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writemywaytoyourheart · 6 months

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Bedeviled | FINAL- Chapter 15b: Morior Invictus

warnings for this part: strong language, strong religious themes throughout, confusion, anxiety, JK is struggling help him, blood, mentions of torture, physical pain, heartbreak, despair, grief, loss, pls kindly let me know if I left anything out ty

WC part 2: 15.7k

read 15a first...HERE

JK sits a few feet from where you lay, biting the nail on his thumb as he glances at you every once in a while before looking back out of the mouth of the cave you’re in.

He isn’t sure how long it takes for you to begin stirring, face scrunched in pain as you once again become all too aware of the state your body is in.

Your face looks sickly, but there’s still a soft warm inner glow in your skin that he begins to realize has been there the entire time, he just never bothered to notice it.

He was too distracted figuring out ways to trick you into giving him your soul before you even reached the Flame, to save himself some time.

To keep moving up the ranks..

JK’s gaze is on a bloody stone sitting just outside the opening, when he hears your weak voice.

“You came back.”

He turns his head to see you still lying where he placed you, but this time your eyes are open and looking at him. Fresh tears linger there, waiting to fall.

The look you’re giving him makes a pit form in his stomach so he breaks eye contact and looks at the stained rock again, not responding to you.

“Where are we?”

“The fifth circle,” he mumbles, still refusing to look at you.

You blink slowly, feeling the ticklish tears slide down your cheeks as you gaze at him.

Despite the effort behind them, your next words crack as they fall from your chapped lips, “Why did you come back?”

It takes a moment and he still doesn’t look at you, but he answers.

“I don’t know.”

A tiny smile spreads on your face as your gaze runs up and down his form sitting against the rocky wall, long legs bent in front of him.

“I do.”

That finally makes him turn to look at you, confusion written all over his handsome face.

“Why?” He whispers.

Your reply is so soft he almost doesn’t hear you.

“Because you love me.”

His eyes lock on yours, unable to look away for a moment. Then he tears his gaze from yours and back outside.

“I told you that I don’t. I don’t know why you-”

“You told me that you can’t.” You correct him gently, watching carefully as he swallows and lets out a small breath.

“You’re an angel.” The way he says it is tinged with disgust. It doesn’t surprise you, but it does hurt, “I’m a demon.”

Silence falls between you for a few long moments.

Then he finally looks at you without darting his gaze away seconds later. There’s a hard look in his eyes, “What the hell did you think was going to happen?”

JK watches your eyes fill with tears again and chest stutter as you take an unsteady breath.

“I need you to trust me,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling slightly before you bite it.

His brows furrow.

“I already know you’re an angel, I know your secret. What is the point in trying to fool me now?”

“I’m not, I’m trying- I-…I wasn’t always an angel.”

JK takes a deep breath and shakes his head as if to clear it, then he looks back out of the opening in the mountain, “You angels speak in riddles, just like Him.”

You open your mouth to say something but he cuts you off.

“We can’t stay here long, we need to keep moving or-”

Struggling to sit up, you watch him carefully, your brow creased in worry, “Or what?”

He glances at you briefly before clearing his throat, “Nothing- be careful.”

You smile at the way he flinches to get up when he sees you moving into a sitting position. Then a pained hiss leaves your lips when one of the small stones that surrounds you digs into one of the several deep gashes on your palm.

“Are you okay?”

You look up to see him walking over to crouch by you.

“You look like shit,” he mutters as he takes your hand to look at the fresh blood oozing from the cut.

You can’t help but stare at him as he inspects your palm closely, mumbling something about the stone getting in it and how he’ll need to get it out.

“It’s going to hurt,” JK whispers before gently removing the stone.

At your lack of reaction to the undoubtedly painful process, he looks up to see you much closer than he thought. There’s a tiny smile on your face but a sadness in your eyes as you look at him like a pet you found after losing it years ago.

You lean a little closer until your noses are only a few inches apart.

Despite the dirt and blood on your face, the rattiness of your hair, and the pain radiating from you, your eyes are shining as they look into his. There’s an elegance about you that equally terrifies and intrigues him.

“Why?” He asks quietly.

“Why what?”

You watch his gaze drift along your broken body, the gashes and burns that decorate you, “Why didn’t you let me help? I could’ve made it easier for you.”

The look you give him is one he doesn’t understand.

You lean forward and whisper softly, “It was never meant to be easy.”

He watches as you blink slowly, clearly exhausted. You lean back again, your eyes full of a deep sadness.

“You weren’t always a demon, JK.”

His dark brown eyes look between yours a few times, trying to figure out what it is you’re saying.

A strained sigh leaves his mouth but he doesn’t back away. He shakes his head slowly, “Stop messing with me, I’m not stupid. I chose-”

“To trade your life for someone else’s.”

You see his eyes water a little in confusion before he blinks it away.

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because it’s true,” your voice breaks.

“It’s not, and I don’t understand why you-”

“Please just listen to me-”

“Why should I?” He snaps, “You’re an angel and a liar. Not to mention the last soul down here I’d ever trust.”

When the hurt is evident in your expression at his harsh tone and choice of words, his eyes fall to the ground between you and he gulps.

“I’m not a liar,” you say quietly, voice full of hurt, “I just didn’t admit that I’m an angel.”

“So everything else is true? You’re here for the Flame then.”

You bite your lip, then after a moment of silence you whisper, “No. That I did make up.”

JK scoffs and backs up a little so he isn’t so close to you.

“You’re the one that lied to me,” your voice gains a little more strength and you lean forward with furrowed brows, “You acted like you were going to keep up your end of the bargain but all you could really think about was deceiving me in any other way you could.”

He doesn’t look at you but you see him gulp.

“All you cared about was taking my soul,” your voice cracks due to the previous torture you endured. You can feel the energy steadily draining from you, “You never actually planned on getting me out of here-”

“That’s not fucking true,” he hisses, leaning in and glaring at you as he finally snaps, “I offered to let you go. I got your ass through Hell and don’t you dare say I didn’t. You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.”

His dark eyes flicker between your own. It takes him by surprise when he doesn’t see the irritation there that he expected to. Instead, there’s something that looks almost like relief.

He swallows thickly when he sees your eyes drift from his down to his lips.

There’s a faint smile on your lips when he glances down at them briefly before looking back up.

“You’re right,” you whisper under your breath softly, “Thank you.”

Your faces are only inches apart, you can feel his cold breath fanning over your cheeks.

“You look exhausted,” JK sighs, changing the subject.

You shake your head with a tiny smile.

“No more than usual.”

He knows you’re joking, but he can’t find it in himself to laugh. Even aside from the torment your body went through, he can tell that this exhaustion is something entirely different.

An angel in Hell is against all rules of nature.

“You should get some sleep.”

You shake your head again even as your eyes blink slower from the drowsiness that won’t let up. The faint smile on your lips doesn’t fade as you gaze at him with something he can’t decipher in your eyes.

Saying nothing, you watch as his brows furrow a bit when something occurs to him.

“You’re an angel…” he says quietly, almost to himself.

When he doesn’t say anything more and begins to look a little lost in thought, you hum gently to encourage him to continue.

“...shouldn’t you hate me?” He finally finishes, looking back into your eyes.

You stare at each other for a moment, then you lean in just a little closer, until your noses are a few inches apart.

“Do you think I hate you?”

He gnaws on his bottom lip a little before answering, “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

The demon tries to look away but is stopped by a gentle hand on his cheek.

Instead of answering, he takes your hand in his and brings it down so that he can look at it. You watch the anger flit over his face as he scans the cuts and burn marks littering your skin.

He mumbles something that you don’t catch, so you lean down a little to get closer.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry,” he says it louder this time, his voice cracking a bit at the end.

Your heart aches deeply in your chest and you fight the tears building up as you watch him have an internal battle with whatever else is going through his brain.

“You came back…” It’s answer enough for his unexpected apology.

Then you ask softly when he seems distracted, “What’s going on in your mind?”

He chuckles breathlessly, “They never shut up.”

“Who?”

It’s almost like he doesn’t want to look at you as he says it, as if he’s ashamed. He keeps his gaze from yours when he mumbles, “The souls.”

A fresh wave of tears comes over you and this time you can’t hold them back. They trickle down your cheeks silently.

He must always hear them, whispering their desires to fall. Begging one of the demons to come along and grant them any wish for one simple thing in return.

“Most of them don’t know what it is they’re doing,” JK mumbles, “And some of them don’t care.”

“How so?” You choke out.

You know the answer, but you’re curious as to what he has to say, considering his role in these things.

“They play games, open doors they shouldn’t, mock the existence of all of us,” he’s staring at a dirty smudge on your torn skirt, “Most of them don’t understand, that if they go looking for us, we will find them.”

You’ve seen first hand the chaos and disaster that ignorance can bring, so you don’t disagree.

He’s right.

“And you can hear them?” You ask, “All the time?”

“It never stops.”

“That sounds pretty horrible.”

He swallows, then you see him shift back into that other state, the one where he doesn’t care.

“Not nearly as bad as being a miserable little puppet and bending to someone’s every will-”

“I’m not a puppet.”

He looks up at you at the strong tone of your voice.

“I am lucky that I ended up where I did and I would not change it for anything.”

JK squints at you, “Seriously?”

“I’m loved, and happy, and safe up there. I’ve never been forced into anything, I chose every second of it.”

You brush a strand of black hair from his face with your finger.

“Out of the two of us, I think we both know who the miserable one really is.”

JK gulps at your words.

“I can help you,” you whisper, “I can make them be quiet.”

You see his dark eyes flicker up to yours quickly.

“What?” His breathless question matches the bewilderment on his handsome face.

You nod, excitement clear in your shining eyes.

“I can help, if you’ll let me.”

“H-...how?”

“You need to trust me,” you give him a look, “Do you trust me?”

It takes a few seconds, then he finally nods slowly.

Before he has a moment to realize what you’re doing, you move forward and peck his forehead ever so softly before pulling back.

By the time he’s registered that you just kissed him, he’s also realized that his mind has become terrifyingly silent.

You feel a spark of warmth in your chest at the look in his eyes.

“Better?” You ask after a few moments.

When he looks at you, you think you see tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away quickly.

“I-...I don’t…”

“Don’t hear anything?” You finish for him and he nods.

His chest tightens painfully at the smile on your face that is positively radiating with joy.

It confuses him.

You look joyful…for him.

His eyes go from your face and drag along your form, taking in the damage for the hundredth time. Blood is dried and caked along most of your skin, the gashes still oozing bright red. He can’t see your mutilated wings from where he sits, they’re tucked behind you, but he has already seen them more than enough for him to stomach. Your hair is tangled and dirty, dark bags sit under your eyes.

There’s a slight tremble in your whole body that seems involuntary. Even as you shiver while clutching his silk shirt to your otherwise exposed chest, your eyes are still shining with relief and excitement for him being free of something that’s tormented him endlessly.

You watch in confusion but don’t protest as he reaches for the black shirt covering the front of you.

His eyes stay locked on yours as he gently takes it from your hold.

He doesn’t so much as glance from your gaze to look at your naked form as he brings it around your shoulders to put it on you properly. You let him slip it over your arms and bring it together in the front to button it up slowly.

He always wore it with at least three buttons undone, but he closes them all the way up for you, his dark eyes still staring straight into yours even when he’s finished.

The demon’s hands linger on the last button after doing it up as he stares at you. After a few long seconds he brings them down, looking at the ground before you see him swallow.

Your eyes flicker between his when he looks at you again.

“They asked me things,” you whisper, breaking the dead silence.

You watch his dark brows furrow and the anger cloud behind his eyes once more, “What do you mean?”

“They wanted to know why you mattered so much to me.”

JK’s eyes dart away from yours and he nibbles his bottom lip nervously at your candid words.

You don’t look away from him, just continue to watch him as he seems to try and figure out what to say to that.

Finally, he mumbles lowly, making you lean closer to hear him.

“And? What did you tell them?”

Your response is soft, “I told them I only asked you to lead me because you were the first demon I stumbled upon.”

You aren’t sure what you expected his response to be, but the way his face falls the slightest bit takes you by surprise anyway.

He doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes locked on the ground as he nods slowly and sucks on his teeth a little.

What did he expect you to say?

A dark chuckle slips past his lips quietly, and he shakes his head to himself.

“I guess you were right.”

He looks at you at your soft spoken words.

You lean in closer, but he doesn’t move away.

Even when you get so close your noses almost touch, he doesn’t budge.

“Maybe I am a liar.”

The next breath gets stuck in his lungs and he gulps.

“What do you mean?” He finally chokes out.

The tiny smile on your lips makes his heart skip a beat and he finally pulls away just a little.

“I couldn’t tell them the truth,” you mumble, “They would’ve hurt you more than they had already planned.”

An anxious huff of air leaves him and he looks away from you, “Why-” he gulps, “Why would you care what happens to me? Why did you go back? Why didn’t you just run? You could’ve called your pathetic angel friends to save you. There has to be another way for you to save your stupid little best friend-”

“JK-”

“Is that not why you’re here? Or was that a lie too?”

“It wasn’t a lie,” you respond quietly.

“I fucking knew it,” he says under his breath, shaking his head and pushing his tongue into his cheek, “The one fucking thing that had to be true-”

“Can you just let me speak?” Your voice shakes.

After a few tense moments of silence, he nods, but doesn’t look at you.

“Just think for a second,” you whisper, “Why would I let them hurt me instead of you? Why should I care about a random demon in Hell?”

The demon’s look turns from silent irritation into one of disbelief as he glances at you briefly. It’s clear that he doesn’t believe you, but the realization of what you're saying is clear on his face.

“JK….”

He shakes his head, but is too confused to speak.

“You love me, Jungkook-” your voice breaks with emotion.

Clearing your throat, you correct yourself quietly, but loud enough for him to hear, “You loved me…once.”

When his eyes meet yours, you can see the complete and utter bewilderment and fear there.

You reach a hand out, but he flinches away, still staring at you in wide-eyed horror.

His chest moves up and down rapidly and he finally rips his gaze from yours.

Your words make no sense.

Nothing makes sense.

He chose this life.

His existence started when He made him, and he refused to be His little puppet. That’s why he’s here, that was all his own decision. You were created by Him and said yes to serving Him for all your sad immortal existence, you’ve always been an angel, that was your decision.

He never knew you and he certainly never loved you.

“I-”

Your eyes are full of sympathy as his voice breaks and he moves further away.

“Jungkook-”

“Stop calling me that,” he chokes out as he stands up.

“I’m sorry,” you reach for him, “Wait, please. Let me help you, I can help you remember.”

His panicked and disgusted look doesn’t change as he stares at you.

“Please,” you whisper, holding your hand out to him, “Please…just trust me.”

JK is fighting every single instinct to turn and run, to get as far away from you as possible as he stands there and heaves in breath after breath.

“…trust me.”

You can see the gears turning in his mind as he stares at your hand.

Finally, he takes your shaky hand with his own trembling one and lets you gently pull him to sit again.

“I know you’re scared,” you say gently, never letting go of his hand.

JK shakes his head, but can’t seem to meet your gaze.

“I’m not scared.”

You smile softly at him despite him not even looking at you, “Ok.”

Silence stretches between the two of you for almost a minute, then you ever so gently squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He finally looks at you to see you smiling sweetly at him, your eyes still shining and still a stark contrast compared to your messy appearance.

You scoot forward a little until you’re closer to him and leaning in.

He’s fighting every instinct inside of him right now. There isn’t a single thing about this situation that is normal to him in any way.

The way your gaze drifts between his eyes and lips is enough to have his heart racing and stomach twisting.

He doesn’t know why there’s such a deep desire inside of him to close the distance between you. He knows what will happen when he does and that terrifies him. It doesn’t stop him though, from leaning closer after you’ve stopped.

You let your eyes close as he places his mouth against yours timidly at first, then the kiss slowly becomes more desperate.

The feeling of his cold hand sliding ever so gently up your arm and then the back of your neck to move and cup your jaw sends chills shooting down your spine.

JK squeezes his eyes shut tightly when the images start flooding into his brain without hesitation.

The bright sun and gentle breeze are painful, but he doesn’t pull away.

The sound of laughter and taste of something sticky and sweet is overwhelming, but he doesn’t stop.

He can see the girl again, running ahead of him through the lush forest.

JK’s brows furrow as he deepens the kiss; anxious, for some reason, to pull you even closer than you already are.

The child breaks through a small hedge moments before he follows and stumbles into a small clearing with an apple tree sitting tall and strong. A swing hangs from one of its branches, moving gently in the wind.

The girl grabs it and is about to climb on, but she stops before doing so.

Then she turns to him and steps away from the swing, “You go first! I’ll push you!”

All he can do is watch through his own eyes without a say in his physical actions while he takes a seat on the swing and is soon going higher and higher.

“Look up!”

He does so at the high-pitched request.

There’s a bright blue sky with a few puffy white clouds above him.

A bright shimmer closes in all around his vision until the scene is gone and he’s pulling away from your lips.

“Are you okay?” You mumble, eyes drifting over his face.

He doesn’t speak but gives a small nod.

After he takes a few breaths, you’re about to offer to give him a break, but he leans in before you can, cupping your jaw and pulling you into another kiss.

Cold rain and the thick sweet scent of roses fills his senses.

“If either of us finds a way, we have to try. Deal?”

Those same voices that he heard in the seventh circle whisper faintly in a dark corner, barely audible as they echo around before fading away entirely.

“Ok, deal…”

“JK- hey look at me.”

He opens his eyes to see you scanning his face, concern clear on your own.

“Are you oka-”

“Who are you?” He whispers, cutting you off as his voice breaks.

Your expression softens and he watches silently as you smile gently at him, “Is that really the question you want me to answer?”

It takes him a moment, but he finally locks his gaze with yours. His next question is asked so softly, just a quiet breath, that you barely hear it.

“...who am I?”

You touch his cheek with careful fingers, warm and soft.

“Jungkook.”

His brows knit together and you can see the wheels turning in his head, just not going anywhere.

“You’re Jungkook,” you lean a little closer and drop your voice to below a whisper, “And you don’t belong here.”

“I- don’t understand.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him gently, “You will, I promise. I’ll help you remember everything-”

“No.”

Your face falls and you pull back.

“What?”

“I don’t want to remember it,” his voice has turned hard again, “So don’t bother.”

When he stands up, you reach out and grab his wrist, “Jungkook, wait-”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“But-”

“We don’t have time for this. Can you manage?” He gestures to your form sitting on the floor of the cave. After a few seconds to gather your mind, you nod slowly.

“Then we need to go.”

It takes every ounce of willpower for you not to burst into frustrated tears.

You waited so long to be able to help him remember. You wanted to open his mind more before showing him, because you knew he would shut it down like he’s doing right now. You don’t know how to get him to stop freaking out and let you help though.

You look up and see him holding a hand out to you. You take it and let him help you stand.

It doesn’t come as a surprise when you fumble and nearly fall over again.

JK wraps an arm around your waist, holding you steady as you sway on your feet.

“I’m okay,” you mumble, feeling consciousness slipping from you due to the agonizing pain that shoots through your body at the attempt to walk.

“Don’t push yourself- stop-” JK holds your arms close to your chest when you try to fight him off to move on your own, “Really? This is what you’re going to be stubborn about?”

You nod, head bobbing up and down as a yawn slips from you, “I c-can walk.”

“Like hell you can walk,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You wince as the pain spreads the longer you stand there, even though at this point he’s holding all of your weight.

“Just let me carry you-”

“You said- you w-” you clear your throat, “You said you weren’t going to drag my ass through hell. You said that.”

JK’s eyes widen and he scoffs in amusement at hearing you curse for the first time.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he whispers, a smirk playing on his lips, “I won’t be dragging you anywhere.”

You nod sleepily, still trying to stay fully conscious when your body is trying its best to go under; to do anything not to feel the pain rushing through it.

“Look at me,” he says gently.

You shake your head, a small frown gracing your features.

He chuckles quietly and touches your cheek, “I know you’re mad, but just look at me.”

You finally do, squinting at him.

“Before I pass out,” you slur almost incoherently before he can say anything.

He looks down at your movement, seeing you pull something out from where it was tucked into the makeshift bandage on your wrist from so long ago, when he first hurt you.

It’s some sort of cloth that you hold tightly in your fist, biting your lip.

“I almost lost it,” you mumble.

He knows what you mean by that, as sick as it makes him.

When you were caught, you must have known they were going to strip you down to torture and humiliate you as much as they could. You must have tucked whatever this is into the bandage as a last act of desperation to keep it hidden. It was pure luck that they didn’t bother ridding you of the bandage before chaining your wrists.

You got it out of the chest in the shack and kept it successfully hidden until then, you weren’t about to let them ruin one of your last chances to prove it to him.

“What is it?” He asks gently as you press the cloth into his hand.

“It was a gift,” you whisper faintly, and he can tell you’re about to pass out.

Your eyes flutter closed and the rest of your body weight slumps to the side, making him tighten his hold on you so that you don’t fall over.

As he holds you upright, he glances down at the handkerchief in his hand, his heart stopping in his chest when he sees the messily embroidered initials in the corner.

JK.

________________

The next time you find yourself waking up, there’s a gentle rocking sensation that almost lulls you right back into sleep.

You fight it though and force yourself to open your eyes in a squint to take in your surroundings. It’s a forest that he’s walking through and you’re on his back, head lying on his shoulder as his hands hold your calves to keep your legs wrapped around his waist. Your arms are dangling uselessly over his shoulders and down by his chest. Your wings droop behind you, still aching terribly, but the blood has long since dried.

“Where are we?” You mumble, voice cracking.

“Still in the fifth circle,” he says back quietly, but doesn’t slow his pace, “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, pulling your sore arms to hug yourself closer to him.

His breath hitches for a second, but he keeps his composure.

“We’re about to reach the river.”

You sigh and lay your head down on his shoulder, “Are you going to leave me to get across by myself?”

You hear him scoff gently.

“You wouldn’t make it ten feet, darling.”

You smile to yourself, no longer minding the pet names he uses with you and probably any and every other soul he’s come into contact with.

He isn’t whispering it into your ear softly for only you to hear as you drift to sleep, he’s not breathing it against your lips when he doesn’t want to pull away, he isn’t even saying it with a tinge of annoyance after an argument when he’s assuring you that he still loves you.

But at least it’s something.

“You’re crying.”

You reach up a hand and wipe at your eyes, “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

The way he whispers that word makes your heart tear in two.

He feels your arms tighten around him and you place your lips close to his neck but don’t touch him. Your warm breath fans across his icy skin and he feels a chill run down his spine.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whisper, your voice low and thick with tears.

He’s about to ask what it is you mean, but before he can, he’s stepping out of the forest and into the open where the river is not far ahead, the bloody sinners tearing at each other relentlessly as they have done for many years and will continue to do for the rest of eternity.

You lift your head to look, but only briefly, then you put your face back into his neck to hide from the horror in the only way you can think of.

The feeling of him walking again makes your stomach turn. Despite not seeing anything, the sounds of rage and brutal violence still ring in your head.

He must be able to keep them from approaching you, because as far as you can tell, he’s just walking straight through the bloody massacre and none of the sinners have noticed.

It doesn’t take long to get to the other side going straight through, but it’s long enough to make you sick from the sounds that surround you.

JK steps off the river and you feel him carefully hike you up a little on his back from you slipping unconsciously.

“Thanks,” you mumble sleepily.

This horrible exhaustion is really killing you, it’s hard to keep your eyes open for more than a minute. You would never have made it far without him.

“I’m not angry,” you say softly, eyes closed and head still resting on his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“We’re in the fifth circle,” you take a shuddering breath, “but I’m not angry. I’m not even annoyed.”

“That’s good,” JK hums softly as he walks over logs and rocks strewn about the forest floor.

“Mhm.”

__________________

You once again blink into consciousness, your mind spinning with confusion.

After blinking a few more times, you see a multitude of blurry colors a few feet in front of you. Another few seconds goes by before you realize you’re lying down on hard stone.

Rubbing your eyes, you watch the colors start to come into focus before you can see that it’s quite literally a pile of treasure; gems and gold glittering in the light temptingly.

Good thing you have no desire for riches.

You sit up slowly, taking notice of the sinners rolling their giant boulders back and forth without acknowledging your presence.

The fourth circle.

“JK?” You look around, but don’t see him anywhere.

Your eyes land on the statue standing guard over the treasure, in the middle of the dilapidated temple you’re in.

The figure of the crouching naked old man still gives you the creeps.

He’s definitely looking at you.

“J-”

“You called?”

You gasp and turn to see the demon walking over to you, a small smile on his tired face.

“You scared me,” you whisper as he crouches next to you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” his eyes scan your figure, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” you rub your eyes and yawn, the strange deep exhaustion no less than it’s been. When he gives you a look you clear your throat, “Really.”

A few seconds pass as you look at him.

He’s still as handsome and flawless as always, apart from the fatigue you can see that has begun to weigh him down.

“Are you okay?”

JK nods, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” You press a little more.

His expression softens at your worried tone. When he lifts a hand to brush some hair from your face, you gulp, heart melting in your chest at the gesture.

“I’m not the one that was tortured for sport, little angel.”

A lump forms in your throat at the memory of what was done to him, and for so so much longer.

You reach up and take his hand, holding it in yours and noting how cold it is.

His hands used to be so warm against your skin, running up and down the length of your arms and legs and cupping your face to pull you in for a kiss. He would never hesitate to cuddle you into his chest and lift your night dress to put his hands under it and rest them on your abdomen while you were having painful cramps each month, the comforting heat from his touch soothing the ache.

Being unable to pull him into your chest and never let go is beyond the measure of grief.

You want to warm him, keep him close until all of the fears and pain have been erased. You want to look in his eyes and tell him how much you’ve missed him, hear him whisper the words back as he envelopes you in a warm hug.

“I’m sorry.”

JK’s brows furrow at your sudden apology.

“Wh-”

“I’m sorry I left first.”

He watches your eyes well up with tears, not knowing what it is you mean.

“Please,” you choke out, only one tear falling, “Please just let me give you everything, please-”

He shakes his head and moves to stand, but you grab his wrist, more tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I can help you,” you cry softly, looking desperately into his dark brown eyes.

The demon crouches again, letting you keep a hold on his wrist.

“I don’t want it,” he says gently.

“Please,” sobs are falling from your lips, chest shaking with each one as you keep a grip on his wrist.

“Hey,” he calls you softly, cupping your cheek so that you’ll look at him, “hey.”

You can’t see very well due to the tears clouding your vision, but you do your best to look at him anyway.

“I can’t, Apple.”

“Why not?” You whimper quietly, fighting the sleep that’s tugging on you relentlessly.

His eyes shift between yours.

“If I remember, I’ll never be able to let you go.”

“Let me go?” Teary confused eyes drift around his face. Your words slur as you blink slowly, “Wait…where are you taking me?”

He wipes his thumbs under your eyes to dry them.

“Get some sleep.”

____________________

Several times you wake up, but you can’t register where you are or how long it’s been before you slip back into the fog of endless dreams and nightmares.

The hundredth time you open your eyes, you see an orange glow surrounding you and feel a warmth that is trying its best to permeate the cold that has begun to settle in your bones.

You swallow and blink harder a few times before you can see the source of the glow.

A small fire.

Tears instantly choke you but you swallow them and clear your throat as you sit up, relieved that the exhaustion has taken a small step back for the time being.

The feeling of deja vu sweeps over you when you lift your gaze to see him lying on the other side of the fire; long legs stretched out in front of him as he messes with something in his fingers.

You don’t make a sound, so he must have sensed your gaze, because his eyes drift from the small object over to where you’re looking at him from across the flames.

“Second circle?” You ask quietly and he nods.

A small smile tugs at your lips.

“Should I expect you to order me to crawl to your feet and worship you?”

He chuckles lowly and looks back at whatever he’s fiddling with.

“Not unless you want to, little angel, but I won’t be placing my bets on that.”

You breathe a small laugh and look down at your hands, then start absentmindedly picking at the dried blood on your fingernails for a few quiet minutes.

“So it was me, then?”

You look up at the sound of his deep voice and lock eyes with him, a request to clarify his question in your gaze.

There isn’t even a hint of a smirk on his face as he speaks, “The one you gave yourself to.”

You blink a few times, letting the silence stretch on for a bit.

Then you swallow, “Yes.”

“And you were the only and first I gave myself to? Back then.”

You raise your eyebrows and make a face, “Well, yes. Unless you lied to me, which I doubt, considering how much more of a catch I was than you-”

He laughs at your words and you feel your heart lift at the sound.

When the laughter dies down, you see his brows furrow as he gets lost in thought.

After a minute he speaks up again, his voice so quiet you barely hear it over the crackling of the flames.

“What was it like? The first time.”

Your eyes lift to see him looking at you. Once again, there is no smirk or playful glint in his eyes. He is not asking this just for the sake of lustful conversation, you can tell. He is just genuinely curious.

“Well,” you shift so that you can lean back against the wall of the cave, “It was on our wedding night.”

He nods, but doesn’t speak to interrupt you.

“It-” you drop your gaze to the fire even as he keeps his eyes locked on your face, watching all the different emotions run their course.

The look in your eyes is faraway.

You are not here, you are somewhere else, somewhere so very very far away.

There’s a soft look there and a gentle smile on your lips.

“It was beautiful,” you finally say, voice barely above a whisper.

JK says nothing to break the sacred silence that has settled, he just watches your face. He watches the distant look of pure love slip away and slowly fade into one of deep sadness.

A grief he does not understand.

A grief he has begun to want to understand.

“Can you show me?”

Your eyes fly to his, your next breath getting stuck.

“I thought you didn’t want to know,” you choke out.

His eyes fall back to his hands, “I want to understand.”

You watch him with teary eyes as he stands up and walks around the fire to sit in front of you.

The demon that led you through Hell and back leans closer, “Help me remember…please.”

It only takes a second for you to jolt out of your shock and nod slowly, “Ok.”

You sit up on your knees so that you’re a bit taller than him, your throat closing when you feel his hands rest gently on your hips and ever so slightly pull you closer to him. You can’t stop yourself from falling into his gaze, those big brown eyes sucking you in and filling your lungs until you drown.

“If I give it to you, I give you everything.”

He stares into your eyes for a few moments longer before nodding in agreement.

JK closes his eyes at the feeling of your hand caressing his cheek in a way only a lover would.

Then he feels your lips press to his gently.

You pull back almost immediately before moving back in and gliding your tongue along his bottom lip, pulling a heavy sigh from his lungs then once again diving deeper.

He can hear the sound of his own heavy breathing, yours mixing in with it as the two bounce off the walls of solid rock. Then they slowly fade away.

The walls of home glow with a warm orange light.

You’re lying on the bed, hair falling past your shoulders as you snuggle into the blankets even as they don’t cover you. Giggles fall from your lips and his heart jumps in his chest at the sound.

“What’re you doing?” Your sweet voice reaches his ears and he smiles as he walks over to stand by the bed you lie on in nothing but your night dress.

You get up on your knees and pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and touching your nose to his.

When you pull back, the candle’s golden glow dancing around the room reflects in your eyes as you look at him with a love so pure and so unconditional he knows not a single soul on this earth could ever be as lucky as him.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Jungkook whispers, fingers brushing a messy strand of hair from your face.

Your nose and eyes scrunch up the way they do when you make a silly joke.

“You dropped an apple on my head. Right here,” you place a hand on top of your head and laugh quietly at the smile on his face.

“Here?” He puts his own hand there, “Are you sure?”

“Mhm!”

“Are you positive?”

“Yes, it still hurts.”

“Oh no,” Jungkook pats the spot gently before leaning forward and kissing your forehead, “I’m sorry, love.”

You pull him into a hug, “It’s okay, I forgave you a long time ago.”

He puts his arms around you and holds you close.

If only he could pull you into him and share his body with yours so that you would never again feel pain. He would give you his breath, the muscles that help him to move, the very blood that flows through his veins.

He would give you his own life.

The slight chill of your skin against his as you pull him onto you makes his heart break. You don’t get out much, can’t go long distances to get the blood circulating through your body.

Jungkook places his mouth against yours, his hot breath filling your lungs and warming you up from the inside out.

He can feel you shivering in his arms, so he pulls the covers around you both before leaving warm openmouthed kisses down your chest.

If you can’t breathe, he will breathe for you.

Soft sighs leave your mouth as he explores your body with gentle kisses and hands that leave a comforting heat behind wherever they touch.

If you can’t keep yourself warm, he will do it for you.

The whisper of his name from your lips pulls him back and he brings his mouth to yours again.

If you can’t walk, he will carry you.

His chest is pressed against yours, so close you can feel his heartbeat as if it is your own.

His dark eyes look into yours with so much love and adoration that you lose your breath.

“I love you.” He whispers.

You see the tears sliding down his cheeks in the orange haze as he looks at you.

This is the closest you will ever come to being one.

“I love you too,” you whisper back.

Jungkook feels his heart break just a little more as he takes in your sweet face, locking it into his memory so that he will never forget. He focuses on the feeling of his best friend’s heart against his chest, pounding steadily even as it grows weaker than his own.

He pulls you closer still.

If ever your heart fails to beat, you can have his.

__________

Everything comes back quickly after that; your first meeting, days and nights in the woods and village causing all sorts of mischief, your first kiss, finding out that you were sick and looking for a cure, seeing you again for the first time after you were healed, your pregnancy, losing the baby, everything. He even sees the sickness take hold, the things that happened in his absence. All up until the day he lost you. The memories stop when he’s curled up in a corner of the shack, three days after you left him.

JK pulls away, his lips detaching from yours slowly as his breathing becomes a little less labored.

He opens his eyes to see your face not far from his own, wide eyes curious as to what his reaction will be.

“Jungkook?” You whisper gently, hopefully.

His eyes flicker to yours but he doesn’t respond.

There is no recognition there as he looks at you.

Your heart shatters into a million pieces and he can see that on your face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Silent tears drip down your cheeks.

“You don’t- you don’t remember? You didn’t see?”

“I saw.”

Your red teary eyes lock on his, begging to understand.

“I know you came for the person you lost, but I’m not him.”

“What?” You whisper brokenly, beyond confused.

“He loved you, I could see it,” JK says gently, “And I’m sorry…but there is nothing left of that person, and I don’t love you.”

It feels like your heart is impaled, the breath being knocked violently from your lungs.

JK swallows the lump in his throat at the grief-stricken look on your face as you stare at him.

“Maybe it’s best that I forgot,” he whispers, “It will never be worth the pain it caused by losing it. Why would I want to feel and remember whatever amazing thing He supposedly gave me only to remember the fact that He took it all back? It’s just what He does, and I want no part of it.”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying-”

“Think about it,” JK interrupts you, “What the hell kind of fucked up shit was that? He asked you to be good and punished you for it!”

“What?” You cry, not understanding.

“The kid,” the demon’s voice has become bitter, filled with rage and resentment, “You helped that sick boy and fell ill because of it-”

“The boy didn’t make me sick.”

Your soft voice echoes off the walls of the cave.

JK stares at you for a moment, then he leans closer, “What the hell are you saying?”

“The child was not sick with typhoid,” your voice shakes and you keep your gaze on the wall behind him, “If he was he never would have woken up the next day. He was very sick, but not with what I caught.”

Silence weighs down on you for several long moments. Then he whispers darkly.

“Then how did you get sick?”

“The water,” you say faintly, “Our main water source was dry and I consumed contaminated water from the well in the village-”

“Why didn’t the entire fucking village die, then?”

Your eyes finally find his; your hard stare not backing down from his cold one.

“Why do you think?” You practically spit.

Your question is met with nothing but enraged silence.

“Why don’t you ask your leader?” You hiss, “Ask him why the ponds and river were dry, why I alone died from the water everyone drank, why he blamed it on the boy just to stir more anger and resentment into your heart. Why don’t you ask him?!”

JK’s mouth twists in rage.

He doesn’t know the pain from what happened, he cannot remember the feeling of loving you and the grief of losing you, but that doesn’t stop him from being angry at the one that caused all of this.

“I will ask him when you go to your Creator and ask why He abandoned me!! Why does He sit up there and play with us like dolls?! Why does He love to give and then take away, sitting back on His mighty throne and laughing at our agony because of it?!?”

You are about to snap back when an idea strikes you.

He can’t even register what you’re doing before you sit up on your knees and grab his hands, holding them to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as tight as you can.

“What the hell are you do-”

JK doesn’t finish his sentence before everything fades away, his sight, the feeling of your hands, the smells and sounds that once surrounded him.

He is in nothing but pitch blackness.

Then there’s a clear blue sky overhead, birds singing in the trees, and a soft breeze kissing his cheeks.

He sees a small boy climbing an apple tree, his short legs and arms causing a bit of a challenge for him, but he manages.

The child shimmies up one of the long branches and reaches for a bright red apple that hangs there enticingly.

“You can get it, you’re almost there!”

The voice belongs to a young teen boy that sits on a branch a few feet above the child’s head, his blue eyes that match the wings on his back and the toga on his body are shining with delight. Shiny blonde locks fall to the angel’s shoulders, not a hair out of place.

A laugh bursts from his lips when the boy makes grabby hands at the shiny fruit.

“Don’t make fun of me, Nehemiah!” The boy cries, but there’s a smile on his tiny pink lips as he reaches again.

The guardian angel beams with joy, then he flies over from his branch and grabs the apple, plucking it from the tree easily.

“Here Kookie, catch!” He gently tosses the juicy red fruit to the small boy, who laughs and stretches his hands out. He almost catches it, but it slips from his fingers at the last second and plummets to the ground.

Tiny Jungkook looks down to see that the apple has smacked another child on the head. He gasps and scurries down the tree as fast as he can to apologize.

Nehemiah watches with his hands over his mouth to hold in the giggles. His eyes meet the dark green ones of another guardian angel before his excited laughter breaks free.

There was never a friendship among angels and humans quite like theirs. Ever since the boy was born, he could see the angel that followed him everywhere and kept him safe. He learned his name and had complete and utter trust in him.

As Jungkook grew, Nehemiah stayed the same. He had existed for many many years, yet never appeared any older than fifteen.

When Jungkook reached the age of seven, Nehemiah realized with a sinking heart that the boy could no longer see him. He spoke to him sometimes, but that eventually faded away as well. The games and stories and laughter slowly fizzled out.

Nehemiah caught Jungkook’s tiny arm when the child tripped over a stone lying in his path. He righted the three year old boy and laughed as he thanked the guardian angel before breaking into a run once more.

That was one of the angel’s most fondest memories, the one he would always bring to mind during the hardest of days. The blue angel never left his side though.

He walked with Jungkook along the dirt paths and smelled the flowers the boy picked, sang along to the songs he hummed, and was quick to guide him to the dead rose bush that one frightening day at the river even though the boy couldn’t see him.

It was not time for Jungkook to leave Earth yet, for he still had so much to do.

Nehemiah cried with Jungkook the day he found out about your disease. His heart was aching just as much as the boy’s; if not more from just seeing him in pain.

There were many attempts to soothe his human’s heart as he traveled searching for a cure, but Jungkook only ever slipped further and further away from him with each passing day.

He could not hear his guardian angel’s voice anymore.

Nor did he want to.

---------

Nehemiah rejoiced loudly at the wedding and danced with Imelda to the pretty music that played, his bright grin never dimming. For that day was one of the most joyous he could remember, of course not nearly as joyous as the day Jungkook was conceived and he finally got to meet him in the womb after waiting for so long.

_______________

Nehemiah wrung his hands anxiously as Jungkook tied the bundle of herbs together in front of the fire.

“Jungkook please, please don’t do this. Go home to Apple,” his eyes stung with tears, “She’s alone, stop leaving her alone!”

He got no response.

“Jungkook, listen to me! If you go home now, Aera will be conceived before long. You will lose her and yes you will lose Apple too, but I promise you that it will not be the end. You will be there for her during death, to hold and comfort her to ease the struggle of passage. Apple will not die in agony if you stop this and go home to her now.”

Jungkook stepped back and looked at the fire, the bundle of herbs becoming wet in his sweaty hand.

Nehemiah flew in front of him and held his arms out to prevent him from tossing it in, “You will go with them soon, I promise! And we’ll all be happy together in Heaven, we really will!”

His heart sank at the way Jungkook looked right through him.

There was no memory left of the guardian angel, not after despair had sunken in.

The fire snapped and crackled when the herbs hit it and began to burn.

A cold breeze swept through the area and Nehemiah sighed deeply.

Jungkook turned and came face to face with Lucifer.

The Devil looked past the human boy’s shoulder briefly to see the young blue angel glaring daggers at him.

He smirked and went back to business.

Nehemiah tried, he tried his hardest, but Jungkook would not listen.

_______________

The blue angel practically tackled the brown angel, Nasya, who joined him and Imelda the day that Aera was conceived.

“Oh, you’re finally here, you’re finally here!!” He jumped up and down and cried tears of joy.

Nasya smiled, “For a little while, Nehemiah. I will go back soon, with Aera.”

Nehemiah nodded solemnly, knowing the time would come but that sweet baby Aera would be happy in Heaven and would not suffer long in her passing.

When the time came, Nehemiah cried all of his tears. He hugged Nasya, who cradled the infant Aera in her arms, before bidding them goodbye, then he was right beside Jungkook in his mother’s home.

You laid on the bed, face drained of color and eyes drained of life as you stared out the window. Imelda was caressing your face gently and whispering words of comfort.

Nehemiah laid his head on Jungkook’s shoulder and whispered his own words of strength and comfort.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” he whispered as a tear slid down his porcelain cheek, “It will hurt for a long time. You’ll be strong for Apple though, don’t worry. I know you're scared you aren't strong enough, but you won’t let her down, you will get through this and you will smile again. Aera is safe and happy, I promise, I promise.”

____________

Nehemiah couldn’t watch as Jungkook bid you goodbye.

He locked eyes with Imelda, who nodded sadly at him and waved after he called farewell to her, then he followed Jungkook and his mother as they left for their journey.

The screams that ripped from Jungkook’s chest as Taehyung and Yoongi pulled your limp body from his arms broke Nehemiah’s heart into a thousand pieces.

He knew you were okay, he knew you were no longer in pain and would soon be filled with joy beyond measure.

But Jungkook did not know that.

Nehemiah sat and cried with him for three days, never leaving his side.

He knew Jungkook was dying, and he knew what would happen when he did; what he would need to do to protect him.

The guardian angel stood his ground, sword held out and ready to strike any and every miserable wretch that tried to come close to his human.

Jungkook was curled up in the corner of the shack and staring at the dead roses that had spilled from the vase, his breath slowing down and becoming more labored with each inhale and exhale.

He was fading.

Nehemiah locked eyes with the first demon to approach.

“You will not touch him,” he whispered, sword pointed at the demon’s gnarled chest.

The creature howled with delight and moved to get around the angel, but Nehemiah was faster. He swung his sword and sliced clean through the demon’s stomach, causing it to recoil and screech in fury before fleeing.

The young angel took a deep breath and backed up to be closer to his boy, ready to defend him until the end.

Many demons came that day, and Nehemiah held off every single one on his own. They came at him in swarms and he was beaten and torn at for hours, but he did not back down.

The demons could not reach the soul they came to claim. There was an angel between them and their prize, and he would not let them pass.

Nehemiah struck at demons left and right, his cheeks tinted with the slightest pink at the exertion.

That’s when he heard it.

Jungkook’s last breath; the final beat of his broken heart.

Then he was gone.

Nehemiah turned slowly and saw Lucifer standing there, a smug smirk on the demon’s despicable face.

The guardian angel dropped his sword and walked over to his closest friend, his heart breaking more with each step. He was not seen, but that didn’t stop him from sitting beside his boy and wrapping his arms around him.

He laid his head on Jungkook’s shoulder and wept. He heard Lucifer speaking and did his best to talk over him but to no avail. Jungkook was never going to listen.

The broken mortal closed his eyes and did his best to conjure up an image of you.

Nehemiah hugged him tight and whispered to him as he used to when Jungkook was little and wanted a bedtime story, when he would tell stories of a place so beautiful it couldn’t be imagined. Where they would be together someday.

“Apple is somewhere safe and warm, where the sun kisses her cheeks and dances upon her fingers. Somewhere the apples are sweet and crisp, where the water is never too cold.”

He heard Jungkook grimacing at the sting of the image being scratched into his bicep.

“Look at how ruined you are,” the Devil whispered with shameless glee, “All because of love.”

Nehemiah wiped Jungkook’s damp cheeks gently, feeling him slip further away.

“She is somewhere she can fly with the clouds, never alone.”

Lucifer locked eyes with the guardian and glared with undeniable hatred.

The angel did not back away from the harsh stare, he looked right back at the blasphemous traitor as he whispered to his most beloved human that would soon be taken from him.

“Somewhere the roses will always bloom.”

_____________________

You open your eyes to see JK’s shut tightly, his cheeks damp with silent tears.

He takes a shuddering breath, his chest shaking a little when he blows it out slowly.

You say nothing, not wanting to risk him shutting down again.

It takes a few minutes, then you finally see him blink open his eyes, a stray tear trickling down. He pulls his hands out of yours and touches his fingers to his wet cheek, confusion written all over his face. It appears as though he’s forgotten what it’s like to cry.

The silence stretches on in the small dark cave, only the soft sound of crackling flames reaches your ears.

The pretty boy in front of you looks lost in thought, his eyes still squinted in confusion as he slowly wipes the remnants of tears off of his skin.

There’s nothing you can think to say to fill the void.

JK finishes drying his face, trying his best not to dwell on the uncomfortable foreign feeling that overtook him momentarily. Only seconds before, he had been yelling about how he had been abandoned, only to see the strangest images of quite the opposite.

Nothing makes sense and it’s terrifying him.

You two sit there for another few minutes, the quiet not unwelcome as you each ponder the thoughts in your minds.

The demon takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, closing his eyes so that he can think clearly.

There is no time to learn more, to find out what happened that made things lead up to this; to understand the feeling of loving someone and losing them.

He does not know what that is like, though he has begun to wonder if it is anything like the constant ache in his chest, the feeling of his heart being ripped to shreds without pause.

Perhaps there is something more to the torture he has always tried to pretend does not weigh him down every moment.

But there is no time.

JK forces himself to look back at you.

The way you stare off into the distance with watery eyes and a lost gaze, makes that awful feeling in his chest happen again.

The color is draining from your face quickly, and the warmth that usually emits from you is no longer there.

You jump a little when he takes your hand, your eyes falling to where he grabbed you before traveling up to his face.

JK runs his thumb along your knuckles softly, noting how cold your skin has become.

There is no time…for anything.

You’re fading.

“We need to go,” he whispers, the soft spoken words still echoing around the cave.

He watches your face crumple and a few more tears stream down your cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” you mumble tearfully, exhaustion and confusion clear in your voice, “I don’t understand why it isn’t working.”

“I’m sorry.”

A broken sob breaks from your lips and you pull your hand from his to cover your face.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” you choke out, “But now that you have, I wish you wouldn’t.”

He says nothing for a few moments, then he whispers again, clearly regretful, “We need to keep going.”

The demon watches the angel in front of him check out for a few moments before wiping at her eyes and choking down a swallow as she breathes out a couple shaky breaths.

“I’m not broken,” he eventually hears you whisper, your voice quivering.

His eyes lock with yours.

“I didn’t say you w-”

“I’m not broken.”

JK swallows, knowing that he can’t hide the thoughts running through his mind.

“Good,” he finally says, “Because I’m gonna need you to do your best to stay unbroken, just for a bit longer.”

He shifts, moving onto his knees in front of you and leaning down to brush the tangled strands of hair out of your face, “Can you do that for me?”

Your eyes are locked on his, quickly getting lost in them.

You nod slowly.

The smile that spreads on his face makes your heart lurch into your throat.

You don’t fall asleep again, but you might as well have.

You are so disoriented that you can’t tell up from down or right from left. All you know is that you are on his back, holding on weakly as he walks.

Eventually the gentle bouncing indicates that he’s walking up a set of stairs, although it’s too dark and you’re too out of it to know where exactly those stairs lead to.

Then there’s suddenly the uncomfortable red light that pierces your eyes and you close them quickly. When you open them again, you see a dark forest just ahead and stone ruins strewn about just outside of the stairway the two of you came out of.

The same ruins that littered the ground outside of the seventh circle.

The conversation surrounding them rushes back into your brain as you glance around.

“The earthquake.”

“Earthquake?”

“The one that shook the earth at the time of His death.”

The sound of soft weeping reaches your ears and slowly begins to gain in volume. A forest of thin trees surrounds you when JK keeps walking, misty figures of souls dart in and out of sight.

Limbo.

The silence that stretches on between you and him is unsettling. Your stomach is in knots knowing what’s about to happen.

What you’re about to do.

The silence doesn’t end, it continues all the way through the long dark forest, making you sick with fear.

There is no distraction to help you in any way.

Give me strength.

JK sees the gate not far ahead and swallows thickly as he adjusts you to be more comfortable on his back when you slide down a bit. Almost there.

He feels your arms tighten around him and your cold nose brush against the side of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

“I love you,” you mumble against his skin, the words making his stomach sink, “...it’s okay, you don’t need to say it back.”

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers.

“I know,” you whisper, “Me too.”

JK swallows, forcing his feet to keep moving forward.

He’s only fifteen feet away from the giant stone entrance to Hell, when a voice rings out through the forest and he freezes.

“Going so soon?”

A few more steps and you would have made it.

You feel the demon go rigid under you, then he turns slowly.

JK locks eyes with the blonde demon that’s leaning against a tree and smirking.

“Did you really think you could get her out? Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

You gulp as you watch Sav laugh to himself.

JK lets go of your legs and gently lowers you to the ground where you end up sitting uselessly. All the strength in you is gone, you can’t even barely hold yourself up as you watch your best friend straighten to his full height.

“No Sav,” his deep voice rings out, “I counted on it.”

“You’re in no position to threaten me,” Sav snaps, moving from leaning against the tree and walking closer.

“I could say the same about you.”

“Give us the angel and we’ll forget this little incident happened.”

JK chuckles darkly.

“You touch her and I will make you regret every choice you’ve ever made in your entire miserable little existence.”

You hold your breath as he stands between you and the demon that tortured you endlessly without restraint.

“Oh, I’ve already touched her,” Sav whispers, a seductive smirk on his lips as he glances at you. You pull your gaze from his, not wanting to revisit all that had happened.

“I’ve made her scream and cry.”

JK’s jaw clenches.

“Are you jealous?” Sav giggles maniacally, “Are you jealous I got to cut up her precious little skin until her blood coated my fingertips and she was sobbing for me to have mercy?”

You did nothing of the sort, there was not a single beg for reprieve from you. And Sav knows that.

“Are you mad that I was the one that got to strip the little angel-”

JK walks forward and grabs Sav by the collar, dragging him close to his face roughly and cutting off his sentence.

“You can try all you want to rattle me Sav,” JK seethes, his chest rising and falling with enraged breaths, “But we both know the bastard that resorts to that already knows when he’s fucking lost.”

Sav gulps, the fear in his eyes nearly hidden by the smirk on his face.

“Grasping at straws already, Savie?” JK chuckles, holding the demon in place when he tries to wriggle away, “How fucking pathetic.”

You watch silently, but can’t see much more than JK’s back, the way he towers over Sav is almost terrifying. You wouldn’t want to be in his place.

“I can’t imagine trying so hard to be important and failing so fucking miserably.”

Sav glares at JK fiercely, the words biting into his bones and nearly making him crack.

He’s about to snap back when a chill goes through the forest and both demons stiffen.

Your heart leaps to your throat at the sound of the gravelly voice that would not leave you alone.

“Really Sav, enough of this ridiculous humiliation you cause yourself constantly. How useless can you be? Can’t you see that you don’t need any more help to look so pathetic?”

All you can see of this new demon are large black wings and a looming figure.

No one says anything for a few moments, then the cold voice speaks again.

“Let go.”

You watch in fear as JK roughly lets go of Sav, making the smaller demon stumble back. You can see the dark-haired demon’s shoulders moving up and down with heavy breaths. It’s clear he had no choice but to listen.

It only takes one look from the newcomer to send Sav scrambling away into the trees.

You close your eyes after seeing the frighteningly beautiful devil in front of JK.

Lucifer glances at you over his minion’s shoulder and smiles.

“You’ve only just arrived in Hell, angel. Won’t you stay a little longer?”

You don’t answer him.

JK gulps, his whole body shaking.

“Kneel.”

He drops to his knees immediately, head hanging in shame as he stares at the ground and bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

Lucifer chuckles.

“Look at you. You really thought you could make your own decisions, you thought I knew nothing of your actions and that you could slip away unnoticed.”

“I didn’t-”

“Shut up.”

JK snaps his mouth shut, grinding his teeth in order not to let himself scream profanities.

The Devil leans down and whispers, “I own you. Has that also slipped from your knowledge? Must I remind you that I am the one that calls the shots?”

You can feel sweat pouring down your bloody back, the pain beginning to increase with each moment that passes.

Only a few seconds pass before you realize something is happening to JK too.

He’s hunched over, breathing heavily and grimacing.

“Jungkook,” you gasp out, horrible pain washing over you and rendering you incapable of moving.

“Shut your filthy mouth,” Lucifer snaps, his glare turning to you and the pain surging up into new levels as you cry out and lay your forehead on the ground, prayers falling from your lips desperately.

JK can’t move, he’s stuck where he is; kneeling at the feet of Lucifer and shaking with agony.

You force yourself to lift your gaze and look at the Devil, locking eyes with him.

Lucifer’s eyes widen in rage at your defiance and he steps forward, reaching to grab the demon kneeling before him.

He stops though, when his path is suddenly blocked by you throwing yourself in front of him.

JK opens his eyes, his gaze lifting to see you standing between him and his leader. The blood streaking down your legs and torn dress is a strangely vibrant red. His eyes lift more to see your smaller wings, still ripped to shreds.

You look miniscule standing in front of the Devil himself, but you don’t appear afraid in the slightest. Your fists are clenched so tight that fresh blood drips from them where your fingernails dig into the delicate skin.

Lucifer takes a step back and chuckles, crossing his arms, his dark wings resting behind him.

“You think you’re very brave, don’t you?”

You say nothing, only glare at him with a burning hatred.

“He cannot leave. You already know this…why pretend otherwise?”

When you still don’t respond, he uncrosses his arms.

“You don’t know your place, do you child?”

His voice has become lower and his expression softens, now uncharacteristically gentle.

Despite his words, he suddenly seems empathetic, in a way. It’s startling.

Your brows furrow but you hold your ground.

JK watches in confusion from where he’s still kneeling on the ground, unable to move and jaw clenched shut as the pain evens out to a steady ache across his whole body.

“In mortal life, living in the village,” Lucifer whispers as he looks you over, “You never belonged there, did you?”

Your eyes narrow more but you remain quiet.

“You don’t belong up there either, do you?”

“I belong there,” you choke out, wishing your voice to sound stronger than it does.

A sad smile spreads on the demon’s face.

“Do you? Because I see the same look in your eyes that was in mine the day I found out I didn’t belong anywhere either.”

You’re about to respond, but he cuts you off.

“D-”

“You don’t belong anywhere, little misfit, you know I speak the truth. Why not join me? Why bother suffering uselessly just to follow His ridiculous will? I chose to belong here. You can choose to join me,” A smirk spreads on his face, “We’re not so different, you and I-”

“I am nothing like you,” you whisper fiercely, “And I do belong there. I have never belonged anywhere more.”

You take a step closer, your bare feet numb to the warmth radiating from the earth.

“Did you really think you could convince me otherwise, demon?”

His eyes turn cold and angry at the dismissive title you use, as if he is worth no more than any other wretch here.

“Did you really think you could give me a moment’s pause? Are you that foolish?”

He’s about to snap back but you keep going, stepping closer with each word.

“I suppose you are. You experienced what it was like, you were there. You belonged there and you knew it, you just wanted more.”

The Devil glares at you.

“You were there and you gave it up,” You get up into his space, your eyes glancing briefly at the dead white rose on his bicep being strangled by the serpent, “You are the biggest fool in existence and I would rather suffer ten thousand times more in order to bring others to be with Him than ever be compared to the likes of you.”

“Enjoy that then,” Lucifer hisses, “Enjoy paradise all you like without him.”

You hear a pained gasp from behind you and turn in horror to see JK doubled over and groaning from the indescribable pain consuming him.

You rush to him, but are grabbed and yanked back harshly before you can get there. The Devil has a strong grip on your upper arm as he addresses his prisoner.

“You are mine,” he growls, his glare trained on the demon kneeling before him, “Your soul belongs to me and it can never leave the gates of Hell.”

“He’s lying!” You scream, fighting against him, “He wants you to think he’s the one in charge. He’s not! Lucifer knows he’s lost, he knows that at the end every knee will bend to Him. All he can do now is bring down as many souls as he can before that,” You’re practically sobbing, “Jungkook, he’s desperate, you know that means he’s already lost!”

Lucifer chuckles, satisfaction sweeping over him at the feeling of despair seeping from the poor pathetic soul knelt in the hot dirt.

“You can leave, Jungkook, don’t listen to him!!”

He watches Lucifer smirk down at him, still holding onto your arm. Tears are streaming down your face as you look at him desperately, as if trying to convey something without words.

He doesn’t understand.

“You can’t both leave,” The Devil whispers, “Can you?”

He looks at you at the same time that JK does.

Confusion is swarming the lower demon’s brain as he stares at you.

The expression on your face doesn’t make sense.

Why do you look sorry?

“But you knew that,” Lucifer continues quietly, “You came here knowing that, didn’t you little angel?”

JK’s eyes dart from his master over to you, and he finally understands.

“I’m going to miss you.”

That's what you had said, that’s what you meant.

You can see the horror sweep over him and he shakes his head, never looking from your gaze.

“No.”

Lucifer chuckles.

“____, no-” JK chokes out in disbelief.

Your heart rips in two hearing him say your name for the first time in over five hundred years.

“I told you not to call me that,” you whisper, tears in your eyes but an encouraging smile on your face meant to reassure him that it’s okay, “I don’t like it when you’re serious.”

He shakes his head again, slowly.

He brought you to the gate to get you out, you’re not going to trade places with him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this-

“Why not take her up on her offer?” Lucifer grins wickedly, “If you do, all of this pain will go away.”

A breeze rushes over the demon kneeling in the mud, and with it the feeling of instant relief.

All of the pain that has wracked his body and kept him weighed down for as long as he can remember, is completely gone.

He looks up to see you staring at him, wide-eyed.

The sound of a bubbling brook reaches his ears, like music on the wind.

Tears brim in his eyes as the smoky forest around him fades away and he’s suddenly in a sunlit field.

The beams of light from the sun do not hurt him.

The sight of bluebirds flying into the clouds does not fill his heart with anger and resentment.

The sweet smell of rain does not make him sick with disgust.

JK looks down at the grass he’s kneeling on. He slowly reaches a hand out and runs his fingertips over the soft blades, a broken gasp leaving him at how silky it feels. Blue and pink and purple flowers decorate the field, and he could swear he hears them singing praises.

Who are they singing for?

Soft footfalls reach his ears and he turns to look at who is approaching, but he can’t see them. All there is, is a human-shaped light walking through the meadow towards him. His heart aches with more and more immeasurable longing with each step closer they take to him.

He doesn’t know why, but it feels like he knows this person, even though he’s never seen them before in his life.

He wants them to reach him.

He knows once they do, he will never hurt again.

The closer the person of light gets, the louder the flowers sing.

The demon’s chest rises and falls rapidly, excitement fluttering in his stomach at the prospect of coming face to face with this being.

Tears creep to the edge, threatening to spill.

He’s never felt so at peace.

Then it’s all gone.

It’s ripped from him mercilessly.

In the blink of an eye he’s back in Limbo and screaming at the sheer agony that takes root once again. JK grabs at the place where his heart is and cries out at the feeling of it being ripped from his chest and crushed into dust.

He can’t breathe.

The pain is more excruciating than it has ever been, it was unbearable before but he was forced to endure it, now it doesn’t feel like he’ll be able to.

After experiencing the soft grass, the gentle wind, the feeling of relief...he cannot bear it.

You cry as you are forced to watch in gut-wrenching grief while he sobs, his body shaking and curling in on itself to try and stop the pain.

He can’t breathe.

“You tasted the sweet sweet feeling of joy, of the eternal relief you will feel once you leave,” Lucifer whispers temptingly, “She can’t leave anyway, JK. She gave up the one thing she brought that connected her to the outside. She already paid to cross the ferry, she cannot leave.”

JK looks up at you, tears streaming down his face.

You can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“Once she takes your place, you are free to go. You will no longer be bound to me. If you stay, your punishment will increase due to this little act of rebellion.”

You smile at him softly, tears still falling down your cheeks.

“It’s okay,” you whisper.

JK drops his gaze to the ground.

You close your eyes and conjure up an image of her as best as you can, the one thing that can bring you comfort in this moment.

Aera’s small arms wrap around you and hold you tight as she whispers how much she loves you in your ear.

“Nasya says you are brave, mommy,” the tiny child pulls back and smiles at you, “Are you really going to save daddy? Are you going to bring him home to be with us forever? Can I show him the Garden??”

You cup her supple cheeks with your hands and lean forward to kiss her button nose.

Her bunny teeth appear as she giggles. You smile softly and touch your forehead to hers.

“Yes, Aera,” you whisper, “I’m going to bring daddy home and you can bring him to the Garden, I know he will love it. Make sure you show him the roses, okay baby?”

She takes your cheeks in her hands as you did to her and leans forward to whisper, as if she’s telling you the biggest secret.

“I will, mommy.”

JK looks up just as you open your eyes. His gaze locks on yours.

Lucifer lets go of you roughly and you stumble, falling to the hard ground.

“Choose.”

He thinks of the field, of the flowers, of the blue sky and white clouds.

And he wants it.

It would be selfish.

He thinks of the smell of crystal rain and honeysuckles, and the mysterious ethereal being coming to join him, to love him more than any other could.

And he wants it…

He’s selfish.

Demons always are.

Demons can’t be anything other than selfish.

JK looks into your eyes, the next breath getting stuck in his chest.

It’s okay, your eyes tell him, this is what I want, this is why I came.

You watch as he crawls over to you.

Despite the grueling pain tormenting him, he stands and pulls you up with him. He scans your face, bruised and bleeding and sweaty with grime.

You feel him grab your hand, open it, then hold it tightly.

He waits for a moment, just a few seconds to take in the beauty in front of him.

It’s just so breathtaking he can’t help it.

He didn’t try to, but it was inevitable..

So he stands there.

Just for a moment.

A few seconds to admire the way your cheeks shine with tears, the way your sad smile spreads as you look at him, the way that even your dress that’s always filthy; only adds to your beauty.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, still holding your hand tightly.

Three little words are right on your tongue, ready to spill from your chapped lips, to assure him why it is okay, why you will gladly take his place.

But you don’t get the chance.

Before you can say it, you look down at what he’s placed in your hand.

A ring made entirely of grass.

Woven with careful fingers.

It’s bigger than yours was.

Realization strikes you too late.

He stands there, only for a few seconds, to admire the beauty in front of him.

Your eyes find his.

And everything is okay.

And he can love you.

“Jungkook-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, not before he grips your arms and turns with you, then he’s shoving you out of the gate.

You land with a harsh smack on the ground, but you’re up again in a split second and running back to the entrance of Hell, screaming at the top of your lungs.

“Jungkook!! No, no no no no!!” You try to go back through, but it’s like an invisible wall is preventing you. You smash your fists against it as hard as you can, but it doesn’t budge. You can see forest on the other side, but you can’t see him or Lucifer there.

“Jungkook! Let! Me! In! Please don’t do this!!” You’re screaming and crying and pounding so hard that fresh blood drips down your knuckles.

But you don’t care.

“Don’t you dare do this to me again!!”

JK watches you scream and cry and pound against the gates of Hell, he watches you slide down to the ground and start digging frantically, trying to find a way back in.

He watches your guardian angel come and hold you, pulling you back from the gate and falling to the ground while hugging your sobbing figure.

The demon watches you shout at him in anger and denial, in confusion and betrayal.

He watches.

But he does not follow you.

___________________________

Lucifer smirks wickedly, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“You never learn, do you? Not in that life and not in this one.”

JK doesn’t respond as he watches you scream at the top of your lungs, tears pouring down your cheeks. He forces his eyes to leave and fall to the ground.

“You could’ve been free, and yet you chose to stay.”

JK stays silent, but his eyes lift to meet the demon’s in front of him.

Lucifer grins maniacally, “Want to see what you missed out on? Since you’re so fucking obsessed with torturing yourself in love. You don’t even love her, you don’t remember her.”

The prince of Hell sees the internal struggle in his slave’s eyes, smile widening when he feels the resolve crumble.

He wants to know, despite the eternal pain it will cause.

He deserves it.

“Don’t worry, by the end you’ll be tortured enough to satisfy your addiction to agony.”

The smoke and the fire and the wails of the desperate fade away.

There’s soft grass underneath him as he wakes sleepily from a nap.

The warm sun caresses his skin.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Jungkook lifts his head to see a small child running full speed ahead through the field, giggles spilling from her lips and her long dark hair flying around haphazardly.

“Daddy!” She shrieks again, little legs going as fast as they can, “Save me, save me!”

A laugh bursts from Jungkook’s lips when he sees you come out from the forest behind her, growling and laughing as you pretend to be a monster on the hunt.

The small girl, who is only just about five, flings herself into his open arms and squeals as he envelopes her safely into his lap.

“I’ve got you baby,” he whispers into her hair as he smiles, “You’re safe.”

You run up, laughing your head off along with them.

Jungkook looks at you tenderly, the love he has for his best friend only increasing the longer he does.

Your hair is a bit knotted from running with it down and your cheeks are tinted pink with exertion from chasing the little one through the forest. Your simple dress has mud smeared across it in several places and there are a few twigs in your hair that go unnoticed.

“Mommy!” Aera wiggles off her father’s lap and wraps her arms around your legs.

“Hi baby,” you coo and swoop her up into the air as if she weighs no more than a feather.

Jungkook smiles as he watches you dance around and giggle.

Aera is exactly like the two of you put together. Her sweet face resembles her father’s but her personality is all you. She wears a dress that looks like a mini version of yours, her bare feet dirty with mud and pansies stuck in her hair from your flower picking earlier.

It reminds him of the way you looked when he first met you.

His eyes burn with tears at how much he loves you both. It should be impossible to be filled with this much love and happiness.

“Can you push me on the swing, daddy?” Aera is running back to him and cupping his face with her tiny hands, “Please? Mommy said you will say yes to me always because I’m too cute.”

Jungkook laughs and glances at you hiding your smile.

“Mommy’s right,” he whispers before kissing her button nose. Then he stands up and scoops her into his arms-

The cursed howls of souls damned to Hell come rushing back, piercing his ear drums and making him wince.

He hadn’t realized that he fell to his knees again.

Tears drip down his cheeks and fall to the dirt, mixing in with the tears of the lost souls starting their journey here.

“That is what you missed…because of Him.”

JK chokes out a sob and puts a hand to his bleeding heart, the ache of loss worse than it’s ever been.

“You would’ve had everything, if He had really loved you. It’s a pity, really.”

The demon grieving in the grime and salty tears of fellow damned souls feels his heart break even more, then that nasty feeling of resentment and bitterness begins to swell.

“Granted, you were happy with her, this Apple girl, for a decent amount of time I suppose.”

JK says nothing, just continues to stare at the dirt where his tears fall.

“It never lasts though,” Lucifer muses, “Can’t imagine why humans crave it only to lose it in the end, to feel the grief ten times stronger than the love ever was.”

JK glances back to see you sobbing into your hands, wrapped in the arms of your guardian angel, blood and bruises littering your skin.

“Look at that,” Lucifer tuts with mock pity, “That’s what love makes of humans. Nothing but misery. You had her, and you lost her.”

JK stares at you, watching you grieve for him in a way he had long forgotten how to relate to.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” Lucifer whispers, leaning down, “Was it ever worth it?”

He sees you lying in the field, your fingertips alight with the sun, a bird song falling from your lips. The smile on your face that he got to witness.

Just for a moment.

A single tear falls from his eye, sliding down his dirty cheek and falling to the ground as he looks at you.

Jungkook’s voice is broken, weak with the pain of loss, but the Devil hears him anyway.

“Yes.”

________________________________

Imelda holds you closely, keeping you together. If she wasn’t there you would be falling apart, scattered on the ground like leaves that have fallen from their tree.

Gut-wrenching sobs are ripped from you as you look at the gate to Hell, seeing nothing but the empty forest on the other side.

“Why?!” You scream at the top of your lungs, another round of sobbing rendering you incapable of saying anything more.

Nehemiah is there as well, crouched on the ground and crying into his hands, his baby blue wings shaking with each breath.

You grab Imelda’s hand and hold it to your chest, holding on for dear life.

You cannot handle this grief, you cannot handle it.

“I was g-going to s-save him,” you sob between choked breaths, “I was going to give my life for him!!”

A warm breeze sweeps over the three of you and your next sob gets stuck in your throat.

Then a soothing voice filled with a regalness beyond compare speaks, trembling the burnt trees around you and causing the rocks to quiver where they lay.

You can no longer see the forest. Now there is only a hill in front of you, the silhouette of a cross against the golden sunset.

“I already did.”

The ground quakes and you see a large statue depicting Lucifer in front of the second and seventh circles trembling before crumbling down until there is nothing left but rubble.

You gasp, grabbing your chest and trying to breathe.

You’re back by the gate.

Watery gaze locking back on the invisible boundary, your heart leaps to your throat when you see a hand come out and grab onto the dirt, fingers digging into it as they try to pull themselves out.

Nehemiah is up and running before you can even register what’s happening.

The blue angel grabs the boy’s hand, holding on tight before pulling as hard as he can, a broken scream bursting from his lips at the effort.

You watch in disbelief as the guardian angel drags his beloved human, your best friend in the entire world, out of the gates of Hell.

_______________________________________________

After much deliberation: an Epilogue will be posted tomorrow.

a/n: thank you so much for everything you guys, you mean the world to me. This has been one hell of a ride (no pun intended) Don't kill me pls, again, there will be an epilogue tomorrow for those of you with weak hearts 💕 ur welcome

#jeon jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook demon au #jungkook smut #bts fluff #bts #bts reactions #bts angst #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts demon au #demon!jk #demon!jungkook #bts smut

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magmahearts · 11 months

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TIMING: late last night PARTIES: @fearhims3lf & @magmahearts LOCATION: the magmacave SUMMARY: mateo has a nice meal, and cass has a bad night. CONTENT: none

Sweet nightmares plagued the girl’s dreams, every attempt to shift her surroundings into a beautiful dream were quickly dissuaded. Years of experience, and Mateo was able to know just what to do. He took on many shapes, digging into his meal’s darkest terrors, and he loved it. Looking upon himself, he smiled in direct contrast to his prey. He was happiest when he got to watch them cower and cry. Looking into their eyes as he became their worst fears. In this case, he was a dead body lying on the floor, pleading for his dinner to save him. He was a mangled mess, held together with endless darkness, flesh, sinew, and grotesque black ooze.

The skin bubbled and burst with each move, skin shifting and breaking wetly as Mateo crept closer. “Help…me.” He begged, crawling toward the girl as he led other bodies to do the very same. A smile nearly curled on his face, but he had a job to do. It’d been a while since Mateo had had someone with this much guilt over a death. He could see into her memories, knew the group just did what needed to be done, but that was far from the case for Cass. He’d use her name to his advantage.

“Cass…it hurts. It hurts so much. What did we do? Why did you let this happen? Why did you let me die?”

Her dreams had always been varied. It wasn’t a nightmare every night — sometimes, she thought it might be easier if that were the case. If every dream was a nightmare, you at least knew to expect it. When decent dreams were scattered in with the bad, it made lying down to sleep feel like a game of Russian roulette. You didn’t know whether to be afraid or to let yourself drift off in peace.

Since Debbie’s death, the nightmares had become more frequent. It seemed to be getting worse instead of better; like the more time Debbie spent decaying in that pit, the more power she had over Cass’s dreams. Tonight’s was a familiar one — one where she’d messed up, one where her friends fell before Debbie did. Nora crawled towards her, bloody and broken, and Cass choked on her grief.

“I’m sorry,” she sputtered. There were more bodies behind her — Thea, Van, Ren. “I’m sorry. I tried to help. I wanted to help. Please.”

Oh, it was getting good. Her heart rate had to be rising. The pleas were enough to make Mateo’s skin crawl with satisfaction. He chased the feeling, making the room take shape instead of remaining vague shadows. They plumed and puffed, floating away to reveal walls. Blood seeped down with unnatural speed, quickly pooling together into a large mass. Cass’s friends were sucked into it, creating a bloody collection out of their bodies.

Together, Cass’s friends screamed. It was loud, shrill, and desperate. The room trembled and glass burst, sending shards every which way. When the scream finally died, everything was silent, but only for a moment. “Cass!” The voices came together in unison, the grotesque and bloody monster falling to its knees as it begged. Mateo felt invigorated, already so full from Cass’s initial shock of fear, but he was greedy. He wanted more.

“Why?! Why?! Why?!” The blood dripped from every crooked maw, the worst and most violent chorus ever to be created. “Why?! Why?! Why…?!”

Their bodies fell just as Debbie’s had, into a pit just for them. A new pit of decay, right here in the cave where she’d always felt safe before. Cass choked on a sob, running over to them and falling to her knees as their voices rose up in agonized screams. It wasn’t just the other girls who’d been in the supermarket anymore; it was Ariadne, too. It was Metzli, it was Elias, it was Leila. Everyone she’d convinced herself might care about her in this town, all mashed together into a monstrous, bloody pile of death and despair.

And all of them calling out her name.

What kind of a friend was she that she couldn’t save them? What kind of a hero, what kind of a person? She’d wanted to be loved for so long, more than anything. But she’d never stopped to consider whether or not she might deserve it. Gael’s words came back to her, reminding her that everyone deserved someone. But Gael was in that pile, too, just as dead as the rest of them.

Cass wailed, fingers scrambling for purchase among the rocks and the stones and coming away bloody. It wasn’t her blood; she wished it were. She’d rather be the one bleeding. “Tell me what I can do,” she begged. “Tell me how to help! Please!”

Guilt almost wrapped its fingers around Mateo’s throat seeing the girl beg. She was a full-fledged adult, and yet, something in Mateo’s mind screamed child. No family, no community, and just barely enough people to call friends. It was a bit too pathetic for his liking, but he persisted.

His greed won over and he deepened the pit, a wet, thunderous voice surrounding Cass. “You can’t do anything!” Tremors shook the ground beneath Cass’s feet, like a volcano threatening to erupt. “Your help only makes things worse!” Another rumble, another tear in the ground. “Who are you going to call? Your mom? Your dad? You don’t have those!” The rocks parted, blood spewing out with monstrous force, covering Cass in it. Mateo smiled to himself, feeling the crescendo looming closer. “Go ahead, scream.”

They were right, weren’t they? Any time Cass tried to help, all she ever did was ruin things. What did she expect to happen with her vigilante hobby? How did she think it was going to end? She got people hurt. It was the only thing she’d ever done. Kuma, Debbie, and now all her friends in a pit of blood and despair…

The ground beneath her shook and she didn’t know if it was her or the world rejecting her. There was no one to call; even her own parents hadn’t wanted her enough to protect her, to keep her safe. And then there was blood all over her, in her hair, on her hands… With nothing left to do, Cass did exactly what they were telling her to do: She screamed.

Cass’s scream was icing on the nightmare cake that Mateo had carefully mixed and baked to perfection. He laughed, the sounded echoing as if it were growing in volume and numbers. It surrounded Cass, suffocated her and taunted her in a way Mateo knew would follow her in the physical realm. To make it worse, he conjured a sky of vicious, sharp-toothed smiles, each one opening to belt out laughter at Cass’s expense.

“No puedes correr, chiquitín.” The voice rose in decibel, low and heavy. A voice fitting for a monster of Mateo’s making. He knew he was being too cruel, but it wasn’t something he would regret later. Making nightmares was what he was good at, what he enjoyed. And it wasn’t like he was going to be visiting her again anytime soon. So, as a final hoorah, Mateo widened one of the moths in the sky, looming it closer, and closer, and closer…until Cass had no other choice but to open her own as she awoke, fear spilling from her throat.

The sky was falling. She remembered that stupid story, the one for kids about a chicken and a crazy claim that no one believed. Who would believe her when she told them? The sky was falling, and Cass was the only one around to see it because she’d failed everyone else. She’d failed them so spectacularly that they were all gone now, that she was alone again. Gael was wrong, she thought; there were people who deserved to be alone. Cass was one of them.

An unfamiliar voice muttered something in a vaguely familiar language, and the sky was falling but maybe that was okay. Maybe that was what she deserved.

She woke with a choked sob, darkness all around her like a cloak. The realization that it was just a dream should have come with relief, but all she could feel was empty. As empty as the cave that surrounded her, as empty as her life had always been, as empty as she deserved to be. She pulled her knees up to her chest, quiet sobs filling the vast cavern.

She didn’t think she’d sleep again tonight.

#fearhims3lf #mateo: cave of nightmares #wickedswriting

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justahopelessaromantic · 5 months

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I can't breathe, please don't say you love me (A Poem)

Fandom: Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony and Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair AU: Medieval/Fantasy AU Ships: One-sided Tojouma (Kokichi/Kirumi) Accompanying Playlist for this Fic on Spotify and Youtube Summary: Your king has always been one to clean up after himself. At least, he has since you've been here. Normally he'd do his best to pick up the pulsating appendage and lock it back away in his chest, wiping up as much oozing red as he could. He'd cite giving you more time to focus on him as his reason, and you'd fire back that perhaps he just wanted to make your job a bit easier that day, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes would shut you up. For now. Still. Kokichi leaving his bleeding heart on the floor he knows you clean first is the same as him leaving a crude ghost drawing at Kaito's doorstep, regardless of any innocence he feigns. He wants you to find it. The only difference is he doesn't actually mean to scare you.

He’ll be here any minute now

He’s called for no royal invitation

You’ve made no plans

But he’s already on his way

You know it

The door will groan and gag against his greasy fingers

Slamming wood against rough stone walls

Echoing across the snarling maw of the winding hall

Eager to swallow you whole

The scratches etching away over the door’s refined paint job

(Mahiru's work, you believe)

A reminder of who owns the place

The floor blooming with bruises

Caving underneath the weight of a dirty dress shoe

Tapping

Like clockwork

Scuffing pristine tile as he chases after you

(All that wide open room

Where will you hide?)

Brown smudging blinding white

Sweaty hands staining your gloves

Slimy fingers tangling in yours

Slobbering all over your tight-lipped mouth

Drool

dripping

down

the

floor

Pooling into the tile grooves

He’ll make a mess of everything

Of you

So you clean!

You roll up your sleeves

The bright silk digging into your forearms

(A gift from him, of course)

Cutting the circulation

(You feel as if you could puke up the blood

You'd only leave more work for yourself)

And put yourself to use

You scrub away any sense of innuendo

Pray the sparkling floors distract his wandering eye

Toss the freshly chopped firewood

Scattered around in the game of tag he “demanded”

(See: pleaded for)

So he gags at the smoke

Sick as the heat

Seeping into your shielded shoulder

From his arm

Restrained by bandages you so lovingly wrapped

Yet so invitingly naked

Coiled around your shoulder

You know,

Like he’s slick

Like the lopsided crown and newly crafted red cloak could only bury the sly little jester boy hiding underneath

Only peaking out to trick and tease you

Like you don’t keep watch for those kind of things

Pick apart intentions like you pick at grimy china dishes

Till they're white enough to smash against wiped down walls

Chipping ethereal murals

(What fine work Angie and her god do)

In grief,

And frustration,

And loneliness

The sort of loneliness you handle with worn gloves

Shaky hands and emboldened care

In sickness and in health

The shatter clanging against gold tableware

Leaving glass shards you’ll never stop finding in odd places

(Reminders of what you’ve wrecked)

You polish glass windows

(Let a pretty thing walk by and catch his eye

See what happens)

And the tile

Permitting your boots to clack against it

(They say a glimpse at your reflection can talk you out of plans better than your closest friend

And you're too frightened to do it anyway)

Clear the table with patience and resolve

Straighten the chairs

Careful not to scratch through your hard work

You look filthy and disheveled in comparison

You hope it covers up all that beauty he finds in you

Your palpable fear buried by the tight-lipped smile and droopy eyes

Underneath the blood, sweat, and tears

You've smeared all across your face

And when you still hear no clatter of doors

You will dust off the throne

(He will plop down

Bouncing on red velvet

Kicking his feet

And drag you down with him

Only tugging harder when you move to stand

You both will relish in the warmth of your meal and each other)

Set the table for two

(Checkered place mats

And no complicated utensil systems

Just how he likes it)

And pour poset ale

Older than you

And call for Ibuki

To let the favorites you share with him

Float in the background

And Ruraka

To bake “freaky little peasant horse bread”

(Such a way with words he has

Not a good one, mind you

Just a way)

The ones he insists on sharing with you each morning

Until busy, achy feet finally land

Square against the doorframe

(To distract your nerves

Of course)

Waiting

Rudely clean air waiting back at you

…

...

…

...

He’s requested so much of you since your arrival

(A tad ungrateful

Considering you only work for a roof under your head and a way to spend your time)

Ruling advice

Ring around the Rosie

Courtship assistance

Tic tac toe

Guidance exploring the town

Hide and seek

Kisses for good luck

(His words

Not yours)

Bedtime stories

You’ve served him without hesitation

(Whether out of duty or desire

You’re too petrified to know)

Each order verbally signed off with an “Of course, my lord”

He’d dramatically wave away

You will lay down your life for him in battle if he orders it

(He won't

Would scold you for even thinking it

It would only draw an unnecessary smile out of you)

Even rip out your balled hand from its tight grip on your gown

To offer it in marriage

If truly necessary

The demon child resting on his shoulder

Wines at him to take

And take

All his growing soul thinks it needs

You have only the few constricting desires

Sewn into the borders of your heart

The lace so delicate

You find it easy to ignore the brush against your ribcage

As your

Still

Late at night

Esteemed royalty nestled between your chest

The fireplace crackling louder than your careless whispers

Empty wine bottles

Sitting at his bedside

Watching you

In eager anticipation

Stray embers tickling the arms wrapped tightly around him

His nimble, calloused hands dig into your open skin

Blood trailing down your gown

(You offer to scrub it out of the carpet come morning

He says the carpet stain can be a reminder of your talks

And how could you sneak out of bed that early

Just to let him wake up alone,

You cruel mistress!)

He plays doctor

The white wine you’ve poured and he’s offered acts as middle age anesthesia

Filthy, jagged fingernails

(Bound to infect your willing immune system

With trickery and lies

You'll pocket

Just in case)

Gingerly drag each thread out of its meticulous stitching

Tickling and kneading the offending origin with each gentle tug

Weaving each mortifying need

Into a growing tapestry

Hung above his bedside

He tends to it every day

With a spot right next to him at the banquet table

Mandatory playtime breaks

Careless affectionate touches

(Unbecoming in his case

Unprofessional in yours)

A place in his bed

Chess he “totally let you win, anyway!”

Unwanted help in the kitchen

And with greeting guests

And cleaning

And organizing

And anything to silence the rude question he found neatly embroidered on your heart

Lovingly tracing over it with his thumb

Tearfully trying to kiss it better

(You handle his scraped knees the same)

“What else can I do to help?”

How dare anything

Anyone!

Ask that of you?

He laments

One bratty night

Empty champagne glasses

Diligently washed and packed away

(Why leave his buzzing mind visual clutter?

Brutal peace negotiations have worn him out well enough)

After all you do for us!

He cries

He calls for you to tuck him in

(You suspect the “us” is mostly him

But his pride is a silly, wounded thing

The only thing you enjoy nurturing)

Today you’ve poured your everything into your presentation

All your concern and trust and care

All you know how to give

Into your hospitality

If there’s any magical force out there watching over you

(And with all the wild and overbearing magic this kingdom runs into

There might as well be)

You hope and pray it’s enough for his aching heart

It is

Just this once

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years

Note

*looks at menu* Can I get uhhhh Wels angst double special to go please?

no sorry we're all out <3

jk :3

...

<iJevin> My name is Helsknight. And I have a message for Wels. I’ve got your friend iJevin and if you ever want to see him again, you’ll come to the following coordinates. Alone. Don’t bring a sword. Wait until the door opens and then enter. If you disobey any of these instructions, you’ll never see your friend again.

Wels’s stomach is squirming as he waits anxiously outside the iron door set into the cliff. He can’t see anything except a staircase downward through the window, so he’s long since stopped trying.

“Are you sure you don’t want backup?” Xisuma asks him.

“I’m sure. Hels has enough hatred in him that he can probably permakill Jevin, so I want to make sure that doesn’t happen. When I go in, keep the door open in case I need to make a quick getaway.”

“Do you anticipate that happening?”

Wels hesitates. “I won’t leave without Jevin. So… I don’t know. But I’d rather cover that eventuality than not.”

“Fair enough.” Xisuma glances sideways at him. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

“Well,I just…” Wels gives a sigh. “This is not how I wanted the server to find out about Hels. I don’t know when I was gonna tell them but I know I didn’t want it announced to them all this way.”

Xisuma nods slowly. “I get that. It was-.”

At that moment, however, the door creaks open. Taking a deep breath, Wels readies his shield. “This is it.”

“Good luck,” says Xisuma, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll wait out here.”

“Thanks.”

Wels advances carefully down the staircase, which leads down into the cliff. At the bottom, he finds a large cave with dark blackstone walls and dripstone hanging from the ceiling, illuminated by fire from braziers made of netherrack. A villain’s lair befitting a hels hermit.

“Wels!” comes a desperate voice at that moment.

Wels spins round to find Jevin huddled against the wall near the corner of the cave. Lowering his shield, Wels dashes towards him. “Jev! Are you-.”

“No, Wels, get back!” Jevin cries. “He’s gonna-!”

Before he can finish his sentence, a figure appears out of nowhere and slams into Wels, knocking him backwards. Luckily, his knight skills help him keep his balance.

“Hello, Wels,” says Helsknight, a dark grin on his face. “Thanks for accepting my invitation.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” Wels snaps back. “What do you want?”

“I want to kill you, Wels. But I also want to make things interesting. I COULD have just ambushed you out there, but where’s the fun in that? I’d like to make you suffer first.”

With that, he reaches out and grabs Jevin’s hood, pulling him roughly to his feet.

“Leave him alone!” Wels snarls, bunching his muscles, ready to charge.

Hels’s grin widens and he pulls out a sword. Before anyone can react, he slams the hilt of it into Jevin’s head. Since Jevin has been away from water and sunlight for a long time, his normally slimy body has solidified enough that the hit to his head knocks him out instantly. Hels releases his hood, letting him collapse to the ground.

Wels’s heart freezes and he stares in horror at his friend, his shield involuntarily lowering. “No…!”

Sensing his advantage, Hels kicks Jevin in the jaw, causing green blood to ooze out from his mouth. A further kick to the stomach knocks Jevin onto his back.

“No!” Wels cries. He tries to step forward, to do something, anything, but his legs give out and he drops to his knees, his shield clattering to the ground beside him. “Stop hurting him!”

“This is your worst fear, Wels,” Hels says tauntingly. “Not being able to save your friends. The world can burn around you, the ground can literally be dropping out from under you, but as long as your friends are okay, you won’t care. That’s why you’ll always be so easy to beat. All a villain has to do is hurt one of your friends and you just fall apart. Weak. Pathetic. Sentimental. You really think you can continue calling yourself a knight if you have such an obvious weakness?”

When he gets no response from Wels, Hels chuckles darkly. “I thought not. Now stay there and watch me kill your friend. Not like you’ll stop me.”

As Hels turns away, Wels stays still for a moment longer, forcing the hurt and anger and guilt aside. He can’t let Hels beat him this easily anymore. It’s time to embrace his true self and stop Hels from hurting his friend again.

Readying his shield, Wels looks up and spots Hels advancing on Jevin with his sword. The image pours adrenaline into his veins and he charges forward, arcing to the left.

Just as Hels brings his sword down on Jevin, Wels jumps in front of him with his shield raised, absorbing the blow. Before Hels can react, Wels jerks his shield up, dislodging the sword from Hels’s hand, and catches it with his free hand. Kicking Hels away, Wels stands between him and Jevin, lowered in a defensive stance.

Hels stares at him in shock. “What?!”

“You were wrong, Hels. My love for my friends isn’t a weakness - it’s my greatest strength. Because I have something to live for. Do you?”

Hels’s eyes flicker from Wels to his sword, before a grin spreads over his face. “Good. You were getting far too predictable. Good to see you can still surprise me.”

“Get out of here, Hels,” Wels growls, “before I decide to stop showing you mercy.”

After a moment, Hels gives a dark chuckle. “You impressed me today, Wels. So I’ll leave. See you later, old friend.”

Eyes narrowed, Wels watches Hels walk away. Only when he’s sure his counterpart is gone does he lower his guard and turn to his friend. Jevin is semi-conscious now, groaning softly as he struggles to sit up.

Wels kneels down beside him and helps him sit up. “Are you alright?”

“Gah… my head is killing me.”

“He hit you pretty hard, so I’d say you have a concussion.” Wels winces at the sight of the blood pooling at the corner of his friend’s mouth. “Here, let’s get you back up to the surface.”

Wels gently lifts Jevin to his feet, Jevin’s arm over his shoulder. He guides his friend up the stairs and out through the iron door, which is still open from when he went in.

Immediately, Xisuma, who had been sitting on the grass a little way off, jumps to his feet and dashes towards them. “You made it! Are you guys okay?”

“Jev’s hurt, but not too badly,” Wels reports. “I’m gonna take him to the swamp; he should be okay once he touches water.”

Xisuma nods. “Okay, good. I’ll get this place dealt with so Hels can’t use it again.”

Wels smiles gratefully. “Thanks, X. I’ll check in with you later.”

“Do.”

As Wels starts the long journey to the swamp with Jevin, his mind is firmly on Hels. But after a while, he pushes all thoughts of his counterpart aside in favour of making sure his friend is okay. “How are you doing there, buddy?”

“A little groggy,” murmurs Jevin. “I can’t believe you came for me.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You risked permadeath just to come and save me.”

“Of course I did. You’re my friend, Jev. I’ll always come to save you, no matter what.”

Jevin gives a weak smile. “Thank you. That… means a lot to me. And thanks for saving my life. It can’t have been easy to confront your evil twin like that. I didn’t even know you HAD an evil twin.”

Wels pauses. “Technically he’s an evil clone of me from a hellfire dimension.”

“Really? How did he come to be on Hermitcraft?”

“That’s a long story. And it definitely was not my fault.”

Jevin chuckles, letting himself relax in the embrace of his best friend.

“Of course.”

#hermitcraft #welsknight #helsknight #ijevin #vaunna’s requests

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thebadboyfanclub · 3 years

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My Little Cub (Klaus x Reader)

Requested by anon. I didn’t really understand what you meant when you said “scooby gang” but I hope this is what you wanted. Enjoy!

Stefan had turned (y/n) back in the 80s, she had developed an illness that unfortunately was at it’s last state... cancer. Stefan had met her while she was completing her bucket list, however when she crossed the last thing on the list he saw the real her, hurt, scared, she started crying in front of him, he felt like she had so much potential, he had seen her bring joy and being so strong so he turned her.

He saw her flourish into a confident strong individual, she was safe from harms way and illnesses, immortality suited her, a woman that cheated death and became addicted to the feeling of power.

“Stefan I’m fine”

When Stefan said “safe from harms way” what he had not calculated was a nasty werewolf bite, she tried to protect Elena- even though she always nagged about how everyone's life's were crumbling just to make sure she is fine- and as she pushed her out of the way the werewolf sunk it’s teeth into her arm. “I’m really sorry (y/n), I didn’t mean to-”

“I know Elena, you never mean to do anything really”

She didn’t realize she was snapping at the mortal girl, that looked at the laying (y/n) with her big brown doe eyes. She knew her chances of surviving are slim to nothing, Elena was hiding from Klaus, she was what he wanted so there was no chance he would come in her aid when she stood up to conceal what he wanted to have.

“We need to find Klaus, he can heal you”

“Bonnie with all due respect but Klaus giving me his blood is as likely to happen as you becoming the queen of England”

“Oh come on (y/nickn), we all know the big bad hybrid has a soft spot for you”

Damon commented as he sat calmly on the other side of the room, in the chair staring at the view of everyone panicking and surrounding (y/n). He was the only one to have witnessed a very intimate scene between Klaus and (Y/n) one night, basically he had walked in on her and Klaus banging in the bathroom of one of his parties.

“I protected your little innocent doubleganger, do you think he will be gracious to heal someone that stood against him?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try now would it?”

Caroline chimed in. Caroline was one of the few that understood her frustration with Elena, probably because she had been a victim to the whole situation and was in her shadow 90% per cent of the time. (Y/n) looked up at Stefan, she didn’t want to die, Stefan could see it in her eyes, a hint of the same fear he had seen before he turned her, it made him feel even more strongly about going to look for Klaus.

“Me and Damon will go, the girls can stay with you”

“No, if you go looking for him then go together... I want to stay alone for a minute”

She whispered to him even thought everyone could hear her. The situation she was in was just starting to kick in, she was just counting down hours, maybe she could get 24 hours before she caved in to the poison. She felt so grateful when she escaped death before, still she got used to her power and now reality settled in once again, death was a continuous concept for her.

“Fine, Caroline can come and Bonnie will take Elena back to her house”

“What? No! I want to make sure she is alright”

“If Klaus actually comes to help me then it’s not a good idea for you two to meet Elena”

This time her voice was a bit more calm, the pain was so intense she started go numb, as well as her mind racing into so many different things she could have done differently so yelling at Elena did not really occur to her.

“She is right Elena. Come on we’ll go to my house”

Bonnie took Elena and left first from the house. As the others prepared a plan to go look for the vicious hybrid and ask for a favor, if you asked her it was just a suicided mission and a waste of damn time. Yet something inside of her begged to be proved wrong, to be stand corrected by Klaus and be saved.

“You’ll be alright (y/n), we’ll get you that blood”

“Go Stefan, I promise to not leave”

She cracked a smile as she watched them leave. Then she heard it... absolutely nothing, silence, the only thing that could be heard was a few leaf's that the wind blew, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes to relax and focus.

“Am I interrupting your beauty sleep little cub?”

His voice took her out of her thoughts, her head snapping towards the window where he stood, leaning against the window frame and smirking at her.

“Came to finish me off?”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your one and only medicine”

“Well... I was supposed to be dead by now so I can say I had a good run”

“Come on little cub, you don’t want to die”

His tone was soft and gentle, his accent oozing out some sensuality that made her almost forget the pain she was under. As he approached the bed, he took in her state, the wound was very intense, her clothes dirty and her face was extremely pale. He hated seeing her like this, fragile and scared, he was used to seeing her walk around like a supermodel with her head held up high, enchanting every man in the room, her intense gaze bringing everyone to their knees.

“Why are you calling me cub?”

“Cubs are not just werewolves (y/n), you remind me of a little tiger or a lion cub, so young with such thirst to learn and prove themselves to their tribe, eager to... sink their teeth into some meat”

“Like your little minions did to me”

She spat back, bitterly. Klaus could only let a soft cackle at her remark, she was still trying to act tough and unfaced, she was staring death in the eyes for the second time yet she acted like she was fine. He sat down close to her and reached over to tuck back a few strands of hair that were in front of her face, closing her eyes at the touch and taking in the delicate act of affection.

“Did you really think I would let my little cub die?”

“I stood against you, I protected her”

“You are loyal to your friends”

“Why are you so nice to me? Anyone else you would have killed them before the venom got the chance”

Of course she would question the only man that could save her, the only way she could still live and now she was acting like she didn’t want it. He kept his calm, understanding that her walls she had so proudly build were the ones talking.

“Cause you are my little cub, I can’t let you die before I make you the queen of the tribe”

“Did you just find out the discovery channel?”

He chose to not respond, he only just sunk his teeth to his wrist and offered her blood to her, that she gladly took in and started getting it on her system. When she felt like it was enough she pulled away and licked her lips, as she looked up at him she didn’t need to say how grateful she felt, nor say thank you out loud, it was all said in her eyes. Nonetheless he was caught off guard when she started getting closer and nuzzled in his neck, their bodies touching as his arm wrapped around her.

“They are still looking for you”

“More alone time for us, how are you feeling little cub?”

“I’ll live”

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@akshi8278

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hongism · 3 years

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mists of celeste ➻ 35

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 13.0k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: mentions of past abuse, violence, anxiety ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act five ➻ part two

It is nearing nightfall by the time you all return to the ship. Yunho has already gotten Hongjoong settled in the medbay with Jongho’s help, as well as set him up with an oxygen mask and an IV, and to be frank, the sight of the infamous pirate captain splayed out so helplessly was hard to see. Whatever you were feeling must have been increased tenfold for the man who stood at your side during the whole process because you could feel the panic oozing off his bones, a nagging sensation that fell on you as well. As much as he tried to help, Yunho asked him to let him and Jongho take care of it, and Seonghwa caved with a surprising amount of haste. For better or worse, you don’t have to stay long there before Seonghwa is pulling you out to head up to the main airlock. It can only be worse because of who is waiting for you there: none other than Han Jisung come to join the crew for inexplicable reasons unbeknownst to you right now. And that is why you shift to look at Seonghwa’s sharp side profile as the two of you walk to join Yeosang in waiting by the airlock.

“Why are we bringing him aboard?”

“We need Jisung for information, and it will be less of a hassle to have him aboard,” Seonghwa explains through a clipped sigh. “I don’t trust the man as far as I can throw him, but… at least I can keep an eye on him this way.”

“Why can’t we just have Wooyoung help us through the dreams instead?”

Seonghwa glances over at you, and your eyes meet for the briefest of moments before he looks forward once more.

“We don’t know how to communicate with him yet,” Seonghwa explains. His tone is a bit more gentle this time, nothing goading or forced but rather a genuine attempt to ease some of your bubbling anxieties. “You can’t talk to him, ask him questions, or consistently control his body long enough to figure out where they’re being held. Besides, they are locked in a cell, and you can’t very well ask a guard where they are. Until we learn more about this situation and your connection to each other, this is the best course of action.”

“Would Hongjoong let him on the ship?” You inquire. You can already assume the answer, and you’re only asking for some sort of confirmation that this is a bad idea, but Seonghwa presses his lips together to form a thin line.

“Hongjoong would understand how critical the situation at hand is.”

“Would you let him walk away without a fight too?” It is a bit out of line and far too bitter, but the words are already out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. Seonghwa freezes in place, steps coming to a sudden halt whilst you just continue walking as though you didn’t say a word. You can feel the way his eyes glare holes into the back of your head, and the twinge in your chest that pains your heart surely does not come from you. A wave of pain hits you as you turn to look Seonghwa in the eye.

“Hongjoong is different,” he whispers. “You know that. It isn’t that I don’t love or care about you, because I do. I feel both those things when it comes to you, in ways I can’t even begin to describe, which is why I want you to be happy and have a chance at freedom.”

“With someone whom you don’t trust or know?”

“You know and trust him yourself, do you not?” Seonghwa counters without missing a beat. “Am I supposed to decided who you trust now? Was it not you who told me that I didn’t need to worry about you? Shouldn’t doubt your abilities? I’ve already told you that I am not happy about this situation at all, but still I will not decide this for you, even if you ask me to.”

“Then what am I supposed to think? Right now it feels like you only want me gone so you can feel less guilty about going back to Hongjoong at the end of the day.” You turn on your heel, fully prepared to leave him standing there on his own in the heat of your unreasonable annoyance. Seonghwa closes the distance between your bodies with a surprising haste and grabs hold of your wrist, spinning you back around to face him in no time. You hardly have time to breathe before he’s knocking the air out of you by pressing you up against the wall of the corridor. You know what’s coming next before it happens, and it’s for that exact reason that you dip your chin to the side as Seonghwa moves in to plant his lips atop yours.

A dry and emotionless laugh escapes his lips instead, and you stare at the floor with eyes burning more than ever. Seonghwa slams a hand down hard on the space of metal beside your head.

“I should never have been selfish with you,” he mutters. You try not to think about how much bitterness his tone holds. “That was a mistake on my part. There is no security or certainty in a life like ours, nothing I can provide that would give you either of those things. I’m sorry for making you believe that I could ever give you something as certain as that.”

A thought dashes across the forefront of your mind, one that tells you to swallow the hurt nagging at your chest and take comfort in his body instead, but it doesn’t last long. You know better, and you know it wouldn’t fix anything in the long run. It will only make it harder on both of you if you let yourselves get any more attached before your inevitable demise that ends in you leaving with Jisung.

“Do you regret this?” Your voice could not possibly be more quiet than it is now. You lift a shaky hand to his chest, pressing your palm hard against the spot that now emanates the most pain. “Getting close and such?” Seonghwa shifts to place his hand over yours but hesitates at the last second. His lips twist into a strained smile.

“I do, but only because it is ending with you in pain. No, I don’t regret any of the time I spent with you, and I still mean everything I told you. Perhaps this is for the best. I am content with the time I got to spend with you, and I won’t ask for anything more than that.”

“All I wanted you to do was stop me,” you plea as though it will make him change his mind right here and now.

“There’s nothing to stop yet, Y/N.”

“Do you need me to show you how badly I don’t want to go for you to stop me?” Seonghwa exhales a deep heave of air and pulls away from you.

“What do you want more than anything else?”

“San back safely.” Seonghwa barely finishes his question by the time you’re answering, but in your mind, there is no need for any sort of hesitation. If Seonghwa is surprised at all, he doesn’t let it slip through; all he does is smile back at you. You only realize your mistake after the fact, stuttering in your next rush to speak. “A-And Mingi and W-Wooyoung as well.”

“What about after that then?”

His question doesn’t stump you because you don’t know the answer. You know what it is you want when this is all over. You want to rest, to stop running, for all this mess to be done with, and you don’t want to have to worry about your safety at every turn. You don’t want to wake up in a cold sweat afraid that the people you care about could be dead. You desperately want peace, but you aren’t brave enough to make the sacrifices that will get you there. Even so, there is no way you could admit it now because that would only make Seonghwa right.

“Your silence is answer enough for me.”

“That isn’t what I want with Jisung though,” you insist. “He is my past, not my future. I never let myself imagine a scenario in which I would see him again. I’ve made it this far with you all. I don’t want to leave you behind now. And even after we get the others back, I still won’t want to leave them behind either.”

“That may be the case, Y/N, but it’s — the truth of the matter is that no matter what, my first duty will always be to protect Hongjoong as his lieutenant. Perhaps that is why those lingering feelings of love are still present, but it also means that I don’t know if I can give you my love and promise to stop loving him as well. That’s — that’s beside the point though.” Seonghwa shakes his head, hand coming up to comb through his dark locks for a second before dropping back to his side. “If how I feel about Hongjoong is something you aren’t okay with, then I don’t want you to wait on me or my feelings. That isn’t what I want for you. However, this conversation can continue another time. We’ve kept Yeosang waiting long enough.”

There isn’t an opportunity to say anything more because Seonghwa steps away and returns to walking down the corridor without even waiting to see if you’ll follow. You have to jog to catch up with his broad strides, falling into step beside him with a bit more hesitance in your movements this time.

“Has… has Jisung learned anything yet?”

“The person behind all of this is still not guaranteed. Vladimir was merely an instrument for these plans, but according to Jisung, he said that there would be a special exchange on Dorado for Mingi and the others. Since you were originally the one they wanted, there is still uncertainty about what they plan to do with Wooyoung and San. Mingi, on the other hand, is set to be sent to a recreational facility on Dorado that specializes in Berserker training for pirate and bandit crews. They plan to reprogram him back into – into the Brute of Kebos, at which point he will be sent back to Vladimir. That’s apparently the bargain he made to agree to this plan. You were the prize meant for the other party but obviously, that fell through.”

“Why me of all people? With all the people on this ship, why am I significant in the slightest? Especially on Dorado of all places?”

Seonghwa shakes his head from side to side.

“Vladimir didn’t mention anything in the past few meetings Jisung has attended. We don’t even have the slightest clue as to why they want you, and still no word on who these people even are. Of course, the Ghost of Eros is valuable, there’s no doubt about that, but not this far from Eros and the Aurum system. And they certainly wouldn’t go to these lengths to get you.” His words die there, voice falling flat along with the sentence, and you watch him in silence for several seconds before he shifts to place a gentle hand on your shoulder. “It is evident that someone in the universe is looking for you, and they are taking great risks to get you.”

“They will have to try a lot harder than that if they want me.”

Seonghwa blinks back at you, eyes perceptive and searching as always. He seems to figure something out at that moment because his stare widens a bit before dropping to the floor without a word.

“What’s wrong?” You inquire, leaning closer to look at his face better.

“Nothing. Just a hunch. I’ll let you know if it becomes a concern later.” He shrugs off the concern and lets his hand fall off your shoulder to motion down the corridor. Yeosang has surely grown impatient by now, and it’s that thought that causes your steps and Seonghwa’s to increase in pace to meet him at the airlock. Only, once you finally reach that place, you find that he is not alone, and Jisung stands directly across from the taller blond, starkly out of place in front of Yeosang. You don’t need to visibly see Yeosang’s expression to know that the Elitist is glaring at Jisung – it’s evident in the way Yeosang speaks through his body with the tense shoulders and crossed arms, chin inclined just enough to be condescending, yet Jisung doesn’t seem phased by the man in the slightest. In fact, he just turns to you, eyes bright as ever, and grins from ear to ear like a Cheshire.

“Hey, little lady.” Something in the way he speaks those words with that smile that is branded on your brain and hand quickly darting out in your direction triggers a memory you didn’t know you had.

“Stop being a fucking idiot! You know I’m better than you, don’t you?” A hand stretches out towards you, writhing forward like a snake in the darkness, and you flinch away from the touch despite knowing that the man won’t lay a hand on you. “The next person who dares to say that to you will die a painful death.”

“J-Jisung?”

“I don’t care what kind of monster I become in their eyes. If I go to hell, so be it. They touch you, they die. Those are the rules, aren’t they? If anyone other than me lays a single finger on you…” Jisung trails off, lips twisting into a smile that is far too cruel for his gentle and precious features. “I will deliver a slow and deliberate death to each of them.”

Jisung’s hand is about to brush over your wrist – the one that bears the brand of your betrayal – when Yeosang steps between your body and his, hand coming up to knock Jisung’s own out of the way.

“It would be best for you to not cause any issues while you’re here,” the Elitist murmurs. He cocks his head to the side, maintaining that cruel and cocky air about his shoulders as he looks down at Jisung. “I’m not one for forgiveness, and you are merely here as a guest. Someone who isn’t important to the crew and has no place here. You would do well to remember that before trying to lay a hand on anyone in the crew.”

A scowl overtakes Jisung’s expression, and the man steps back to put some distance between himself and Yeosang.

“I knew her for five years. Perhaps you are the one who needs to remember your place, no?” Jisung jerks his chin forward a bit. “Or does the Royal Betrayer still think he has some impact and power over others?”

Yeosang might have lunged straight through Jisung’s throat for that comment if not for the way Seonghwa rushes to clamp his hand down hard on the man’s shoulder. He tugs Yeosang back with as much force as he can, but the simmering expression of anger on the lieutenant’s features is directed solely at Jisung.

“I would advise you to watch your mouth, Han. As acting caption, I decide your place on this ship, and that is as a guest. We need you for the time being but not in the long run, thus you ought to learn your place and remember that well.” Seonghwa plasters a stretched grin over his lips. “Now, if you would please follow me to the bridge, we can discuss in more detail the plans moving forward.”

He motions past Yeosang’s shoulder to the corridor leading to the bridge, but Jisung’s only response is to continue staring at you without saying anything for several seconds. Seonghwa’s gaze flits over to Yeosang, and the pair exchange a discreet nod before Yeosang shifts in your direction. His hand finds your arm, clamping down hard on the skin as he moves to pull you along, but another hand snakes out to push between the two of you.

“Is it not common courtesy amongst royalty to ask a lady before touching her?” Jisung bears a smile but venom drips from his tone in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

“I hate the military. Every single general and commander is corrupt beyond belief. There’s no circle in hell low enough for them. But those higher-ups? The royals who sit on their thrones and sip their expensive wine while prancing around like utter fools as the rest of us folk suffer and die on the streets… they’re the worst scum in the entire universe.”

Jisung has never liked people in positions of power, but his incessant rants about royals were always the worst to sit through because he could go on for hours and hours. Thus, it doesn’t surprise you to see him bearing such a disdain for Yeosang. Even so, you do find it a bit odd seeing as Yeosang is hardly in a position of power now, and he is no longer a royal so there isn’t much he could do with that nonexistent power.

“Think you can just take anything for yourself, is that it?”

“Han Jisung,” Seonghwa hisses, teeth so tightly pressed together that the air whistles through them. “I have no qualms tying you to a chair in the brig and extracting information from you that way. You should consider me to be merciful because if Scourge were here, he would have already dragged you there by your ankles. Learn your place before I force you to.”

One corner of Jisung’s lips tugs upwards as he grins at the lieutenant.

“Aye, aye, acting Captain.”

You can breathe easy again after that thankfully because Seonghwa manages to tug Jisung down the hall without any further disturbances. Yeosang stands completely still and watches the two retreat without saying a word for a short period of time.

“Your taste in men is questionable at best,” he grumbles after a bit, eyes continuing to bore holes into Jisung’s back.

“He just—” You stop yourself before any sort of defense slips out. It isn’t your job to defend him anymore. You have no need to protect him or say anything good about him at all. Yet even though you don’t need to, that inherent need to do so still resides in your gut. “He doesn’t like people in positions of power.”

“Is that so?” Yeosang hums to himself then shakes his head. “Come on. We can discuss the dreams you’ve been having and things you’ve noticed since coming on the ship while they’re discussing plans.”

It’s enough indication for you to realize that he no longer wants to discuss Jisung, and that is frankly fine by you. The silence it leaves you in, however, is not welcome. You don’t realize how vehemently you are rubbing at the brand on the inside of your wrist until Yeosang glances over at you and comments on the repetitive motion.

“You’re going to rub the skin raw if you keep doing that.”

“O-Oh,” you exhale, clenching your fingers into a tight fist and dropping your arms to your side. That’s all he says for the rest of the arguably short walk to his quarters, and he maintains a distance of several feet between you the entire time.

“You can sit on the bed as long as you don’t touch anything,” Yeosang mutters once inside his room.

It’s a basic and unadorned room, something you didn’t expect from a man who grew up surrounded by excessive lavishness, but for some odd reason, it is so inexplicably Yeosang that you can’t be too surprised. The blond heads straight for a small desk pushed into the corner of the room, one that sits beside a tall bookshelf similar to the ones you see in Seonghwa’s room. You do as told and sit on the corner of the bed so close to the edge that you practically fall off. There’s no need to be comfortable if you aren’t going to be staying for long after all.

“I don't need you messing anything else up so just stay put,” Yeosang says as he sinks onto the cushioned seat behind the desk. You pin him to the spot with a glare.

“Messing anything else up? What’s your issue with me?” You spit, arms coming up to cross over your chest.

“Hm? Does there have to be a reason for me to not like you?”

“I don’t get what your fucking problem with me is. Ever since joining the crew, I have done nothing that directly hurts you or puts you in danger, so what the fuck is your issue with me?”

“Is that so?” Yeosang arches a brow in your direction and matches your glare with one of his own. “If not for you, Wooyoung would still be here. Did you forget about that?”

That bites a bit too hard at your skin; it digs its way into your system and buries itself there to eat away at your bones. It’s the same guilt that has been eating away at you for the past few days, and you don’t need Yeosang to bring it up now and make it worse for you.

“Like it or not, I have a connection with Wooyoung and we have to work together to get him, San, and Mingi back.”

“I hate you,” Yeosang hisses. “I hate everything about you. And I especially hate your connection with Wooyoung. You are going to ruin him, and I hate you for it.” The tone he speaks with betrays the fact that there is more to it than that, but you aren’t particularly in the mood to have a tell-all discussion about all the reasons why Yeosang hates you. A pent-up confession, yes, but still not quite all there is to know.

“It’s not my fault that there’s something there. I didn’t ask for this, and I certainly don’t want it. I would be perfectly content being some damn Normie who didn’t have to worry about something like this,” you ramble without stopping to take a breath once. You blink furiously at the man as you catch your breath, eyes still blazing with uncontained rage when you decide to speak again. “It sounds like you are just jealous that you can’t be the one with a connection to him. Did you get everything you wanted when you were a prince? Is Wooyoung the one thing you can’t have?”

Yeosang lifts an old book off his desk and chucks it at the wall adjacent to him. It slams hard against the metal with a clang. You manage not to flinch in the slightest, staring Yeosang down with the same amount of heat as before.

“Allow me to have an ounce of jealousy! I got to choose absolutely nothing in my life while I was a prince, contrary to popular belief. Everything was selected for me, whether it was by my bastard father or the whore that was my mother. Hell, even my younger brother got to choose more than I did! I didn’t choose Wooyoung, but my love for him is one of the only things I ever got to choose back then. Does that let you just waltz in here and have this inexplicable connection to him? When fate told us that we were never even supposed to meet? I won’t ask for your forgiveness in this matter, because I have every right in the universe to be angered and jealous.”

“Then at least stop hating me for something I could not choose,” you demand, nose wrinkling in disgust as you spit the words in Yeosang’s direction.

“Protecting Wooyoung at all costs is the only thing that truly matters to me.” Yeosang lets out a deep sigh and looks down at the desk before him. “I’ll stop hating you when you prove yourself not to be a threat to Wooyoung’s safety.”

“How do you expect me to do that?”

“Getting Wooyoung back in one piece would be a fantastic place to start, don’t you think? Do you not feel that same way about San?” There’s a twitch in the corner of your eye that won’t go away even after Yeosang finishes speaking.

“I don’t like what you are trying to imply with that, Yeosang.”

“Take it as you will,” the man states in response. He angles his sharp chin towards you, blond hair wavering a bit with the sudden motion. “Your feelings might still be a mystery to me, but I have known San for years. I know him well enough to see how clear his feelings are for you and what you mean to him. Is that not what is holding you back from our dearest lieutenant?”

A bitter taste of ambiguity resides in his tone, and it’s something that you cannot get out of your mind. Yet the more you think about it, the more confusing it seems to get because there is no clear answer to Yeosang’s question. All this time, you figured it was Seonghwa who was holding back thanks to how he feels about Hongjoong. Sure, there was a possibility of your past love for Jisung getting in the way too but the realization that you would have to lose this crew in order to go back to him quickly dispelled the romantic notion of returning to him. San was never part of the picture — at least not in the way you think Yeosang is insinuating.

“What do you mean?” You ask after several breaths of terse silence. Yeosang doesn’t answer quite yet; he returns to staring blankly at the wood of his desk, fingers of his right hand coming up to rub at the inside of his left wrist without reason. You’re well aware of what lies under the fabric of his black shirt, the brand on his skin that you bear on your own, and the losses that came along with such a mark.

“In order to give your all to someone,” he starts in a quiet tone, “you have to be willing to make sacrifices. I gave up a lot to save Wooyoung, but seeing the look on his face once we were finally free made all of it worth it. I would never go back unless it was to fully guarantee Wooyoung’s safety. You still haven’t found that moment with Seonghwa have you?”

Your eyes give away the answer to that question in the way your darting gaze slips to the floor and avoids Yeosang’s insistent aura.

“Seonghwa mentioned the deal you made with Han to gain his cooperation in this mess. And how you don’t truly want to follow through with your end of the deal, yet you’re doing it anyway. For what reason?” You open your mouth to respond only to realize that it is merely meant as a rhetorical question when Yeosang continues speaking. “Because you are guaranteeing San’s safety, you would go to a place you don’t truly want to go. You would do something that every ounce in your body disdains to an unbelievable degree simply because it guarantees one person’s safety.”

“I’m doing it for Wooyoung and Mingi too,” you counter with too much haste, and it betrays the truth about the matter and your defensiveness. Yeosang’s lips quirk up into a slight smile. You would almost say that the gesture seems genuine in that moment.

“You say that with your words yet your eyes tell all. It’s on you to recognize it.” He cuts himself short there and shakes his head a bit. “That’s all… that’s all beside the point, however, since this is supposed to be about your dreams.”

“And what exactly is it you need to know about my dreams?” You tilt your head to the side as you ask the question, arms coming up to fold over your chest in a desperate attempt to defend yourself from his scrutiny.

“Well, first of all, there’s something I’m curious about.” Yeosang shifts to pull something from the drawer, and when he resurfaces, he has a small bound leather journal in hand. “Wooyoung has had an incessant dream for years now — all the years I’ve known him actually — of a girl drowning in a black lake. He watches her head go underwater but can’t make out her features well enough to recognize her. He dives in to save her, swims to grab her, does everything he can to save him, but something always pulls her deeper and deeper. He can never reach her. He can never hear her screams. He can never see her face. All he can do is reach out for her hand and that’s it. But when you came aboard, that dream suddenly stopped happening altogether. He hasn’t had it since meeting you.”

“I’ve – I’ve never had any sort of dream like that. Just… one dream about seeing a man with dark hair across a black lake. But h-his back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face. For all I know it was some random person and not Wooyoung.”

“And the other one?” Yeosang asks out of the blue. He arches a brow, eyes searching yours for answers, and you’re a bit taken aback by the question since you don’t recall mentioning a second dream to anyone other than Wooyoung. Ah… “He mentioned that one day in the medbay, where the two of you were late to the meeting on the bridge — you woke up shouting his name and asked him something odd.”

“Well, yes, but that… I had a dream about seeing Wooyoung in chains and the same collar he has now, but it didn’t feel quite like a dream. Moreso a memory than anything else.” Yeosang draws his lips into a tight purse.

“I can’t help you there.” The dismissive nature of his tone sends a sudden spike of rage through you, and you level the Elitist with a harsh glare.

“What do you mean you can’t help me? If that truly is a memory, then I deserve to know what my own past is as much as Wooyoung does!”

“I — calm down, Y/N. I’m not saying that I am choosing not to help you; genuinely I cannot. I don’t know anything about that. Wooyoung’s past — the one prior to when the two of us met — I have no knowledge of it, and according to everything he’s told me, he doesn’t either. Before the batch of slaves he was in came to Aera, their minds were wiped. Just as yours was for the military.”

Several years back, there had been one night in particular with your unit where all of you were up late in your bunks to exchange old ghost stories and legends, but something Hyunwoo had said at the time stuck out to you the most then.

“What do slaves and soldiers have in common? The cost of their service is worth more than a lifetime.”

And at the time, you hadn’t known exactly what that would mean in the long run, but now you think it makes quite a bit more sense. You sacrificed fourteen years of your life to join the military and be their property. Gave up an entire lifetime in service to the crown, and for what? You were no less a slave than Wooyoung must have been. How many years did they steal from him?

“Wooyoung knows fairly little about his time before coming to the palace on Aera. Even saying fairly little is being more than generous. Perhaps the only thing I genuinely sympathize with as it concerns you is that. Your pass was stolen from you, and there is no guarantee that you will ever get it back. While my childhood was far from pleasant, it always pains me when Wooyoung asks to hear about the times before him because I know that he doesn’t that. There is no ‘before me’ for him, just the day he stepped off a slave vessel and greeted my family.”

“You don’t mean — how long exactly have the two of you known each other?”

“Since we were nine years old,” Yeosang replies, a soft and genuine smile painting his lips. “Fourteen years. We’ve spent over two-thirds of our lives together, yet it’s still not enough to take away the fact that Wooyoung has a chunk of his life missing entirely in memories.”

“Were you… his master?” Your mind can’t move past the fact that they have been together all this time, through the years that Wooyoung was a slave and onwards. You haven’t had anyone be a steady rock for such a long time; the longest you’ve ever spent with someone to your knowledge was four years at best. But fourteen? That is the amount of time missing from your own memories. Is it possible that you had someone the way Yeosang and Wooyoung had each other for so long? A foundation in your life meant to ground you?

“No, never. He was assigned to my side, yes, but my mother was his true master.” Yeosang’s expression grows grave in that moment, and you know the look in his eyes well enough to guess that it is a sensitive and touchy subject that you should avoid. Thus, you shake your head ever so slightly to dispel the curiosity and move to a separate question.

“Then how did the two of you come to be here together?” You know a vague telling of the story of Kang Minhee, the Royal Betrayer who abandoned his dying father when it was his time to take up the crown, but nowhere in those stories is another person mentioned. No slave, no Wooyoung, no trace of any other name besides Yeosang’s original one.

“My father was sick, and the stress it put on my mother’s shoulders made her more cruel. I couldn’t bear to see her harm Wooyoung anymore, and thus I did what I thought was best and set him free in the night. Told him to go off and gain passage on a merchant’s ship to get off the planet. Then, as a stroke of vengeance against my mother, I stole documents concerning one of her many affairs and threatened to bring them to my father so that he would know she was a cheap whore on his deathbed. But even princes can’t get away with such things. My mother swapped the documents and told the guards that I stole highly confidential war declarations among other things instead, and thus I was charged with treason, given my brand, and stuck in jail.”

“Obviously you got out,” you murmur, leaning a bit closer as Yeosang tells his tale. “And met up with Wooyoung at some point.”

“Wooyoung is the only reason I got out. Rather than leaving the planet as I asked him to, he caught wind of how Kang Minhee had been placed behind bars for treasonous actions, and he thought it was because I helped him escape. He made a deal with a pirate crew to help gain my freedom, and Wooyoung personally set me free after six torturous nights of separation. I… being apart from Wooyoung for even that long was worse than treason itself. As my assistant, Wooyoung had a bed in my room so he could be at my side no matter the hour. He came with me anywhere and everywhere, even when it came to shadowing my father on his military tasks.”

There lies an unspoken cry of desperation in his words. You aren’t too dense to miss it, but the acknowledgment of said cry leaves a searing pain in your chest.

Yeosang drops his gaze to the desk. Something melancholy and sad takes over his expression, like he’s turning the pages back in a book and revisiting older chapters of his life that are less than pleasant, and for a moment, your heart goes out to him. The person he has had in his life for fourteen years — no doubt someone he never parted from even for a week — is no longer by his side. Again you feel that pull to bring Wooyoung back if only for Yeosang’s sake, for the sake of a faulty Elitist who found something more powerful than sheer reason and logic.

“We’ll get him back, Yeosang,” you whisper. “I’ll make sure of it.”

…

Your eyes open to a thick and palpable darkness that leaves you more than a little disoriented for several seconds. The scenery refuses to change around you even as you blink against the shadows to adjust to the shifting light. You blindly feel around for Seonghwa’s presence, stretching your hand out to find his form since the two of you were supposed to come to the Dreamscape together, but you can’t find him anywhere around you.

“Seonghwa?”

“Y/N,” he exhales, bringing an immediate wave of calm over your shoulders. A hand brushes over yours in the shadows, and you clasp tight at the fingers without second thought. “Something isn’t right.”

You don’t need to be a scholar or have infinite knowledge about this place to recognize that, but Seonghwa’s confusion brings a knot of panic to your gut.

“Where are we?”

“The Dreamscape but…” Seonghwa trails off as something collides with wood, echoing a hollow sound, and his body stops moving immediately upon impact. “Hold on, there’s — it feels like a door.” Seonghwa fumbles around a bit at the wood before the panel slides open, disappearing into the side of the wall, and pale yellow light filters over you. You can’t see past Seonghwa’s broad shoulders, but the slight pulse of his fingers squeezing yours tighter doesn’t bring any relief to your bones. He keeps you there behind him even as he steps into the dimly lit room.

A small fire crackles somewhere ahead, the only sound in the den of silence you’ve entered. When you at last step around Seonghwa’s back to stand at your side, your heart practically stops dead in your chest because of the form that sits before the fireplace.

“What’s going on?” Seonghwa asks before you have a chance to get anything out. None other than Daichi sits in front of the fire, hands clasped tight over his lap as he watches the flames dance before his eyes. Upon hearing, Seonghwa’s question, the old man jerks his chin to face the two of you. A heated glare greets you before anything else, along with a rage you haven’t seen from the man in a long while.

“I warned you, Kazuya.” Unless you’ve suddenly occupied another unknown form, there is no way that Daichi is speaking to you, and the way the old man’s gaze shifts to your companion only confirms that suspicion. Umiko, Tsukio, and Kazuya? What significance are those names supposed to hold? “I told you both, in fact. I said not to go looking for more Sirens!”

Daichi pushes up from his chair all of a sudden, seeming to grow in stature without warning as he looms over the fire, and crude shadows twist his features in ugly shapes and patterns.

“It is your job to guide Sirens to each other,” Seonghwa hisses as he pulls forward to match Daichi’s heat.

“And yet I told you not to do exactly that! It may be my job, but it is not my duty to do so. I too am allowed to have free will.”

“Then we have the same luxury! Who are you to keep us from finding others of our kind? Have we not been alone for long enough? Was it not you who guided us to find each other in the first place?”

“That was a stroke of faulty luck!” Daichi counters, and it causes Seonghwa to falter a bit. “Let this serve as a lesson in cruelty, boy. This place, this Dreamscape, it is mine to shape and mold. I have let you walk around too freely without consequence.”

If Seonghwa has anything else to add to the argument, he does not get the opportunity to say it because Daichi pushes forward, body contorting and melding into a blur before your eyes as he steps through the fire and out of sight. You can hardly stand and gape at the scene that just transpired in front of you for long though; new voices rise to your ears, soft and warm tones that speak in hushed whispers. You turn as Seonghwa does, finding two new forms who seems utterly oblivious to your presence in the dim room. A young woman, hardly older than thirty by the looks of it, and a tall child with jet black hair stand on the creaking floorboards near the door. They don’t face you or even spare you the slightest of glances, too caught up in their own little world to breathe in your direction.

“Darling, it’s time to run off to your hiding spot. Your favorite one, you remember?” The woman combs a few long fingers through the boy’s hair, brushing it off his forehead. “I’ll count down from ten, and by the time I’m done, you must be completely hidden. You know what to do, my angel.”

She nudges his shoulder once, and it prompts the boy to lunge into action, little legs working hard to dash through the room and out of sight before she can even begin counting.

“Ten…”

“Seonghwa, what is this?” You murmur. Your gaze is so transfixed on the scene unfolding before you, and Seonghwa seems to be in a similar predicament but his face wears too much concern for you to feel at ease in this place. There lies an odd tension in the air, one that tells you this is not some fun child’s game that the mother and her son are playing.

“Thr—”

“Where the fuck is he?” The door jerks and wobbles as it is flung open, and in its place stands a man nearly as tall as the doorframe with similarly dark hair and a fair complexion. His brows are so closely knit that you can’t see the skin between them, evidence of the rage that falls off his body in waves.

“Donghy—” The sharp and resounding smack of an impact too cruel for words interrupts her, and you turn away with a gasp on your lips. Seonghwa’s body jolts forward in their direction, but you snatch him by the wrist before he can move far.

“Th-They can’t see us, Seonghwa,” you huff out, unable to look over your shoulder again. “They would have seen us by now if we could do anything.” Seonghwa offers no response but his hand tightens into a clenched fist that causes his knuckles to bleed white.

“Where is that little brat? I finally worked out a good deal on the bastard, a quick trade for slave traders.”

“I – I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. H-He ran away earlier because I was yelling at him!”

“Did the fucker break another of your dishes?”

“No, no, he just – he wouldn’t shut up while I was trying to read. I… I don’t know where he is. I went out looking for him but couldn’t find him anywhere!”

“You’re just as useless as he is! Can’t even keep the fucker inside for two seconds while I go out and get the money for us?” Seonghwa tugs his arm out of your grasp, pushing away from you as best he can, and you follow him blindly to another door off to the side.

“W-Where exactly are we, Seonghwa?” You inquire, falling into step beside him. “What’s going on? Is this — is this a memory? Wooyoung’s?”

“No. It’s mine.” Seonghwa twists at the waist. You inhale so sharply that the air burns your throat and lungs, eyes blown wide at the shock of the revelation. A single long finger reaches out to point down to something near the fireplace, and you squint hard at the spot before realizing that a small vent sits at that exact spot on the wall. “I hid in that vent for four days to avoid my father at age six. By the time those four days were up, the slave dealer he had made a deal with had grown impatient and left the planet. And my mother took the brunt of my punishment for me.”

Seonghwa turns back to the door before him and pushes through it. You follow close at his heels, hand hovering over the center of his back. The memory seemed less than pleasant for him, and you didn’t miss the disdain in his tone as he spoke about it, but offering comfort right now feels a bit out of place. The scenery shifts as you pass through the door, but only enough for you to realize that these doors aren’t going to get you anywhere. You now stand in a different house, one that is much more run-down and decrepit from the looks of it. The young boy – the young Seonghwa, to be more accurate – stands in the doorway at the front of the room, rain soaking his skin and dripping from his dark bangs. There isn’t time to look around and take in the surroundings more because the same woman from the first memory comes rushing into the room.

“What do you think you’re doing, Seonghwa? You’re supposed to be at the military base training with the other recruits! Why are you here?” She stops in front of the boy and clasps her hands tight around his shoulders. All the boy can manage in response is a small shake of his head, and silence envelops the pair for so long that it grows uncomfortable.

“I-I was rejected,” the young Seonghwa says at last. “They… they turned me away. I’m s-sorry, Mother, I’m so—”

“Shh, my angel, it’s alright. Let me see your face.” The woman stoops to be eye level with the boy, hands reaching up to cup his face. As she lifts his head, you get a clearer look at the state of his face; it’s littered with bruises along with a split lip and a cut along his cheekbone where the skin has broken. “What happened!? Seonghwa, honey, wh-what happened to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” The boy shrugs his mother’s touch off with a huff of air.

You shift to look at the real version of Seonghwa by your side, but his gaze remains locked on the scene unfolding in the room with glistening eyes that hurt to look at.

“The other recruits… at the time, they took me to an alleyway and bean me down like a dog,” he explains over the discussion between his memories. “All because I was born in a lower class, born in the Slums, not one of the Elitists who came from the Upper Echelon like them. Not good enough for the military even at age ten.” He exhales a loud scoff, teeth sinking into his lower lip so hard that you think he’s about to bite straight through the skin there. Seonghwa says nothing more; instead, he pushes back through the door you two just stepped through, only to welcome a new scene that causes him to freeze so quickly that you knock against his back.

“Go, Seonghwa! Why can’t you just go?” His mother is on her knees before the figment of his memories, an older version of himself that is not much taller than the one you just saw. “Do what they want! For my sake, if nothing else. They offered so much money for you, more money than we’ve ever seen in our lives. If you would just go, they’ll give it to us! I’ll have enough money to live happily for the rest of my life without having to go out on the streets and sell my body. Don’t you want that for me? Doesn’t my own son want me to have that freedom? Ever since your father passed and left us alone, I’ve been suffering so much. Can’t my angel just go with them for my sake?”

“I – I don’t want to go with them. They want me to – I don’t want to sell my body to them, Mother. I-I’m too young, please.”

It’s not the response the woman wants to hear, and she throws her hands down on her son’s shoulders, shoving the boy back until he stumbles and hits the creaking floorboards harshly. The Seonghwa at your side doesn’t let the memory continue past that point. He steps around you, fists clenched tight by his side and chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. You aren’t sure how much more of these memories you can take, and that feeling must be increased tenfold for Seonghwa since this is his life he’s being forced to relive. There doesn’t seem to be an end in sight, this cruel torture of Daichi’s making returning again as you follow Seonghwa back through the door. This time, however, you step out into a rainy street, cold droplets painting your skin and sticking to your white gown.

There stands another Seonghwa in front of you, one that is a bit more like the real one who is at your side but still holds a bit of youth and innocence to his features.

“It was pointless to try to keep you safe,” a voice hisses through the din of the rain. It’s his mother again, and this time she stands in a doorway completely shielded from the rain as her son takes the brunt of the barrage from above. “This was the only chance I had at a decent life. I could’ve moved to the Upper Echelon with all that money, but you just had to go and ruin it for me. Like you always do. You should never have been born! Look where it’s gotten me! That plague my father had was passed down to you and I have suffered every day because of it. I should have thrown you to the wolves the moment I learned what you are. You won’t be my fucking problem anymore, though. Go! Get out of here and don’t ever come back! You are not my son, you never have been, and never will be!”

“Imagine a child’s worst crime being that he was born to a world that didn’t want him.” The man at your side shifts to look you in the eye now, face contorting with disgust as he watches his memory play back. “All because I was born as a Siren. I spent sixteen years of my life being hated and turned away because of what I was. Even by people who didn’t know my identity. No one wanted me, and the only ones who were willing to pay for me were people who wanted me for my body and not what or who I was. And then…”

Seonghwa turns away with a smile. He pulls back once more and reaches back for the door behind him. You follow him without comment, unspoken curiosities at your lips as you step into a room full of overwhelming noise and the stench of alcohol. A bar, no doubt, and one that Seonghwa recognizes in an instant based on the way his shoulders fold back and he perks up at the sight of it.

“And then I found Hongjoong,” he whispers, dark eyes swimming with waves of emotions. You mimic his line of sight to find a near unrecognizable version of Hongjoong standing before a run-down bar counter with a mop of long brown hair styled in a messy mullet that runs down the back of his shoulders. And sure enough, another version of Seonghwa stumbles in as well, seemingly a continuation of the last memory with the way his hair is damp and sticking to his forehead.

“Are you the one looking for recruits?” He pants as he comes up to the counter, stopping beside Hongjoong’s form.

“Depends on who’s asking.” Hongjoong offers a shrug and swirls his drink around a bit, watching the golden liquor inside jostle. “And it seems like some morally right asshole is asking me now.”

Seonghwa pushes his shoulders back a bit and frowns at the man before him.

“I ask that you give me a chance.”

“Then prove yourself. Are you truly prepared to do whatever it takes to be a pirate? Especially one on my crew? If you know how to shoot a gun properly and could kill an innocent with no qualms, then I suppose you could join the crew.”

Seonghwa moves in a flash. His hand snatches up the pistol on Hongjoong’s left leg and lifts it to the young captain’s temple, pressing the cool barrel against his skin without a drop of hesitation.

“I asked for an innocent, and I am anything but that.”

Seonghwa’s arm shifts to point the gun at the bartender across from Hongjoong, and he doesn’t even blink before firing the gun just to the left of the man’s head. The din in the bar falls to a hush at that, all eyes moving to where Seonghwa stands and where the bartender has now fallen to the ground in a state of shock. An airy laugh leaves Hongjoong’s lips, and his head tilts back in amusement.

“You’re hired. Here, old man, some extra credits for your troubles as well as another drink for my new companion here.” Hongjoong slips a credit chip across the counter, eyeing the bartender with wary eyes as he pulls himself back to his feet. The din behind them picks up once more without any issue. “What’s your name and age? You hardly look older than me.”

“Um, Park Seonghwa, sixteen.”

“Kim Hongjoong, sixteen.”

“Aren’t you a bit young to be a pirate captain?” Seonghwa asks, head falling to the side in curiosity. Hongjoong pushes himself to his feet and steps around his barstool. He stands far shorter than Seonghwa, but that doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest as he crowds Seonghwa against the counter. The taller boy grabs the wood and leans back over it to put some distance between him in Hongjoong, inhaling sharply as the other pushes further in. Hongjoong’s hands fall on either side of Seonghwa’s and effectively pin him to the counter. Seonghwa has to tilt his head down to see Hongjoong properly, eyes wobbling as one corner of Hongjoong’s lips twists upwards.

“Are we going to have a problem with authority, Seonghwa?” The words are like honey on Hongjoong’s tongue. The taller simply gives a sharp shake of his head. Hongjoong hums to himself, tongue peeking out to drag over the front of his teeth. “I think we’ll get along quite nicely then.” Hongjoong leaves him with one more cruel smirk before pulling back completely and returning to his seat. He motions to the empty space beside him, which Seonghwa fills almost immediately. The bartender returns at that moment, setting new drinks on the counter with a hushed whisper.

“Keep mum about the alcohol, I can’t be going out of business now.”

Hongjoong just smiles and flicks another credit chip over to the man, then raises his glass to Seonghwa.

“To a new partnership.”

“Cheers,” Seonghwa echoes in a mumble, mirroring Hongjoong’s motion.

The man at your side cracks the slightest of smiles.

“To think that at the time, my worst nightmare was merely existing.”

“And now?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

“Not being able to save Hongjoong from himself.”

You hardly realize how lost in the memory you are until something resounds behind you, almost like a voice crying your name in the darkness behind that door, and you don’t pay the man at your side any notice before turning to face the wood. It’s clearer now, the voices behind it, the soft mumblings that blossom into something loud and bright, and once you realize who those voices belong to, you waste no time in grabbing the handle and pushing your way into the memory. Seonghwa must notice your movements because he follows close at your heels, although this time it isn’t one of his memories that you step into. It’s something different, something you can’t quite recall but you recognize the faces strewn throughout the room nonetheless.

You’re suddenly back on Eros, home with your unit, all of them except for Hyunwoo. Jisung stands over a table that is littered with maps and old papers as the others stand around him.

“Why are you leading this when it’s not your place, Jisung?” Juyeon is the one to pose the question, and you can’t keep from just staring at his features to drink in the sight of him since it’s been so long since you last saw him before you like this. “We all agreed to appoint Hyunwoo as leader, even you.”

“Hyunwoo isn’t here, is he?” Jisung snarls, reeling on his friend with a fire in his eyes. “He’s off mooching with the generals because they love him so fucking much! He doesn’t have to worry like the rest of us do; he’s no pathetic runt like the rest of us are.”

“Careful there, Jisung,” Soojin scoffs from Juyeon’s side. Her hair is just as bright and daring as you remember, a stark red that stands out against her skin and accentuates that natural beauty she always held. “That’s your inferiority complex slipping through.”

“What she means is — listen, Sung, I know you want to get this done, but we can’t make plans without Hyunwoo. And frankly… no one is going to follow you.” Juyeon exchanges a quick glance with the woman at his side, then another with the youngest of your troupe, Ash. “Let’s call it a night and wait for Hyunwoo to come back.”

Jisung doesn’t get to speak another word. Juyeon leads the way out of the room, disappearing into the darkness along with Soojin and Ash, and suddenly it’s like you and Seonghwa are left alone with just this weird figment of Jisung. A noise echoes from the corner. You shift to find the source, but when you do, your throat closes in on itself. It’s you. Some version of you, at least, one that you can’t even recognize well because of how young you seem to be. Wide, doe eyes that hold no hurt in them, features not marred by the harshness of your life that followed. Even if you don’t recognize this memory, you know for certain it isn’t one that happened after the ordeal with Hyunwoo and the king.

“You aren’t allowed to leave,” Jisung mutters, barely sparing your younger form a glance. “You can’t leave, Y/N. Out of all people, you have the least right to walk out that door. You’re just like me, just a runt who isn’t good for anything. The two of us need to stick together.”

“What’s the plan then?” She asks, and Jisung grins back at the girl.

“I’ll explain everything.”

“T-This isn’t right,” you choke out, reaching for Seonghwa’s arm. “This never happened. I don’t — I don’t remember this at all.” An odd sense of impending doom overwhelms you as you watch yourself approach the table beside Jisung, and you decide right then that you cannot handle being in this place any longer. You stumble backward, hand hitting the door hard and shoving against it in a desperate attempt to get out of the room.

The new scene you find isn’t any better than the last. Jisung sits in the middle of a monotone room, arms and legs bound to the chair under him. Some tall old man stands in front of his chair and Hyunwoo is at his side, looking as alive as can be, so much so that you choke on air and fall to your knees in an instant. Seonghwa’s hand finds your shoulder and clasps at it to offer some sort of comfort. In the corner opposite where you’re kneeling, the younger version of you is drawn tight into a ball with arms folded around her knees. Hyunwoo pulls away from the man beside him to come closer to the young girl – you, the innocent and young you who didn’t know how cruel the world could be at that point.

“Don’t watch this, Y/N,” Hyunwoo says as he folds an arm around her shoulders.

“Why is this happening? What’s going on? Hyun, I don’t understand why – why is he being punished?”

“Jisung was out of line. He… killed fourteen people. That wasn’t the mission, the mission wasn’t to kill anyone. It was just a simple recon mission. No one was supposed to die, especially not innocent people.”

“And why then are fourteen people dead?” The old man asks. The question is obviously directed at Jisung, but all he offers in response is to spit on the general’s feet with a sneer. The man swings his foot up, catching Jisung in the chin with a sharp kick that sends the younger sprawling across the floor in his chair.

“I did nothing wrong! All I did was get rid of more competition that would stop us later on. People are afraid of us now. Our team is gaining a name for ourselves at last, and you fat fucks in power feel just as threatened as the rest of society, don’t you? We’re fearsome now. Ruthless, bloodthirsty, cruel. That’s what we’re known for.”

The old man presses his foot down hard on the side of Jisung’s face and leans over his body.

“That isn’t what you’re supposed to be known for. You are part of the military. You are supposed to obey the law and uphold the rules like everyone else. Not murder innocent people who weren’t even in the crossfire!”

Jisung’s eyes blaze with unbridled rage, bringing a bit of a crazed gleam to his dark orbs.

“They called Y/N a runt! A useless slave! I’m supposed to sit back and allow that disrespect to happen? They had to pay for their crimes! They were far from innocent.”

You turn to Seonghwa, desperate for him to help you to your feet and get you out of this hell, but as you move, his face bleeds to white. Next thing you know, the ground disappears out from under you and you enter a freefall. A brilliant blood-red moon shines above you, taunting you with its glow as you drop, and it grows smaller and smaller the further down you fall. Your freefall only stops when you collide harshly with a body of water, and the black waters swallow you up and pull you under with no resistance. You thrash against the darkness, fighting your way to swim back up to the surface, but it’s to no avail because you can’t move. Something constricts your throat, chokes the air out of your lungs, and you watch helplessly as air bubbles float up to the surface without you.

Something sharp closes around your ankle. Looking down offers no help because of how dark the waters are. You have no time to tug away from it before it pulls you down further, and the red light of the moon grows fainter and fainter with each passing second. As a last-ditch effort, you push all the air in your lungs into a scream that rings through the water. And that must do the trick, because as the sound pulses through the lake, something blindingly bright appears above you like a small beacon of hope in the night. It grows larger as it swims closer to where you continue to sink, and just as it starts coming into focus, whatever has a hold on your foot lets go of you as though burned. Hands wade through the murk to cradle your face, soft thumbs combing over your cheeks, and the light dulls just enough for you to see the face of your savior.

And when you do, your heart nearly quits functioning right then and there because it’s none other than Wooyoung who floats above you, hair bright and glowing a soft lavender around his head. His cheeks are puffed full of air and his eyes are so wide that they look like round gems in the glittering light. He doesn’t speak, nor does he give you any indication whatsoever of what is going on; all the man does is slip his hands lower to fold around your waist before he begins to swim back up to the surface. The lack of air in your system has you reeling and dizzy, along with the overwhelming confusion that radiates through your body as well.

When the two of you finally breach the surface of the water, you are close to losing consciousness. The sudden intake of fresh oxygen keeps you conscious for now, and you let your body go completely limp in Wooyoung’s grasp as he pulls you to the edge of the water. The light from his hair fades back into a muted black, wet strands clinging to his forehead and neck. You only bring yourself to use your muscles again once you reach the shallows, knees coming to rest on the sand so you can sit up straight and face the man. He doesn’t wait even a second before clasping your face in his hands again.

“I know you,” he chokes out, voice too thick with emotion for your liking. The statement is startling enough as it is, although you have a sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t merely mean he knows you as Y/N L/N. “The girl who appeared in my dreams for years. The – the one I couldn’t reach. I can finally see you. Y/N, I…”

“Wooyoung has had an incessant dream for years now — all the years I’ve known him actually — of a girl drowning in a black lake. He watches her head go underwater but can’t make out her features well enough to recognize her. He dives in to save her, swims to grab her, does everything he can to save him, but something always pulls her deeper and deeper. He can never reach her. He can never hear her screams. He can never see her face. All he can do is reach out for her hand and that’s it.”

“I finally found you, Umiko.” Something about the way Wooyoung speaks and the glistening tears in his eyes brings you to tears yourself, a choked sob forcing its way out of your mouth for some reason unbeknownst to you. The moment leaves too soon.

A hand grasps your shoulder and yanks you back before you know it, tearing you away from Wooyoung’s grasp. Your attacker solidifies it with a kick to the center of your chest, and you slam back against the shallows. Daichi stands above you, a rage to his aura that you have never felt before. That’s all the warning you get from him. He swings his foot back down at your head this time, and you roll away from the attack only to be swung at by his fist.

“Why are you doing this?” You yell as you dodge the powerful attacks as best you can.

“Tsukio is the Siren I warned you about, you fool!” Daichi shouts back, heel clipping the edge of your shoulder. The comment puts enough confusion in you for him to gain the upper hand, and he hits the side of your head with the back of his hand. “Do you not remember? ‘Someone near you is a dangerous threat, one that you’ve never encountered before. You must be careful. Guard yourself wisely.’”

Daichi pushes you flat against the sand and clasps his hands around the middle of your throat.

“Tsukio can find you anywhere, even while far away! This mental connection you share, this link — the two of you are a dyad, a yin and a yang, a pair that cannot be severed. No matter how far apart you are, the two of you will always be able to come back to each other.”

“Come – come back? W-What do you mean?” The pressure around your throat increases just enough for you to cough, but you continue to push words out of your mouth like your life depends on it. “Did I know him before? Did I know Wooyoung somehow? That d-dream. Was it truly a dream or w-was it a memory?”

“I’ve always told you that you were something unique and special, Umiko.” Daichi squeezes harder, and black spots fill the edges of your vision. “You assumed I meant that it was your identity as a Siren and were too bitter to listen to anything I told you. Both you and Kazuya should not pry for more answers. I will tell you absolutely nothing.” With that, Daichi pushes your head under the water, and it’s just deep enough for you to not be able to breathe. “Consider this to be your one and only warning, Umiko. Next time, I will end you.”

You jolt back into a state of full consciousness by choking on air and throwing your body upright. The room swirls for several seconds before coming into focus, and you find yourself seated on the floor beside Seonghwa’s bed with no recollection of falling off at any point. There is a body in front of you and another on your left side, but their faces don’t process in your mind until you’ve caught your breath a bit. It’s Jongho at your side, who presses a hand to your sweat-slick forehead with so much concern in his eyes that it’s overwhelming, and Yunho is knelt by your feet with a similar expression of concern.

“Wh-Why are you here?” You ask, throat burning from the few words. Yunho glances over at Jongho, and the pair exchange unspoken words in their eyes.

“You pinged all our wristbands, Y/N. Called through the comms and said you needed help and that Seonghwa wouldn’t wake up,” Yunho murmurs.

“Where? Where is Seonghwa?” Yunho motions towards the bed on your right, and you peer over the mattress to find Seonghwa sitting at the opposite edge of the bed with his head in his hands and elbows propped on his knees. Yeosang is in front of him, squatted to be eye level with the man, and he rests a hand atop one of Seonghwa’s knees.

“Seonghwa… when we came in, his body was in a state of shock, and his heart w-wasn’t — he was completely unresponsive. I almost couldn’t get him awake at all. On top of everything else we’re dealing with, why does this have to happen too?” Yunho drops his chin and exhales a shaky laugh. It’s a haunting reality that Seonghwa almost died in his sleep because of Daichi and his warning, but nothing ever felt quite as real as it did this time. “This must be some sort of bad omen.”

Yunho drops a hand to your leg before pushing himself to his feet. He steps around the bed and makes a beeline for Seonghwa now, leaving you in Jongho’s care for the time being.

“What the hell happened?” Jongho asks once Yunho is out of earshot.

“I… it was – just a bad nightmare.” You can’t look Jongho in the eye when you speak the lie, too ashamed to even be lying in the first place, and it’s only when your gaze wanders around the room a bit that you realize one person in particular isn’t present. “Where’s Jisung?”

“We saw him to a spare bedroom after dinner, so I’d assume he must still be in there.”

“He didn’t come out with the commotion?”

“What could he do even if he did?” Jongho shrugs a bit and lets his hand drop to your shoulder. He makes a good point in his statement, and it’s enough to shut you up and not prod the subject further.

“I need Seonghwa to the medbay with me so I can run some sleep tests and make sure everything is normal in the brain and heart,” Yunho states, peeking over to where you and Jongho are still seated. “Y/N, I’m a bit concerned about you not remembering calling for help, so I’d like you to—”

“No,” you interject, swallowing roughly. Yeosang looks at you over Seonghwa’s shoulder, and your eyes meet for the briefest of moments. He inclines his chin a bit as though trying to tell you something, but you can’t decipher what the hell he’s trying to say in the slightest.

“Jongho, you help Seonghwa to the medbay with Yunho. I’ll stay with Y/N for the time being.” Yeosang’s suggestion seems to catch everyone off-guard, including you, but based on the look in his eyes, there’s something else going on so you can’t find it in you to fight it. Jongho glances down at you.

“Is that – will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Jongho, I promise,” you murmur back, placing a hand over where his rests on your shoulder. “Go with Seonghwa and make sure he’s okay first. I just feel exhausted right now honestly.”

“Okay, if you need anything—”

“I’ll call you, Jongho. Okay?” You press a weak smile onto your lips. The Berserker seems content enough with your words, and he helps you to your feet before stepping around the bed to do the same for Seonghwa. You sink back onto the mattress almost immediately, watching with a heavy heart as Jongho loops Seonghwa’s arm around his shoulders and helps carry the man out of the room. You wait to speak again until after the door slips shut and leave you alone with Yeosang. “What happened?”

“You didn’t call the others right away,” he says, tone so quiet you have to lean in to catch it. “Wooyoung called me asking for help.”

“Wooyoung — he what? In m-my body?”

“Yes, I thought – I thought it was a joke at first but he confirmed it was him, so I came over as quickly as I could. He said that you were crying out for his help so loudly that he passed out to come to you. Did you go to his body?”

“I was unconscious the entire time. But Wooyoung… he came to me in my dream.”

“Wooyoung was brief in his explanation to me, but he seems to think that it can only happen when one of you needs help too. He only heard you when you needed him, and he said that just before you came to him the first time in the cell… he was crying out for some sort of help. Then you showed up.”

“No, I don’t mean that he came to my body in my dream,” you say as you push yourself further onto the bed and face Yeosang head-on. “I was drowning in a black lake, and Wooyoung saved me.”

“His dream?” Yeosang’s expression melts into one of shock. He draws his lips into a tight ‘o’ then stares down at the floor. “He mentioned finding someone. He kept ranting on and on about how he finally found her. I was trying to get him to focus on the issue at hand, but he just wanted to talk about that.”

“But he didn’t wake me up. How did he help then?” Perhaps he was trying to pull you out of the dream before Daichi interrupted. But Wooyoung couldn’t have possibly been in your body at the same time that he was in your dream, so it must have happened after Daichi attacked you since Yeosang said Wooyoung mentioned finding you.

“It wasn’t about helping you, Y/N,” Yeosang whispers. He glances down at the spot where Seonghwa was just seated. “You asked him to help you save Seonghwa.” It hits then that as you were fighting for your life between drowning in a lake without relief and being attacked by Daichi, your subconscious was only worried about whether Seonghwa was okay or not. “He had to take control to call for help, but before he called me, he pulled Seonghwa’s body out of shock at least enough to get his heart going again. He stalled the shock long enough to get Yunho over here after talking to me first. He called the rest through your wristband after. Something must have happened on his end though because as soon as he finished speaking, your body dropped and went unconscious again.”

“Did Seonghwa mention what he saw?” You inquire, but a large part of you is too afraid to hear the answer.

“You weren’t with him?”

“We… were separated at some point.”

“He didn’t say anything about what he saw, but he was too shaken up to even speak. One would think that based on the visceral reaction his body had, it was something far beyond his worst nightmare.” Your body moves before your mind does, and you are suddenly on your feet again upon hearing Yeosang’s words. He regards you with a puzzled stare for a moment, eyes watching you move around the bed and to the door on unsteady feet. “Where are you going?”

“I need to talk to Jisung. I… I have some questions about my past.”

✧✧✧ a/n: hi hi HI guess WHO yeah its me its been a minute im SORRY this chapter just did not want to cooperate no matter what every time i sat down to write until today it was like No. but then i hit my stride and wrote like 6k today oopsie anyway hi info dump im so sorry about how much info there is in this one and sldfjlsdkf there’s a lot of backstory and symbolism and im afraid it’s a Mess but it iz what it iz so we’re rolling with it and im kinda delirious so that’s All i’ll say so yeehaw let me know how you feel what you think i love u all!

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#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #mists of celeste #mingi x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #jongho x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #yunho x reader #ateez angst fluff smut #ateez series #ateez pirates #ateez space pirates

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babbushka · 4 years

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Something Incredible, Something Unstoppable

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader

3.7k ; explicitly NSFW, warnings for mentions of murder & blood

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You step out of the shadows, when he’s done.

When his lightsaber has pierced the heart of an Emperor long thought gone, when he’s breathing hard at the implications of this news, at the implications of this man and how it hits him, how it changes everything he’s ever known, everything he’s ever believed.

The room crashes and crackles around you, some deep dark chasm, some ancient cave, where statues of Sith legends peer down at you with their stony eyes. They judge you, but that’s okay, because as you shoot a glare back at them, at the ancient beings who have witnessed the murder of your husband’s tormenter, you judge them right back.

The crippled old man slumps in his throne, body sizzling, not having expected Kylo to turn on him, not expecting Kylo to be so quick to kill him. The old man has lived a thousand lives it seems, but now his last has finally come to an end.

“Kylo.” You say, voice soft. You do not need to shout, do not need to scream out his name, for he hears you, always hears you. You could be a thousand lightyears away and he would hear you, there inside his head.

You saw the whole thing, the entire thing, from your spot at the entrance of the cave, the room where Kylo dared not let you step into fully. Surrounded by the Knights of Ren, by your sworn loyal hounds, by your guards, you watched as your husband struck Palpatine down.

He’s shaking, trembling, his jaw clenched tight as he powers off the saber and turns towards you, desperate for you. If he doesn’t get near you soon, he’ll scream, his entire mind in shambles from the revelation that everything, everything, has been by Palpatine’s design. He wonders just how far the plan would have gone, if he had simply walked away, if he had taken up Palpatine’s offer and ran with it.

He wonders how that plan would have ended, a vision of the future that could have been; a twinge in his spine of phantom bones cracking in another universe where he did not just slice the man in half, sliced him into two in the same manner as he had done to his master not so long ago.

His master who, like everything else, was nothing but a puppet with invisible strings.

He does scream then, but it is not of fear, or of pain. He screams because there is too much energy and nowhere to put it, nowhere for it to go, as the power of the Force shudders through him. With Palpatine gone, there is only him, only his body for the dark side to call home. It is a harsh sound, his scream. Deep and primal, one that rips through the vocal cords in his throat, one that shocks through the walls of the cave.

His chest heaves as he storms across the chasm to you, to the squadron of protection he has wrapped you in. The danger is gone now, smote by his own hand, but still, still he demands your protection.

“Time to go.” You say gently, firmly, holding a hand out for him.

You want him out of here, want him away from this place. There’s too much to process, too much to sort through, you don’t want him here.

You don’t want to be here.

Kylo takes your hand, and you don’t even so much as bat an eye when your glove stains red from the blood on his gloves, you only let it drip between your fingers as you turn and lead him out of the cave, back to the ship where he has docked it, where he can shred your clothes and dig his fingers into your flesh and cling to you in the way he’s desperate for.

He follows, and as he does, so do the Knights.

As he does, so does the Force.

It’s like the Force knows, it’s like it agrees -- it’s like it adores you, adores Kylo. Adores the love and the bond you have built together. It creates an umbrella above you as you clear the short distance to the ship, keeps you dry. The rain is not worthy to fall on your skin, to dampen your hair, to darken your clothing. You are contained inside a bubble, one that no one in the universe could ever burst.

Inside the ship, he barks an order, sets the coordinates for home, for the star destroyer that stalks the galaxy, the monument to the Order’s power. He will no doubt take control of the fleet which Palpatine has been so kind to amass, so kind to build. You are filled with the thrill of power when you think about how it will be under your command, under Kylo’s.

You are also filled with the heady anticipation of his adoration for you, his desperation for your body. You can feel it pulsing off of him, it’s oozing in waves so thick you’re sure everyone around you can feel it. You can’t help but let a small smile through, at the thought of everyone going to fuck the stars out of each other just from the few intoxicating moments of being near Kylo’s lust.

And oh, how that lust is intoxicating.

By the time you arrive to the quarters which have been lavishly furnished just for you, quarters with the lights turned down nearly all the way, the glow of the distant stars illuminating the space, it is as though every fiber of your robes are permeated with the smell of it. It’s nearly painful, the way which he craves you so feverishly. You had never had the misfortune of being struck by the lightning which he can summon from his palms, but you think if you were to, it would feel like this.

Electrifying, blistering, blinding heat – a tremor runs through your spine as the static charge of his love radiates in red crackling currents through your very soul.

He loves you, and that is a dangerous thing.

You love him back, love him with every cell in your body, love him unapologetically and openly, love him completely. And that is what will bring the remaining corners of the galaxy to its knees.

There is a ritual you share, no matter where you are, no matter when he wants it. A ritual you take great stock in, a ritual which you uphold with utmost respect. You begin by stripping him down to his bare skin, removing layer upon layer of his clothing slowly, folding each piece with care.

You begin at the top, with the cape which clips to his tunic. He is so broad, so incredibly broad, you think as your hands smooth down his chest to the buckle of his wide belt. You smile at the little tracker placed inside it, grateful for the technology as you rest it over the back of a plush armchair in the corner of the room.

Underneath his outer tunic of black ribbed weatherproofing fabric, lay a pair of high waisted leather pants and a protective layer of armored padding. He had learned, since being shot in the stomach by the bowcaster of an old friend, to not be so neglectful. You unclasp the padding, undo the buttons on his trousers, sinking to your knees along the way.

You kneel before him, before your Emperor, your Supreme Leader, as you remove his boots one by one. You bend down to kiss his ankles, open mouthed kisses that have his hands balling into fists, and now it is his turn to tremble. The boots come up halfway to his calf, and you suck and breathe kisses onto the leather as you move up them, unbuckling the straps and letting him step out.

All that remains of his stately attire, are his gloves and those trousers unbuttoned and slung on his hips. Trousers which you peel slowly slowly slowly down, down his thick muscular thighs, down his newly freed calves.

His cock is so hard that it curves up slightly, seeking friction, seeking heat.

You smile at Kylo’s restraint – though it is barely there – he knows he’ll have you soon. This slow sweet torture is not something to be skipped, anticipation of fucking making the fucking itself that much sweeter.

You nuzzle your cheek into the hardened muscle of his lower stomach, so close to his cock that occasionally your other cheek grazes the head of it, and he bucks his hips involuntarily from the sudden jolt of pleasure.

“Share with me a secret.” You whisper, when you have decided that he’s had enough torment.

He offers you a strong and steady hand which you take, and he hauls you up carefully to your feet.

“I’ve never felt stronger than when you’re with me.” He licks his lips, lips which are perfectly bitten from how his teeth had worried them while you made out with his boots. He licks his lips and swallows, cups your cheek with a calloused palm and tilts your face so he can better enter your space, so he can better kiss you. He doesn’t kiss you yet, instead he asks, “When I close my eyes, do you know what I see?”

“Tell me.” You breathe, as you feel the invisible hands of the Force slither around your body, an agreement with the universe that you need to be naked too.

“Paradise.” Kylo’s eyes flicker redorangeyellowgold, just for a moment, just for an instant.

“Show me.” You say, not quite a demand, not quite a beg, but somewhere in between.

And just as slowly and sensually as you had removed every stitch of clothing on your husband, he removes yours. The Force aides his hands as he carefully undoes the intricacies of your dress.

Your cape is not a separate piece of clothing like Kylo’s, instead it is made of yards of fabric which actually hang from your belt. The fabric folds behind you and drapes up over your throat beautifully in a criss-crossing manner, protecting the fragile anatomy there and providing a sense of elegance you were known across the galaxy for.

He unclips the big sleek metal belt-buckle, and lifts the looped fabric from your neck to allow the cape to flutter gently to the polished marble floor. The neckline of the dress plunges, held together by a single button at your navel which is normally hidden by the belt. When undone, the sleeveless bodice slips down your shoulders, and under the weight of its own it too slips down your hips.

You wear no undergarments, and when the dress is nothing more than a puddle of black satin on the floor, you stand in nothing more than your gloves and your boots. Unlike Kylo’s, your gloves extend pass your elbow, leather and shiny and black. Your boots rise all the way to your inner thigh.

But like you, Kylo falls to his knees.

His hands shake, when they ghost the flesh of your thighs. He begins as you did, at the bottom, kissing and licking the black leather boots. But he has a much longer way to go than you did, and as he kisses up up up your leg, he begins to shake more and more strongly.

You know his patience is being tested, but his patience will soon be rewarded, you both know this.

So he kisses up your leg, and finally, finally, when he reaches the top of your boot, he is mere inches away from the one thing he craved possibly more than anything in the entire galaxy.

More than the murder of his inexorable sister, more than the death of his traitorous uncle, more than the collapse of the rebellious organization that insists on terrorizing his precious reign – your beautiful, hot, glistening pussy.

“Take me.” You tell him.

And just like that, the patience breaks.

The Force rips the gloves away from both of your hands, peels them off and throws them into the corner so that when you and Kylo embrace in a meeting of fire and brimstone, it is with the electrifying spark of bare skin on bare skin.

The bed is large and soft, but he lays you down upon it with an urgency that has the whole mattress shaking, rippling under his power as he props your hips up with a silk pillow. He does not waste time burying his face in your pussy, his tongue insistent, impatient, demanding entry between your folds.

“Kylo!” You say, you say because you cannot say anything else, cannot express anything other than the love you have for this man.

Your hand grabs a fistful of his hair and grips him tight, holds him in place as he licks hot broad stripes with the flat of his tongue through all your slick, drinking it down with a fervor that would have you chuckling if you weren’t moaning instead.

His arms hook underneath your thighs and his grip on you is bruising, absolutely bruising with the way his blunt nails carve crescent moons into your skin. He is breathing hard, so hard, as he moans into your cunt with the way he tries to shove his mouth harder against your pussy, kissing and drooling and massaging your thighs with restless hands all the while. He bites the soft skin of your inner thigh, bites down hard enough for you to tighten the grip in his hair and yank slightly. Kylo only laves his tongue over the harsh indents he causes in apology, one that you’re happy to accept.

“Stars, fuck (Y/N),” Kylo pulls back for a moment, because he too is overwhelmed by his own acts of worship. He wants nothing more than to worship you.

He sucks on your clit then, out of nowhere. The pleasure is immense, nearly blinding, because as he latches his mouth around it, something cups and kneads your tits, pinches and tweaks at your nipples. The stimulation has your knees clamping down around his head, and your eyes shut closed so tightly that you can see stars forming behind your eyelids.

“Oh, yesyesyes,” You arch your back off the sheets, pushing your hips up against his mouth further, “Kylo, yes please – oh fuck, fuck honey -- ”

He eats your cunt and toys with your nipples until your toes curl in the sheets and you’re gasping, coming coming coming on his tongue. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop, only continues to lick and suck suck suck on your clit, the force finding its way around your throat, into your mouth. Phantom fingers stroke your tongue, and you cry out Kylo’s name as you shudder so hard from your orgasm that your teeth clack.

He pulls away only once he can sense you’re overstimulated, but he’s not anywhere near done with you yet. His cock weeps for you, you can feel it dripping pre-come across your thighs as he positions himself on top of you fully. The wetness smears between your bodies as he drinks the nectar of your love from your lips, kisses you while the last legs of bliss from your orgasm ripples and shakes through you.

“Good, you’re so good,” Kylo pets the side of your face with one of his large mitts for hands, strokes your cheek. “So fucking good for me, you precious thing.”

Unlike his words, he is not gentle, when he fucks you. It is like much else about him – harsh, severe, explosive. He doesn’t even wait to bottom out before he begins to thrust into your sweet pussy, the blood pounding in his head too loud for him to even appreciate the sick squelch of your come as he grinds his hips against yours. He is fast, he is hard, he is angry.

All the anger that he felt, all that passion that was imbibed in his veins when he slaughtered the man who had ruined his life by his design, all that rage comes flowing out now, now that he has the sweet surrender, the infinite release of your body to take him.

And take him you do, happily you take what he gives, and you give everything you can in return. His cock is so fucking big, so skilled, so adept at maneuvering inside your body from the years of sex you have engaged in together. He fucks you skillfully, even if a little sloppy in the wake of all that rage.

He is some feral thing, unhinged.

Years ago, a crippled puppet had once described Kylo as having raw, untamed power.

Now there were no more strings, no more shadows behind closed doors a thousand lightyears away pushing the pieces – and Kylo felt free.

He grits his teeth and pinches his face up in anger as he rails you hard, fucks you up up up the mattress until your head nearly hits the ornate headboard, and you bring Kylo out of it for just a moment so he can see that soon there will be no more room for him to pound you. He nods – but instead of pulling out of you so you can shuffle back down the bed, he uses the force to drag your joined bodies to the center of the mattress once more, and he resumes his frantic pace.

“I want – I need – ” You pant, body jolting under him as he lifts one of your legs for a better angle that has tears spilling into your hair, chin trembling from how fucking good this new position feels. It all feels good with Kylo, but this, this is magic.

Once it has its hands on you, the Force doesn’t seem to want to let you go. You think it’s sweet sometimes, how it vies with Kylo to cover your body in its presence. Kylo is a large man, large in every sense of the word as he has to pin your hips down against the pillow, skin smacking harshly against yours. Kylo is large, but the Force is a greater power, and the Force wants you almost as badly as Kylo does.

Not more, because nothing could want you more than Kylo, but almost.

It anchors itself around you, opens you up further for Kylo to take and give more pleasure, more more more of his power seeping into you. Your flesh breaks into goosebumps, limbs shuttering as you feel the tendrils of the Force wind around your neck, plunge down your throat, wisp around your wrists and tug at your ankles.

It is an unbreakable rope that slithers and snares its way into every possible crevice and orifice that your body possesses, thick cord that binds you, binds you to him, to Kylo.

“Holy shit – ” You gasp, sharp and high and loud.

Kylo has found the spot inside your cunt that makes you go blind with pleasure, and he milks it both with his cock, which throbs at the realization that you’ll come around him soon, and the Force, which somehow has the power to intensify the feeling, getting in and stimulating the very nerve ending in your pussy.

“Please Kylo, your cock is so big I can feel it up in my throat, please, please, fuck, I’m coming, yesyesyes– ” You sob for him, beg beg beg for him, and he is drenched in sweat at the praise, teeth gnashing and hair tossed wild as he brings you to orgasm once again.

You’re almost worried for a moment, that you’ve blacked out. It’s happened before, the sheer overwhelming power of your orgasm simply too much for you to handle sometimes, too overwhelming that your brain doesn’t know how to respond to all the pleasure. Your entire body is convulsing, and suddenly, it’s as if a switch as been flipped.

Kylo’s hips drop to a slow grind, a screeching halt of the bruising smacking rough rhythm he had immediately set out with. You’re not sure which drives you over the edge further, the brutal fucking or this, this measured, restrained, even flow. It is almost methodical, almost too perfectly even, and it makes you sob.

You are wordless, fucked dumb by your Supreme Leader’s cock.

You don’t know how long this lasts, how long your orgasm rips through you. The Force keeps it strong, keeps it bright white hot behind your eyelids. Hands are all over you, and you’re not sure which are your husbands and which belong to the universe. Every part of your body is massaged, squeezed, groped, claimed.

Your voice is so high as you shout it out, you have to let it out somehow, or you’re sure you’ll die. Kylo milks it for all it’s worth, forces himself to maintain this slow and steady pace, to both of you practically snarling into each other’s mouths simply because you’re both so far gone.

When he finally comes, the alarms blare.

His release is so strong that it shatters the shields of his ship as it hurtles through time and space, hurtles toward a future of grand opulence and power – a future you will build together. The shields shatter, and the alarm blares, and Kylo looks down at you with a strange mix of fear and bewilderment and pure awe. He’s coming, still coming inside you, his eyes wide open from the shock of just how good it feels.

He gives you this look every time, and every time it fills your entire being with pride, fills you with a warm satisfaction that you can give him this, that you can allow him to feel this way.

He gives you this look every time, as if it’s the first time, as if it’s the only time he’ll ever have; but with this – the power the fleet the force – you know it won’t be, it’s just the beginning.

The beginning of something incredible, something unstoppable. You know this.

You know because unlike the feeling of your hips settling under his as he grinds his pulsing cock into you deeper deeper deeper, something in him is new. Something in him is fresh, is so shocking that the realization hits you both at the same time and has you both splitting into grins so wide it stretches the pearly white skin of his scar.

You know because when he presses his forehead against yours and lets the Force bond open up, lets his mind flow into yours, for the very first time inside his head, the only voice he hears, the only whispers which curl around his skull,

Are yours.

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wallgirl · 3 years

Text

The Little Nereid Part 14

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 2,800

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful. Loving someone like Poseidon is not easy period, let alone as your first love. But Dynamene is young and naïve, and all she wants is a chance to be at the sea god’s side.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. There will be some graphic violence in the future.

Updated regularly; will have about 20 parts total.

Slight body horror in this chapter

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When Dynamene's eyes opened again, she was underwater, drifting a hundred feet above a vast ocean trench. It stretched as far as she could see in either direction, jagged cliffs reaching up at her with treacherous fingers. It was a stark contrast from the glamorous palace she'd just been in.

This must be the trench where the witch lives. Dynamene turned this way and that, but saw no one else around; only an eel that slithered past in a hurried manner. Aphrodite said she lived in the deepest part, so... I guess I'm going down there. She wasn't crazy at the prospect of going into a deep sea trench, but there was no turning back now. She allowed herself to sink down, down, down into the black shadows. Deep sea fish wiggled by, some staring at her in surprise. Most of her sisters weren't fond of the deep ocean, but Dynamene stared back at them, just as curious. She remembered when she'd asked Poseidon to take her to a place like this someday. That time will come soon, she promised herself, lips setting into a line of determination.

When she finally touched the bottom, she could barely see anything around her. The silt beneath her feet was far colder and slimier than that of the shallow depths, and she shuddered. She walked for a little ways, wondering where to go next, until she made out the faintest pinprick of light in the distance.

She pushed off from the ground and swam towards it. The source of light was an enchanted torch, the first of a long row that led towards a cliff face in the near distance. Dynamene followed the trail to the stone wall, where an underwater cavern awaited her. An ancient sign, covered in rust and barnacles, simply read "Welcome." Reassured that she was in the right place, she hurried into the cavern and followed the tunnel directly up.

Suddenly, she broke the water's surface, gasping in surprise. She had surfaced in a dimly-lit underground cave, kept dry from an air pocket. She pushed her damp hair out of her eyes, looking around in surprise. She pulled herself up out of the water onto a shallow out-jut of rock, catching her breath, when she realized there was someone standing just a dozen feet away.

Staring back at her with interest was the strangest creature she'd ever seen.

It was a woman, skin as white as the pearls that hung in thin strands about her neck and down across her chest. Her body was wrapped loosely from neck to toe in dark, mismatched sheets, with webbed feet devoid of toenails peeking out from underneath the makeshift skirt. Her eyes had no discernible pupil or iris; they were just as pale and empty as the rest of her body, shining damply in the light of the candlestick she held. A drooping hood covered her head, but there was one spot where hair had come loose, resting against her cheekbone. Dynamene looked closer, wondering at her hair color, before recoiling mentally. It was not hair, but some sort of fleshy tendril.

On edge from the woman's peculiar appearance, Dynamene slowly rose to her feet. "Are you... Are you the witch?" Dynamene asked hesitantly.

The woman blinked. Her milky eyes stared at the Nereid unabashedly. "Yes, I am," she answered softly, her voice raspy and lilting. "And you are..." She swayed closer. "Mm. A Nereid." She began to smile, her teeth unnaturally small and spaced out.

Dynamene suppressed a shudder. What was this woman? She almost looked like she was part fish, but she couldn't place her as any species that she recognized. Definitely not a nymph. But she supposed it really wasn't any of her business; she had come to make a deal. "I was told you might be able to help me with magic," she said.

"Indeed I can," the witch replied cheerfully. "Why don't we sit down together, and you can tell me what it is you need." She turned to amble back into the depths of the cave, and Dynamene hesitantly followed suit, wringing the water from her chiton.

Hanging from the roof of the cave was all sorts of plants and vines of every color and shape, some with tied ingredients dangling from them. Countless shelves and cabinets lined the walls, each one filled with strange and exotic items that Dynamene couldn't place. She looked all about herself in awe. "Are those all ingredients?" She recoiled at the sight of what seemed to be several whale eyes in various stages of decomposition.

"Yes. My work demands quite the vast range of materials. It's taken me a few centuries to collect all that you see here. Rest assured, all these ingredients mean that there is no spell or potion I can't perform." The witch had led her to a small table that looked as if it was a once-thick stalagmite that had been broken off. Dynamene lowered herself carefully onto one of two thoroughly rusted stools. She made a silent prayer that the stool wouldn't collapse under her limited weight.

"Now, what I can do for you?" The witch set the candlestick down between them before folding her hands attentively.

Trying not to be unnerved by the witch's alien appearance, Dynamene focused her gaze on the rough surface of the table. "I... I need something to help me with love."

"Love?" Although it was a question, the witch didn't sound surprised at all. "Well, that's not an uncommon request for someone your age. Tell me more."

Dynamene squirmed bashfully. "Uh, you see..." There seemed to be no way to beat around the bush, as hard as it was to be direct about her feelings. "Well, like the rest of my sisters... As a Nereid, I serve Poseidon at his palace, and..."

The witch's face immediately lit up in the strangest way, like a starving shark that had smelled blood. Her small teeth reflected the candlelight damply. "Poseidon. Do you?"

"Yes. And... Well, somehow, some way... I have fallen in love with him." By the end of the sentence, Dynamene's voice was hardly more than a whisper.

"In love with him," the witch echoed. "In love with him. Oh, my. My, my. What a predicament." Her gleeful smile didn't match her sympathetic tone at all.

Dynamene bit her lower lip nervously, a bit unnerved by the witch's strange behavior. "But, you see... things have become difficult. My family doesn't want me to be around him. They wouldn't even give it a chance. They think he's dangerous. And... I know he would never hurt me, but..."

"Oh, dear. Family... So loving and accepting, until they aren't." The witch tutted sympathetically. "Even our loved ones don't always understand our hearts. It's unfair of them to not give your love a chance... To not even hear you out."

"Yes! I know I could be happy with him, and..." Dynamene rubbed tears away from her eyes, only for them to be quickly replaced the next moment. "But they wouldn't listen. And now, I feel all alone."

"Don't you worry, darling," the witch whispered. "You're not alone. So many others find themselves in this predicament: misunderstood, shut-out, feeling desperate... That's where people like me come in to help. I can help you get exactly what you're looking for." She tilted her head, examining Dynamene. "So, tell me... what is it that you want my help with?"

Dynamene took a deep breath. "I want something that will... lead to him proposing to me, somehow." The look in her eyes went from hurt to almost fierce.

"A proposal. Well, well. That's a rather tall order." The witch flicked the tendril away from her face. "Wanting the hand of an Olympian... Poseidon, no less. My, my."

Dynamene shrunk against her seat, feeling rather uneasy. "Is that something you can help with?"

"Oh, sure," the witch said dismissively, waving her hand. "Don't you fret, darling. We'll get you your man. I just..." She licked her lips with a flash of her pale tongue. "Wasn't expecting this request today."

Dynamene nodded.

"So, tell me a bit more. I assure you, I won't judge. I've heard it all. You want him to make a commitment to you, sure... But what about after? Making it to the altar is only half the battle, you know."

"I... I have a guarantee that my union with him will be happy. I just need him to make me an offer. And then... Once we're united in marriage... Everything will be taken care of." Dynamene's cheeks began to burn.

"A guarantee? What might that be?" The witch cocked one brow.

"A blessing from Hera."

The witch's eyes nearly bulged out of her head in disbelief, making them look far too large for her face. "A blessing from Hera?! Well, you lucky girl. Those come few and far between." She sighed, tapping her cheek. "I myself met Hera once, you know..."

Dynamene started in shock. "Did she give you a blessing, too?" She asked, curiosity piqued.

"What? No!" The witch gave a harsh, barking laugh. "I had an agreement with her, you see... It fell through. And, you know, her temper and all..." She scratched her cheek with one pointed nail. A single droplet of gray blood oozed from the scratch, and Dynamene flinched at the casual violence of her act. "She cursed me to become this."

"Oh my," Dynamene whispered, the color draining from her face. She immediately felt awful for having judged the woman's appearance. "I'm so sorry, that's horrible of her!"

"That's an Olympian for you," the witch sighed. "But I've done well enough for myself since then. I've honed my craft, and this is how I spend my days now. Worse ways to live one's life." She smiled once more. "But let's bring things back to you now. You're my client, after all. Let's see..." She rose from the stool and crossed to a dusty boudoir covered in tomes.

"I have quite the list of spells for situations like this; just about anything you can think of." She picked up a book at random and flipped through it, dust flying off the pages. "But I'll need to know a little more to narrow things down. Tell me... What does he think of you?"

"Um..." Dynamene couldn't resist a shy grin. "I think he likes me well enough. He's given me presents, and we've had conversations... He's a lot softer on me than he could be when I've messed up." To put it lightly.

"Oh, lovely!" The gleeful tone had returned to the witch's voice. "So we don't have to worry about making the spell too strong; that's good news for you. A stronger spell would be all the more painful." The witch tossed the book to the side and grabbed another.

Painful? Dynamene gulped. "What do you mean by 'painful?'"

"We're going to do a mild transformation spell for you. Nothing too over-the-top, but spells like that always hurt a bit. I assure you, the end result will be well worth it. Poseidon is somewhat more susceptible to the influence of magic than the rest of his ilk because he thinks it's beneath him. Thus, he's never bothered to work on his resistance to it. You'll just need something strong enough to push him over that edge and get him to realize that he just absolutely needs you at his side."

"Will that really happen?" Dynamene asked, breathless at the thought.

"Oh, yes." The witch turned back to her, her face filled with a wicked leer. "He already cares for you. This will be just the shove he needs to make it official. Such a lucky girl."

Dynamene exhaled deeply. It's finally going to happen... We'll be together.

The witch cackled at the look on her face. "Oh, isn't it grand? You'll be happy, and he'll be happy... Dreams really do come true, don't they?" She threw her current book back down just like the first. "I've got it; the perfect spell. Let's begin." She waved her hand, and the candles lining the cavern immediately dimmed. "Come, this way."

Further into the cave was a larger room. At the center of it, partially sunk into the rocky ground, was a vast cauldron, many times the size of a bathtub. Dynamene peered into it cautiously; there was seemingly no bottom to it, only a vast blackness that stared back at her forebodingly. Swallowing, she backed away and returned her gaze to the witch.

The witch rolled back her sleeves deftly and cleared her throat. With a swift wave of both arms, the cauldron slowly gurgled to life. The dim candles brightened once more, but their flames had turned blue. The witch grabbed one from a nearby candelabra and threw it with force into the simmering cauldron. There was a muffled boom from within its depths, and the water began to shimmer an eye-wateringly intense blue. Sparks began to jump from the surface of the water, and Dynamene's eyes grew wide at the sight. The witch turned away and swept over to a nearby shelf, grabbing several tall glass vials before halting.

"Oh, that's right! Before we go too far..." The witch turned to look at Dynamene over her shoulder. "Ah, yes; a deal has to go both ways."

Dynamene twisted her hands, steeling herself. She had been dreading this moment, but there was no turning back now. "What kind of deal?"

The witch slipped closer, backlit by the eerie cerulean light. "Nothing you can't pay. That is, nothing you don't already have..."

Dynamene stared into the cauldron, blue sparks illuminating her face in a ghostly hue. The tear trails that remained on her face were sapphire beads in the light. If this was the only way, so be it. She was far too close now to give up.

"Then... Anything you want. It's yours," she told the witch, her voice shaking. "As long as... As long as it's nothing-"

The witch's smile broadened. "I'm not asking for much. You'll never notice it's gone, I promise you. Say, something..." She rose a fist. "This big."

"Anything," Dynamene whispered. The flames flooded out any other reflection in her eyes. The roaring cauldron filled her ears with its torrent, and with her senses distracted and heart despairing, there was nothing she wouldn't have agreed to. "It's yours."

The witch laughed madly. "Then we have a deal. Oh, your happiness is in reach now. Can't you feel it?" She snapped her fingers, and a sudden, strange lightness came over Dynamene. But she was still alive; still breathing erratically, and still staring into the burning flames. She flexed her fingers gently, wondering only superficially what the witch might have taken. "Now, you will soon take your fate into your hands. You'll be a new woman. No man alive will be able to resist you; least of all that inexperienced tyrant." The witch nearly bent double with laughter, wheezing with delight.

Without further ado, she shrieked out an unfamiliar word. All around them, the cabinets and cases flung their doors open in a unified crash. The witch rushed about the room, sweeping seemingly random ingredients into her clutches and flinging them without a glance. Bottle after bottle smashed into the cauldron, and Dynamene recoiled away from the shards of glass and burning hot sparks. The contents of the bottles hissed into oblivion in the burning waters, billowing out a thick smoke.

"Mandrake, rue, Gorgon scales, pearls!" The witch chanted madly as she snatched more ingredients. "Rosemary, harpy feather, siren hair!" The flames roared, reaching for Dynamene with raging lashes.

"Don't shrink away now!" The woman laughed at the fright on Dynamene's face. "This is what you came for! Embrace it, breathe it in!" She threw her arms high up into the air, commanding the inferno in a tongue unfamiliar to Dynamene.

Dynamene backed away from the cauldron a few feet, readying herself. Her hungry eyes filled with the dancing fire. The hypnotic flames were his eyes, the smoke his reaching hands, searing into her core until she was nothing but blue smoke, reaching back. You'll finally want me.

You'll be mine.

"Don't hesitate! Don't blink!" The witch threw more herbs into the flames, until they reached higher than Dynamene. "This is what you want! Take it!" Her voice rose to a screech. "Don't you want him to be yours?! Go, now!"

And without another breath, Dynamene took a running start and dove headfirst into the flames.

—

Author’s Notes: At the end of this chapter, all I was thinking was BlUe this and bLuE that. Can you tell? lol

#record of ragnarok #poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie #poseidon x oc #shuumatsu no walkure #fanfiction

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Six (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: We find out what happened to Rosé, and the Games continue.

A/N: Thank you so much for the incredible feedback on chapter five!! It made me so happy to see and I’m so glad how people enjoyed it. I’d really appreciate hearing your thoughts on this chapter as well!

Denali chokes back her scream as Rosé collapses, not wanting to give away their position. All the teams have targets on their back now, the danger even higher. And Rosé is motionless on the ground.

“Rosé, wake up. Please wake up.” She shakes her shoulder, mind running through a hundred possibilities. It can’t be because of the rain, or Denali would be affected too. Probably not poison either; they’ve been eating the same things. Whatever it is, she needs Rosé awake. Denali taps her cheek, dimly registering that Rosé shouldn’t be this warm. Her green eyes slowly blink open, and Denali loses herself in them for a second.

“What…happened?”

“I think you fainted. Or…” Denali trails off when she smells smoke. Thick gray clouds of it blot the sky, and where there’s smoke, there’s… “Fire. Oh, shit. Fire.”

A tower of flames writhes toward them, licking at the trees and filling the air with the scent of burnt pine. The fire is too large to be natural–figures the Gamemakers didn’t even wait five minutes after their announcement to unleash something.

Denali scrambles for their stuff, tugging Rosé’s arm. “We gotta go, we gotta go now.”

Rosé winces as she staggers to her feet.

“Can you run on that leg?” Denali asks.

“Do we have another option?”

It’s a fair point, and the flames are close enough to feel their heat. She puts her head down and runs, Rosé trailing behind her. They need to find shelter, somewhere safe enough for Rosé to rest. They’re not far from the mountain, and there has to be a cave or crevice they can hide in. They just have to get up there.

They sprint across a valley with the fire just feet behind them, and the only good thing is that it protects them from other tributes–no one can attack them with a wall of fire in the way. They trudge through weeds and gnarled roots on the mountain passes, Denali wordlessly catching Rosé when she stumbles, beating out the dying fire. A slit opens between two rocks, so small Denali’s trained eyes hardly see it. It’s big enough inside for both of them, and Denali’s shoulders loosen slightly. They should be safe for a few days, probably more if she disguises the entrance better. There’s even a stream nearby.

Rosé collapses against the wall with a gasp. Her face is ghostly pale and twisted in pain, her body drenched in sweat as she trembles.

The pain probably made her faint, but Denali thinks of how hot she was, and her heart sinks with what she doesn’t want to acknowledge. Their first aid kit didn’t have antibiotics, or a needle and thread—the Gamemakers wouldn’t make things that easy—so Denali had just rinsed the wound and wrapped it tight. Maybe it wasn’t enough.

Denali kneels beside her cautiously. “I need to look at your leg.”

“No.” Rosé clamps her hands over the wound with a wince. Denali isn’t sure if Rosé doesn’t want to admit that something’s wrong, or if she’s afraid of getting medical help from Denali. Denali isn’t a doctor by any means, and part of her wants to leave Rosé alone, pretend everything is fine, but she can’t.

“Rosé, you fainted.”

“Only a little,“ Rosé mumbles. "It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

There’s a hint of fear in her voice, and Denali softens. “I just need to check it, okay? I’ll go slow. And I used to hunt, remember? I’ve seen dead animals a lot worse than your leg.”

“Denali Foxx, did you just compare me to a dead animal?” Rosé asks in mock outrage. Her hands ease off her leg, Denali’s humor relaxing her like she hoped it would.

“Well, let’s hope we can avoid the dead part,” Denali says. “The animal part was spot-on, though.” She carefully moves Rosé’s pants down, grateful for her undershorts because Rosé’s bare skin is not something Denali can handle right now. She unwinds the bandage, her stomach churning once the wound is uncovered, red and inflamed and oozing at the edges. Denali knows, and the red lines streaking up Rosé’s thigh confirm it.

Blood poisoning.

“Oh,” Rosé says quietly. “Fuck.”

—

“Okay, don’t panic.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one panicking,” Rosé says. She sits against the cave wall, slowly getting her breath back while Denali paces.

Denali stops, wringing her hands together. “I saw leaves that draw out infection by the stream. I’m gonna get them. Stay here.”

“Not like I can go anywhere.” Her leg is throbbing, and moving will only make things worse.

Denali grimaces and heads out, desperate for a purpose, for something to help. Rosé knows the leaves aren’t enough to fix her infection; she needs real medicine from the Capitol. She has no idea what it would cost a sponsor to send it, because that kind of medicine isn’t a possibility in District 12, where the default prescription is drink some whiskey and sleep it off. If something’s really wrong, you usually don’t make it.

Denali rushes back in with a bundle of green leaves, crushing them up and making a paste with water. It’s not enough, but it can’t hurt, and Rosé won’t upset Denali when she’s trying so badly to help.

Denali’s movements are frantic, nothing like the measured motions for stringing her bow, and she almost drops the paste.

“Hey,” Rosé says. “Let me put it on. Your hands are shaking.”

“Yeah, because I care about you, you idiot.”

Rosé would make a snappy comment, but she sees how much Denali is shaking, how her eyes are wide in genuine fear. Denali really cares about her, and Rosé has a rush of affection for her.

Rosé gently takes the mixture from Denali. “I’ll do it, okay?”

Denali laughs bitterly. “You’re the one who’s–”

Rosé cuts her off before she can say how bad things are. “I’m gonna be fine, okay? This isn’t how I’m going out. I’m not going out at all, but if I do, I’m going out fighting, with my sword in my hand.”

Denali nods shakily.

“I’ve got some of the steadiest hands in the district,” Rosé continues, hoping to soothe Denali’s fear. “Cake-decorating hands, baby.” It slips out before she can stop it, and any worries are stopped by the fact that she should be saying this, should sell their romance for the camera. But none of this conversation has been for that; every part of it was real for Rosé; her need to soothe Denali, take away her fears, her insistence on making it through this. Denali must know it’s real too, because she’s smiling now, and she actually laughs, Rosé’s heart lightening at the sound.

“Too bad you can’t pipe icing at the tributes,” Denali snorts.

“Laugh all you want. I guarantee I could take someone out with a piping bag,” Rosé says. Her own laugh is strangled by muttered curses as the paste stings on her wound, but swearing is all she’ll allow herself. She won’t whimper like a baby in front of the Capitol, and she won’t add to Denali’s worry.

“What was it like, working at the bakery?” Denali asks, throwing her a line, a distraction, and Rosé takes it.

“It was…it was fun, really. My dad did the cakes, my mom did the breads. Me and Jan and Lagoona helped.” She rolls her eyes and smiles. “We mostly just played and tried not to get in trouble. When we were a little older, we’d make the cookies together, and my dad started showing me how to decorate cakes when I was ten. I still remember the first one I did that was good enough to sell. White icing with little pink and yellow roses. He let me put it in the window and everything.”

Rosé tries not to think of those days, of how happy and carefree they were, because it only makes the fact that days like that are now hard to come by hurt that much worse. But maybe it’s okay to tug memories over her like a blanket. She remembers running around the kitchen playing tag with her sisters, their father shaking his head fondly. She remembers the smell of yeast, watching her mother knead the bread over and over, mesmerized by the rhythms. She remembers the squishy piping bag in her hand, her father guiding her along, how he always said what a good job she did.

On her good days, when she leaves the house, she goes right to the bakery, soaking in the sweetness as golden and warm as the pastries her father makes. If she’s really up for it, she’ll even grab a bag and decorate a cake, the world fading away as she makes flowers out of butter and sugar.

“That’s really nice.” Denali smiles as she hands Rosé the bandages from the first aid kit.

“Yeah.” Rosé winds it around her leg, grateful to have the wound hidden again. It’s fine. She’s fine. She just has to outlast it until she and Denali are the only ones left. They can still win. “We should have a victory cake after we win.”

Denali leans in with the medical tape, her touch gentle as she tapes the bandage in place. She’s so close that their foreheads almost touch, and Rosé stares at Denali’s focused brown eyes, all the air knocked out of her lungs.

“Thanks,” she manages.

“No problem.” Denali smiles. “And I’m holding you to that victory cake.”

—

Denali tries, as hours blur into days. She tries to stay hopeful, to not let Rosé see how worried she is. Denali shouldn’t even be this upset, this stressed; Rosé is the one with her leg cut open and an infection burning through her, yet she’s calm and Denali can’t sleep because she’s afraid something might happen to Rosé while she does. She knows the odds, knows how bad things are, but she tries to ignore it. She tells herself it’s natural to worry about her teammate, but she hasn’t been this worried about someone since her father died and her mom couldn’t get out of bed. She hasn’t been this close to anyone since then either, but being thrown into the arena like this, trusting each other to survive, has brought them closer than Denali could have imagined. She’s grown to really like being around Rosé, hearing her laughter, watching her eyes soften when she tells stories about the bakery. She doesn’t want to lose her.

Losing Rosé would put Denali at worse odds, anyone can see that. But Denali doesn’t see her as just an ally anymore, and losing her would be losing a friend. A friend who’s been with her through the arena, who understands feelings Denali can’t even put into words. She won’t lose her. She can’t lose her. If anyone is stubborn enough to outlast an infection, it’s Rosé, and Denali lets the thought give her hope.

“How are you feeling?” Denali asks when Rosé wakes up.

“Fine.”

Denali touches her forehead gently, Rosé’s breath hitching at the touch. “You’re still pretty warm. I found some painkillers in the first aid kit. Nothing major, but they can’t hurt.”

Rosé nods, accepting the pills with some water. She becomes a bit more herself when they kick in, her eyes losing the shadows of pain and lightening up. Denali hopefully offers her breakfast, but Rosé shakes her head.

“Not hungry.”

Denali winces. It’s not a good sign.

“Not an option. If we’re gonna win, you need to eat.” Denali digs through their bags again, offering Rosé dried meat and apples like she didn’t refuse them five seconds ago. They need something light, something easy on her stomach. “If we had soup, do you think you could eat that?”

“Probably, but do you think soup is just gonna drop out of the sky–”

Something clangs at the mouth of the cave, and Denali finds a silver canister attached to the parachute. She unscrews the top and smells savory broth and vegetables. Clearly someone agrees that Rosé needs to eat, and she thanks their mystery sponsor.

Rosé snorts. “I’ll be damned.”

—

Soup keeps arriving, and Rosé keeps fighting. She does her best to eat, to keep her composure so Denali doesn’t worry. Denali’s only getting snatches of sleep, every second focused on Rosé, and Rosé doesn’t want to give her too much cause to worry.

Aside from the dull pain and the fever clinging to her like fire, it’s not so bad in the cave. It’s like their own little world, far away from the arena’s dangers. Just her and Denali, together like at the Training Center. Denali peeks her head out each night to hear the anthem and see if anyone’s died. So far, just the man from District 9. There’s still five tributes left, and Rosé knows something has to draw them together eventually. They both hate sitting here, being helpless, wanting so badly to go out and end things, but they can’t. Rosé can’t even sit up without getting so dizzy she almost loses whatever’s in her stomach. It’s her fault they’re stuck here, and she burns with guilt that she might cost them the win with her stupid infected leg. If someone would send the medicine, she could manage. Her leg would still hurt, sure, but she could power through long enough to get her and Denali home. Why hasn’t anyone sent it yet? She’s grateful for the soup, but surely someone in the Capitol can afford the medicine, and surely they would have sent it by now. What are they waiting for?

Maybe because Rosé is just laying on the cave floor like a baby, and they want to see her do something that’s worth the money they’d spend. Proof she’s worth dipping into their pockets. Deep down, she thinks they want more of the love story, more reason to watch them. Would kissing Denali be enough? Announcing her love? It’s terrible to do that to Denali, though, terrible to use her to stay alive. We’d be using each other, Denali said ruefully, but this feels like too much.

So Rosé talks instead.

She talks about the bakery, about the time Jan tried her own cake recipe and the thing was burnt outside and raw inside, or the time Rosé and Lagoona kept flicking flour at each other until they looked like ghosts. Denali laughs and laughs, and Rosé is grateful she’s let these stories out, grateful to share them with someone besides her sisters. She can’t remember the last time she talked this much, and even if it exhausts her, she keeps going. Because if she’s talking, Denali knows she’s okay.

“What was it like? Learning the woods stuff from your dad,” Rosé asks, hoping Denali doesn’t notice how her words slur.

Denali grabs a piece of cloth she’d cut from the sleeping bag, dips it in water, and rests it on Rosé’s forehead. She gets water from the stream each morning, and though it’s barely cool anymore, it’s heaven against Rosé’s hot skin, and she sighs in relief.

“It was…quiet,” Denali says finally. “Peaceful. He was always in the mines, so it was the only time I got to be with him, really. He didn’t talk much, but he was there, and it was enough. He would show me all the flowers and plants and tell me these rhymes about what was safe to eat. And he showed me how to use his bow. It was bigger than me the first time we practiced.” Denali smiles, and Rosé does too, heart warming at the image of a tiny Denali holding up a bow twice her size. “It felt so right in my hands,” Denali continues. “He drew targets on the trees until I got them all, and then he’d have me aim for certain leaves. Everything I can do with my bow is from him.”

“He taught you well.”

“Yeah. I–sometimes I wish he could’ve seen how good I got with it. I wish he could’ve seen me win,” Denali says sadly.

“He’d be proud of you. I know it,” Rosé says, touched that Denali trusts her this much, that she’s shown this part of her.

There’s a lightness in her eyes Rosé doesn’t think she’s seen since Denali was a kid–the kind of lightness Denali was rarely without as a kid. It was why Rosé had sneaked cookies in her bag years ago, trying anything to ease the sadness. And being with Denali now, closer than they were as kids, closer than Rosé has been with anyone besides her family, makes her ache to do it again. To be there for Denali’s pain and sadness, and do her best to lighten the load. To maybe let Denali do the same for her. Because all this–spending time with Denali, being on her team–feels so right. They’re the perfect team, and they’re both going to win, and go home. And if–when–they do, Rosé won’t lose Denali again.

When she first got home after her Victory Tour, she spent most days in her room, tired yet fighting sleep because of what she might see, the excitement of her return crushed by the weight of what she had to do for it. She was cold to her sisters when they tried to help, cold to Denali when she tried talking to her. She isn’t proud of it, and while she fixed things with her sisters, she never formally did with Denali–she just let them drift, though she forced herself to work extra hard when she mentored Denali. Surviving the Games could have reunited them, but Rosé let it push them further apart, because it was something she didn’t want to share with anyone–especially not someone she cared about. But she’s sharing it with Denali now, and she’s grateful to. And when they go home, she won’t let them drift. She’ll work to keep Denali in her life, to go outside more, to appreciate what she has.

“Do you want more soup?” Denali asks, once more desperate to help.

“No.”

“Just a little more?” Denali pleads. “Please? For me?“

Denali’s eyes are too much for Rosé. “Anything for you,” she says, and even in the cave, she can see Denali blush. She eats three more spoonfuls, then turns to Denali. “Can you do something for me now?”

“Anything.”

“Get some sleep, Denali. Please. I’ll be okay, I swear,” she says before Denali can protest. “You need to rest.”

“But–”

“I have my sword. I’ll wake you if anything happens. I’ll be fine for a few hours.” Rosé fixes the sternest look she can muster, and Denali finally gives in.

“Don’t let me sleep too long,” she says, slipping into the sleeping bag. Her breaths even out in minutes, and it tugs at Rosé’s chest how much Denali is exhausting herself to look after her. The stress of the arena slowly leaves Denali’s face in her sleep, and she could be nine again, curled up in her sleeping bag for a sleepover with Jan. The determined kid who used to protect other kids from the class bully and beat the older boys in races during recess. The determined woman who’s been there for her since the reaping, who didn’t give up on her and helped her fight again. Who makes her want to live again.

Rosé grips her sword tightly as she watches Denali sleep, and when Denali lets out a little sigh, it occurs to Rosé that if she were to confess her love, it might not be a complete lie.

—

Hours after Denali wakes up, things take a turn for the worse. Rosé is too weak to feed herself, and turns her head away when Denali offers her soup. Her skin is so hot she instantly dries out the cloth Denali puts on her forehead. She slips in and out of consciousness, her sleep full of whimpers for her sisters, and Denali vows not to mention it to her.

“I’m sorry,” Rosé croaks. Her eyes are closed, and Denali isn’t sure she’s fully awake.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Denali says, trying to keep the worry from her voice.

“Your mom’s…necklace,” Rosé says. “We nev-never went back.”

Right. They were supposed to go back that morning, but the announcement came, and Rosé collapsed, and then the fire arrived. Denali had forgotten about it in the chaos.

“It’s not your fault,” Denali says quietly. “That fire came, remember? We couldn’t have gone back anyway.” She bites her lip. “I’m the one who’s sorry. You got hurt saving me, if I–”

“Don’t,” Rosé says. “Not your fault.” She wheezes, the talking taking too much out of her. “Maybe you should go on without me.”

“Not a chance in hell,” she growls so fiercely that Rosé doesn’t even attempt to argue.

Rosé grunts as she reaches for her jacket, and her shaky fingers unclasp the lion pin and offer it to Denali.

Denali’s heart sinks. “Rosé, I can’t take this, it’s your sister’s.”

“I promised Jan I would bring it back to her. Denali, if I can’t make it, I need you to make it. I need you to bring this home to her,” Rosé says seriously.

Rosé would never give away the pin–the promise–unless she was really worried about being unable to keep it, and Denali blinks back tears of helplessness.

“No–no. Don’t think that, Rosé. You’ll bring it to her yourself,” Denali says. She can’t even consider bringing this pin to Jan, can’t even consider that Rosé won’t be with her. The past weeks with Rosé have only left Denali certain that she never wants to be apart from her again.

“Just in case. Promise?”

Denali knows Rosé won’t take no for an answer, and she doesn’t want to upset her. “I promise.”

“Good.” She sleeps again, and the pin sits like lead in Denali’s pocket.

—

By night, Rosé’s forehead burns Denali’s hand. Denali helplessly watches her toss and turn, like she’s trying to get the heat off her. God, Denali was so stupid. She seriously kidded herself that Rosé would magically get better. Rosé’s held out longer than most, but blood poisoning isn’t something you get better from–not without serious medicine.

Denali’s no stranger to pain or misery or suffering–her own or someone else’s. But she watches Rosé sweat and shiver and she can’t bear it. Rosé used to give them piggyback rides even when they were too big, hiding the backache with a smile. When Jan forgot her homework, Rosé ran home and back, handing Jan the work just as the bell rang. When an older boy kept bothering Lagoona, Rosé threw herself between them, firmly standing her ground until he left her alone. She was a hero to her sisters, to Denali, though now Denali knows Rosé isn’t so much a hero as a woman who’s made mistakes and is just trying to survive. Rosé should be home with her family, piping beautiful roses on cakes. Not thousands of miles away, suffering on this hard cave floor. It hurts Denali to even look at her. It should be Denali trembling with fever and pain. Would be Denali if Rosé hadn’t taken that hit for her. This is all Denali’s fault. How could she spend so long preparing for a fight and be too slow when the attack finally came? All the dreams of them going back home, of inviting Rosé over for breakfast, of taking her on walks in the woods, are slipping through Denali’s hands.

No. She’s not losing Rosé. She turns the lion pin over in her hand. What had Rosé called it in her interview? A symbol of love and home, Denali recalls, and more tears sting in her eyes. This is the one of the most important things in the world to Rosé, and she gave it to Denali, wanted to give her this piece of love and home. She trusts Denali to bring it home if she can’t. She trusts Denali, period, when she hasn’t trusted anyone in years. And Denali trusts her. Trusts her in the arena, trusts her in this cave, trusts her to talk about her family with. Rosé isn’t going home without this pin, and Denali isn’t going home without Rosé. There has to be a way to get the medicine. What if she–

Rosé coughs, her brow furrowing in pain.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Denali says quietly, for Rosé’s benefit as much as her own.

Rosé stills, opening glassy eyes. “Jan?” she asks hoarsely, and Denali’s stomach drops. The fever is high enough to mess with her brain—what if it’s too late even if she can get the medicine?

Denali hesitates, heart in pieces, wondering if she should play along or tell the truth. If she plays along, Rosé might get upset after realizing she’s lying. But denying it might upset her even more, and Denali can’t hurt her.

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s Jan,” Denali says. She strokes Rosé’s hair and hums the lullaby Rosé hummed to Finn, and it’s not quite right, but it soothes her anyway.

For a few minutes at least, and then she stubbornly opens her eyes.

“You’re not Jan,” Rosé says, and before Denali can wonder if she’s mad, she smiles. “You’re Denali.”

Denali blushes. “Yeah, I am.”

Rosé looks at her in wonder, a shy smile on her face. “Denali, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I love you.”

Blood roars in Denali’s ears, her heart racing. What the hell is Rosé doing? She must still be delirious, she doesn’t know what she’s saying–

“I’ve loved you for a while,” Rosé continues, her eyes clearing a little, her voice sincere. “And you’re so special to me that I want you to know. I want everyone to know.”

And then Denali understands. Rosé has mustered up one last plan to get the medicine. A love declaration on live television. If this can’t get a sponsor’s sympathy, nothing can, and Denali has to play along. This is the game, it’s what they agreed to, so why does it feel so real, like at the interview? Why does part of Denali want it to be real? It’s just a game, she tells herself.

“I…I know, Rosie. I know you love me.” Why can’t she say I love you back? Rosé’s damn life is on the line, but the words won’t come out. But maybe she doesn’t need words. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Rosé breathes.

Denali holds her breath as she leans down to meet her lips. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t imagine this before. She was eleven when she realized she wanted to kiss girls, and so what if her fantasy kissing partner had red hair and green eyes? It was just her imagination. Nothing real. And Denali doesn’t know if it’s real now, but she’s doing it.

Rosé’s lips are fiery, but soft and delicate. Denali knows this has to be believable, so she runs one hand along Rosé’s arm, the other stroking her sweaty hair. If Denali’s heart was racing before, it’s running a sprint as the kiss deepens, and she feels more alive than she has since the fight in the clearing. It’s been so long since she’s kissed anyone, touched them so tenderly, and she wants to do it again and again. But she shouldn’t enjoy it this much, because it’s just a game, right?

Right?

She doesn’t have time to think, because a clanging at the cave mouth announces the arrival of their saving grace.

—

Denali tears the lid off the container. Inside, there’s a syringe, a needle and thread, bandages, and painkillers. Denali grabs the syringe, whispers an apology to Rosé, and sticks it into her arm.

Rosé, falls asleep seconds later, exhausted from the talking and the kiss. Denali isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. She assumes the medicine is a fast-acting Capitol creation, since she only needs one syringe. But how fast? Minutes? Hours? She doesn’t know how much longer they can hide here before the Gamemakers force them out.

Denali sighs. She might as well stitch the wound properly while Rosé is asleep. For the first time in the cave, her sleep is peaceful, and Denali feels a rush of gratitude. The lines of infection are already fading, and she stitches the wound with new hope, tinged with anger. All that work, all that suffering, for one little syringe. How could the Capitol have something that practically works miracles and make it so hard to get?

“Rosé McCorkell, you better wake up soon,” Denali says. “Because if you die on me after all this, I swear I’ll bring you back just to yell at you! I–I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life! I’ll–”

“‘M pretty sure I’d be haunting you, since I’m the dead one.” A wide grin crosses Rosé’s face as her eyes ease open.

“Rosie, you’re–”

“I’m okay. I feel like shit, but I’m okay.”

Relief slams into Denali, filling the cave with joy, and she cups Rosé’s cheek gently, feeling that she’s alive and okay. Denali isn’t going to lose her.

“Thank you, Denali,” Rosé whispers, and Denali knows how much she means it.

“We look out for each other, remember?”

Rosé nods as Denali helps her sit up. They eat the last of their food, making a plan to wash up at the stream, find food and water, and re-enter the arena.

Five tributes. That’s all that’s between them and the train home.

“One more thing.” Denali carefully re-pins the lion on Rosé’s jacket, ignoring how the touch reminds her of the kiss–just a game, just a game. She’ll have to deal with the kiss at some point, but not now. “Let’s go. We’ve got a game to win.”

#rpdr fanfiction #s13 #denali foxx #rosé #rosnali #lesbian au #hunger games au #angst #hurt/comfort #ever in your favor #athena2 #tw blood #tw injury #concrit welcome

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thedreammweaver · 3 years

Text

That Would Suffice to Make a Formidable Monster Chapter 6 (Burton-Schumacherverse Sci-Fi Horror au, riddlebird, sea monster/alien!Oswald)

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Warnings: thalassophobia tw, some body horror, emetophobia tw, infected wound

Oswald was asleep and it seemed he would be for a while so the crew had decided to explore the area around the cave a bit. They hadn’t expected to find anything too interesting compared to alien life but they stumbled on something quite amazing.

Victor was standing close to the front window as it was surrounded by beautiful blue jellyfish. “No one ask me to do anything. I promised my Nora that if we found jellyfish I would stop and pay attention.” He mused, absently feeling for the picture of Nora he kept in his pocket. “Where is Ed? You’d think he’d be fascinated with this.” Pam observed.

“He was in the shower last time I checked, I’m starting to think he dropped dead in there.” Harvey scoffed.

“Who died in where?” Ed asked rubbing his eyes as he stumbled into the main room. His hair was still a bit wet and he looked pale.

“You. You kinda look like you did.” Harvey said. Ed rolled his eyes moving over to a chair “I’m fine..just didn’t sleep well.” Ed mumbled. He finally laid eyes on the sight outside the window, which made him feel a little better. “I don’t know if anything could make this sight better.” Selina mused. Bruce went over to his console space and opened a drawer with CDs in it, he flipped through them for a moment before deciding on one to play. Ed was flooded with thoughts of Oswald as the waltz from Swan Lake began playing. “I stand corrected.” Selina chuckled, moving over to Bruce so they could slowly sway together. Ed wished he could continue to enjoy the peace that had settled over the room but being out of the shower was making him feel weird. It felt too hot, as he glanced over to the thermostat it was only 68 degrees in that room, he had expected it to be much hotter. He tried to shake off the faintness he felt and how dry his mouth was but it was impossible. Without thinking about it too much he got up and went out to make his way to the kitchen and to the freezer. He opened the door and stumbled in, pressing his head against the wall. He felt cooler now but everything was still too dry. Before he could react he felt himself falling over and everything went black.

He woke up with a start in the lab but was pushed back down. Victor had found him and was taking the liberty of giving him a check up. “You fainted in the freezer. You shouldn’t be getting up yet.” Victor said as he finished taking Ed’s blood pressure. “Why were you in there?”

“....too hot..” Ed mumbled.

Victor looked surprised “It’s not hot, Ed. I’d guessed you maybe had a fever but you’ve been out of the freezer for thirty minutes but you’re temperature hasn’t gone up yet.”

“I’m fine..” Ed insisted, getting up. He however was not fine as a wave of nausea hit him and he ran over to a nearby bin to puke. As he regained his senses he was horrified to see that what came out of him was that blackish green bile. Victor’s face was one of total alarm as he came over “What happened when you were alone with Oswald??”

Ed huffed “Nothing! He showed me a music box and other junk then he wrapped one of his tentacles around my hand and...got that black stuff all over it...”

Victor shook his head “You had your glove off?”

“There was an air pocket up there.”

Victor sighed “Getting another living thing’s...fluid in an open wound would be bad under normal circumstances, Ed. You should know better.” Victor scolded, helping Ed up “You’re probably dealing with an infection, hopefully it will pass. Speaking of that hand I should probably redress it.” Victor led Ed back over to the examination table and unwrapped his hand. The wound had turned black and was oozing more of the greenish black liquid “Oh boy..” Victor mumbled.

“Oh good, you two are back. Maybe I’ll get some level-headed opinions.” Harvey said pointedly as Ed and Victor re-entered the main room. “We need to kill this thing, it’s too big and too comfortable with interacting with humans.”

“You can’t do that!” Pamela protested.

“You never said anything about killing it, there’s so much we could learn from it!” Victor was immediately siding with Pam.

“This isn’t a field trip, doctor. I was sent to determine how much of a threat this thing is, it’s already killed people, who’s to say it won’t come to the surface again? I can’t let that happen.” Harvey said firmly.

“You never said anything about murder.” Bruce growled.

“It was better not to say anything, people like you always get touchy.” Harvey muttered.

Ed had been seething as soon as Harvey suggested any harm to Oswald “You can’t kill him..” he growled.

“Oh, it’s a ‘him’ now is it??” Harvey asked mockingly “What, did you check under the hood while you were out there?”

“What? No! I- calling Oswald ‘it’ is just dehumanizin-“

“News flash, sunshine, you can’t dehumanize something that isn’t human! What the hell happened to you out there?”

“Nothing! I’m fine! I just-“ Ed was interrupted by a fit of hacking coughs ripping through him which ended in more of the dark bile dripping from his mouth.

“Jesus...” Selina mumbled.

“Look, Bruce, I know we don’t see eye to eye but this creature out here has displayed extremely violent capabilities, it has killed people, and now it has infected one of your crew. It is dangerous.” Harvey insisted.

“Fine...” Bruce said “You can do it tomorrow when we go back to the cave..” Bruce said before walking away. Pamela glared at Harvey before storming off as well.

Ed was trying to relax, back in the shower. The cold water felt nice but as he was running soap over his legs he noticed something weird. The back of his leg in the pit of his knee felt...sticky. He paused to inspect his leg and was extremely confused as he found a cluster of small pale rings spreading from the middle of the back of his knee. As he ran his hand over them his fingers briefly stuck to them. He felt like fainting again as it occurred to him that they looked and felt like suckers you’d find on an octopus.

“They look like suckers.” Victor said after finishing his inspection of Ed’s legs. “I was hoping you’d say something different...” Ed mumbled, pulling his pants up. Victor was just as concerned as Ed was but didn’t want the other man to be scared “Maybe it’s just a rash, I’m sure it will pass.”

Ed nodded absently “In the meantime can we keep this between us?”

“Of course.” Victor said.

#oswald cobblepot #edward nygma #the penguin #the riddler #riddlebird

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ineffablegame · 5 years

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26 + ineffable husbands, please!

26. Tending an injury

Aziraphale has had the same body for six-thousand years, and that is due in no small part to Crowley. Aziraphale’s survived plenty of scrapes over the millennia, but each time one grew truly dire, Crowley would ferret him out in the nick of time.

The first time it happens, Aziraphale has wandered out of the Garden. Squinting in the sunlight, startled by how very harsh everything is - the sun lancing his fair skin, the sand baking his bare feet, the arid wind blasting grit - Aziraphale does not think to watch his flank, and that is when Crowley strikes. They may have commiserated up on the gate, but things are different outside Eden. Aziraphale is an angel and Crowley is a demon, and it is knitted into their incorporeal DNA to do battle. So, when Crowley charges him with a feral shriek, Aziraphale is wholly unprepared. The angel whirls around, catches his heel on a jutting rock, and tumbles backwards down a sand dune.

And strikes his skull on a sharp stone.

Aziraphale comes to, dazed, to find Crowley grumbling at his side. He tries to swat the demon away, but Crowley only snarls at him, hold still, you idiot, I’ve nearly finished mending your head. I don’t think letting your brains dribble out would make you any more witless, but let’s not take any chances.

Crowley is gone moments later, gone before Aziraphale can fathom how to react. He touches the back of his head. His hair is stiff with dried blood, but the skin is unbroken.

The next time it happens is centuries later, when Aziraphale has run afoul of a demon. Not Crowley - he hasn’t the foggiest what this fellow’s name is, only that he was lurking among a group of highwaymen, tempting them to rob passers-by traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. Aziraphale, believing his enemies all human, sends them into a stupor with a few well-spoken Words. He only realizes one of them is a demon when he feels the bloom of pain in his back, the warm rush of blood. He manages to discorporate the demon before staggering off the road, mindless from pain to all but the need for shelter, safety. He takes refuge in a cave, but try as he might, he cannot heal the infernal wound. As the sun sets and the moon rises, Aziraphale begins to shiver from more than mere cold.

Aziraphale! He thinks someone is calling his name, but no, it must just be the scream of the wind outside. Aziraphale sits back against cold stone, trembling violently, darkness creeping across the edges of his vision.

And then: hands on his shoulders. He cannot tell if they are shaking him or trying to hold him still, he is shivering so hard. Aziraphale! Wake up, you idiot!

He opens his eyes with a weak attempt at a smile. Ah, dear… dear boy. S-so sorry, but I-I’m rather indisp– indisposed.

Shove yourself, Crowley barks, his voice echoing shrilly in the cave, and he tips Aziraphale onto his front. His hands graze the wound in his back and shrink back as if burned. Then, Hold still. Aziraphale hasn’t a moment to protest before his tunic is torn away in a flash of pain. He keens, curling into himself, as fresh blood oozes from the wound. Hold still. I can. I can fix this.

Aziraphale may be delirious, but he thinks he glimpses Crowley’s hand shaking the moment before he snaps his fingers.

It happens a handful of times over the millennia. When Aziraphale wanders, bone-weary and bedraggled from a seedy alleyway in Jerusalem, Crowley just happens upon him. Hold still, he says, brooking no argument as he grips the angel’s wrist, turns it to expose the pale forearm, the lily-white patch of skin that hasn’t gone away in weeks. Crowley prods it with a sharp nail, and Aziraphale watches with detached alarm as blood pearls painlessly. Been miracling lepers well, have you? Let’s sort that before pieces of you start falling off.

Thousands of years later, as they stroll out of the Bastille, Crowley remarks, good thing I happened upon you when I did. I dunno if I could heal a decapitated body.

Aziraphale harrumphs. Oh, really. You needn’t be so dramatic.

Nearly one-hundred and fifty years later, after Crowley drops a church on a gang of Nazis as effortlessly as Dorothy dropping a house on the Wicked Witch, after he saves Aziraphale’s books and steals Aziraphale’s heart - after all that, Aziraphale is running through the chaos of London, alarms screaming overhead, people clotting the pavement as they try to get underground. There is the piercing whistle, the doom drop, and Aziraphale is about to snap his fingers and deflect the bomb when a mammoth of a man knocks into him and he falls to his hands and knees. He is too busy trying to find his feet, trying not to be crushed by the tide of humanity, when the bomb hits and the world is obliterated in a cacophony of screams.

He comes to he doesn’t know when, groaning past what feels like an elephant on his back. Only it isn’t an elephant, it’s part of a fallen wall, and his legs are crushed and his spine is crushed and oh, goodness, is that– yes, that is a metal rod sticking out of my side and this is going to be such a nightmare to explain to Gabriel.

Aziraphale is just about to get around to the business of dying when the rubble around him shifts and groans. And then the weight on his back is gone and Crowley is kneeling beside him, spitting curses, hands scrabbling over his shoulders and down to his crushed legs. You idiot! You blasted, bloody fool! Why couldn’t you leave London when you had the chance!

Couldn’t leave my bookshop, Aziraphale says. He shivers as sensation returns to his legs in a trickle like sun-warmed honey. And Crowley curses him and curses him and curses him for a fool.

Later, deep in their cups, Aziraphale plucks up the courage to ask, How do you always find me?

Crowley gives him a blank look. (At least Aziraphale thinks it’s a blank look. Drat it, but he sometimes resents those glasses.) I can sense pain. M’a demon, after all.

Aziraphale lifts the cup to hide his frown. Ridiculous of him, really. What did he think, that Crowley was looking out for him? That he was especially attuned to him? Love makes fools of us all, he thinks. I see.

After - after you go too fast for me, Crowley, after Armageddon - Aziraphale is in his bookshop, leafing through a heavy tome as Crowley slinks aimlessly around the stacks. Aziraphale’s attention slips and his finger brushes the edge of a crisp-new page, opening the skin with a bright sting of pain. He winces and closes the book.

Angel? Crowley asks. You all right?

Yes, fine– I’m fine, Aziraphale says, but Crowley is already crossing the shop, hand outstretched. He catches Aziraphale’s hand and brings it up to his scrutiny. Aziraphale feels his chest tighten. I’m fine, really…

Hold still. Crowley rubs the pad of his thumb over the cut, so gently, a line of warmth knitting the skin together. Aziraphale, flustered, tears his hand away. His voice is sharp in his own ears. Really, Crowley, I said I’m fine!

Crowley’s expression goes blank. He takes a step back, hands buried in his pockets. Sorry.

And later, sitting in the armchair in the backroom of the bookshop, hating himself, heartsick for what he lost over a stupid, knee-jerk impulse leftover from Heaven - from a family that is no longer his - Aziraphale drops his face into his hands and wills himself to breathe. And startles when the door creaks open.

Crowley, standing in the doorway. I thought I felt– felt you were hurt. But you’re… He trails off, and something in Aziraphale’s face must resemble great pain, because he takes another step inside. Angel, are you all right?

No, Aziraphale says, I– I do believe my heart is wounded.

Crowley draws closer, intent on him. You don’t look wounded.

But it hurts.

Let me see. Crowley stoops before him, hands gentle on his wrists. And Aziraphale thinks of thousands of years of this, of shattered bones and bloody wounds and horrible ailments, and of Crowley healing each one in turn. Protecting him.

I’m sorry I snapped at you, Aziraphale says.

S’fine. Are you certain you’re hurt?

Aziraphale, heart hammering, turns his wrist to grasp Crowley’s hand. He lifts it to his lips, holding lightly, giving Crowley plenty of freedom to pull away. When the demon makes no move to do so, he brushes his lips to his palm. Healing the little hurt. Crowley shivers in his grasp.

Yes? Aziraphale asks.

Crowley swallows, nods. Yeah– yes. Yes.

Aziraphale draws him closer. I think I am going to be quite all right.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfic #long post #good omens word prompt #axton-blogs

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Merry Christmas, I Love You

12/25/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 6,670

Warnings: Language, violence, blood, angst, pining, jealousy, fluff

A/N: So this was initially supposed to be a Holidays-non-specific fic...but as I kept writing, it was feeling forced so I turned it into a Christmas fic because it felt better that way for writing. I’m so sorry! Anyway, I hope you like this one. I always enjoy writing for Bucky. Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays! xoxo

Things have never been easy for you. Family. Friendships. Relationships. Nothing, except for work.

Somehow, you’ve been able to come in, day after day, with a smile on your face, no obstacles set before you that upset the delicately crafted balance here at the Tower.

That is until the morning you walk in and something terrible—something that you could never have anticipated—is sitting on the edge of your desk wearing rough deep-sea colored jeans, organically weathered around the nicest, most bitable ass you’ve ever seen.

Okay, so maybe it’s been a while since you’ve gotten any and any semi-attractive person now-a-days seems to get your engine revving, but this guy…this man is sin incarnate and you nearly lose your step as you slide to a halt by your office door.

“What are you?” You ask, sputtering the words out senselessly only to have the Sin turn and look at you with clear blue eyes. Ice blue. A little gray. A little piece of heaven staring at you out of a brooding face, topped with what looks like freshly cropped burnt chestnut hair.

You’ve seen it long. You admired it from a safe distance. Now it’s gone but in its place is sheared perfection. He looks like a new man.

“Sorry?” He asks, his voice like chocolate fudge, slow and oozing and coating your insides with thick, sweet…oh man, you’re a goner.

“Um…” You shut your eyes, shaking it lightly to clear your head.

Not looking at the hot man helps.

Wait…you’re stupid. You know exactly who this hot man is. You just didn’t expect to ever see him this close and, in your office, sitting on your desk casually lounging around like some beefed up supermodel.

“I-I meant, what are you doing…here?” You clear your throat, clutch your legal pads a little bit closer and finally open your eyes.

He’s standing now, hands shoved into his pockets, muscled chest straining against the black t-shirt he’s chosen to torture you with, the burgundy leather jacket doing little to hide his muscle.

Who the fuck dressed him?

“Oh.” He says. “I’m working here. With you.” He explains and you nearly choke.

You start coughing again, hacking up a lung as your face burns and your chest nearly caves in.

Bucky because you know very well who he is, hurries towards a small bottle of water you keep handy on your desk and takes it to you.

You take it, try to wheeze out a thank you but cough harder. You gasp, then take a drink as he stares at you, eyes narrowed with polite concern.

“Fighhhne.” You wheeze, waving a hand at him gently to reassure him. “I'm fine.”

He nods straightening up. Just noticing how tense he was, you feel your neck burn.

Suddenly it’s way too hot in here.

“Are you hot?” You continue to wheeze, breathless with embarrassment and a strange and sudden desire. “It’s hot in here.”

Moving around him you move to the window behind your desk, a large glass panel in the glass wall of your office. You slide it open and a rush of chilly New York winter air nips at your skin.

Finally, your head is clear. Sharp. Your wits back in place. You turn to him and he’s shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“What do you mean you’ll be working here?” You ask, a need for clarity rising.

“Fury sent me here.” Bucky shrugs. “I guess Sam’s got the go ahead to start up a team and he wants you to head home base.”

You let that sink in, trying to wrap your head around going from administration duties to somewhat field duties.

“You’re gonna be my handler.” He nearly whispers, voice dropping a bit. Why is he telling you this like it’s a secret?

“Oh, just your handler?” Another voice quips but you don’t have to wonder whose it is. This voice you know.

“Sam?” You call and he comes around the small partition in front of your door.

With that charming smile, the one that has all the ladies in accounting falling to pieces with its easy confidence and promise of romance, Sam gives you a nod and stops beside Bucky.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s good to see you again. You look good. How’ve you been?” He asks, eyeing up Bucky who looks at him and shrugs.

“I’m fine.” You nod, tempted to smile. “Thanks. So, you’ll both be under my umbrella?” You nod.

“There’s a few more but yeah, it’ll be mostly me and Buck. Who best to watch over us? I thought we’d be safest in your capable hands.” Sam flirts.

“Sam…” You huff a small laugh, relaxing a bit now that there’s a buffer. Not that he’s much of a buffer. Sam is fucking hot too and if the window weren’t still hurling frozen wind at you, you’d be overheating.

Sam chuckles-“What?” Sam says—and you look out the window. There’s a small smack but when you look back up at them, nothing has changed much save for Bucky standing with his arms crossed instead of his hands in his pockets.

“…that is my name.” Sam insists, his lips curled up into a playful smirk while the man beside him broods a bit more.

“Well, first off, if I’m going to be your handler, I’m gonna need you to be a bit more professional.” Smiling you move to your desk and deposit your notepads, running a finger across the notes from your latest office meeting.

You won’t need these anymore.

“I’ll do my best, but it’s hard to concentrate on work when my handler’s just so pretty.” He teases.

You huff a small laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t change, do you?”

Sam looks down at your desk, his eyes suddenly darkened by sorrow.

You feel bad but you won’t linger.

“I’m glad.” You assure him. “Sometimes I forget how to laugh.”

And like a switch has been turned, Sam’s smile is back.

“Don’t worry. Together, I think the three of us can give the world a few reasons to smile again.” Sam nods, sincere.

You look at Bucky who stands with a frown twisting his handsome face.

“I look forward to working with you, Agent Barnes.” You offer a small smile, hoping to ease his grimace.

He looks up at you, startled, as if he’s just realized you’re there. Great. There goes that crush. Another one that doesn’t know you’re there.

“Bucky.” He says. “Please.”

“Okay.” You smile a little wider and his eyes finally focus. “Bucky. I look forward to getting to know you.”

He stares at you and he sizes you up. That small frown never leaves his face which only makes you wonder whether he disapproves of what he sees.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fuck.

This is not good.

As Bucky looks you over, from the tips of your red pumps to the collar of your soft gray business suit—a silk red camisole peeking out from underneath—he knows that he’s fucked.

The moment you smiled, frazzled by Sam’s stupid flirting, he knew that you’re trouble.

That look of curiosity on your pretty face…what is he getting himself into?

Bucky likes you.

He likes you a lot.

“Bucky?” You call to him, your voice wrapping around his name just so that it makes his heart pound.

“Do you even have any training in the field?” He asks, kicking himself internally that he’s on the defensive now but he wasn’t expecting this.

He wasn’t expecting to come in here to find you, a beautiful woman, clumsy and real. There’s nothing fake about you so far and Bucky can see the goodness that you radiate. He wasn’t expecting Sam to come in here, flirting shamelessly, making you laugh.

Rude bird.

You blink, slightly taken aback.

“She’s not gonna be out in the field, Buck.” Sam defends you, and that grates Bucky more.

“It’s still something she should have.” Bucky argues stupidly. Why can’t he shut his mouth up?

“I-” You begin, sounding saddened and Bucky could leap out of that window behind you if it would end this inescapable awkwardness he’s dredged up. “I don’t.”

You shake your head then bite your lip. Thinking hard while Bucky fights the urge to touch your mouth.

“I’m actually not sure why Fury sent you to me. I’ve never…I mean, I did go into training for S.H.I.E.L.D. when I first started here a few years ago but I failed out of the academy. I couldn’t get myself to do what needed doing and I—this was a better fit for me.” You bristle. “So, no. I don’t have any field training. But I’ll do my best.”

Before he can open his mouth and make this worse, Bucky sighs, exchanged a look with Sam, then turns and leaves.

As he pushes your office door open, he can hear Sam reassuring you.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. He’ll come around. We’ll make a great team.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Your voice is flooded with gratitude.

Fucking Sam.

~~~~~~~~~~

You watch from your seat in the old crumbling building on two ten-inch displays as Bucky and Sam rush into the abandoned bunker. It’s not so abandoned now, filled with a terror cell known as the Maw. They’ve killed sixty people in four days and there will be no taking of any prisoners today.

“Are we sure he’s here?” Bucky asks, the feed from his body cam shows him sliding along the floor under a small break in the outer wall. Immediately inside there are five enemies.

As he stands, they fire, and you grip the edge of the fallen and splintered door that is your makeshift desk until he’s taken the entire group out. Not one left alive.

“Yes.” You answer, remembering his question. “He’s here.”

As Bucky breaks into a run down a long dark hallway, you focus on Sam’s cam and watch as he circles up over the building.

“Sam, do you see anything?” You check, knowing that he must be running his thermals.

“Just a whole bunch of cowards.” He quips. “There. Bucky, third basement down. There’s a wall weak enough to break through right behind them.”

You look at Bucky’s cam and it changes position. He’s running faster, sliding from doorway to doorway before he throws himself within one as gunfire rains down on him from an open door at the end.

You slide the big heavy laptop you use for recon over and pull up all the schematics of the bunker you’d found in your research of the building.

“Y/N, find me a way down.” He grunts, returning fire when he can.

“Already on it.” You inform him, sneaking a glance as he slides out from his hiding spot to one closer to the shooter.

His hallway ends in a T and he’s on the left-hand side.

“There.” You say, “Down that hallway to the right, straight ahead. There’s an elevator shaft that should be non-operational. You can slide down straight to the third floor and round back towards the wall Sam saw.”

Bucky is already running. As he approaches the shooter, he holds up his metal arm to block three bullets. There’s a click—an empty clip—then Bucky pounces, twisting the man’s arm to break it then he practically throws him into the wall. The man falls to the ground, but Bucky doesn’t stop.

He’s sliding on the ground towards the elevator shaft as he approaches and throws his metal hand out to dig his fingers into the wall. He slides down one floor before he releases and freefalls, then at the last moment he grabs the top lip of the floor he’s going to and swings himself in.

“Down the hall, two rights, and you should be against that weak wall.” You tell him. “Sam, status?”

You look at the other display and watch as Sam dips and dives, gunfire lighting up his cam. He throws his shield and it bounces off one thug to hit another then magnetically flies back up to Sam.

“There are civilians in that holding cell.” Sam realizes, and without a second thought he flies for it. “Six guards. I’ll take them out quick.”

“Get them to safety. I’ve got these guys.” Bucky says confidently as he rounds the last right and races for the back wall to the inner room of the final floor.

“Bucky…” You begin, fear taking root in your heart as you think about the fact that Sam will be too busy with those civilians to come quickly.

This isn’t your first time out with them. You, Sam, and Bucky have been together for a year now. One whole year.

Somehow, you have been an asset to their team. Sometimes Sharon comes along, sometimes there’ll be a few others. But at the end of the day it is always you, Sam, and Bucky.

You’ve been there when Sam broke his arm. When Bucky dislocated his shoulder. When they were both shot. When Sam wouldn’t wake up for three days. You’ve been there for every after mission dinner. You’ve been there for every holiday spent in safe houses and hospitals.

Bucky and Sam had even bought you a cake when your birthday came around and all three of you ate it on the tower roof, both men still in mission garb, sitting on the ramp of the jet.

Through it all, though you always worry, there is only one thing that makes you lose focus. One thing that has brought you to Fury’s office several times to resign because you can’t do this job. Not like this. Not when you’re this distracted half the time.

When Bucky’s in danger, your heart stops. When he’s injured, you’re nearly in tears. You’d cried that first time he was shot, but luckily Sam was shot too so really, you managed to pass it off as sorrow for both of them.

The time Sam wouldn’t wake up, those tears were just for Sam…but Bucky was pretty torn up about it and you’d offered what comfort he was willing to accept which wasn’t much.

Bucky has kept you at arm’s length this entire time. Welcoming enough to make you feel like part of the team, but far enough that you’re pretty sure he still think you’re absurdly underqualified for this job.

You’ve watched him with his other teammates, even the ones that randomly come by, and he’s not with them like he is with you.

Watching him team with Sharon or T’Challa, you can see the difference.

He likes them. He doesn’t simply tolerate them.

Despite this disappointment, it does not fail. Every time that he’s taking on too much, your focus goes straight to him.

You pull his cam footage closer just as the wall in front of him explodes.

Cement and iron rain down on him and the hallway, rumbling as the building groans with the loss of support.

You stand, pushing your chair back hard as you clutch the display closer.

“Bucky!” You call, seeing nothing but darkness. “Bucky? Get up.”

Voice rising with panic, you blink hard, trying to see through the cloud of dust in the darkness in the screen.

“What happened?” Sam demands, returning fire at the thugs he’s facing.

“The wall exploded out.” You say, quiet because you can’t breathe.

There is no movement. Bucky isn’t moving.

You don’t give yourself enough time to think.

“Is he okay?” Sam asks, but he’s too busy to do anything about it.

So, you do.

Flipping open your bag, you pull out the handgun you’d been issues when you took this job and run. Down along the stairwell from your safe room. Across the street towards the bunker, along the small alleyway beside it to the back where the original entry point had been made.

You keep an eye on the display you’ve brought with you and watch as the rubble shifts. You see a gleam of dark metal and see that it’s Bucky pulling himself out of the pile, but then there are more glints of sleek black metal.

Guns. At least eight of them, all pointed at Bucky.

“Fuck.” You push yourself faster, ignoring the way your legs protest.

Your tac pants tear as you finally enter the building, catching on exposed reinforced metal piping and wood.

You’re not even careful about your running. You don’t look around for enemies. You don’t care. You have one goal and that’s all that matters.

You enter the T and race for the elevator shaft. A final glance at your display tells you that they’ve got Bucky kneeling in the rubble he’d been buried under. All of the other thugs in that room have their guns pointed at him, one man stands a little taller than the rest. No gun in his hand, but a long serrated knife. He’s talking, smirking down at Bucky as he squats down before him to run that knife’s point along the seam of Bucky’s metal arm.

Dropping the display, you reach for your belt hoop and pull from it a compact grapple. You shove it into the floor by the open elevator shaft and throw yourself down without hesitation.

You fall quickly, reaching the third floor in less than five seconds.

You have to release the cable in order to stop and you use the momentum of your fall to swing yourself into the doorway.

Landing hurts but you’re on your feet, racing down the hallway as fast as you can.

Instead of taking two rights however, you take one right, then a left.

They aren’t expecting you to barrel in through the door they’d been facing. Their only defense had been on the wall Bucky tried to go through.

So, when you shove the door open, you aim and kill one, two, three guards with quick precision shots.

That’s when they turn, and you run to take cover behind a tall steel shelf.

Bullets bounce off the metal as they land near your head.

On the other side, in the room that you can no longer see, you can hear Bucky fighting. His metal arm deflecting bullets and slamming these thugs into the floor.

The shooting at you stops so you peek out and aim. You get one of them in the leg, the other in the gut. You’re about to fire again, killing a fourth, when a loud pop and a burning sensation pierces your arm.

You cry out, and duck back behind the shelving out of sight.

“Y/N!” Bucky shouts, the scuffle between him and his enemies increasing in pace.

There are fewer grunts and they’re moving closer.

You groan, holding your hand over the wound in your arm but force yourself to peek out again, this time aiming where the shot that hit you came from.

Distracted by Bucky’s approach, the man behind the name of Maw doesn’t see you aiming at his head.

Before you can fire, your arm falls, losing strength and the shot goes through his neck.

He sputters and chokes on his blood, falling to his knees just as Bucky finishes with the last of his goons. He moves to the man and with one swift flick of his arm, the man’s neck breaks, and he falls to the ground, unmoving.

Your eyes are on Bucky, scanning him for injury as you press your hand harder against your own wound.

He’s okay. You gush stupidly. He’s not hurt.

A small scratch on his cheek. Otherwise, he’s fine.

And he’s suddenly at your side.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asks, voice hard and angry.

“No.” You tell him.

“Let me see.” He pushes your hands away and stares down at the hole in your arm.

As blood gushes out, he reaches down to his belt to pull a heavy but thin cord that he begins to wrap high on your arm. It hurts. It pinches. It’s too tight.

“Ow.”

“No shit.” Bucky growls at you. “Sit still.”

You do, not having realized that you were squirming.

“What the hell did you come in here for?” He demands.

“You were in trouble.” You explain, leaning your head back to watch him finally tie the tourniquet. “And Sam was busy.”

“I coulda handled it.” He’s clenching his jaw, flexing the muscle in his anger as he reaches down to pull what looks like a small syringe from a small pouch on his belt.

“It’s okay to need help.” You tell him calmly, loving the way his brow is furrowed in concentration.

“I don’t need your help. Not here.” He chastises, pushing the tip of the syringe into your wound to press in what looks like powder. It hurts but you’re starting to not feel much of anything.

He tosses the syringe away and begins to wrap up your wound with a small roll of bandage.

“This isn’t the right kind. We’ll have to get you back to the Tower quick.” Bucky sighs.

“Why don’t you like me?” You ask him, feeling woozy and finding that filter that you usually use strange absent.

Bucky frowns, then gets up and reaches down to help you up.

He tucks you underneath his arm and supports most of your weight as he leads you out, refusing to answer your question.

“Y/N okay?” Sam’s voice filter in through your comms.

“Yeah, she’s fine. Lost a bit of blood though. Faster we get her back the better.” Bucky says, cutting you off before you can answer.

“Just getting these last few civilians out. I’ll meet you at the jet. Two minutes.” Sam promises.

The trek up the stairs is exhausting. You’re dizzy and tired. The adrenaline is wearing off and you find yourself leaning against Bucky more and more the higher you climb.

When the freezing air hits you outside, your head clears for a moment and you remember that you ran out here without your coat.

It’s freezing.

You look up with your mouth wide open. It’s snowing!

“It’s snowing.” Way to go, brain.

Bucky frowns as he looks up and with you struggling to keep up, he stops. He wraps his arm more securely around your back then with his other, quickly dips to pick you up.

You groan when the movement jostles your arm but lay your head on his shoulder anyway.

“I like it here.” You whisper, stupidly talking without thinking.

You place your hand on Bucky’s chest where you can feel his heart pounding. Absolutely thrumming against his ribcage.

“Were you scared?” You ask him, wondering if Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, can really get scared.

For a moment he says nothing. Then, “Yes.”

You nod. “It’s okay.”

“Stop talking.” He chastises, just as your body is engulfed in warmth.

Not even two second later, your entrance into the jet is followed by the soft whoosh of Sam’s wings and then his feet as he climbs in and moves towards the pilot’s chair.

“She okay?” Sam asks, glancing at you as Bucky settles you into a seat and straps you in.

“She’s a little delirious but she’s okay. Should be fine as long as we get her back soon. She needs stitches. Bullet went clean through.” Bucky says, focused on your arm as the jet pulls away.

“I like you.” You tell him. Blinking slowly as his fingers stop fumbling with your bandage.

He looks at you, ice sapphire eyes burning into your own with a million unasked questions.

“Why do you hate me?” You wonder, feeling sleepy.

“I don’t hate you.” Bucky explains, brow furrowed with subdued anguish.

“I like you.” You tell him again. “I want you to like me back.”

Bucky opens his mouth but shuts it again, looking over at Sam who seems to be intentionally ignoring the two of you.

“Sometimes I think about what it would be like to kiss you.” You continue, words slurring together as the shock of being shot catches up with you. “Kiss me.”

You see him leaning up towards you just as your vision turns black.

~~~~~~~~~~

Recovery is a bitch.

You hate having to wear a sling. Especially because you’re decommissioned from field duty for a while. Bucky and Sam don’t stick around. They make sure you’re okay and then they go off on their next mission.

Sharon is brought in to help. She takes your job.

You watch two days later as they come into the small shared space in Tony’s old lab where you had set up home base for them. They walk in and head straight for the mission board—a high tech computer screen with touch—and sift through a few open cases.

They don’t seem to see you sitting on the sofa by the kitchen, wrapped up in a blanket, sipping hot cocoa.

You watch them, taking in their dynamic. Sam is just as playful with Sharon as he is with you. They seem to have a deeper connection though. A shared sorrow. All three of them do.

The biggest difference is Bucky’s demeanor. He smiles more. He’s laughing at something Sharon said.

Your chest aches. Wondering if maybe this is what’s for the best? He seems to be more at ease with Sharon there to support them in their missions. She’s got the skill.

You’ve read her file. Part of it. The parts you were allowed to read.

She’s amazing.

Much more qualified.

“You’re coming, right?” Bucky asks her, watching her as she stares at the board.

“To what?”

“The Christmas party.” Bucky tells her. “It’s tomorrow night. We should be back by then.”

“Why would I come to the Christmas party?” She asks, a laugh in her voice.

“Because it’ll be fun.” Bucky reasons, then turns to Sam and nods at her. “Right?”

“Yeah. Pepper’s got Happy planning the whole thing. We might have to surrender our IDs when we come in and consent to a pat down but there’ll be plenty of booze. Music. Dancing.” Sam teases her the same way he teases you.

She laughs. “I’ll think about it.”

“It’ll be more fun if you come.” Bucky continues, reaching out finally to pull on her sleeve. “Come.”

You curl up a bit more, shrinking into the cushions of your seat. Hating the way your chest feels like it’s caving in.

Of course, he’s going to like her. She’s Sharon Carter! Great niece to Peggy Carter. A legend in her own right.

This must be why he never brought up what you’d said in the jet. You were slurring and mostly out of it, but you knew what you were saying.

You’d finally told him. You like him. You do.

And he hasn’t said anything about it.

You shift too far to the left and your arm grazes against the cushions beside you.

You gasp, shocked by the pain.

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice calls out.

No.

You blink hard, hoping they look clear and not like you’re pining for Bucky Barnes.

Sam rounds the sofa and smiles down at you.

“Why are you hiding out here, making no noise? One gunshot wound and you think you’re a world class spy?”

You say nothing. You’re in hell. You just look up at him.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, moving to sit beside you.

“Y/N is here?” Sharon asks, moving towards you.

Fuck.

When she comes into view, you can see she’s wearing a standard S.H.I.E.L.D. body suit. Winter edition so it’s a little thicker. White pants and top. Gray straps to holster her guns. That’s empty right now.

“Hey, long time no see.” She smiles at you kindly and you force a smile in return.

Sharon is nice. You’ve always like Sharon. She’s kind and friendly.

“Yeah.” You say stupidly because it’s the only thing you can get your throat to work out.

“Heard you were shot saving Bucky’s ass?” She offers, looking over her shoulder at Bucky who finally moves towards you.

You shake your head once, that smile still plastered in place.

“Are you not feeling well?” Sam asks, reaching out to place his hand on your back.

You shake your head, letting the grimace that your poor heart is feeling seep out as discomfort in your arm.

“I’m gonna go…” You tell him, voice quiet and strained.

As you get to your feet, Sam helps you. You don’t see Bucky.

You know that he’s there, standing somewhere behind you, but you don’t want to turn to see him. What’s the use?

“You need help getting to your room?” He asks, but you shake your head. “Okay.”

You move past him and don’t look back. You don’t stop until you’re in your room, door shut behind you.

Moving into the bathroom you wash your face with your one hand, trying to clear your mind.

As you shut off the water you hear your bedroom door click shut.

“Sam?” You call and follow the sound back into your room.

But there’s no one there. It stands empty, just as it was when you came in.

As you move to take a seat on your bed, your eyes spot a small bottle of pills on your bedside table.

You grab them, quickly reading the label because these are not your pills.

Take two tablets every eight hours as needed for pain.

Rising to your feet, you move for your door, throw it open and look down the hallway to catch Sam to thank him before he can get too far but your voice catches in your throat as you watch wide shoulders and a glinting dark metal arm walk away from you.

With his delivery done, Bucky leaves you without a word.

~~~~~~~~~~

Wincing you slip off your sling and reach down to straighten your dress. It’s short. Shorter than you’d thought it was, but it’s pretty, with long loose sleeves that cinch at the wrist. Dazzling white with silver sparkles stitched into the soft fabric.

You’d seriously considered sitting out this party. You aren’t exactly in the mood. Not happy. Not comfortable. Not in the Christmas spirit.

Rejected, your mood has taken a sour turn. You’re mostly sad all the time which is hard enough but with the pain in your arm, it feels worse than it actually is.

However, you’ve never missed a Christmas or Holiday party since you’ve started working here and you’re not about to start now.

When you finally arrive, the party is already in full swing.

Pepper and Happy have outdone themselves, turning the largest ballroom in the Tower into the prettiest winter wonderland that you’ve ever seen.

All the tables are covered in gleaming silver and white tablecloths, decorated with assorted bobbles in silvers, whites, pale blues, and grays. White lights are strung up along the ceiling and left to dangle in carefully placed icicle patterns, more clear baubles with shining white lights at the center adorn the spaces between the tables where people chat and eat merrily with golden forks, knives, and spoons.

There is no red holly or green garland, but all around the room you can see the soft green and white splash of mistletoe hidden in small nooks and over random spots in the room.

“Y/N!” You hear Sam’s voice before you see him and search the room for him. “Over here!”

He waves at you from across the room near the large metal door that leads out into the hallway that’s lined with an endless stretch of conference rooms.

He looks dapper in a velvet black tux, silver bowtie around his neck.

You smile at him and move towards him but as you cross the table comes into full view and you see that Bucky is sitting beside him to his left—looking sinfully good in a navy tux, white dress shirt, and a black bowtie. Beside Bucky sits Sharon, in a red satin dress with capped sleeves and a round neckline.

Her dress, as you approach and she stands, you can see if floor length and she looks absolutely beautiful.

“Wow.” You tell her. “Sharon, you look amazing.”

Sharon blushes. “Me? Anything looks good when all you wear is tac gear. Look at you! You’re stunning!”

You almost look at Bucky but stop yourself just as your head tilts.

“Have you eaten yet?” Sam asks, moving around the table to pull out your chair, sitting you right across from Bucky.

“No.” You admit.

“I’ll go get you a plate.” Sam says.

“You don’t have to. I’m not really hungry.” You tell him.

“You have to eat.” He chastises. “I’ll be right back.”

He leaves you, disappearing into the crowd as Sharon scans the crowd.

“I’m not hungry.” You repeat to no one in particular. Just talking because you’re nervous as hell and you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you.

“You have to eat.” He says, and finally you look at him.

He’s watching you, those blue eyes more ice-like tonight because of the décor that surrounds him, but for once he doesn’t look like he’s angry. His face is carefully controlled. A small curios tilt of his head as you stare at him and say nothing.

“Bucky!” Sharon exclaims. “Pepper’s here. Let’s go say hi.”

She smacks his arm and moves around the table to head over towards Pepper, escorted by an adorable Morgan wearing a bright red dress with tulle for days. She doesn’t look happy about it.

“I’ll be right back.” Bucky tells you, and you turn to watch him get up and refasten the button on his front and move after Sharon.

Left alone, you feel yourself beginning to relax. Maybe tonight won’t be so bad after all, right? Bucky doesn’t like you but he’s not hating you either. Sharon is as nice as always and Sam as attentive, but you know he’s only fussing because you got shot.

You’re beginning to wonder why he’s taking so long with that plate of food—not that you want it but you’re getting lonely over here—when you look around towards where he disappeared to and spot him chatting up one of the girls from accounting.

She looks absolutely flustered and it makes you smile. Good for her.

You scan the crowd, looking for Sharon and Bucky to see if they might be on their way back and find them standing with Pepper, Morgan in her arms.

They’re chatting pleasantly for a moment before Happy leans in to say something to them.

Sharon looks confused, Bucky a little nervous.

Happy points up above their heads and your heart drops.

Sharon and Bucky look up to find a cluster of mistletoe strung up above their heads, nestled between two large silver baubles.

Happy holds out his hands, shrugging, but clearly enjoying himself.

Pepper is also smiling, all of them finding the moment utterly entertaining.

Look away, Y/N. You try to tell yourself, but your eyes are glue and your heart is pounding.

You try to swallow but your mouth is too dry, and your throat is clogged up. A lump the size of your fist settled right within it.

You watch as Sharon grabs Bucky’s bicep and leans in towards him. He leans in too, faster and much more eager.

They kiss.

You’re shattered.

As they pull away quickly, Bucky reaches up to wipe at his lips with his fingertips and cautiously seems to glance your way.

He sees you watching and stands up straighter.

You look away, rising to your feet as quickly as you can and move around the table to head straight for that metal door.

“Y/N!” Bucky calls but you can’t stop now. Not with your heart in your throat.

The quiet of the hallway is welcome and you hurry towards the first door you see and pull it open. Inside the conference room, the blinds are drawn, and no one will be able to see you in here. The long black glass table and the sterile silver rolling chairs that line it are familiar, but you really wish you were in your room right now.

This place gives you no comfort.

You look up, spot another set of large glass doors and sigh, knowing that there might be some comfort out there.

They lead to a balcony, a small one, and as soon as you move out onto it, cold winter wind freezes you.

It bites at your skin, harshly drawing your attention away from your aching heart pain.

The wind whips your hair, making a mess of the careful style you’d tried to put it in.

Shutting your eyes, you sigh once again, hoping that this ache…this broken heart will mend quickly.

All of this started as a lusty dream. A quick bit of desire conjured up when you’d walked in and spotted Bucky sitting on your desk.

How had it grown into something more meaningful? Why do you have to like him?

The sound of the door opening turns you around and you see Bucky look inside. He nearly turns to leave when he spots you on the balcony outside.

He stalks towards you, feet stomping on the floor. He throws the balcony door open and lumbers towards you with intent before wrapping his right arm around your waist to pull you tight against his body.

His metal hand takes hold of your bicep and he pulls you to him roughly as he leans down to kiss you hard.

Startled, for two seconds all you can do is stand there as his lips move against yours, warm and wet. When his tongue slides along your bottom lip, you melt into him and shut your eyes to finally return his kiss.

His metal hand tightens, and you pull back, “Ow.”

Confused, he looks at you, then his hand as you curl that shoulder up.

“Shit.” Bucky exclaims. “Sorry. Fuck.”

You laugh. “Ow…”

He releases you and looks at the spot where you’re shot and watches as a small patch of red begins to grow.

“Damn it. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I…I forgot.” He explains.

He meets your eyes and he seems to regain whatever determination made him pull you to him so hard.

“It was mistletoe.” He explains. “That’s why I kissed Sharon.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you run?” He demands.

“Because it sucked.” You explain. Duh!

“I’m sorry.” He sighs. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Y/N.”

“Me too.” You nod.

“I only want you.” Bucky sighs, reaching up to caress your frozen cheek.

“Me too.” You smile.

The side of the Tower suddenly flares to life with millions of tiny Christmas lights, bathing the two of you in warm yellow light.

You both admire the sight for a minute, appreciating the beauty.

“Merry Christmas.” Bucky says, drawing your eyes back to him as he wraps his arm around your waist tighter.

“Merry Christmas.” You tell him, smiling as you lean in to kiss him again.

“I love you.” He sighs, stopping your advancement as your heart nearly bursts through your chest. “Be mine?”

You laugh once, giddy beyond belief. “Yes.”

Bucky smiles.

“I love you, too.” You promise, and he pulls you in for a kiss, this time carefully avoiding your wounded arm.

“Well it’s about damn time!” Sam says, both you and Bucky stopping with your lips barely touching to look over at the large balcony doorway.

“No kidding.” Sharon says, smiling at the two of you with a smug little smirk. “Good call on the mistletoe.”

Sam smiles proudly. “They needed the push.”

You glare at him, feeling a little spiteful at the hell you just went through to find this heaven.

“Excuse you?” You warn.

“Oof, I mean, dance, Agent Carter?” Sam asks, offering Sharon his hand as he selectively avoids your angry gaze.

“Uh…yeah, good idea.” She takes his hand and lets him lead her back inside.

Bucky chuckles but reaches up to take hold of your chin and turn you to face him once more.

“I’m gonna have to buy him a better present.” He laughs, then leans down to kiss you silly.

The end.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky christmas fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fanfiction #christmas fanfiction #marvel christmas #sam wilson #sharon carter

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queen18xo · 3 years

Text

The Cat And The Wolf

Chapter Five

This chapter contains torture and non-consensual kissing, if that makes you uncomfortable or triggers you please don’t read :)

Julian releases a pained groan as he comes to, static buzzing in his ears, his eyes flitting beneath the fluttering eyelids. The first thing he notices is the rough exterior of rope biting into his flesh where it's twisted suffocatingly around the skin of his wrists and ankles, preventing him from moving. The second is a familiar baritone voice frantically calling his name. Geralt's voice is rough and gravelly, the depth vibrating through Julian, setting his rising panic at ease.

"G-Geralt,'' Julian slurs, his words sticky and slow, his tongue heavy in his mouth, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears.

As Julian's eyes blinked open, he was greeted by suffocating darkness. Even with his mutations it was a struggle to see anything of note about where they were. There was dry dirt beneath his bound hands; he could feel as the dust crumbles beneath his fingertips. He could see the warm glow of Geralt's eyes, their unnatural luminosity illuminating the darkness as they remained steadily trained on him.

Julian continued with his observations, ignoring Geralt's presence for the more pressing issue, which currently was finding an escape route. The Wolves of Kaer Morhen were used to blunt force; it was unlikely Geralt had thought of anything other than fighting his way out. However, Julian was a Cat, Cats were cunning, and they were fast, he would get them out of this with minimal damage, he had to, Geralt couldn't get hurt because of him.

"You forgot something when you ran," Valdo sneered, his mouth turned up unpleasantly, his voice making Julian shiver. The Cat's blood freezes in his veins, his back straightening stiffly, his muscles contracting beneath the ropes keeping him bound. Julian growls defensively, his lips curled up, baring his sharp canines.

The out of tune clang of his lute being tossed onto the dirt floor caused the Cat to flinch, his face scrunched up in a wince as the piercing noise resonated through the still air surrounding them. "You used to sing so sweetly, do you sing for your Wolf the way you sang for me?" Valdo purred, slipping two thick, grubby fingers beneath his jaw.

"Don't touch him," Geralt snaps his chest rumbling dangerously, warm golden eyes flicking to Julian’s. Julian lifts his head in defiance, refusing to be cowered by his ex-mentor, his blue eyes shining with conviction as he keeps his eyes trained on Geralt, the older Witcher unknowingly bringing him comfort.

"You would sing so sweetly, my sweet Jaskier," Valdo whispers, his vile breath fluttering across Julian's chapped lips. Julian groans, his stomach rolling with disgust. Valdo dug his fingertips painfully into the meat of Julian's cheek, applying a crushing pressure to the Cat's lower jaw, the bone creaking beneath his punishing grip. Julian stifles a distressed whine as he feels the bone creak and bend beneath Valdo's fingers; his forehead glistened with a thick sheen of sweat as he fights the onslaught of pain threatening to break him.

"Useless, you were always so useless, nothing more than a pretty toy, hmm." Julian pulls his gaze from Geralt's meeting Valdo's dull, slitted cat eyes, his own eyes hardened by a steely determination. Valdo pulls himself from Julian’s space; he stands close, leisurely brushing the dirt from his trousers. "Tell me, does Geralt use you the way I did?" Valdo smirks watching as the determination in Julian's blue eyes falters.

Julian thrashes against the ropes restricting his movements, the ropes tightening and sliding wetly against around him as his delicate skin breaks beneath the abrasive material. "Leave him the fuck out of this, Valdo," Julian growls menacingly, the cold warning tone causing Geralt’s hairs to stand on edge.

"Oh dear, little kitten," Valdo tuts with mocking sadness, his eyes glinting with amusement in the dimly lit cave they were being kept in. Valdo's fist connects heavily with Julian’s already purpling cheek, Julian's head snaps to the side before dropping limply as the Cat whimpers, cringing as he feels the velvety trickle of his blood falling from his lips. He can feel as the cold air brushes the split skin and blossoming bruises across his abused cheek.

His apologetic, watery blue eyes meet Geralt's, the older Witcher's chest aching as he sits uselessly watching Julian fight against the pain. Geralt's sharp canines bite into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, the sharp points easily tearing into the supple, pink flesh. The scent of Geralt's blood in the air is imperceptible as it mixes with the metallic tang of Julian's. Julian's blood oozes sluggishly from his lips, painting them red, the droplets of crimson darkening and dampening the dry dirt beneath the Cat. The steady sound of dripping blood pierces the silence. Geralt's heart beats heavily in his chest as he watches Julian's head hang limply, the rhythmic drip of blood connecting with earth unsettling him.

The toe of Valdo's booted foot violently connects with Julian's ribcage, a deafening snap ringing out through the darkness. Geralt cringed, straining against his bindings, furiously trying to break free, desperate to prevent Julian any further pain at the other Cat's hands. Julian screamed out, the first noise of distress to escape him, his vision blurring as a searing pain burnt through his chest.

Valdo stepped closer, leaning down he gripped Julian firmly by the throat holding his body inches from the ground, Julians bound hands clawing uselessly at the man trying to break the crushing grip on his throat, His breaths leaving him in wet gasps. "You're nothing but a whore Jaskier," Valdo spat, globs of his saliva spraying across Julian's reddened face. Valdo dropped Julian to the floor, his injured body colliding harshly with the unforgiving ground beneath him.

Geralt watched on in horror at the vindictive treatment Julian was enduring, knowing a weaker man would've broken already. Valdo tangled his fat fingers in Julian's messy hair, ripping his head back, exposing the vulnerable flesh of his throat. Julian whimpered brokenly under the rough treatment.

"Has he seen you like this Jaskier?" Valdo whispers, his vile breath fanning across Julian's cheek, causing the young Cat to retch. The rough pad of Valdo's tongue connected with the flesh of Julian's throat, the older Cat licking a thick, possessive strip across the man's flesh.

"Don't be jealous." Julian snarks, his voice shaking as he strains against the man's violent grip. Geralt bites back the urge to scold the young Witcher for escalating the situation; he struggles to keep his eyes on the scene before him, his heart constricting painfully in his chest seeing Julian abused in such a disturbing manner. The way Valdo touched Julian, showcasing a familiarity with the young Cat’s body that leaves an unsettling pit to form in Geralt's stomach, the older Witcher fighting down the urge to retch.

"I have nothing to be jealous of darling, you've always been mine," Valdo chuckles darkly, he grips Julian's bruised face in his large hands holding him firmly in place as Julian fights against his hold. The man pulls Julian into a bruising kiss, his tongue forcing itself past his still lips. Valdo pulls away from the abused man, a thick string of saliva still connecting their lips. Valdo pushes Julian away, moving off in search of something.

Julian's body slumps tiredly against the solid stone behind his back, his shoulders sagging in defeat as he keeps his ears trained on Valdos retreating steps. He focuses his eyes back onto his surroundings, unable to meet Geralt's searing gaze, shame curling in his gut as he fights back a broken sob.

"Julian," Geralt whispers gently into the silence; he watches the way the cat's body strains to avoid turning to him. "Julian, talk to me please, what can I do?" Geralt asks his voice thick with guilt for being unable to comfort the young man twisting sharply at his insides.

"I'm fine Geralt," Julian's voice is shaky and tight, his usual sweet tone now croaky and rough from the bruising that coats his flesh and the strain caused to his vocal cords from pained screams. Both Witchers freeze, the sound of returning footsteps bringing their conversation to a halt. Geralt flicks his gaze to Julian; the young Cat couldn't possibly hold out against the violence for much longer, Geralt struggled uselessly against his bindings, praying his brothers had realised they were missing.

Valdo walked straight for Julian pushing his drooping head harshly back against the rough wall, the smaller man groaning tiredly as the back of his head connected with the concrete wall. "Arse," Julian growled his blue eyes meeting Valdo's with a rage Geralt hadn't expected from the Cat.

Valdo laughed. "There's my boy, thought I'd lost you for a moment there Jaskier." Valdo reached out a hand stroking against the Cat's abused flesh; in his other hand, Geralt could see a short blade glinting in the dim light shining from the cave's entrance.

"Not your damn boy," Julian growls, twisting himself away from the older man's touch as he fought down the acidic sting of bile rising in his throat. Valdo grabbed a fistful of his hair, preventing him from pulling away. He twisted Julian's head until his fiery blue eyes met Geralt's worried golden ones.

"Think your Wolf is going to save you?" Valdo sneers, forcing Julian to face the Wolf Witcher. "Or maybe daddy will save you again?" Valdo chuckled, his lips brushing against Julian's cheek. Geralt felt a growl rising lowly in his throat at the man's words. "Oh wait, he's dead." Valdo's laugh echoed loudly in the barren space he was holding the two Witchers in.

Sadness flashed briefly in his eyes before being replaced with a calm fury, Julian's blue eyes stormy as they met Geralt’s, the icy look sending an involuntary shiver through Geralt. In an instant, Julian had ripped his hair from Valdo's grips, his jaw clenching against the searing pain in his scalp. He twisted his head, his mouth opening wide before biting down hard on the flesh of Valdo's wrist. The man screamed out, blood dripped from the corner of Julian's mouth as his canines pierced the man's flesh. Valdo easily knocked him away, his face twisted into a grimace, Julian leant back against the wall, a feral grin splitting his face as a drop of blood rolled past his lips. Julian's shining blue eyes met Geralt’s, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the younger man, the feral gleam in his eyes setting his blood alight.

"Fucking feral brat," Valdo marched over to Julian a wicked smirk on his face and an almost proud gleam in his eyes. With a firm hand on his knee, Valdo plunged the sharp steel edge of a dagger into the meat of Julian's thigh; he closed his fist around the hilt, twisting the blade further into the flesh. Julian threw his head back; his bottom lips pulled between his teeth, his eyes clenched shut, his fringe sticking to his sweat-dampened forehead as he remains perfectly still despite the agonising pain flooding through his thigh.

"Julian!" Geralt croaked, his mouth moving before he could gain control of it, is bound wrists reaching out for the Cat. Julian's eyes flicked over to Geralt, his heart hurting as he noticed the broken look in the Wolf's eyes, Julian released his lip from his teeth, offering the Wolf a shaky smile of reassurance. He'd suffered through worse alone, with Geralt's unceasing presence by his side he could endure anything Valdos' sadistic mind could conjure.

"Don't worry Wolf, Julian here is a well-trained Cat," Valdo paused pulling the blade from Julian's leg, the wet squelch sickening as the flesh released the dagger. "I should know, I trained him." Valdo stated proudly as he trailed the bloodied blade down the front of Julian's shirt, leaving a trail of blood in its path. Geralt's lips twisted into a frown, various unrelated puzzle pieces, snippets of stories all meshing together to paint a disturbing picture of the kind of training Cats went through.

With an effortless flick of his wrist, Valdo's blade sliced through Julian's shirt, leaving the man bound and bare-chested in front of the two older Witchers. Geralt turned his eyes away, refusing to look at Julian's exposed skin. Despite his desire for the younger man he wanted Julian to bare himself to Geralt on his own terms not because he was forced.

"Well, that won't do." Valdo stomped over to Geralt; he dragged the Witcher by his long silver hair until the man was only inches from Julian's injured body, Geralt resolutely kept his eyes trained on the ground. "Watch." Valdo ground out.

"No." Geralt spat back, meeting the Cat's eyes defiantly. Valdo tightened his hold on the silver-haired Witcher, forcing the man's head further up, despite his restraints Geralt valiantly fought against the handle.

"Stop, Geralt, just watch, please," Julian sobbed begging the Wolf, his defiant demeanour finally slipping, unable to watch Geralt fall victim to Valdo’s cruelty. "Please Geralt," Julian whimpers, Geralt's sad eyes meeting his watery ones.

Geralt gives a slight nod steeling himself.

"Okay," he whispers shakily pulling himself from Valdo’s hold, his gaze slowly moving to Julian's bare chest. The dim light reflected off his torso, his pale skin marred with various scars.

"Now this is getting fun," Valdo knelt at Julian's side pressing the blade lightly against the toned flesh of Julian's stomach. "You remember the rules sweetheart?" Valdo asked in a mockingly sweet tone, Julian nods stiltedly in response, readying himself for the familiar sting of steel against the sensitive flesh of his torso.

Beside him Geralt gasped, his pupils blown wide, bound hands trembling where they rest against the dirt. Valdo drags the blade repeatedly against Julian's torso's soft flesh, the young Cat counting the cuts steadily, his voice barely more than a whisper. Blood steadily pools to the surface of each shallow slice left behind by the blade's sharp edge. Julian's icy blue eyes meet Geralt's he flicks his eyes down to the blade before tossing Geralt a subtle wink.

Julian has Valdo on his back in a flash of unexpected movement; blade clasped in his hands. He smirks up at Geralt, who sits staring slack-jawed at the young Witcher, his eyes shining in awe. Valdo squirmes uselessly beneath Julian's muscular thighs, the younger Cat smashing the hilt of the dagger violently against Valdo’s temple, the man's eyes rolling back into his head.

"Julian," Geralt whispers, hands reaching for the injured Witcher.

"Not now Geralt," Julian's voice is a strained waver as he speaks, he slips the knife's edge out of his palm, blood trailing down his dainty, still bound wrists. With his hand now round the hilt Julian makes quick work of divesting them of their bindings. "Fuck," Julian groans as searing hot pain floods through his leg like lightning.

Geralt's eyes land on the hole in Julian's leg that is still steadily oozing blood, alongside the various slashes across his torso. Without a second thought or a moments hesitation, Geralt sweeps Julian's lithe frame into his muscular arms. On slightly unsteady legs, he begins the trek back to Kaer Morhen Julian cradled protectively against his chest, the young Witcher's blood slowly soaking through his tunic.

"You brute," Julian slurs playfully as his vision begins to cloud, finally giving himself over to unconsciousness now that he is safely held in Geralt's caring embrace. Geralt watches as the younger man goes limp in his arms, his steady pulse a comforting sound in Geralt's ears as he gets them back to the safety of the keep.

#geraskier fanfiction #geraskier #the witcher #witcher jaskier #witcher geralt #torture #hurt jaskier #bamf jaskier

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nelllraiser · 4 years

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extermination | luce, blanche, winston, & nell

PREVIOUSLY: Plot Drop Page, Plot Overview

LOCATION: August’s Cave.

TIME: 8:28 PM

PARTIES: Luce Vural, Blanche Harlow, Winston Dane, Nell Vural

CONTENT: Sibling Death mention, Torture (briefly, as a treat)

It was time for one of the final steps before bringing Bea back to this world. Time to cash in on the sacrifice they’d decided on what seemed like forever ago in Bea’s necromancy clearing. Today would be August Thompson’s last day of freedom before they brought him in, and it was quickly coming to a close. Adam had given Nell the instructions on how to find the little rat, as well as set the stage for them, dismantling as many magical obstacles as he could with the genius idea of torple ooze when he’d been here to do recon. Now it was up to them. Nell had asked Blanche to cut the engine a fair distance from the cave August was meant to be hiding in, as there was no need to alert the man that they were coming. Even though he wasn’t a particularly accomplished caster, it would always be better to have the element of surprise. Adrenaline pumping, this wasn’t like Nell’s other hunts, the bounties she took and tracked to bring in for cash, this was personal. There was no talking as they approached the entrance to August's hideout, and as they neared the mouth of his pathetic hideout, she nodded to Luce, silently making sure her sister was ready to get the fire perimeter ready. Of course he’d been holed up in a cave. It was fitting for the filthy, cowardice worm he was.

The entire car ride over, Luce had sat in absolute silence, focusing on her breathing. Though the blood thrummed hot in her veins, the magic yearning to break free and destroy the earth around them, she had held it in check. She’d shut her eyes, practiced her meditation, and let Blanche drive them to the location Adam had given her sister. Adam. She never would have thought the frat boy hunter would be someone she felt indebted to, but here she was. She’d never be able to repay him for what he’d done for her, for her family. As they crept through the forest, Luce maintained her calm expression. She had to hold it together. If her magic went wrong, if her fire burned too hot, got too close-- August would be dead. And he couldn’t die, not just yet. Not until she’d made him suffer. Glancing over at Winston, she checked to make sure they were ready too. “Time to smoke out a rat.” She muttered under her breath before releasing her magic. Fire shot out from her fingertips, creating a semicircle of flames around the mouth of the cave. The flames weren’t high now, but with time, with power, she’d be able to create a wall of fire. He’d have nowhere to scurry off to then.

There wasn’t quite a word for how Blanche felt about August Thompson. Hatred was good, for what he did to Nell and for what ultimately happened to Bea, but it wasn’t exactly useful to focus on that as she cut the engine when directed. August was a means to an end - he deserved to die for what he had done, and his life could be used to bring back Bea. It was perfect, really. She was hot on Winston’s heels as they sped quietly through the forest on foot. They left the car behind, but it shouldn’t be too hard to drag the little worm back to it once they got their hands on him. Luce and Nell would distract him while her and Winston would go in and grab him. August likely wouldn’t go down without a fight and while she didn’t have magic or reliable telekinesis on her side, she did have acidic mace from Cece and her taser on her. Luce’s wall of fire went up, surrounding the perimeter to smoke the dickhead out. She swore in the distance that she heard some sort of shrill screech as they approached. Blanche scoffed. Worm boy, here they come. Blanche didn’t start worrying until she heard faint knocking sounds, like someone was rapping their knuckles hard on a wooden door. She paused, eyes narrowing in the darkness. “What the hell is that?” Blanche hissed quietly.

Watching the wall of fire explode around their target’s house, Winston swallowed and tried to keep their breathing even. A quick puff of their inhaler later and they were creeping closer and closer. They were well prepared with a variety of gadgets, the taser that they had been working on and even the hunting knife that Ariana had given them from Celeste’s collection. They weren’t sure why they needed a knife but it felt right. “I don’t know what the hell that was,” Winston paused as they listened for the knocking noise before it was joined by a shrill cry. Was that an old women? Winston wasn’t sure but they could definitely hear something. A sing song voice bouncing the wind. “Have you come to get me?” it asked playfully and then almost out of nowhere Winston spotted a small boulder the size of a basketball sailing towards Blanche’s head. “Watch out,” they shouted as they focussed on creating a barrier between Blanche and the boulder. A field of energy jumped to life between them and the boulder crunched against it with a crack before shattering into smaller pieces with a shower of dirt and gravel. “That was close, he’s got something here.” Winston said, looking around, the sing song voice and sound of knocking filling the air as they crept forward.

A smirk played on Nell’s lips as Luce’s fire sprang to life, blue flames reflecting in her eyes as she reveled in the fact that there was no escape for August now. She wasn’t nervous or scared, for she knew perhaps better than anyone the shortcomings of August Thompson. After being compared for most of their lives, it was hard not to. So no, she wasn’t worried about how smoothly this capture might go. Nell was eager to see the look on his face when he realized it was over, the way his fear would grip him as it dawned on him that he wouldn’t make it out of this, that he was a pig for slaughter. They’d make him hurt the way he’d hurt her, Luce, Winston, and Blanche. “His tommyknockers,” she said quietly as the things grew closer. It wasn’t all that much of a surprise to her, as they’d often been made to practice summoning together, and knew each other’s creatures of choice. So she’d come prepared, and quickly handed an iron dagger to everyone to help with the dispatching of the creatures. “We can make a path for you to get through to August, Winston,” she said as the hairless, wrinkly, creatures finally stepped into the light of the fires surrounding them and out of the maw of the cave, advancing quickly. “Happy hunting.” Then she was left to dodge a boulder that seemed to soar out of nowhere, rolling until her dagger was buried in the chest of a tommyknocker. One down, however many more to go.

“Of course that little piece of shit has Tommyknockers.” Luce grumbled, her hands outstretched, feeding the flames around them. She couldn’t lose her concentration, she had to make sure that the barrier remained secure. If August got through and escaped because of her, she’d never forgive herself. Concentrating on making sure that the flames continued to build and rise and burn, she watched as Winston deflected a boulder from smashing Blanche into the dirt. “Nice.” She nodded in their direction. As Nell pulled out her blade, Luce glanced over at Blanche. “Those fuckers don’t have nothing on us, but stay safe.” She said, not wanting the girl to get hurt. Blanche might have been able to talk to ghosts, but she was still just a human with no other major powers that could stop her from getting flattened by a boulder or stabbed by a knife. She didn’t want to be responsible for someone else getting hurt because of all this.

Blanche watched the boulder come soaring into her face, deadpanned, before Winston shattered it into pieces. If she got taken out by some wimpy ass tiny boulder, she was going to be so pissed. “Who the hell names a monster tommyknockers,” Blanche muttered, taking the iron dagger from Nell without a complaint. She looked to Luce, giving her a wry grin. “I’ll be alright, don’t worry about me,” Blanche promised. She felt the nervous tingle of adrenaline in her body, tingling under her skin as she stepped forward to sink the dagger into one of tommyknockers - sparring with Nell finally was paying off, it seemed. Or, hopefully. Maybe she was a little clumsy, but she could fare on her own from them, and long enough so Winston could get a path back into the cave to grab the little weasel. She planted her foot into one of their stomachs, sending it sprawling backwards - and then she felt it. A small burst of energy that she used to throw the teeny eyed hairless creature into another. Good. Good! And she didn’t pass out! But as Blanche rushed forward to start stabbing them, ducking under another flying boulder as she went. “Winston, go!”

As Blanche and Nell began clearing a path through something that they referred to as Tommyknockers, Winston forced themselves to choke back laughter at the name but sprinted off. The Tommyknockers were still pouring out of the cave and Winston jumped clear over the head of two before pulling out the knife that Nell had given them incase any decided to follow. They however seemed to have been kept relatively busy by their companions. Winston was glad that Nell and Blanche were here to keep everything busy and Winston was still incredibly impressed by everything that Luce was doing. That kind of magic would’ve knocked them out instantly. Hurrying into the cave, Winston followed it until the sound of the fighting behind them had faded away. There was a faint drip in the background that was almost too cliche for Winston to not say something, but there was no one to say something to. Instead, they reached up and whispered a quick spell. The runes on either side of their glasses glowed for a second before the lenses began to lighten and Winston could see much more clearly in the darkness. Night vision glasses were a cool idea, they just hoped it worked consistently. This was their first opportunity to really try them. Creeping forward, they began the search for August, who was apparently hidden.

Nell barely registered Blanche’s humor towards the creatures, far too focused on taking them out to take the time to laugh. She’d entered a mindset similar to that of the Ring or when she was after a bounty, but even more so sharpened, the stakes being much higher this time. As soon as one Tommyknocker fell under her knife it was on to the next, dodging rocks and the mangly arms of the summoned creatures alike as her knife kept finding targets, each kill making her bloodlust grow. She didn’t want these pitiful creatures, she wanted August. Somehow, in the middle of it all she managed to spare Blanche a prideful grin, still sharp with her desire to end this. But it was quite a ways Blanche had come with her telekinesis. Nell watched Winston disappear into the mouth of the cave, watching anxiously for them to return. For a moment the Tommyknockers stilled, the last of them pausing to join hands as their little bodies began to shake with effort. A low rumbling began, and slowly but surely, an avalanche of boulders began to fall from above. Shit. Instinctively, Nell dropped her knife, hands raising to the sky to form a shield-like dome not unlike the one she’d made when the Devil’s Gullet had exploded on her and Blanche. As each boulder hit and rolled off, it fell to the ground around them, spinning through Luce’s ring of fire to disappear.

Breathe, just breathe. Luce used her breathing as the tempo at which she set her magic, letting the flames rise and fall with every intake of breath. Sweat dripped down the side of her face as she lowered her hands to her side while the flames continued to burn. She didn’t need her hands to maintain control over the fire, she could hold it all the same. The flames continued to rise and burn, illuminating the mouth of the cave with their eerie blue glow. She watched as Blanche and Nell fought the tommyknockers-- her eyes growing wide as she watched two of the creatures go flying away from Blanche. The flames flickered a bit and Luce fought to maintain control. She’d ask about it later. Instead, she kept her eyes peeled, moving out of the way of boulders that flew towards her. It took every ounce of her concentration to maintain the five foot wall of flames, but this was the only way she could help. Shields and stealth, she couldn’t do any of that. But, she could keep August trapped here. She could make sure he couldn’t escape. “Nice one.” Luce called out to her sister with a nod of approval as the boulders went careening over the wall of flames. They’d get this son of a bitch. Then they’d be one step closer to getting Bea back.

“Oh shit!” Blanche could only gape at the avalanche of boulders. Nell too care of it instantly, her knife falling to the ground as the tommyknockers joined hands, vibrating with effort to keep the boulders coming. She saw that once before, way back in January. The official confirmation that Nell and the Vural’s were spellcasters. She shook her head, using her free hand to pull her trusty can of mace from her pocket. Flicking the cap off, she sprayed. Cece had been a gem, fixing Blanche up with another can of the deadly, sprayable acid. The concentration of the Tommyknockers broke as Blanche aimed for their eyes, the knocking sounds turning into wails, their voices turning into wails as the boulders slowly came to a halt. Their chained hands broke and Blanche scoffed, shoving the mace back in her pocket and taking her knife to one’s throat. Oh. Gross. Gross. Grossgrossgrossgross - her stomach churned Blanche shoved it away from her, disgusted. She would absolutely throw up, but like, maybe later. Definitely not now. “Ew, ew, ew!” She could fight these things for a while longer, but she cast a worried glance into the mouth of the cave. Should she go after Winston? Did Nell want to go after Winston? “Come on, Winston..” Blanche muttered, kicking another tommyknocker away from her. “Grab the little shithead and let’s go.”

Slipping through the cave, Winston was pretty sure that they heard an earthquake outside, but decided that it was more important to get August and to get out. They spotted them eventually, cowering at the end of the cave. He brought his hand up and looked at Winston. “You, please, help me, they’re psychopaths they’re going to kidnap me and kill me and,” Winston ignored August’s pleas. They knew that this wasn’t really the right thing. Killing someone in exchange for someone else wasn’t something that Winston could condone in their own head. But they didn’t care. They were taking control now. Winston fished in their pocket and threw a spherical object straight at August’s chest. It hit with a thud and latched on, seconds later thin wires exploded from the middle of the object as Winston forced the slender metal tendrils tightly around August, binding them in place. Fishing into their pocket, they slipped a ball gag into August’s mouth and secured it. Patting his cheek with a smile, Winston pulled him close. “August, I never knew you, we never met. But you fucked with Nell and you fucked with Bea, so I’m going to help them kill you and we’re going to bring her back. Then it’ll be like you never existed and the world will probably be a happier place for it.” Grabbing August’s skinny frame, Winston began dragging him from the cave, which was easier said then done because he was a little shit who wouldn’t stop wriggling and wouldn’t walk straight. “Uh, a little help, please.”

The avalanche finally came to a halt, and Nell released the magic of the shield, feeling it still sapping away at her energy. Blanche had done a lovely job continuing to cut their numbers as Nell kept the boulders at bay, and her pride surged once more. It looked like those sparring sessions with Blanche were paying off. She wiped at her brow, blood from her kills leaving a line on her forehead, and then she bent to pick up her knife once more. It was time to be done with these little gremlins. In a moment she’d retrieved the knives she’d given to Blanche and Luce, letting them join the ranks of the one she’d been using. She let her magic pool around her until it grew so bright that it was hard to look at, and promptly thrust it into the faces of the remaining Tommyknockers, stunning them in place. Nell ran on the heels of her magic, using it as a cover while she darted in, throwing a couple of the knives with enough force to pin the little shits against the rock of the wall. From there it was quick work to delve the last of the knives into their hearts, ending them then and there. As if on cue, Winston appeared from the cave as the light of Nell’s magic faded, and she nearly breathed a sigh of relief. But rage was quick to fill her once again at the sight of August, and she wasted no time in going up to the man Winston had gagged and bound before harshly kicking him between the legs, reveling in the way he crumbled to the ground in pain. “There we go. Did you miss us, Auggie?”

When Winston emerged from the cave, August bound, gagged, and trying to squirm away, Luce could feel her blood boiling in her veins. That little fucking bok çuvalı, thinking he could get away with this, that he could run off and pretend like he’d done nothing wrong? Cutting off the magic, the blue flames simmered and died down as she took a step towards him. The effort of it all had been immense, but she still had enough in the tank to walk. Watching as Nell kicked him between the legs, Luce bided her time. She had plans for August. Lydia still had her debt to pay and it was time for her to cash it. She didn’t know how the woman was going to help her get revenge on August and she didn’t really care. All that mattered is that she would. “Hey, August.” She growled from behind her sister, waving a hand at him. “Long time no see.”

Nell took care of the remaining gremlin things with swift magic, and right on time too. Paintings slightly, she squinted at Winston as they walked out with August bound and gagged. “Ouch,” Blanche said plainly, with a shrug. She bent to help get August back to his feet, though if she were being honest she wouldn’t have minded dragging him, letting his head hit every rock and tree branch on the way back to the car, but she was tired now and that would probably take a lot longer than forcing him to walk back to the jeep. “Come on,” Blanche grunted, shoving him forward. “We do not have all night.” The walk back to the jeep was relatively silent, save for the August’s feeble attempts at screaming. It didn’t seem to truly hit him that this was actually happening until Blanche unlocked her car. The beep caused August to dig his heels into the ground and Blanche to crash straight into him. Blanche scoffed, August’s muffled cries getting louder and louder until - He was sent straight to his knees with a long and violent zap and low wail of pain. She stared at him. And then did it again for good measure. Blanche looked down at him, unimpressed as she clicked the safety back into place and handed the taser off to Nell. She rounded to the trunk of her car, popping the trunk. “Do we want to stick him in here?” she jerked her thumb at the trunk. “I have blankets.”

Winston had made their threats. But they couldn’t help but wonder if they were really giving August enough of a hard time. Those fears were well and truly assuaged by the treatment that August got at the hands of Nell and Blanche. They hustled August towards the car and Winston slipped the trunk of the car open. “Well, considering that we can stick him in there and cover him with blankets, I’ll put a muffling spell on the trunk just in case anyone drives past.” Winston knew that they were going to need to get August from their cave back to the Vural’s without anyone seeing them and that seemed like the best way. “Get in,” Winston ordered as they shoved August into the car, “or my friend will zap you again.” That seemed to be more then enough encouragement for August and Winston slammed the door of the car shut as they slipped into the car next to Blanche. “He’s not going to get out of those wires without the magic key word and he can’t talk, Luce I’ll text it to you so he can’t hear it.” Winston said, already sending the message out to their group thread. “We should get going though, that made a lot of noise, those, Tommy…. Knockers.” It sounded sexual. Winston didn’t want to admit it but there it was.

“Does he deserve blankets?” Nell asked back haughtily, though the attitude was strictly aimed towards August. She still blamed herself for Bea’s death, but she could only emotionally beat herself up so much. Now that August was in front of her, another party that was responsible for Bea’s death, here was a physical being she could hurt, within reason, of course. He needed to be relatively intact for the ritual. She smiled sagely as Blanche tased August, looking to Blanche with shining eyes full of thanks as she was also handed the taser. Getting into the car, she made sure to place herself next to August, waving the taser in front of him for a moment with that same, jubilant and savoring grin. “Something to keep us entertained on the way, yeah?” she asked before jabbing it back against his skin, letting the electricity jolt through the sad excuse for a human. A soft chuckle fell from her as he convulsed again, relishing the feeling of finally having him in their grasp.

Watching as Blanche and Nell took turns tasing August, Luce stood behind them. She’d join in later. For now, they needed to get him out of here. They needed to get back to the house, where she’d make the transfer over to her car and drive him out to Lydia’s house. Pulling out her phone, Luce sent a quick text message to Lydia, telling her that she was cashing in her favor. “Doesn’t matter if he deserves them, I don’t want him knowing where I’m taking him.” She said and threw the blankets over his head. Settling next to Nell, she watched as her sister sent jolt after jolt of electricity into August. Luce’s fingers twitched at her side, small sparks of flame dancing across her hand. She wasn’t strong enough, not yet. But one day… Her hand curled into a fist at her side and she looked at August, at his squirming, twitching body, still struggling against the bindings. With a growl, Luce slammed her elbow into his back. By this time tomorrow, they’d have Bea back. By this time tomorrow, their family would be whole again. Three would be one again. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Kidnapping was a new one for Winston. But as with everything that they had learned and done in the last six months, Winston couldn’t help but feel slightly out of their depth. The idea that they were about to embark on a journey to do something that was fundamentally against the law of nature and physics and biology and in so many ways seemed counterintuitive was not Winston’s favourite. However, they were pleased with how well the tech magic had worked so far and they were also pleased that they could help their friends. If nothing else this looked like it was entertaining to Nell. Winston didn’t get involved in the abuse of August, it wasn’t their style. He was going to get his just reward soon enough. Winston was sure that their friends were doing a good enough job anyway. Making sure that August was securely in place, Winston adjusted the blankets before turning as they set off into the night. Only one thing left to do.

#wikedswriting #chatzy #ch:luce #ch:winston #ch:blanche #miss beasha #extermination

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