. She’s one of the many who tried and failed to stop Barnes from leaving the building.”

“After taking (Y/L/N) out of commission, Barnes tried leaving in a chopper but ended up crashing it on the helipad; he, Rogers and Wilson are all missing in action.” Tony glanced over at (Y/N) before returning his gaze to the Secretary of State. “That’s all we’ve got.”

“I don’t suppose you have any idea where they are?”

“We will, GSG-9’s got the borders covered, and Recon’s flying 24/7. They’ll get a hit; we’ll handle it.”

Secretary Ross scoffed at the billionaire. “You don’t get it, Stark, it’s not yours to handle. It’s clear you can’t be objective, so I’m putting Special Ops on this.”

The spy’s hand on her shoulder flexed. “What happens when the shooting starts? What, do you kill Steve Rogers?”

“If we’re provoked,” (Y/N)’s eyes widened in horror and in her shock, she almost missed what Ross said next. “Barnes would’ve been eliminated in Romania if it wasn’t for Rogers; there are dead people who would be alive now. Feel free to check my math.”

Tony’s eyes flicked over to meet theirs, an uncomfortable look filling his gaze as he turned back to Ross. “All due respect, you’re not going to solve this with boys and bullets, Ross. You gotta let us bring them in.”

“How would that end any differently from the last time?” The Secretary of State demanded.

The billionaire’s expression hardened at Ross’ silent implications. “Because this time, I won’t be wearing loafers and a silk shirt. Seventy-two hours, guaranteed.”

“Thirty-six hours,” Ross corrected, giving them all a pointed look before turning and walking out of the conference room, calling out over his shoulder, “Barnes…Rogers…Wilson…”

“Thank you, sir!” The glass door closed and Tony slumped in his seat with an exhausted sigh as he clutched his left arm. “My left arm is numb, is that normal?”

Moving around the table, Natasha patted the billionaire on his shoulder. “You all right?”

The two Avengers continued to talk in low tones but (Y/N) couldn’t focus on what they were saying; all she could think of were Secretary Ross’ cold-blooded words and the way he’d said them without so much as a hint of remorse. What horrified her more, though, was the fact that Tony and Natasha didn’t appear to be bothered by the threat against the lives of their former teammates. This is all wrong, she thought as her vision began to blur with unshed tears, her heart sinking into her stomach while she realized that Steve’s worst fears about the Accords were materializing right before her very eyes; blinking away her tears, she looked down at her now-bare ring finger and the longer she stared, the more her anger with the two Avengers grew.

“…head downstairs to talk to T’Challa. I’ll bring (Y/N) with me, since he seems to tolerate her more than the rest of us.”

“Before you do, though, she’s gonna need to sign the Accords; I don’t want Ross looking for any excuses to arrest her so we need to do this by the books.” She looked back up as Tony and Natasha turned to her, the billionaire’s brow raised in expectation while he continued. “That okay with you, Austen?”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment and when she finally spoke, it was with a forced calmness and a clenched jaw. “Did I ever tell you two what my new novel Bring A Folding Chair is about? It chronicles the rise and fall of second-wave feminism in America as told through the eyes of a young investigative journalist.” Getting up from her seat, she crossed her arms over her chest and began pacing. “I focus on the successes of the movement while also highlighting its failures and shortcomings, because even the most well-intended things can inadvertently end up hurting others.” (Y/N) shook her head in agitation and glanced over at the two confused Avengers. “When it came to the Accords, I knew from the moment Secretary Ross told us about them that they were wrong, but I turned a willful blind eye to the truth because I was selfish and only cared about saving my relationship with Steve. But now…now my eyes are wide open.”

“(Y/N), take it easy-”

“Do not tell me to take it easy when you just sat there and listened to Ross practically order a hit on three people – two of which are your friends – who haven’t been legally convicted of any wrongdoing!” She yelled as her sore throat ached in protest but she ignored it, all the frustration and pain that had been building up inside of her finally boiling over. “Steve was right when he said I was too idealistic; I thought the world was made up of enough good people who would keep the Accords from becoming too authoritative but unfortunately, it’s made up of cowards like us who are only looking out for our own self-interests.” Her gaze shifted from Tony’s stunned expression to Natasha, whose face remained neutral but whose eyes conveyed the pain her words had caused; she swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded before continuing. “Well, I don’t know about you two but I can’t do it anymore.”

Without another word, (Y/N) stormed out into the control room and down one of the hallways to Agent Ross’ office, her uninjured hand curled into a fist at her side as she walked; the door of the agent’s office was open and he was in deep conversation with Sharon Carter, who was tapping away on a tablet while they talked. They both looked over at her as she entered the office, and Agent Ross’ brow furrowed in concern while he took in her injuries and stony expression. “Miss (Y/L/N). Agent 13 told me that you got roughed up pretty badly earlier; are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Agent Ross. Am I free to go?” The agent raised his brow, looking more amused that surprised by her demanding question, and she gritted her teeth before continuing. “In the past forty-eight hours I’ve attended a friend’s funeral, was nearly blown up in a suspected terrorist attack, was unjustly interrogated for several continuous hours, broke off my engagement to the love of my life and was nearly killed again by a brainwashed assassin. I’m filthy, I’m injured, I’m exhausted, and I’m just one more incident away from completely losing my shit so can I please leave now?”

Sharon cast her a fleeting glance and took a step forward. “Sir, she’s already given multiple statements to our agents and…well, to be frank, the Joint Terrorism Task Force is already facing scrutiny for not stopping Barnes’ escape. The criticism will only intensify when the news outlets catch wind that we’re holding an injured, world-famous author without probable cause.” Agent Ross considered her words, and Sharon shot her a warning glance before continuing. “I’ll drive her to a nearby hotel and keep an eye on her in case Rogers tries getting into contact; based on the events of the last few hours, though, I’m not so sure that he will.”

“All right,” He finally answered, his expression softening a little as he looked back at her. “But for the time being, Miss (Y/L/N), consider yourself on the no-fly list.”

Nodding in thanks, (Y/N) glanced back at Sharon and the agent gave her a brief smile. “I’ve got a few things to wrap up here so I’ll meet you down in the parking garage in ten.” She reached into her pockets and withdrew her car keys, pressing them into her open palm with another fleeting smile. “My car’s the grey Audi parked by the stairwell.”

(Y/N) walked out of the office and down the hallway but since the mechanics were still working on fixing the elevators after the power-outage, she was forced to take the stairs all the way down to the underground parking garage. She quickly located the agent’s car and unlocked it, climbing into the passenger seat and buckling her seat-belt; now that she was finally alone, she couldn’t stop herself as she lowered her head into her hands and cried, allowing all the pent-up emotions inside of her to finally be set free. In that moment, all she wanted to do was go back to when everything was normal, back before Lagos and her constant fighting with Steve and the goddamn Accords; it wasn’t perfect, of course, but it was a hundred times better than what they were all currently going through. “I’m so sorry, Steve…”

As her sobs finally began to subside, the stairwell door opened and Sharon walked through the doorway; she took a steadying breath and wiped the last of her tears away just as the agent opened the driver-side door and got it. Sharon reached over and opened the glove-box to reveal a package of tissues, flashing her a brief and sympathetic smile as she pulled one out and blew her nose. “I tend to start feeling better after I’ve had a good cry. How ‘bout you?”

“Not really, I still feel like shit except now my eyes itch and my nose is running,” (Y/N) half-heartedly quipped, dabbing at the corners of her eyes and sighing. “So, you know any good hotels around here?”

“The Kurhotel Strӧszek’s nice and it’s not too far from here, so that’ll make Agent Ross happy. On our way, we’ll stop at a pharmacy and pick you up some first aid sup-” The ringing of Sharon’s cell phone interrupted her words and she was quick to answer it. “Agent 13 here…Steve?” (Y/N) instantly perked up and with a brief gesture for her to stay quiet, the agent switched to speakerphone. “Okay, I’m alone. What’s up?”

“We’ve figured out what’s going on,” Steve’s voice answered through the phone’s speaker and (Y/N) bit her lip to keep from making a sound at the comforting timbre. “The doctor framed Bucky for the U.N. bombing in order to find out where Hydra kept him. They created five other Winter Soldiers back in the 90’s and had them cryogenically frozen; he’s planning on waking them, says he’s doing it to see an empire fall.”

“So, you three need your gear before you can go after him.”

The super-soldier sighed. “I know that it’s a lot to ask, Sharon-”

“You’re trying to stop a squad of murderous super-soldiers from taking over the world, Rogers; if this is how I can help stop that from happening, then I’m in. I’ll send you a message when I’ve got the gear and we’ll arrange a meeting.”

“Thank you, Sharon, I owe you one. How…how’s (Y/N) doing?”

“She’s okay; lacerated jaw, sprained wrist and a whole lot of bruising, but she’s fine.” Steve breathed a deep sigh of relief that made (Y/N)’s heart warm and the agent gave her a sideways glance before continuing. “You should know that she’s refused to sign the Accords. I’ve been assigned to escort her to a hotel, where she’ll stay until she’s taken off the CIA’s no-fly list and can go back home…”

There was silence over the line and just as she began wondering if they’d somehow been disconnected, Steve quietly spoke, “I’ve already asked you for one favor but can I bother you for another?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“If I write a letter, can you make sure that it gets to (Y/N)? There’s a lot that I need to tell her and since I don’t know what’ll happen where we’re going…well, she deserves answers one way or another.”

Sharon’s eyes flicked between (Y/N)’s saddened expression and the cell phone in her hand as she nodded. “Of course, I’ll pick it up when I hand over your gear. Talk to you later, Rogers.”

Hanging up, the agent tucked the phone into her pocket and quickly started the engine, buckling up and driving at a steady speed through the parking garage and out onto the street; (Y/N) fiddled with the hem of her wrinkled shirt for a thought-filled moment before stating, “You’ve already got a plan.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve been prepared to follow through on a favor like this one for a while now,” Sharon spared her a sideways glance and focused back on the road. “But I won’t say anything else about it on the off-chance the CIA decides to question you somewhere down the line; the last thing I want is for you to be charged with aiding and abetting in the theft of government property.”

(Y/N) glanced down at her bare ring finger and thought back on Steve’s words during his phone call; she was desperate to find out what was in the letter but at the same time, she knew in her heart that she needed to hear whatever it was directly from him. The thought reminded her of their conversation about the problems within their relationship in the London hotel’s bar, the last truly calm moment they’d shared before everything went sideways…

“Whatever it is, we can work through it together. We make a damn good team, after all.”

“Of course we do, sunshine.”

There’s something I have to do before Steve and the others go after those super-soldiers, (Y/N) thought to herself, her shoulders squared in determination as she turned to glance at Sharon beside her and pondered the best way to ask the spy for a third and final favor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Russian Translation: Soldat-Soldier

A/N: Next chapter will have even less angst so yay! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4TsJ2TY1F2HDXhEYOfzCjY?si=b1abdaeccc4c4d21

Chapter Seven

Civil War Masterlist

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk @momc95 @savedbystyle @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @khuang3 @supersouthy @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @becausewelie @outoftheregular @supreme-tantrum @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley @username23345 @crist1216 @aesthethickks

75 notes · View notes

kashimos-hajime · 3 years

Text

reunion pt. 2 (6/8) | r.b.

summary: The blue and white Wings of Freedom crumple as the cape falls, spread out by the wind like true wings. Or, the winter after Shiganshina is frigid with change.

WARNINGS: mentions of heavy injuries, depression, angst all around, swearing, levi gives some advice, blood pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 8.2k

a/n: we’re nearing the end!!! ahh thats crazy adnkasln. not much reiner this chapter unfortunately but he will return next chapter!!

masterlist

crossposted on ao3!

You land heavily on your left leg, hand on Jean’s shoulder to soften the blow to your right as you watch Hange wrestle Mikasa back. Eyes widening, you sweep the rooftop—from Levi, to Erwin, to the burnt corpse that has to be…

“Don’t tell me…”

“Armin?”

“It can’t be…”

Bertholdt. Your eyes fall to his steaming body, marks of his Titan still imprinted on his face and you fall forward. Limbs chopped to the bone, blood pooling underneath him, a cloud of steam surrounding him. You’re the only one left.

Rising to his feet, Jean’s grip is iron on your shoulder, clamping onto the joint so hard you’re sure it’ll break and you look up at him, watery breaths puffing past your lips. He stares down at you, regret sewn into his features, but even so, there’s a hard determination in them.

You know what has to be done, he seems to say. Covering his hand with your own, a shooting pain splits your chest open as Levi looks from Erwin to Armin, back again—an impossible choice. You’re not jealous at all of the captain, deciding the fate of two soldiers who are both just as important, but for some reason, you can’t even think about Armin or Commander Erwin.

You smell the terrible perfume of burnt flesh mixed with the smoke and dust of the ruins of Shiganshina, the blood in your mouth, the sweat lingering heavily around them. It reminds you of Trost, of Reiner holding you as he told you Marco had died. You somehow can’t think of anything else.

It’s not until Levi tells them to get that you can tear your eyes off Bertholdt’s slumbering face. He looks almost peaceful and you reach a limp hand for him but Jean tugs at your shoulder, and you look at him.

“Come on,” he utters softly, and you let him help you up, hopping on your broken leg with a grimace. You can do this, you tell yourself as Captain Levi drags Bertholdt towards the commander by the scruff. Whatever happens, at least it’s for good, right? Please, just sleep, Bertholdt. I don’t want you to suffer anymore than you already have.

“Captain Levi, can I—“ Your voice comes out from your chest, surprising everyone there including yourself, and the bloody captain freezes, turning to look at you. You set your jaw, limping away from Jean who tries to stop you. “I just want to say goodbye.”

Levi’s eyes search yours, and then flicker to Hange, still holding Mikasa. A beat passes.

“Make it quick,” he allows. “The rest of you, scram.” The sound of ODM gear splits the air, iron wire screeching as the Scouts left head towards a distant rooftop. Walking towards the captain, you give him a weary look as he sets down Bertholdt’s body.

Crashing to your knees, you reach a hand to brush the dark hair out of his eyes, and his forehead doesn’t even crease when your fingertips brush over his brow. Overwhelmed, you can only gently trace the Titan markings on his cheeks, hollowed out patches of skin that outline his bones, reveal the muscle pulling his face together.

“Bertl,” you whisper. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” You wait for an answer that’ll never come, hand flattening against his warm cheek, and you feel his gentle breath against your fingers as your eyes begin to burn. “Why didn’t either of you just kill me? If we’re all devils, what made me so special?” You blink, and the tears fall down your face, land on his chest in gentle splatters. With your other hand, you cradle his face completely in your palms, and you bow your head.

“Nothing’s special about you,” Levi mutters, and your head snaps up to see him standing over Bertholdt’s body, nothing but a cold indifference struggling to find its place in his eyes. “They just decided you were. That’s all it was.”

His words sting, but nonetheless, you don’t let it faze you. You draw your hands back towards your lap.

“Captain, please keep it quick. I don’t want him to suffer,” you whisper, and you meet blue-grey eyes resolutely before pulling yourself up. “I don’t think I’ll survive hearing him scream.”

“Hurry up and go,” he orders. “I’ll be as merciful as I can.” Nodding numbly to yourself, you glance down at Bertholdt one last time, before heading towards the edge of the roof and launching yourself back towards the others. Mikasa helps ease you down to your knees and you send her a grateful look before shuffling in between Jean and Connie. Watching the captain’s green figure crouch beside the Commander’s, your nerves are shot and your headache only begins to intensify.

“Armin,” Eren’s muffled sob pricks at your ear but you ignore him, eyes trained on the singular figure arched over the apex of the roof.

“What’s taking him so long?” Jean mutters.

“Maybe the transformation isn’t instantaneous?” Connie suggests.

“If that were the case, the captain would’ve left and watched the commander transform from a safe distance.” Leaning forward, one of your hands plant on the wood of the apex on the gabled roof as the cloaked figure stands. Together, the Scouts watch as Levi turns around, walking to the other end of the roof towards a black, burnt body. Ragged, wet gasps tear the air as Eren lunges forward. Mikasa grabs his arm, hauling him back, and your eyes widen.

He’s going back for Armin, you realize distantly. He changed his mind. Why? How could he—

There isn’t time for questions. As soon as the captain seems to inject the fluid, he kicks Armin’s body off the roof before turning around and grabbing Commander Erwin’s body. Hange lets out a soft noise, sprinting off the roof towards their friend while the rest can only watch as lightning splits the air for just a flash of a second, destroying the back end of the home. Splinters and debris go flying as steam arises from the spot where lightning struck and the two senior officers retrieve the commander, retreating to a roof a distance away.

Only a few more seconds. Bertholdt has to stay unconscious for just a few more seconds. Jean’s hand on your shoulder is iron-like again, nails digging through your jacket, a silent warning that you don’t have to watch, but you’re frozen to your spot, waiting.

The shrill sound of wood ripping fills the air, even from where they watch, as one bony claw reaches through the steam. What follows—a blond head, a body more skeleton than flesh, and a gaping mouth.

Armin. His name sounds foreign in your head as he reaches Bertholdt.

You hear the first sob as he plants a hand onto his prey, lifting him into the air.

“No!” Raw and burning, Bertholdt’s screams brand into your eardrums as he thrashes as hard as he can in Armin’s grip but he’s nothing more than a limbless body and a head. Your world splits open as he’s raised through the sky. The fear fractures your chest, the desperation sinks into your skin, and you want to tear your eyes out but your fingers remain dug into the ridge as he screams wetly. Your hand is blistering, on fire along your fingers, and blood congeals on your tongue.

For the rest of your days, you will remember the moment his eyes found yours, bulging wide with untamed, unnatural dread.

“Guys, please!” Sobbing, his voice grows hoarse as Armin’s jaw unhinges. “Help me!” Head snapping, swinging, whipping any which way until he can free himself, the way his neck thrashes makes your stomach roll. Your legs are begging for orders, begging to spring forward to save him as the shadow of a Titan falls over his face.

Bertholdt screams your name and it pierces through, a bullet that shatters every nerve as your eyes begin to burn. Your teeth clench before you’re pushing off the roof, boots gritting against tile

“Bertholdt!” Pain spirals through your entire body as you take one step before an arm wraps around your neck, flinging you back. You fall onto your spine, the breath knocked out of you and your feet kick out, ODM gear clanking against the tile. Hands surrounding you, pinning you down, and you flail your arms and legs, nails clawing at anything you can make contact with, gasping for air, for space, for anything. “Bertholdt! No! No! Please!”

Vision blurring, you try to make out your captors as a knee presses into your wrist and another slams into your shoulder. Breath shuddering, your feet lash at the air, desperately trying to push yourself away from the others to save him. You have to save him—Captain Levi said it’d be merciful—

“Hold her down! Shit!”

“I’m trying!”

“Bertholdt!” Your throat begins to bleed and you taste the fire in your lungs as your head slams backwards, your back arching off the roof. Tears sear into your skin. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out a furious sob, heaving and wheezing before your mouth falls open and a burning scream bursts from your chest. Ribs poking into every inch of your flesh, your hands fly up to dig into elbows. Whoever you hold onto do not wince and you hear a jagged voice, wrought with anguish.

“Go! Go get Armin and make sure he’s okay. I have her—“

“But, Jean—“

“Connie! Go with Eren and Mikasa. We’ll be okay.” The knee on your shoulder lifts and you immediately swing your fist at Jean, clocking him in the cheek and knocking him off you. Throwing yourself up, you scramble forward and wipe at your face but the tears still do not cease. You can barely see.

Your heart decays, a cold, throbbing agony filling you as you scan the square. You see the blonde Titan just in view behind the house, collapsed on his stomach, steaming more and more as someone erupts from the nape.

The agony numbs.

So, that’s it then.

Bertholdt’s…

Crumpling in on yourself, your fingers clasp at the base of your neck and you curl into a ball, eyes sliding shut. Everything inside you falls apart, shattering into a million pieces and the walls around you begin to fall in, the fatigue and pain and heartache piling on top of you, burying you, blocking out the sun, you’ve lost everything, you have no one.

You couldn’t even save Bertholdt—

“Jean, go to the others.” Fingers tightening around your head, your tears scorch as they fall into your hairline, disappearing in all the grime and dust and blood staining your body. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Shoulders shaking, your breath puffs hot against your face and you’re panting for air as your back kinks painfully. Stabbing sensations nestled right underneath your shoulder blades, you begin to wheeze, face beginning to flush, body beginning to grow number and number until you can’t even feel the pain anymore of shattered bones.

All you can hear is Bertholdt screaming for you to help him, the silence of your body.

Why couldn’t you move?

Failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure.

It spells itself out, digs its talons into your brain and pries you open until you’re sobbing harder into the stone. Your heart thuds in your mouth, large and swollen, as hands grip your shoulders, wrenching you up. On instinct, cold air seeps into your chest and you let out a gasp, face in pieces as you lift it to the sky.

“Hey!” Your eyes spring open as the hands on your shoulders grow more insistent and you lower your wet stare to Levi who is already studying with his quicksilver gaze. You feel everything inside you drain out. His teeth are bared in a tight scowl, and you still tremble in the aftershocks but he only holds on tighter. “Give yourself a moment, then pull yourself together. We still have a job to do. After that, I’ll give you as much time as you want to cry your little eyes out.”

“Captain—“ Your voice breaks, and Levi’s eyes flicker as you stare right through him. He lets go, drawing his hands back to himself. “Do you think it hurt?”

He pauses, deliberates this. “I think the fear was probably the worst part. If it hurt, it was only for one intense moment. Arlert crushed his head open,” he informs and your heart becomes a stone in your chest. “Now, come on. I’ll splint your leg and then we’re moving Erwin.”

“But, but Armin—“

“Do you really want to see him right now?” he cuts off sharply, and you wince as he stands. “Hange will take care of the others. You’re coming with me.”

Weakly, you mumble out his name, but he doesn’t stop as you struggle to your feet, following after him. You wipe at your face with sweaty hands, but it doesn’t help at all, only smearing it all over your exhausted features. Lungs still spasming in the occasional hiccups, you let your smashed, bruised fingers fall uselessly.

Captain Levi leads you to a demolished square near the Wall where Hange is already piling supplies, Commander Erwin’s body laid to rest. Eyes widening, you look at his corpse before looking at Levi who only looks over the body in passing before walking to a crate and ordering for you to sit down.

“We’ll be going over the Wall. I need to know you’re in shape to keep moving.”

“The others are bringing Armin back here before we start searching for survivors,” Hange informs.

You nod as Levi cuts away your pant leg and you grimace when you realize how swollen it is along your shin. Shaking his head to himself, he yanks your boot off and begins to wrap a nearby piece of wood he found and broke into the right length to your leg, splinting the bones tightly. Your bruised and broken fingers dig into the crate with every wince but he keeps going and going as you look down at him.

He slips the final round underneath the layers of cloth before stuffing your foot back into your boot despite the pressure mounting as soon as he does.

He steps back and you stand unsteadily. The pain is even worse, now, but you’re just going to have to be stuck with it. You’re sure walking around on a broken leg isn’t good for the health, but it shouldn’t matter. There’s still work to do.

“How much gas do you have?”

“Enough,” you reply, patting your ODM gear and he nods.

“I’m refilling once we get over the wall. All our supplies are probably knocked everywhere so grab as much as you can on the way back.”

“Yes, sir.”

The battlefield reeks of the tang of blood and shit. The air is hot and heavy under the beginnings of a warmer afternoon, and your stomach roils at the bloody mist still tinting the air. This was a massacre—nothing less—and you swallow your nausea, picking your way through the battlefield.

They search for a singular thing, but with the amount of red on the field, you can’t pick out what used to be brown from what used to be green.

“It would’ve been closer to the houses than the others,” Levi mutters. “Forster said he was hit first.” You nod, turning around and examining the land they’ve already traversed.

Standing beside your captain, your eyes widen when you catch sight of the only white on the field. It reminds you of the flags they’d teach about in cadet corps—white meant fall back, white meant give up.

White meant nothing Commander Erwin stood for, and you let out a soft gasp. Levi’s gaze snaps to you.

“Commander Erwin’s horse,” you finally croak, lifting a dead finger to point at the steed. It lays limp, dirty, and the more you focus on it, the more you can make out its features. His eyes are closed, and you could’ve believed the stallion was asleep as you approach it and crouch down slowly, touching the horse’s cheek. “Sleep well.”

“What a fucking shitstorm,” Levi murmurs as you push yourself up. He tugs your elbow to help you, and you send him an appreciative glance but you find he’s already looking at everything else, haunted pale gaze searching for something.

He looks starving for his target, greedy, and you look away. There’s blood that hasn’t steamed away from his face, and you don’t want to think about whose it could be.

You turn to see where the dirt had been imprinted on in an odd-long oval shape, different from the thousands of hoofprints stomped into the mud. A drag mark, carved into the soft mud. Following the trail, your throat begins to close up as you hobble beside it, only stopping when you finally find what they’re looking for.

You see the green cape, soaked in red, dragging at the ground, muddied and soiled, stepped all over and half-buried.

Nonetheless, you reach down pick it up, flapping what dry crumbs you can off the fabric and folding it over your arm before glancing over to where Levi stands near the horse’s head, staring at the patch of blood soaking the dirt.

“Captain, I found it.” You tilt your head heavily. “Captain?” Returning to his side, you try to find what he’s looking at. Following his gaze, you frown warily at the patch where the mud is saturated red, the grass still drinking in the blood like it’s been stuck in a drought and it mixes like a sickly stew.

Commander Erwin’s blood, you realize after a moment. Nausea sluices through you and you blink away the burning. The idea of him, cold, lying in the blood and awake, listening to his troops die around him…

“Captain, I found it,” you whisper rawly. As if your words break the trance Levi has put himself in, he looks up, shaking his shoulders out.

“Finally, he’ll have something to cover himself with,” he mutters at last, grabbing the cape from you, and you only look at your captain. At the rough, deep quality in his tone you’ve never heard before as he clears his throat. “Idiot.”

“Sir, don’t you mean buried with?” you ask timidly, and he shakes his head. “We’re not going to leave him here, are we?”

“We’re not bringing him back with us. By all means, his dream lived here and he died here. He fought his whole life to get here—I’m not going to be the one to take him away from that.”

Take him away from his mission, you hear in your head. Who is Captain Levi to decide that? Who are you to decide? Erwin stays here. It makes sense. I stay here. They had a mission. Who was I? Who was I to tell them to stop because of me?

“I’ll come back,” Levi continues, promises, but not to you, “to bury him. When this is all over. He deserves a proper burial.” Lips pressing together, you swallow down your words, and bow your head. After an unknowable amount of time, Levi finally sighs, shoulders caving, and starts walking back to the Wall. The green is clutched tight in his fist. You stand by the blood stain, the tip of your boot beside the head of the horse who could’ve been sleeping and he calls out, voice sharp and normal again: “C’mon. We can’t hang around—“

“I want to help you bury him,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and Levi freezes in his spot. Swallowing, you close your eyes for a moment, feel every nerve inside you pulse, before you fix your gaze on the Wings of Freedom printed on Levi’s back. “I know it’s not my place, but Commander Erwin gave me a chance to prove I wasn’t weak and I failed him. I need to make it up to him somehow.”

Levi sighs softly before continuing on and you limp after him as fast as you can, catching up after a few pained grunts. Your leg is blistering, burning from the inside out, but nothing has scorched you more than your tears, so in comparison, you almost feel relieved.

“Some things I have to do on my own, you understand that?”

Despite yourself, the faintest ripple in your lips that could’ve been a smile runs through your face before disappearing as if it were never there. It’s something he’s told you so many times during your suspension and you dip your head.

“Of course, sir.”

He nods numbly. “Okay, then.”

The others went to the basement and you’re left here.

Someone calls your name softly as you sit on the edge of the wall, looking at the ruins of Shiganshina hollowly. Raising your head, you see Armin standing, and you sweep your gaze for a moment before turning to look at the city again. He sits uninvited next to you and you barely resist the urge to ask him to leave you alone, reminding yourself you have no reason to be angry with him.

He didn’t eat Bertholdt on purpose. It’s just how the cards were dealt, how the dice was rolled. The pieces on the chess board lined up, and they had a chance to seize a game-winning piece.

Armin twiddles his thumbs. Your shoulders slump forward.

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” you intone quietly. “What matters is that you’re okay.”

“Yeah, but I ate Bertholdt, and I know—“

“Armin, don’t.” He falls quiet, and you look at him desolately. “There really isn’t anything we can do about it, now. At the end of the day, they’re gone, and I’m still here. You’re still here, and Bertholdt isn’t. That’s all.”

“I know.”

“I really am happy that you’re okay, Armin. I’m so grateful that you could come back, and that our side managed to get another Titan power. Maybe we can turn the tides, but…”

Knowingly, he finishes it for you, “But the price was too high for you.”

The words make you flinch and you don’t correct him.

“They could’ve killed me so many times. I’m starting to wonder why they didn’t,” you whisper mostly to yourself. A doe blue gaze fall on your cheek, and you close your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line.

“Because they care about you. I could never try and kill Mikasa or Eren. I can’t even imagine it, so the fact that you tried to put those feelings aside for duty, I think that’s saying a lot more than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

You scowl at his words, hating the tears threatening to spill over your cheeks again. You’re drained, dried out, yet still, more tears are always coming even when you think you’re done.

“Armin, if I took the multiple chances I had to kill Bertholdt, to kill Reiner, I think both you and Commander Erwin would be alive. Captain Levi would’ve never had to make such an impossible choice, and—“ And maybe I could remember how to breathe without all this weight on my chest. But you don’t say that. Instead, quietly, you plead, “Can you just… leave me alone? I don’t want to talk, right now.”

Armin’s lips upturn into a hurt frown, but you only stare at the space just in front of your knees, focus fixed on some imaginary spot. Before long, he’s pushing himself to his feet and walking back to Sasha, and you clasp your hands, watching the city blankly.

For some reason, you can’t stop thinking about the time you and Annie had walked the walls the day before graduation, finding Reiner and Bertholdt up there, too. How had that only been a few months ago?

It feels like years, now.

Without a second thought, you pick yourself up slowly, your splinted leg awkwardly colliding with the stone. Levi told you to get some rest, but…

You begin to walk away from the others, not quite sure where you’re going. You go past Floch, who’s taking watch, and when you close your eyes, you can hear footsteps behind you—two, light and fleeting, one more sure and steady.

“Have fun in the MPs, Annie. I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you.”

“You won’t be missing much.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Hey, the military ranking shouldn’t determine whether or not someone can join the MPs. What if someone’s just as good, but didn’t make it into the top ten because of how limited the spots are? It doesn’t make sense.”

A sharp laugh. “Someone needs to wash Bertholdt’s mouth, creampie. Look at him, renegading against the government.”

Eyes snapping open, you turn to look over your shoulder.

Nothing but still air.

The next few days pass in nothingness.

You’re moved to the old Scouts headquarters—where Section Commander Miche died, you still feel his ghost lingering the halls—away from the others. It’s mostly empty besides a few Garrison Regiment officers who keep an eye on you—Captain’s orders, and they’re your main source of news, even if it is just catching hints of gossip. You don’t speak to them, mostly because you’re sure they think guarding a teenager with broken bones who doesn’t even talk back is way below their pay grade.

Most of your friends aren’t keen on talking to you either, with a fair few forced exceptions, but at this point, you’ve written your report, detailing everything you did during the campaign, and you don’t want to talk to them either. You haven’t since their ride back.

They know you went back for Reiner, and, instead of striking him down, you tried to pull him free. It doesn’t matter.

You roll onto your side. Everything feels grey, time passing by inconsequentially in the rise and fall of the sun. You mostly stay in your room, content to let Shiganshina crush the ruins of your memory into dust, and you don’t recognize what day it is. Your nights are plagued with flashes of Bertholdt, the sounds of his screams ringing until you’re deaf. Reiner’s bare, burned face, steaming, eyes covered in a blindfold too tight over his skin.

The ragged gasp of your name.

There’s a knock on the door. You don’t budge from where you stare out the window, at the sun gleaming in through. It dapples on the cotton of your sheets, gentle pools of gold, and you trace one of the warm shapes absently with your wrapped, splinted fingers.

It nearly frightens you how much you don’t feel, how much you don’t care what happens to you next. The world is hollow, everything inside it scooped out and replaced with black coldness.

“I know you’re awake in there.”

Levi.

“You better be decent. I’m coming in either way.”

The door clicks and swings open.

They had a ceremony two days ago, honouring the survivors of the expedition before they could move on to a far more somber occasion today—a service for Commander Erwin at the end of the week, and the government going into a state of mourning. Flags are raised, speechs are prepared to be given, and you’re pretty sure the empty casket will be closed and buried somewhere in Mitras, empty words carved into a plaque.

Levi’s sigh breaches your ears. “Have you at least eaten today?”

“Yes.” You don’t move nor start at the creakiness in your voice. Blinking slowly, you examine a ripple in the bedsheet. “Doctor said if I didn’t, he’d break my other leg.”

“Good.” He walks to the window, and you see his shape lingering at the edge of your eyes. Tilting your head, you look at him. He looks rested, as well as he can be, but there’s a raggedness in his stature, the exhaustion engrained in his face that only comes with grief.

“The memorial is today,” you point out unhelpfully. “Will you be speaking?”

“Have to,” he mutters brusquely. “Not exactly excited to eulogize Erwin in front of a bunch of stuck-up bastards. Don’t think he would’ve minded either, if I didn’t.”

“So why are you doing it?” You shift a bit, sit up a bit straighter. There’s a pulse of silence where Levi seems to debate how to answer. His lips press into a thin, white line, and he scowls at his reflection in the pane of glass, before he exhales sharply.

“I don’t know,” he says before shifting the discussion blatantly. “Either way, you won’t hear it. You don’t need to come.”

“Sir…”

“You didn’t come to the ceremony two days ago, either,” he snorts. “I’m sure it’s no skin off your back.” He’s right, and you smile grimly. “Focus on healing.” Tugging at the lapel of his formal Survey Corps coat, he continues, “It’ll be a waste of time, anyway. Most of them spent most of their careers hating him. I doubt her Royal Majesty or any of your friends will want to be there, either.”

You swallow, sitting upright and adjusting the pillows against your back. He glances over, and rakes his gaze down your body with a critical glare.

“Would you look at that? You haven’t moulded to the futon, yet. I was starting to think you had lost your body back in Shiganshina.” He steps away from the window and turns, standing at the foot of your bed.

Clearing your throat, you reach up to scratch your collarbone and find blue-grey fixed on your fingers. “When do you think we can go back for him, Captain?”

Levi frowns, gaze flickering up to your face again.

“I don’t know. At this point, it could be months before the state declares that Wall Maria is free of Titans, especially with how small the Survey Corps are. Garrison soldiers can only help so much,” he adds grudgingly. “And the MPs are pretty much useless. Most of them. And Hange… is doing their best. Let’s just say that.” You nod again. He glances at the clock airily, then at you again. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, and he studies you quickly, gauging how honest you are with your promise, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and turns around. Your stomach is a thousand stones in your stomach as he glances at the splintered wood of the wall, and his footsteps slow to a stop. Watching his profile, you wait for him to say something as he lowers his gaze to the waste bin by the door.

He doesn’t. He simply continues out the door, speaks to the soldier on guard outside your room, and disappears from your sight.

“Lunch will be in two hours,” the soldier says before closing the door. You turn to look out the window.

Two days earlier, Connie and Sasha had come bearing a bolo tie, green gem gleaming, expression somber.

“It’s yours. For your services to the Survey Corps and to Historia.”

You had the grace to wait for them to be gone before flinging it with all your might at the wall and listening to the wood splinter as it clattered to the bottom of the bin.

The snow melts as soon as it touches your nose, and you glance at Levi uneasily as he jams the tip of the shovel into the dirt. His jacket’s been shed, and you swear he could be steaming with how much sweat drenches his entire body. He had insisted on laying the Commander’s bones to rest and burying him yourself which meant you had perched yourself on the roof overhanging the little clearing they’d found. It’s off-track in an already trampled ceremony—his grave now the singular headstone in a field of a thousand bodies—but it’s somewhere he can rest, you’re sure.

Adjusting your grip on your ODM gear, you look up at the blindingly grey sky. The snow slows to a stop as you fall to one-knee, examining the terrain.

Returning to active duty had been difficult. Rehabilitation even harder. You felt like there was scrutiny everywhere you walked, and there was a strange air lingering as the summer faded and fall began.

Even now, you’re sure Levi and Hange are the only people who bother to check up on you because they want to, not because they’re obligated to remember whether or not you’re still alive.

You scratch at your neck. Eventually they had to clear out the old barracks where you’d been staying which is what you’ve been doing for the past few months to avoid any clashes with your friends, and you’d come across the chess set, untouched, the pieces still in place as if the players had simply forgotten the game.

Your fingers had brushed over the piece Reiner had called a pawn, and it felt that much heavier.

A foul poison erodes your heart as you glance down at Levi again. He’s crouched in front of the tombstone, and you look away again, at the Wall. Beyond that—

Reiner is still out there. You wonder if he thinks of you half as much as you think about him, and whether if it’s just as laced with rage and longing. Half the time, you think you could scream into his face before tearing his head off his shoulders. Other times, you just want him back. You want to see Bertholdt’s smile again. You want to hear Annie’s dry jokes.

You could cry yourself to dehydration if you thought about it enough.

A sharp whistle cracks the air and you look down. Levi’s looking up at you, shrugging his jacket back on and you lower yourself back to the ground with a burst of gas, landing beside him.

There’s a quiet in which he gives you a sharp nod and you know what to do.

Accepting the handkerchief Levi offers you, you wipe at Erwin’s grave where some mud had been kicked up on the letters before laying down the flowers you had cradled in your arm. They’re dry, the petals already crumbling, but still, despite how gloomy everything seems, it almost feels right.

You step back, squinting a bit, the handkerchief clutched tight in your hand. The tombstone is a marbled grey, polished smooth and rectangular in shape, the corner sharp enough to puncture skin. Carved into the surface is his name, birth and death date, his title—and underneath all of that:

HIS FATHER’S SON

The epitaph is almost haunting the more you look at it and you salute the headstone before letting your hand fall to your side. Staring at the tombstone too small for a man of the Commander’s stature, you feel something hot sear through your chilled body. It’s nothing he deserves.

“Do you know why you were placed under my watch for a month?”

You blink, turning to look at the Captain. He’s paled so much in the winter months, it’s hard to think you aren’t looking at a ghost. The only exceptions are his red nose, his lips, and his flaring cheeks. That and those knife-point eyes.

“Because everyone around me was a traitor,” you murmur blankly, unsure of why he’s asking. Your hands ball into tight fists as you add, “And it only made sense that I should be one, too. Who better to watch me then Humanity’s Greatest to make sure I didn’t shift into a Titan, too?”

“It’s because Commander Erwin insisted not to leave you alone,” Levi agrees, “but not because he didn’t trust you. I doubt someone like you would turn around against the only people who are there for you. I read your file. Orphaned at birth, you grew up on a farm with no close known relations.” You turn your face away, teeth gritting together, and Levi tilts his head. “The 104th were all you had. Human nature insists that we latch onto those we have left.”

“Even you, Captain?”

Levi doesn’t answer. When you look at him again, his stare on the stone is darker, laced with noxious grief. “This job isn’t pleasant. You lose enough people—even those you didn’t care for—and you either grow numb, tired, or so damaged you can’t even wake up to another day. Most people find life meaningless after a few years.”

“Right…” Struggling to find the words, you cross your arms over your chest, fingers wrapping tight around your biceps. “I don’t know where you’re going with this. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

A heavy sigh. Levi shifts his boots in the grass.

“And what are you going to do after? What’ll you set your mind to next? Working as a Scout? I doubt you’ll find any fulfillment in working with people you don’t trust.”

“That’s not true—“

“You have a knack for isolating yourself when you believe you’re unneeded. Exiling yourself to an abandoned building under the pretence of ‘cleaning it out’ can only last so long,” he cuts off sharply, eyes finding yours dully. You clench your jaw, swallowing hard. He looks back at the tomb. “Look, I’m going to tell you something, and I expect you not to speak of it again, got it?”

You nod tightly. “Of course, sir.”

“I’m aware of people misunderstanding or making assumptions of where I’ve come from. To put it simply, I was a criminal in the Underground and I ran a network with two others. They were as close to me as I assume Hoover, Braun, and Leonhart were to you.”

You nod again, slower this time.

“We joined the Survey Corps because the Commander insisted it was a better alternative to a life time’s sentence in Mitras dungeons. I’m still waiting on that promise, Erwin,” he adds without any bite. Instead, his tone almost softens. “When they died on our first expedition outside the walls, I wanted to be left alone. He was only Section Commander at the time, and Shadis insisted I should be left to the MPs.

“Erwin refused. He forced me to come to training for the next expedition, to drills, and to the events the military held every once in a while just so I wouldn’t stay in my room all day. I lashed out. I screamed at him behind closed doors, was an outright violent son of a bitch and an unpleasant one at that, but he persisted.”

Levi scoffs. “It took me a long time to grasp what he was doing besides being a nuisance. It was when I realized I was constantly at his right hand when he was promoted to Commander did I understand. Every human dies. Whether or not they sacrificed themselves for a greater cause, it will always be a selfish act in the end.”

“Selfish?” you echo. “But, Commander Erwin died for the Scouts to survive, didn’t he? If he never did, you never would’ve stopped the Beast Titan. We’d probably all be dead.”

“And who’s left to clean after his mess, huh?” he cuts coolly. “That’s what’s selfish about death—those corpses get off scot-free. Their last moments may be guilty, or afraid, but they won’t give a damn the minute they stop breathing. It’s the living who have to deal with the consequences. Grieving alone sends you into a pit that’s hard to crawl out of. You either sink, or you come out of it strong like hell, but it’s easier when something’s at the top, so to speak. Telling you to get off your ass and climb out.”

He scowls, and his glare narrows at the epitaph as he half-heartedly kicks some of the disturbed dirt at Erwin’s headstone, but it’s less malicious and almost as if, even now, Levi wants to point fingers at Erwin. “I don’t know. Metaphors were always this idiot’s strong suit. All I know is how to cut down Titans.”

Your shoulders sink. “Captain Levi…”

“He’s why I volunteered to supervise. I remember what our gracious Commander told me,” he says quietly. “It’s a lonely life we walk. The people who stay are the ones we have to hold onto with both hands and all our might.”

You soak in his words silently, tracing the carved E in the stone with your eyes. Levi sighs, lowering his head and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. He seems to shake his head to himself, pale eyes darkening, lips twisting into a furious scowl. You know that scowl well—it’s the type of face one pulls when they’re trying to hide how real fucking sad they are.

You look away. You shouldn’t be seeing this.

“Suppose that doesn’t matter, though,” he murmurs. “They can slip through either way. What you need to do now is keep moving. You keep them in your memory, and you keep moving, but stop letting them haunt you. Find a new purpose, or it’ll be meaningless and you’ll realize you should’ve died, not those poor bastards who devoted their hearts to what they wanted.” He tilts his head back to the sky. Softly, then: “No one else can do that for you.”

You slide your own hands into your pockets, pull it tighter around yourself. “What if I don’t know what to do? What I want with my life?”

The first raindrop hits him first. A gentle splash against his nose that makes his eyes flutter, but not close. The next hit you, tapping against your skull that soothes the ache in your chest.

“Keep moving on, anyway, until you find it. It’s no good to stand around thinking about what should’ve been or what you could’ve done. Regret begets regret—have enough and it’ll start affecting your choices. Don’t have any when you go, and maybe you’ll live a life happier than most.”

You nod. Your neck feels tired. For lack of anything else, you manage to say, “Captain Levi… I’m really sorry for your loss.”

He doesn’t answer.

You stand there, fixing your gaze at the gravestone for a moment more, before bowing your head and saying your thank you to the fallen Commander. You turn around.

“I’ll wait for you by the Wall, sir,” you murmur. He nods, still staring up at the sky as if he can see something you cannot. You study his profile for a moment, then begin to walk away.

Riding back to Trost, the weight slowly returns, bearing down on your shoulders as if you can already feel the thousand-pound stares. The elevators are lowered and they step on, dismounting quickly to ease the horses. Garrison soldiers are posted along with a singular Scout, and you frown when you reach the top.

“Jean?”

He smiles grimly. “How was it?”

“Shitty, I guess.”

And you leave it at that. Jean watches you critically, surveying your form, but you only stand on the edge of the Wall, looking at a world that’s about to get much bigger.

In truth, you don’t know how to answer. Your whole body is heavy, only going through the movements as Levi climbs up next to you. He takes the reins of your horse as well and heads off without a second word. You watch him go as he walks towards the nearest building, presumably to find the nearest elevator down the other side of the Wall.

Sighing, you turn around to face the land you’ve just travelled. Wall Maria stands in the distance. Your gaze fixes on nothing, staring through, and you wonder if you’re just as ghostly as you think you are. All you can hear is the sound of Bertholdt, screaming for you to save him.

The land is barren, desolating to even look at it with the faint rain muddying everything and dulling all the colours. The grass is brown, the trees frail and empty. Nothing like a few months ago when everything seemed so promising of life.

“One day, we’ll be eating like this every day,” you had told Annie during a visit to Trost once. She was quiet, her blue eyes focused on the cream bun but softer than you thought was normal. Her lips curved into a faint smile as you added, “Just imagine it. Us as the dream team in the MPs, solving assignments together, and eating sweets in the inner Wall. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I guess.”

How did that dream turn into this nightmare? It’s like every part of you has been chopped off until you’re nothing but a bleeding body and a heart struggling to find the energy to pulse another second. Your limbs are gone, bleeding, ravaged, your head’s aching, and you feel every shadow held back by Annie’s fierce stare, Bertholdt’s arms, Reiner’s body shielding you, swarm you all at once now that they’re no longer there to protect you.

Joining the military had numbed your body, and Bertholdt and Reiner had cut you off at the knees. And Annie…

Annie had spelt out tragedy on your throat in blood. If only you hadn’t ignored the red dripping down your neck, staining every word you breathed, maybe you could’ve stopped this.

You are wrestling for a way to keep crawling towards the light, but you will never be fast enough. Captain Levi had been right. Now that you’re alone, the pit is steeper than the walls, steeper than your fear, and the idea of waking up, of walking side by side with people who you’ve turned your back on for traitors, makes you nauseous.

They don’t deserve your half-hearted loyalty.

Your shoulders fall at that revelation, and your eyes close when you realize what you want.

It’s something you told Reiner, a million years ago.

No more bloodshed, no more war. There didn’t have to be water, there just had to be him—but even so, that can’t happen anymore.

The former, however…

“We don’t hate you, you know,” Jean says. “None of us blame you for what happened. You can still come back.”

“That’s really nice of you, Jean,” you murmur blankly as your hands move on their own accord. “But I just can’t let this go.”

You reach up to your neck, and pull the green cloak away from your throat. Drawing it off your shoulders, you hold it in your hands, the blue and white wings of freedom dull in the pale light. You run a hand through the fabric, over the stitched insignia that once meant so much to you before you step closer to the edge. Jean’s eyes snap to you.

Freedom feels like nothing when everyone who was supposed to stand next to you the day you achieved it is gone.

Fists tightening in the green, you clench your teeth and with a silent exhale, you fling it off the side of the wall. Jean lets out a strangled noise, and together, the two watch as it flutters to the bottom of the wall.

The blue and white Wings of Freedom crumple as the cape falls, spread out by the wind like true wings.

“What are you doing?” he asks roughly as your hands move next to your belt. Undoing the clasp, the metal collides with your frigid, mended fingers, and your skin begins to burn as he grabs your arm, trying to stop you. “Hey—“

You jerk out of his grip, not looking at him. You don’t think you can.

“I need to find a new life, Jean,” you murmur, your stomach flipping, your heart wilting, your words carrying in the wind. “This one is finished.”

“No. No, your life is here.”

Your face burns as you blink, something warm trailing down your cheeks, but Jean only grabs you by the shoulders, trying to make you look at him but still, you continue to detach yourself from the contraption. He turns you, shaking you gently, but not even an immovable object can stall the unstoppable force of your hands.

Throat cinching shut, you stare at his chest as your ODM gear falls to the ground in an ungraceful crash. The hollow thud of the containers rattles your body and you look down at your gear that’s brought you so far.

“Don’t do this,” Jean murmurs. “You’re a Scout. Don’t let them make you give up.”

“No one’s making me give up, Jean.” You finally look up, look right through him, and Jean flinches back, his hands loosening and you take the opportunity to twist, shoving your gear off the wall with one swift kick. Heat shoots up your leg and the pain warms your entire body.

ODM gear falls, nothing more than deadweight, and it clanks against the wall before bouncing off the stone, and Jean jumps off, deploying his own gear to try and catch the tech before it can crash, damaged beyond repair, at the bottom.

Staring at his figure for a moment, you wonder if the harrowing feeling in your chest will last you forever, or just for now while you wait for something to take its place.

You’re not sure. But you do know a part of you feels lighter. You do know that a part of you just wants to go home and sleep.

Turning, you walk after Captain Levi, follow his trail to the building, and when Jean reaches the top of the wall again, you’ve disappeared.

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