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enhypencores · 4 months ago

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Ni-ki X Y/N

Genre: Romance/Angst/ Fluff/ Hurt-comfort

Word Count: 4K+

Warning: suggestive, slightly angsty

Synopsis: relentless schedule and physical distance from his girlfriend has already strained his nerves. But when Ni-ki finally reunites with you after a long month, he is met with useless nagging instead of affection, pushing him over the edge. The harsh words he utters in the heat of the moment may cause severe consequences.

where a childish argument sparks up your silent treatment and a clingy—jealous ni-ki will do anything for your forgiveness.

idol niki x culinary student y/n

The room, seemingly more like the inside of a coffin, dwells in darkness and reeks of ancient pizza, boxes scattered on the dust-covered floor as evidence. You can barely walk without stepping against something grimy and viscous trickling down your bare feet as if protesting against your invasion.

It’s not like you want to proceed inside this filthy den where the air is thick with the stench of rotting food but unfortunate for you, you happen to have a boyfriend who lives in this atrocious environment. Your eyes catch the faint light of his small device in the bleak darkness, and you sigh in frustration as you finally manage to make it to his bed after dodging lumps of dirt, food and empty cola bottles.

He’s rolled over on his stomach with his back to you, a Nintendo switch in his grasp as he’s fully immersed in the game, vigorously pressing his thumb on the buttons.

Your heart almost softens at the sight, but you’re soon reminded of your surroundings as you feel the wetness pooling at the edge of his bed. Your fists clench in frustration, and you reach out to grab his blanket, flinging it off.

Brows knitting up, he turns, preparing to spew insults, assuming Jake has returned to steal more of his clothes. His jaw clenches shut, eyes widening in disbelief as he sees beautiful eyes blink down at him. He almost knocks himself off the bed, blinking in a daze. His lips curve up, a familiar warmth grazing his previously scowling expression.

“Baby?” Ni-ki rasps. Contrasting from his sharp gaze, his gentle tone which he only uses to address you, sparks butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t notice the scowl contorting your features— maybe too excited about seeing you after a distraught month as he sits up on his knees and yanks you down in his arms. Your chest tingles at the familiar warmth as his scent washes over you.

Despite the absolute disaster of a room, Ni-ki smells of soap and faint cologne, his damp hair brushing against your cheeks as he holds you tight against his chest. You know he only applies hygienic efforts to himself and not his surroundings.

You want to melt into his embrace and cling to his frame, but the surrounding wreckage snaps you out of it. You push at his shoulders, forcing him away to stand upright.

Now, even the darkness doesn’t hide the absolute disappointment written across your features as you stare down at him. “I come to see you, thinking, finally, I’ll spend one free night with my boyfriend watching a movie, but you’re here snacking and playing video games,” you pointedly accuse, your gaze narrowed in anger.

Ni-ki winces, used to your gentle and sweet tone. Uncomfortable, he straightens up, and you hear his scapula release a crack as if crying in relief. Your anger flares up more at the sound.

“Have you hibernated since the tour? Jungwon and Sunoo said they haven’t even seen you in days and they literally live here.” You fold your arms over your chest, aggravated.

Ni-ki breathes harder through his nose as he stands up, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. Yellow streaks gleam in the brown moss of hair, his gaze running over your face in silence. He hasn’t seen you in weeks, and the urge to drown you in hugs and kisses overrides your infuriated words.

“I missed you— come’re.” He tries to tug you close, but you block his embrace, turning away and trudging through the mess to flicker the lights on.

The abrupt flash of fluorescents makes Ni-ki squint, his lips pressing together and jaw tightening. You settle your eyes on Ni-ki.

Dressed in a grey hoodie and sweatpants, he appears incredibly frail and thin, jawline contorting as he watches you with narrowed eyes. You can’t help but grimace as you notice the eye bags weighing down his face.

Your gaze softens. He looks unhealthily thin and pale. Suddenly, you want to cook him his favourite yakitori, rice, miso soup and teriyaki sashimi.

Truthfully, you loved cooking for your boyfriend. Despite being tired after training, you always made sure to feed him since he called it the best Japanese cuisine, sprinkling in a ‘better than my mother but don’t tell her’ which always made you laugh.

As soon as his vision accommodates, he feels his heart stutter. You’re a sight for sore eyes, bangs falling against your fluttering lashes, plump lips downturned, and brows arched pointedly. Even when you’re irritated, you’re the prettiest.

Ni-ki begins to approach you, making sure to steer clear of the cans of energy drinks loitering on the floor.

“Stay where you are,” you huff as your gaze roams the expanse.

Now, you can clearly see the pizza boxes, tissues and ketchup packs scattered on the floor; clothes and baseball caps that should’ve been in the laundry basket ages ago balled up in the corner of his room; PlayStation wires hanging down the television trailing across the centre, looping over the listless cola bottles.

“Ni-ki, this room is a disaster. Clean it up,” you command, your voice firm and unwavering.

His smile falters, fists clenching as he feels fury bubble up his throat.

After getting done with the hectic tour, Enhypen is finally awarded a break from activities— a two-week long break before he is pulled back into long practice sessions which last till night passes into dawn, till his muscles cry out in torment, till his body craves nothing but the softness of your curves. But of course, you had a job— much like him, and despite his desire to get you to himself, he knows you are a social butterfly, and your heart belongs in the culinary world. He hates this capitalist society and despises your company and his own for overworking you both.

Late-night calls and once-a-week encounters are his only getaway from the draining schedule.

But even these once-a-week encounters when he can recharge are now infected with your anger.

“Can’t you at least greet me with a kiss like a nice girlfriend before turning into my mother?” He snaps, glaring daggers as he watches you grab a few of his jackets from the floor to fold.

You roll your eyes, leaning down to pick up more of his clothes, folding them keenly before setting them on the edge of his bedding.

“I’m heading out to cook. Clean this place up,” you ignore his tantrums, speaking firmly before shifting away to leave.

As he watches you turn away, he feels his blood pressure rise, head pounding in disbelief at the sheer audacity of your actions.

You come to him after what seems like forever, and still, your love for him is less than your love for the arts. He’s certain even if you reunited with him after years, you’d prioritise your passions and leave him to master some fucking expensive caviar recipe you learned from a Russian chef in culinary school.

“Y/N, get back here right now,” he speaks through gritted teeth, and you pause in your tracks, taken aback by the sudden bitterness.

Chest heaving, he approaches you, heat pumping through his pale skin, painting his face red.

Closer than ever, he towers over you, making you feel so small. His eyes are narrower, sharp as a blade, cutting through you as he stares down. For a moment, you think he’ll knock you to the ground, but you see him shake his head, waves of fury coursing through his frame.

“Do you ever fucking miss me?” He utters with so much venom that he shakes with the bitterness of it.

You wince. Your lips part in horror. You want to say something, but the words have dissolved on your tongue.

He waits for a moment and then cracks a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, running fingers through his strands in a frenzy. “Of course, you don’t. Ten days or ten months, why would you care?” He sarcastically rasps. His words reverberate against the walls and slice through you.

Pure rage fuels through your veins, and you edge closer. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I finished up all my training to hurry to you, but I see you holed up in this stinky dorm room playing video games—” You choke up.

“Don’t show up then!” He shrieks with resolution, eyes widening purposefully. He turns away and kicks at the pile of bottles blocking his path, unleashing his wrath on the inanimate objects. “Get out! Leave me to rot in this stinky dorm!”

The room immediately goes eerily silent.

Except Ni-ki hears the shill thumping of a pulse above his ear, indicating an incoming migraine. His body feels like it’ll burst with how tumultuously the anger and frustration bubble inside his blood. He can feel the heat shoot through his arteries and collect at the back of his pupils. Distressed, he shuts his eyes and rubs a hand down his face as the ache begins to pound within his entire head.

And then, the walls mock him, reverberating the words spewed out of his mouth just a second ago. Like someone’s toppled a bucket of ice over his head, his breath hitches with realisation. He whips around, intending to fall to his knees and kiss your feet for forgiveness.

His jaw tightens.

He meets your absence.

In a fit of rage, he didn’t see your face crumble, lips tremble; he didn’t hear the sniffle and shuffling as you walked out— away from him.

He can count the times he’s unleashed his anger upon you on a single hand. Usually, he holds back, knowing that whatever was to come out in a fit of rage was absolute bullshit.

“Don’t show up then!”

“Get out! Leave me to rot in this stinky dorm!”

He groans, fisting his hair in disbelief. How dare he use such words towards you? Ni-ki fumes and curses himself. He begins to frantically pace when he stumbles against the empty boxes and cans piling up. Suddenly, he feels the urge to throw himself off the Han River.

Of fucking course, you’re right.

It looks like a bunch of apes ransacked his room, dirt and clothes scattered with food and soft drinks spilt on the grimy floor. This isn’t liveable. How did he spend weeks cooped up in this nightmare— he’ll never know.

Ni-ki determinedly leans over and collects the clothing items, hanging his jackets on the rack while folding his shirts and jerseys to keep in a neat pile. He grabs a pack of tissues, dampens them from the bathroom sink and uses it to scrub off the dried juices from the floor.

While gathering the pizza boxes and tissues, he discovers Jake’s long-lost tie under his bed. He grabs the vacuum cleaner from his storage closet, plugs it in and runs it over the remaining crumbs and dust. The machine’s groaning only further riles up his migraine, pinching the nerves in torment; however, Ni-ki is determined to make this place spotless— worthy of your presence.

Two heads poke out from behind the door, lured by the blaring sounds of the machine. Sunoo’s eyes widen, and Jake’s jaw drops at the sight.

“Do you see what I see?” Jake whispers, scared the fantasy would shatter if he spoke any louder, staring in a daze, watching as the younger boy lay on his stomach to push the vacuum under the bed till it scraped the other end.

“Nishimura Ri-ki cleaning? I see it,” Sunoo confirms, blinking rapidly.

“Hell, this must be the end of the world,” another surprised voice joins the duo, and Jake and Sunoo look up, confused at the third intrusion. Heeseung stands towering behind Sunoo’s head, peaking inside with wonder.

Ni-ki simply ignores them, extra concerned with scrubbing the place clean to quickly find his way to you. Gradually, the lair becomes a civilised room with breathable air. Ni-ki lights up your favourite vanilla-scented candles and inhales deeply, observing the expanse.

Primarily, his room was pretty sleek with a tenebrous elegancy, grey curtains, light-toned carpet and a chic black couch custom-made from Japan, all chosen to his liking. The side table carries some figurines and a pile of his favourite manga collections. In the second drawer, he likes to store hair ties, skincare products, and plushies so he can convince you to have a sleepover every time you visit. Even his wardrobe lingers with your presence. Once, when Ni-ki caught Jake wearing a hoodie that still smelled of you, he pounced on him and ripped it off the petrified Australian. From then on, Ni-ki forbade any member from touching his things. For extra precaution, he still separated specific items you liked, sparing a section to all his hoodies you wore.

Ni-ki runs a hand over his messy hair, patting down his pants and hoodie for any dust before heading out of his room.

The hallway is now perturbingly empty, and the adjacent doors to his room are shut. Ni-ki hastens inside Sunoo’s room, usually finding you seated and binging shows. Instead, he discovers Sunoo on his PC, watching some romantic anime. He dashes off and checks Jake and Heeseung’s room, but you’re nowhere to be found.

A surge of panic courses through him, thinking you’ve really left. He hastens down the hallway, stopping to check the guest bathroom (also empty) and dashing down the stairs.

As he hurries down the last step, his frantic gaze roams the expanse before pausing at the open kitchen. He freezes, his foot hanging over the previous step. His heart swells with relief.

Thank fuck, you’re exactly where you belong—right before his eyes.

With denim sleeves rolled up and hair clipped in a messy bun, you’re immersed in stirring the pot, looking absolutely ethereal in your element. Ni-ki’s breath stutters as he admires you in your own little world.

When you stepped into a kitchen, no amount of distractions could shift your focus. It was one of the things he loved about you: putting a little of your heart into everything you do. But it was also something he disliked about you. If everything in the world takes a little of your heart, what’s left for him?

He gulps down the burning sensation, reminding himself of his earlier stupidity. He kicked you out of his room.

God, he wants to smack himself so badly.

Carefully, Ni-ki takes calculated steps towards the kitchen. And like he predicts, you don’t notice, too consumed by whatever was in the pan. He sneaks up from behind and stands beside you, purposefully brushing his shoulder with yours to make you wary of his presence.

You freeze and spare him a glance. And then he notices the immediate grimace and frown weighing down your beautiful face. His heart drops further into his stomach as you look away, attending to your recipe.

He nibbles on his lower lip. He suddenly feels nervous. His palms itch, and his chest tightens with discomfort. His gaze lingers on your face, yearning for your attention. He internally begs for you to speak— shout— maybe even curse him out. You don’t do any such thing.

Instead, you wash the rice and toss some diced green vegetables in the pan with chicken bits, stir-frying it together. He leans forward, sniffing the steaming chicken, gulping down the tightness in his throat.

He finds his voice. “Teriyaki stir fry— for me?” He tries to sound optimistic, but his voice is weak with tension. His pretence is crystal clear.

Silence. Pin drop- deafening silence. It’s supposed to be good for his migraine, but your silence just makes the throbbing sensation concentrate even more, so much so that he feels a gruesome pain stir up in his neck.

His frustration mounts as he sees you turn away to wash the dirty dishes in the sink.

The silence begins to kill him. Agitated, he grabs at your shoulders, whirling you in his arms. You gasp as your palms flatten against his chest to steady yourself.

You glance up with wide eyes, and his gaze immediately softens. “Say something,” he urges, browns of his eyes drained with yearning.

His touch on your arms sends pleasurable ripples down your body, but you don’t make it known. Instead, you offer him a cold, obstinate expression, your mouth sealed shut in stubborn rage.

He feels pathetic as you look at him with steely eyes before pushing away and returning to wash the dishes. His gaze narrows in frustration. His fists tighten as a horrifying thought plagues his mind: the thought that you’ll give him the silent treatment till his last day in Korea, and he has to fly out before he gets to fix this.

Just the thought of leaving you makes him lose it.

Distressed, he bites his lip and fists his hair.

Think. Think. Think.

He spots the searing chicken, and suddenly, everything plays out before him. He envisions you coming to him with the food. You’ll have to talk to him when you give him his lunch.

He restrains a smile and waits for you to get done, arms folded over his chest as he leans against the kitchen counter, watching you intently.

Soon, you return to the stove and empty the pan on a clean plate. You scoop the rice from the cooker and serve it with sophisticated chef-like precision. You have a knack for presenting any dish—even something as simple as instant ramen—as if it belongs in a Michelin-star restaurant.

His mouth waters as he stares at the heat simmer. He can already taste the juices in his mouth. And then he patiently waits.

Your gaze roams the living room as you hold up the tray. His bashful smile widens as you approach him.

And then both his smile and heart drop when you walk past him towards the hallway— in the complete opposite fucking direction to his room. His jaw tightens as he rushes behind like a lost puppy, his confusion mounting as he sees you approach another room—Jungwon’s room.

The door is answered immediately as if he had been awaiting your arrival.

Jungwon’s smile widens, shaking the bangs out of his sight, his dimple peaking out charmingly. “I told you this wasn’t necessary, Y/N,” he chimes, but he stares at the scrumptious platter, licking his lips in excitement.

As you walked out of Ni-ki’s dorm, wiping tears from your eyes, you bumped heads with Jungwon, who instantly noticed how upset you appeared. He knew you were the most in your element whenever you cooked, so he brought up how badly he craved your stir fry. And that was all it took for you to work your magic.

God, Ni-ki was so lucky.

If Jungwon had a girlfriend as caring and talented in the kitchen, he’d probably lose his mind and devour everything you cooked like a ravenous beast.

“You said you were hungry, so I thought I’d cook you your favourite.” You give him an adorable smile, handing him the warm tray.

“Thank you, our lovely master chef!” Jungwon compliments, and you giggle softly at the nickname.

The sound makes Ni-ki sick. Your breathtaking smile directed towards someone who isn’t him makes him nauseous. The plate carrying flavours you created for someone else to devour makes him burn with resentment. The food that took so much effort to make intended for another member and not your fucking boyfriend makes Ni-ki violent. He’s never hated the sight of your food before today.

As you walk away, ignoring his presence, he hears a dull ringing in his ear. The bubbling frustration and anger have started to take a toll on his body.

It was questionable how ten hours of practice, sleepless nights and continuous shows didn’t make him this ill. But you have the power to bring him to his knees.

Jungwon notices Ni-ki standing motionless by the wall and meets his eyes with confusion.

Worst fucking mistake ever.

Predatory eyes, murderous—poisoning black holes stare him down. It doesn’t help that Ni-ki’s taller, and Jungwon shrinks, his mouth drying up in voiceless horror. Ni-ki steps forward, and Jungwon gulps, suddenly forgetting that he’s older.

Ni-ki grabs the chicken and stuffs it in his mouth. The threatening glare is enough for Jungwon to shut his mouth before Ni-ki marches away.

When Jungwon recovers, he notices only bits of capsicum and onion with plain rice remain.

Fucking Nishimura Ri-ki downed all the steaming chicken in one bite.

Jungwon withholds a groan and slams his door shut.

Meanwhile, you’re back in the living room, answering a phone call from a friend, fretting over the recent assignment. While you’re explaining it to her, you notice a towering presence behind you, his familiar cologne invading your senses even before you can turn to inspect the intrusion.

You ignore his presence, clarifying the assignment’s nuances. You assume he’ll tire out and leave to his room— the one he kicked you out of— eventually, but your breath gets caught in your throat when he grabs your wrist, jerking you close.

Your words morph into a screech of horror as Ni-ki effortlessly hoists you up on his shoulder. You’re upside down, screaming and throwing a tantrum as the phone escapes your grasp, a shrill scream of defiance leaving your mouth. You try kicking him, but he takes determined steps towards the hallway.

In a frantic haze, you catch sight of Sunoo and Jake standing in their doorway, peering to inspect the commotion. You scream for help, and for a second, you think Sunoo’s about to jump in to save your ass, but as if he’s seen a ghost— he freezes in his tracks. His fearful gaze lingers on Ni-ki, and he edges back inside, offering you nothing but an empathetic smile.

You want to curse the cowards out, but by the time you find your voice, you’re already inside Ni-ki’s room, and he’s locked the door shut. He takes you to his bed, then gently sits you on the bedding.

With your blood boiling, you can’t even meet his eyes. You attempt to reach the door, but he clenches your wrist and pulls you back. Consumed by violent rage, you punch his chest.

He takes it—without even a change to his breathing and remains blocking your path like a wall.

One. Two.

Three. Four.

By the fifth one, your fist hurts. You look up in distress.

Finally. He breathes.

You finally spare him a glance.

He feels the burden on his chest lighten, his tense frame easing as you finally spare him your complete attention— unfavourable attention but better than feeling like the discrete air that passes by.

“Give me any bruise you want, curse me out— I beg you, just don’t do this to me,” he’s stuttering, his voice low and brittle as he tries to suppress his fears.

Whenever Ni-ki sulks, his small eyes go round, and his lips pucker unintentionally. You almost falter at the sight, but his earlier words itch your insides, and you rip your wrist from his grasp in resentment.

“I would rather be anywhere else than in your fucking room.” He winces at the cruel tone, his eyes flashing with hurt as you attempt to walk off. Panic-stricken, he pushes down on your shoulders until you’re dropping onto the sheets.

Immediately, he drops to his knees and grabs your hand, pressing his lips to the back in soft kisses.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, and you feel his lips quiver against your skin. He trails kisses around until he’s peppering them in your palms.

“I’m a fucking moron— I’m sorry,” he chokes up and presses his entire face inside the warmth of your hands. You feel dampness.

Your heart throbs in torment.

“This is your room before it’s mine,” he mumbles and kisses your palms repeatedly. “You were just being your caring self—helping me get my shit together. I— I missed you so badly this month. I haven’t stopped thinking of you since the day I left,” his voice cracks.

Unknowingly, you’re also crying. You realise when wetness trails down your cheeks, and you tremble as emotions overwhelm you.

You lean down and caress his hair. “I missed you too, Riki.”

He feels a tug in his heart when you call him his real name, his chest suddenly tightening as he recalls just how terribly he missed you. And then how awfully he treated you.

He looks up with watery eyes, hair falling against his vision, and his insides shrivel in defeat. He hates your tears. Realising he’s made you cry over his stupidity, he wants to throw himself off the roof. A burning ache pools within his chest.

He releases a groan, wiping at your tears persistently.

“I’m sorry too,” you cry, and he wishes he could really burn himself alive.

“Why the fuck are you apologising?” His eyes burn with restrained anger.

He wishes you’d scold him and call it a day like any normal fucking girlfriend. But you’re his girl, insanely warm and disgustingly understanding—to him, always.

“I know I should’ve wrapped you in my arms before lashing out about how dirty the room is,” you admit, your lips pressing together with guilt. He’s watching you with confused anger as if he wants to refuse everything that escapes your mouth, but you eagerly complete your words.

“I just hate how badly overworked you are. I hate not seeing you for months. And I hate how you can’t be a normal nineteen-year-old like me. I know you aren’t some careless guy throwing a tantrum. You’re struggling to breathe in this rigorous world of stardom where one slip-up means the end of your career, where you cannot be anything less than perfect.”

As you talk about his struggles, he feels a tighter knot begin to clog his throat. Discomfort ceases his chest, and his eyes burn. His chest heaves with unspent tension.

You sniff and wipe at your cheeks. “And I guess walking into this room reminded me of your struggles. And then, I noticed how thin you’ve become— and wanted to cook you some—”

He gets off his knees, pouncing on top of you, his mouth clashing against yours in a passionate kiss. You tumble back with his body pressing down in desperate urgency.

Your breath is caught in your throat, lips frantically trying to match his intensity. His kiss dries your mouth; it’s so demanding and urgent like he’s getting to breathe air after ages. His tongue invades and intertwines with yours, sucking vehemently on your tongue for your taste. You’re a moaning, panting mess as his hands hold down your waist. He squeezes you in his hold, pushing his tongue deeper into your mouth like a depraved man.

You push at his neck defeatedly once you feel oxygen run out. He groans into your mouth, indicating his displeasure, but relents when your nails dig into his neck, forming painful crescents.

His face hovers over yours, heavy breath lingering against your gasping mouth. Impatiently, he stares into your eyes like he wants to transfer some of his energy and resilience to your body so you can let him kiss you however badly he wants. Magically, even his migraine has started to dispel— and his chest feels lighter. He also wants to smile and laugh like a lunatic and kiss you till your mouth bleeds.

The tension in your frame thickens as he rubs his nose against yours, still eyeing your heaving, flushed frame in yearning.

Warmth colours your cheeks, dried tears blinking along your lashes. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He drags his nose against your cheek and drops a noisy kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“But whatever it is, it doesn’t excuse feeding hyung before me.”

You’re confused and ready to argue, but he’s already latched his mouth onto yours, attempting to make up for all the past time. After all, he still needs to put his hands everywhere and remind you of his touch, sulk because you cooked for Jungwon, plead for ramen with tofu to stuff himself full, convince you to sleep over and feed him all night.

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peachsukii · 5 months ago

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₊✩‧₊ ⎯ peach fuzz coming back from patrol one day, bakugo decides to take the alley behind the agency instead of the front entrance, only to find a little surprise waiting for him.

content // late 20s. pro hero/support tech married couple. bakugo finds a kitten in the alley behind the agency & you beg him to keep it. fluff.

wc // 0.9k

『 k.bakugo masterlist | caramel & champagne series 』

It wasn't unusual for Bakugo to blast his way to the back of the agency building and drop into the alley way, out of sight to strip off his heavy gauntlets before going inside. He's done this hundreds of times, taking the time to dust off any grime he's collected during his shift before trekking to his private bathroom in the basement of the building. It was easier than taking the front entrance and being blinded by obnoxious camera flashes - or worse, getting dirt in the lobby.

Bakugo sets his gauntlets down beside the door, turning his back to the darkness of the alley way. He's shaking out his gloves, ruffling the soot out of his hair, and brushing off debris from his pants when he hears one of his gauntlets topple over with a gentle thump. It's enough to startle him, considering they're literal bombs, and make him jump from the sound. Who the hell knocked it over? He was alone...well, at least he thought he was.

He kneels down and peeks inside when he hears a soft mewing noise, confused as all hell and thinking he knocked something loose on the way back, maybe a gasket leaking pressurized air. But no, it wasn’t the mechanism itself making the noise, it was what crawled inside of it - a cute little orange kitty, nestling into the warmth of the bracer.

“What’re ya doin’ in there little guy? Where the hell did you even come from?” Bakugo talks aloud to himself, looking up and down the empty alley. “Scared the shit outta me.”

He sighs, preparing himself for the desperate begging you’re about to throw his way when he tells you what he found. Uncharacteristically, he’s feeling…giddy about your reaction. Growing up, he never had the chance to have pets and you two have talked about adopting a cat recently; what are the odds you manifested this happening?

Pulling out his phone, Bakugo clicks on your name in his contacts - you answer in two rings.

“Hey ‘Ki! What’s up?”

The sounds of machinery drones on in the background, your voice somewhat echoing after each word. He presumes you threw him on speaker phone while working.

“Heya peach. You got a sec? Come to the alley behind the agency - and bring a towel.”

You’re lost on what the hell he’s on about. Was this code for something? You two had specific locations for…ahem, privacy. The alley wasn’t one of them.

“Uhh,” you pause, wiping your the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand and putting the wrench down on the work table. “Okay, be there in a minute.”

Bakugo hangs up and slides his phone back into the pocket of his cargo pants. He takes a seat on the gravel next to the gauntlet, peering in again to check in on the kitten. Beady amber eyes meet Bakugo’s, tangerine ears perking up accompanied by a teeny roar before blinking a few times, stretching and hopping back into the alley. He pads over to Bakugo and crawls into his lap, curling up and purring as he tucks himself into a tight ball.

“Little shit, you’re not helpin’ my case here. Peaches is gonna take one look at ya and get all misty eyed,” Bakugo chuckles as he gives the kitten a light scratch on the head. The way the little bastard purrs louder at the touch makes his heart explode.

Goddammit.

You swing the door open and spot Bakugo sitting across the alley, soft smile tugging at his lips. He motions to look in his lap, one hand now cradling the kittens head as it snuggled into his palm.

“Shut the hell up,” you whisper-yell, eyes wide as saucers while you crouch down, shuffling over to him. "Where did you find him?"

"Dunno, he must’a walked over when I wasn’t looking. Fucker snuck into my gauntlet while I was brushin' dirt off before goin' inside. Gave me a damn heart attack."

You point to his hand and can't help but squeak with excitement. "Aww, he must like that your hands are warm! Wonder how long he’s been out here."

Bakugo takes the towel from your shoulder and tosses it into his lap, pulling it over the kitten like a blanket. He looks back to you, and as predicted, your eyes are glassy and full of love.

"Sooo," you hum, cheesy smile plastered across your face. "Does this mean⎯"

Bakugo rolls his eyes with a huff. "Y'don't have to ask, sweets. We can keep him ⎯ after we get him to the vet and get him checked out, 'kay?"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" you exclaim, kissing his cheeks rapidly and squeezing his shoulders. "What should we name him?"

"Little shit has a nice ring to it," he jokes, laughing to himself. "How 'bout Phoenix?"

You take Phoenix from Bakugo and scoop him into your arms. He doesn't stir awake, just yawns drowsily while you snuggle him closer to your chest. Phoenix...perfect.

"Call Cheeks or Pinky, one of them will get ya the number to their vet," Bakugo says while getting to his feet, helping you up as well. "One that doesn't have the stupid ass media chasin' you to the front door."

You stare down at Phoenix, counting all his precious whiskers and white stripes through his clementine fur.

"He'd look just like you if we get him a green collar!" you comment, snickering when Bakugo's cheeks flush. "Don't worry Kats, I still think you're cuter."

Later in the day, Bakugo found himself at one of the local pet stores, shopping for everything the two of you would need for your little addition. When he passes by the collars, a forest green one happens to be the only one left on the shelf - go figure.

He picks it up without a second thought.

#☆.rei writes #✩.caramel&champagne #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo fluff #soft bakugou #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader fluff #bakugou x y/n #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia fluff

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catastrofriend · 3 years ago

Note

how about a “God, I love you.”

okay i did a lot in this one but i think it's pretty cute if i do say so myself

AO3 link

----

Ortega’s being stupid. Again. You’re starting to think he does it on purpose. He’s got that silly smile going on (it’s so bright he is so bright what have you done he’s so happy and because of you?), and that sparkle in his eyes (up to something, no doubt-–he’s always up to something). And now he’s catching on to your staring and he’s only going to get worse. God, what a mess you’re in.

You turn away from him, making the conscious decision to put him out of your head, just the vague buzzing of static at the back of your neck, and look around to where he brought you for the first time.

“It’s not much,” he said when you arrived, and sure. It’s just a couple big leafy trees providing some cover in the otherwise open space of grassy, not quite flat, countryside. But you can breathe here. Properly breathe, almost feel the dust and dirt from the city leave your lungs one exhale at a time. There’s nearby sounds of birdsong, further away farm life. The skies are cloudy but even they feel freer, more open.

And you, like the idiot you are, sat down on the blanket he spread out for you both, and started looking only at fucking Ortega. Stupid fucking face. There’s grass with dew still on it to look at, there’s shapes in the clouds, there’s birds in the sky, there’s the trees. And you do love the trees.

They’re the old, gentle kind. If you ever were a kid, you could have climbed in there, and felt safe enough, like if you fell, the branches would move to catch you. If it weren’t for your legs, you might have tried anyway. Disappear into the canopy for a little while and be truly free. Maybe the tree wouldn’t catch you, but Ortega would try, and honestly, that’s close enough.

Talking about Ortega catching you, he’s moved closer since you started ignoring him. He’s sitting more or less behind you now, one hand on your hip, inviting you to lean back against him. He’s always waiting for you, these days. You look back at him, just out of the corner of your eye, and he flashes that smile again. Almost makes you wonder what he’s hiding behind it, but that’s for another time, another place. That’s a thought for fucking cities and heroes and villains and poison air and too many people around, and you’re here to enjoy the quiet. The peace.

(Which he breaks.)

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. You already knew but it’s nice to hear it again. You are, too. But you might as well milk it.

“Here, as in, at your mom’s? Or under this specific tree? Or—”

He pulls you back against him, which shuts you up. Kisses the top of your head.

“Yeah, all of those. Any you can think of. But also…”

“... Alive?”

“Yeah.”

The thing to say here is ‘me too.’ And you think it, sure, you already were thinking it. But instead:

“It’s real pretty here.”

And he:

“You’re real pretty here.”

You laugh, louder than expected, louder than you planned, startling a couple nearby birds who had apparently decided you weren’t a threat and are now changing their mind. Not that you really notice the birds anyway. You’re already busy turning to face Ortega, your arms on his shoulders, around his neck, no, you want to put your hands on his cheeks, to kiss him. You allow yourself to be enthusiastic about it for once, there’s no one here to see it anyway. He keeps one hand behind him for support, but the other wraps around your lower back, pulls you closer, tighter. He makes a sound, maybe starts to say something, but you don’t give him the time or space. You tug at his other hand, let him fall back, you’re holding his hand now. It’s important.

For a split second, you’re distracted, thinking about how you wish you had more hands, and he starts talking. He’s so stupid.

“Leigh, what are we doing?”

“What does it look like we’re—oh shut the fuck up.”

You kiss him again, leaning over him, on your elbows, and this time, you won’t let him or the concept of more hands distract you. Kiss your way along his jawline, down his throat, use a bit of teeth on his collarbone and now he’s making a sound again but not to talk or stop you. So you do it again.

He tugs you back up, nose to nose once again, and kisses you again, an arm around your waist and one behind your head, locking you in place. A more effective way of saying this is exactly where he wants you, and you’re more than happy to oblige. Suck at his bottom lip, drink up his eagerness as he is undoubtedly basking in yours. Don’t stop the kiss until you’re both out of breath, and honestly, even then, you’d rather not. Stop, that is. But there’s only so much you can do in public even if you had managed to keep up the mental blast of just two people making out a bit in a secluded corner of nature.

You sit up, look around, the coast is still clear, check your clothes (he’s already straightened them out on you). You can feel him looking at you, feel him about to say something and fuck, it’s perfect. Right now is where you want to stay. Just this quiet moment, except you’re still catching your breath, the skies above cleared up a little, sunshine breaking through in places, lighting up patches of grass in yellow. You gesture at him to shut up, and he takes your hand in his, kisses your fingers. Every little crook and scar on them. It takes his eyes off your face, and finally you can allow yourself to look back at him.

“God, I love you.”

You say it so quietly, you barely hear yourself. You don’t think he has, either, he’s just moving on to your ring finger. His eyes are almost closed, looking down at your hand. He feels… old, all of a sudden. More fragile than you usually see him. Softer. Like there’s a filter in front of your eyes, showing what it could be like, after. When he doesn’t have to be the hero anymore. When he can let himself grow soft, round out his edges. When he can stop trying so hard and just be.

You really want to be there for it.

#fanfic #fhr #fallen hero: retribution #oc: leigh bennett #ortega #ricardo ortega #sidestep #pix writes

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luna-redamancy · 4 years ago

Text

Kili x Female Reader (Safe and Sound)

Summary: After a believing he almost lost you, Kili decides he needs to be as close as possible to you.

Note: Combining my angsty thoughts and the imagine: “Imagine being Kili’s first time” by @thefandomimagine so this fic is 18+. Please do not read if you are a minor. Also! Thank you @legolaslovely for helping me find the link to the imagine

“Kili!” You shout out as you search the silent battlefield. You prayed each time you turned a dead dwarf over that it wasn’t Kili’s dead eyes that were going to look back at you. Remembering Dain explaining the plan to take Ravenhill and kill Azog, you felt sick. “No…” You mumbled, beginning to race up the snowy rocks to Ravenhill, just hoping to avoid the worse case scenario.

“Kili!” You called out again, your eyes beginning to blur with tears as your senses were overwhelmed with the sight of the blood, the sound of snow crunching beneath your feet.

“Where are you, my love?” You whimpered as you carefully maneuvered around dead goblin bodies.

“(Y/n)!” Kili yelled out, searching for you through Dale, desperately wanting to hear the sound of your voice calling back to him.

“Kili?” Bofur called out, relief in his voice. “You’re alive!”

“Where’s (Y/n)?” Kili demanded, the feeling of losing his One overwhelming him as Bofur’s face turned grim. “We haven’t been able to find her.”

“Where have you not looked?”

“We have been searching everywhere, Dale was the last place we haven’t searched.” Bofur explained, a frown settling deep on his face as Kili felt tears rush to his eyes.

“No… She must be somewhere.” His tone was convincing, mostly trying to convince himself to banish the thought of you laying in a pool of your own blood, crying out for him in your last moments.

“She must be... “

As the sun began to sink behind the clouds, you shivered, clutching your jacket closer to you as the icy winds began to whip your skin.

Deciding to give up for the night, you began to return to Erebor, your knees protesting your movement as you felt the soreness of the battle finally taking you in its clutches; Your adrenaline wearing off.

“I will find you.” You vowed, looking across the plain of dead bodies one more time, the only reassurance you gave yourself was knowing that he wouldn’t want you destroying your health by trying to find him.

As you slunk into Erebor, you sighed at the sight of the warm fire in the entrance. Not even making it all the way inside, where you heard the Company members talking, you sat next to it, basking in the warmth that began to thaw your cold fingertips. You weren’t ready to face the Company just yet, the looks of pity when you would tell them that you couldn’t find Kili, or the angered look of Thorin that you weren’t still out there looking.

Sighing again, you took off your boots, popping your toes before stretching them out.

“Kili, you must rest. (Y/n) wouldn’t want you to kill yourself trying to find her body!” Fili tried to persuade Kili to stay inside, to get a good meal and rest before going out to search for you again.

“She’s my One, I must.” Kili’s voice had a tone of finality to it, removing his brother’s hand from his shoulder. “I know you are concerned, brother, but I must.” Kili’s eyes almost began to tear up again as he thought of you sitting out there, just waiting for him to find you and bring you home. Injured, unable to move.

“Okay… Just take a thicker coat and a torch at least,” Fili compromised, smiling sadly when Kili nodded.

“I will.” Kili lied as he left the dining room, his pace quick as he raced to the entrance.

“Alright (Y/n)... You can’t hide up here forever,” You told yourself as you began to put your boots back on, knowing you would have to tell at least Bilbo that you were okay.

Hearing footsteps, you looked toward the sound, “Bilbo is that you?” You called out, not getting up from the floor just yet.

Kili stopped in his tracks, your voice melodic in his ears as tears began to spring in his eyes. You were alive.

“(Y/n)?” Kili called back, racing up the steps to find you.

“Kili!” You cried out once you saw his face, dirty with blood smears and developing bruises, but alive.

Scrambling to your feet you raced toward him as he did the same, bringing you into his arms as he buried his face in your hair. “Oh bless Mahal…” Kili cried, holding you tight as you buried your face in his neck.

“I thought I lost you,” You sobbed as you clutched onto him, fearing that you'd blink and he’d be gone.

“I thought the worst when Bofur said they couldn’t find you,” Kili whimpered as he inhaled the scent of your hair, trying to force himself to recognize that you were truly in his arms.

“I’m here,” You cooed to him, pulling away slightly to cup his cheek, “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” You promised, your eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his lips against your own. The sweet moment was interrupted by the sound of your stomach growling. Having been searching for Kili all day, you never had time to eat.

“We need to find you something to eat,” Kili’s tone was laced in concern as he led you down the stairs to the dining room where the rest of the Company was.

“You’re alive!” Bofur yelled out, glee on his face as the Company began to cheer at your safe return.

“Alive but starving,” You joked as Kili pulled out a chair for you to sit on. Sending him a smile you sat down, only to frown as he scurried away, stinging your heart in the process.

“Where were you all this time?” Bilbo questioned, wanting to know all about where you were like a concerned mother. “I was looking for Kili,” You explained, “I couldn’t find him anywhere.”

“And we couldn’t find you,” Fili pitched in. “Seems like we were going in circles around each other,” You tried to give a light laugh, only for it to sound sad and heartbroken.

Looking around for Kili, you felt your frown deepen as the urge to go find him struck you again. You felt as though you were going to question your own sanity, if you were perceiving reality correctly and Kili was truly alive.

Your thoughts were silenced as Kili came back into the room, carrying a plate of food and cup of water for you. Relief filled you, banishing your anxiety as Kili sat next to you, his thighs touching yours as he placed the food in front of you. “Here you are,” He pressed a kiss to your temple causing a small smile to form on your face.

“Thank you,” You turned your head to kiss his cheek before beginning to eat, feeling his hand travel to hold the one you weren’t using to eat. Rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, Kili’s brow furrowed, indicating he was deep in thought.

Squeezing his hand back to provide reassurance, you blew on the steaming piece of potato before putting it in your mouth, chewing with a smile when Kili squeezed your hand back.

After having your full, you pushed the plate away as Kili took that moment to press kisses to your cheeks. Reaching to cup his cheek, you laughed as dirt flaked away from his cheek. “I think we both could use a bath.” You suggested, to which he agreed with you, noting the grime on your arms and face from battling and then searching for him for hours on end.

Bidding a goodnight to everyone, you two left the dining room. Once you were out into the hallway, Kili lifted you up bridal style in his arms, causing you to squeak in surprise before beaming at him as he carried you down to a room that Thorin appointed to the two of you.

Kili laid you on the freshly made bed, having to completely wash all the bedding when they got to Erebor before they could use it. Once Kili pulled away from you, you developed that feeling in your gut again, the feeling of losing him. Reaching out to grasp his hand, he turned to you confused, but once seeing your expression his expression softened.

“I’m right here,” He cooed, reaching to put a piece of hair behind your ear. “I just need to go fill the basin,” He explained, pressing a kiss to your lips before you release your hold on him, letting him leave to the bathroom to fill the tub.

Nodding, you focused on the sound of the water filling the tub, the beginning fragrance of lavender filling your nostrils. Before you knew it, he was back, leading you to the bathroom and carefully disrobing you.

“Did you get injured anywhere?” Kili questioned, keeping his eyes trained on your face as you became bare before him. “I think I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing too serious,” You explained, seeing the concern on his face. “It was a war, Ki… We were both going to get hurt no matter how hard we try to avoid it,” You reassured him, moving closer to lightly thud your forehead against his.

“I know... “ He sighed, “I just never want to see you in pain,” Kili mumbled, rubbing his nose against yours. Smiling, you gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. “I know,” You repeated his words, “I am the same way,” You murmured before pulling away to let him undress, moving to step into the tub.

Sinking into the hot water with a hiss at the stinging of your cuts, you let your eyes wander across the cuts on Kili’s skin. “Anything we need to get Oin for?” You questioned as he too sunk into the water. “I just need you,” He responded, tugging you into his lap.

Grabbing the wash cloth, you dipped it in the water before rubbing the soap against it until it became a foamy lather. Instead of responding, you began to wash down his neck and chest before rinsing it and pressing a kiss to his collar to show him you were here, and that you weren’t going anywhere.

Kili slowly pushed you away, indicating for you to turn around and lean your head back. Grabbing the small cup, Kili began to scoop water onto your hair until it became soaked enough for him to wash it.

Letting out a sigh, you sunk into his hands as he lightly massaged your scalp before rinsing your hair once more.

“I love you,” You broke the comfortable silence, barely realizing now that the last thing you told Kili before he separated from you wasn’t your love for him. He could have died and never got to hear those words again. Feeling tears come up to your eyes again, you wiped them, grateful that your back was to him.

“Menu tessu, men Iananubukhs (You mean everything to me, I love you).” Kili responded, the same realization hitting him as he pulled you closer to him, his vision becoming blurry as he pressed kisses into your skin.

As the two of you finished bathing, the air felt tense, like you both were waiting for something to happen as you dried off and laid in bed.

Looking to Kili, you found him already staring back at you. Becoming overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, you leaned forward and captured his lips in yours with a sense of urgency, his hand reaching up to hold the nape of your neck, the other to grasp your waist and pull you closer to him.

As the two of you kissed, Kili rolled on top of you, wanting to be as close as possible to you.

“I love you,” He murmured as he began to pepper kisses down your jaw and neck.

“And I love you,” You responded as he began to mouth at the swell of your breasts.

“Wait,” You stopped him, lightly pushing on his shoulders causing him to freeze and snap his head up to look at you with a panic you’ve never seen on his face before.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned, pulling off of you like your skin was stinging him.

“I know this would be your first time Kili, are you sure you want to do this? With me?” You questioned, wanting to be one hundred percent sure that he was aware of what he was about to do.

Kili frowned slightly, leaning forward to bump his head against yours. “I love you, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life, amrâlimê.” He began before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“I want to memorize every part of you, engrain you into my memory…” His words made your heart catch in your throat, realizing he meant that if he ever lost you, he would want to remember you.

“Kili…” You murmured, not quite having your voice after a statement like that, causing him to give you a soft smile. “I want to make love to you, (Y/n), will you allow me to do so?”

Not trusting your voice anymore, you nodded, giving him a toothy grin as he returned it with one of his own, capturing your lips in his once more.

He broke off the kiss to drag kisses down your chest once more, his eyes catching yours for permission as he reached your breasts again, waiting for you to give him the okay to continue. Nodding, you threaded your fingers in his hair, lovingly scratching on his scalp as he gave you a nervous smile, kissing your chest once more before taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

Kili decided to use your sounds as a way to gauge whether he was doing this correctly or not, his eyes flickering to your face constantly to see if you were okay as he played with your breasts, your moans being a symphony he wanted to hear every night if he could. Switching to the next stiff bud, he licked at it teasingly before enveloping it with his mouth, your pleasured sigh making his heart race.

“Kurdel (Heart of all hearts)” You heard him murmur, making your heart flutter as he kissed down your ribcage, to your stomach, and to the top of your mound.

“Sanâzyung (perfect pure/true love)” He mumbled into your skin, taking note of every (freckle, bump, beauty mark, stretch mark) and battle scar that littered across your skin. “So beautiful,” He commented in common tongue, before looking up at you, “Is this okay?”

Nodding you let out a nervous laugh. This wasn’t your first time, but the way Kili was treating you definitely made you feel like it was.

“Definitely,” You realized he was waiting for a verbal cue before he nodded, flicking his tongue out to lick his bottom lip as he spread your outer lips. “Wow….” He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but his response to his first time seeing a woman’s parts made you laugh, covering your face as your chest shook with your laughter.

“Wow?” You questioned him, as he blushed and hid his face in your thigh, laughing with you. “You know I’ve never done this before,” Kili teasingly glared at you, his joking personality coming back for a brief moment.

“Teach me how to please you, Uzfakuh (my greatest joy).”

A blush rose on your face this time, letting out a nervous laugh, realizing his hands were still holding you open. Reaching down with your own hand, you swirled your finger tip around your arousal before bringing it up to your clit and rubbing it slowly, a pleased moan leaving your lips.

“This is the special pearl,” He commented, making you laugh once more while nodding, “The clitoris, yes,” You nodded again, before pulling your hand away.

Kili furrowed his brows for a moment before looking at you mischievously, taking a bold move and licking a thick stripe up your slit. “Oh my goodness,” You gasped out as he began lapping at your sex.

“I thought you said you’ve never done this before!?”

“Oin made me read lots of interesting books when he found out we were courting,” Kili winked at you before getting back to his ravishing of you.

His tongue became stiff against your clit, lapping at it up and down with a quick succession, making you grip at his hair once again.

“Kili!” You called out in a warning tone, but that was lost out in the sound of your moaning, your orgasm quickly approaching as he gathered some of your wetness with his thumb, rubbing circles over your clit as he removed his mouth.

“Can I try putting a finger inside?” He questioned, curiously, causing you to flush, remembering that he is indeed a virgin.

“Yes,” You murmured, not being able to focus clearly while he was bringing you to the brink of your orgasm.

Returning his mouth to your clit, he began sucking as he slowly slid a finger inside of you, pumping it experimentally before sliding another in. Feeling you tighten around his fingers, Kili took that as a good sign as your moans grew higher in pitch.

Trying to pull his fingers out of you, Kili furrowed his brow when it felt like your pussy was keeping them in, wiggling them to try and get them out, he froze when you released a loud moan, his fingers coincidentally brushing over your g-spot as you came on his face.

“Kili!” You yelled out as he kept sucking on your now oversensitive clit, “S-stop,” You gasped out, lightly pushing at his face to shut your legs from his eager lips.

“Did I do a good job?” He teased, wiping some of your juices off his face.

Laughing you laid back on the pillows, “I find it very hard to believe you learned that from books…” You murmured as he slid in between your legs to rest his head on your chest. “I followed your lead,” He mumbled back, pressing a kiss over your heart before resting his ear over it, the sound of your heartbeat soothing him.

Stroking his hair, you sighed happily before he shifted, causing you to notice the hardness between your legs. “Now we need to take care of you,” You flushed as you spoke, feeling the girth of him against your thigh.

“We can wait--” Kili’s words died in his throat as you began stroking him.

“I want to feel you, Kili,” You captured his lips in yours once more with a passionate kiss, the words ‘I almost lost you’ flaring in your head over and over as you lined him up to your entrance.

“Do you want this?” You stopped yourself from being selfish, needing to know he still wanted to go through with this.

“Mahal… Yes,” Kili confirmed as he propped himself up above you, his braids dangling in your face as he slipped inside you, watching your face for any hint of discomfort as he bottomed out, your mouth opening in a silent moan as he stretched you.

Leaning down to give you a kiss, you sighed as his weight against you provided a much needed comfort after the day you both had, relishing in the feel of his skin against yours.

As Kili began to thrust, he kept his forehead against yours, zoning in on you and you alone as you maintained eye contact with him despite every fiber in your being wanting to shut your eyes and just feel him.

You needed to know he was there.

“My atamanel (breath of all breaths)...” Kili panted out as his pace sped up, chasing his release as you began to tip into the realm of having another one.

“Ki--” You moan died off as you came once more, your hands clutching at his back.

“I love you,” Kili buried his face in your neck as he pulled out to release on your stomach, remembering Oin’s voice in his head saying ‘once is enough to create a babe’.

As you both lay there panting, you looked to his exhausted face, finding him struggling to keep his eyes open. “I love you too,” You whispered as he pulled the blanket up over the two of you.

Pulling you flush to his chest, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’m never letting you go,” He murmured as your heart warmed at his words.

Tags:

Forever Tag-

@lady-of-lies @all-things-fandomstuck @fizzyxcustard @izzydaelleth @aquaangel18@raindancer2004 @love-colorfulglittercollection @underthemoon-n @ladylouoflothlorien @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @legolaslovely @bthtallmadge2 @abesottedlass @wilhelmyna @tigereyesf @aspookybunny

Kili tag-

@greennightspider @ashleygrrrl @skylarkvip @narnvaeron @queenofmankind

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hongism · 4 years ago

Text

mists of celeste ➻ twenty-four

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ word count: 6k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ chapter warning: depictions of an explosion in this chapter, as well as short mention of torture. please read with caution ➻ 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 three ➻ part six

You’re off the ship again today. Despite Hongjoong’s near breakdown yesterday, Seonghwa dropped by early in the morning to say that everyone had a day off to relax and recover. He and Hongjoong still had meetings to take care of, so even with Hongjoong’s insistence about a lack of time, he can’t do anything about it quite yet. Not until the end of his meetings today at least. Yunho was the only person excited to hear the news, and that’s only because he wanted to drag you out by the heels to visit the capital today. Something about seeing that festival he had mentioned to you before and showing you all the beautiful things Reinig has to offer? Said man is currently speaking to you, but his words go in one ear and out the other. You don’t intend to blatantly ignore him; something else occupies your attention, and that’s the white flakes falling from the sky.

Snow.

Some would probably be surprised to hear it, but you’ve never actually seen snow in person. Rain, hail, lightning three feet from where you’re standing – never snow. It’s something fascinating to you. The way it clings to the mask that’s tugged up over your nose and ghosts over your bare arms. It was probably a mistake to wear a sleeveless shirt, but you had to find a turtleneck that could cover the marks Seonghwa left along your neck days ago, and this was the only thing you had left in your drawers. Maybe it’s time to ask Jongho to wash your clothes for you again, but you had to do a full week of scrubbing the pots and pans he cooked burnt meals with, and that was a new form of torture in and of itself.

Someone – or something – catches hold of your hand, and you jerk to look up at Yunho despite him being on the opposite side of you. He blinks back with wide and confused eyes for several seconds before you realize that he’s not the one holding you. When you shift to the look to your right, it’s Wooyoung who smiles at you, his lips stretched wide and flashing his toothy grin.

“You looked a bit conflicted,” he says, tugging you forward and away from Yunho. The healer releases a small sigh but doesn’t stop Wooyoung from pulling you further into the streets.

“I was thinking about cleaning the dishes again,” you admit, and even though it sounds like a lie, it truly isn’t. Wooyoung scoffs.

“Don’t remind me. It’s my week to take a knife to the pan and chip off the burnt food.”

“You know, maybe if you chuck the pans out the airlock, no one will notice?”

“Jongho will whine about his precious pots and pans being gone. Since – what is it he says? The burnt bits give the food flavor?” Wooyoung grimaces a little, shaking his head. He still has a hold on your wrist, and you glance down to try to insinuate your discomfort with the prolonged touch. Something catches your eye before you can voice the discomfort though, and that’s a simple beaded bracelet over his tanned skin. You’ve never seen him wearing it before; the green and blue intertwined threads unfamiliar to you, along with the small beads running over the thread. Wooyoung catches your lingering stare and tugs his hand away from yours quickly. A breathy laugh falls from his lips. When he faces forward, you glance back to where Yunho walks alongside Yeosang, your stare settling on the latter of the two. He stares right back at you, lips set in a thin line. Rather than meeting that stare, you drop your gaze to his wrist and find what you assumed would be there. The same bracelet that Wooyoung has, only wrapped around his right wrist and not his left like Wooyoung.

“I, uh–” You start as you look back towards Wooyoung, but he cuts you off before you can finish the thought.

“It’s a charm for protection and good health,” he says under his breath. He gnaws at his lower lip, looking suddenly self-conscious and shy about the bracelets. “I was only gonna get one for Yeo, but… he got one for me too. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” you repeat. There’s no inquiry in your tone, but Wooyoung takes it as a question anyway and continues to explain.

“He just wants to protect me. He’d do anything to keep me safe.”

“The two of you are really close then?” You already know the answer to that question, so you aren’t sure what comes over you or why you need to ask it.

“Of course we are,” Wooyoung answers. His tone grows quiet, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile over his lips as he speaks again. “Before joining the crew, Yeosang was all I had, and I was all Yeosang had.” You squint at the man, eyes darting over the block of metal around his neck, then back at Yeosang, who doesn’t bear the same adornment.

“Wh-Why doesn’t he – you know, have… one like you?” You point to your own neck rather than Wooyoung’s, but the man understands what you mean regardless. Wooyoung’s smile melts into a gentle frown. Not in a way that shows any signs of discomfort or anger, rather just a frown where Wooyoung looks to the side and thinks for a moment.

“Yeosang had one at some point after he left the military and was branded a traitor, yeah. In order for me to break him out of jail, there was a cost. And that cost was me.”

“Wh… What did you do?” Wooyoung merely shrugs at first.

“The only thing I knew. I sold myself to free Yeosang. Freed only to be thrown back into slavery. Almost ironic, huh? But Yeo got dragged down with me and made a slave too, so… my plan backfired, I suppose.” You have more questions, more things on your mind, and more you want to know, but Wooyoung shuts that down in an instant without you even saying anything. “I’d like to forget those memories for now though, if that’s okay with you?”

“N-No, yeah. Um, yes, yeah, that’s fine.” Wooyoung nods back at you, a grateful smile playing at his lips, and you smile back even though he can’t see the grin behind your mask. The two of you stay beside each other despite the silence, and it isn’t anything uncomfortable – at least not for the time being. That is until Wooyoung tugs you towards a small stall near the edge of the road. You tug your mask down to take a deep breath of air and look over the contents in front of you. You pay no attention to the man behind the stall, just focusing on what Wooyoung is trying to direct you to, but the merchant’s voice pulls you away from Wooyoung’s.

“Well, aren’t you something special?” His eyes are too warm as they graze over your features. You respond with a sharp glare rather than words. “Your friend has a collar, but you don’t. Well-behaved, is it? You there, the blond! How much for the runt?”

The word hits you square in the chest, and you aren’t even sure why. The memory that hits you a second later explains it, but the feeling that washes over you makes you wish it had stayed in the dark.

“Fucking runt.”

A searing pain across your cheek. You can’t even look up at the officer who struck you, tears burning the corners of your ears, and all you can do it stare at the dirt in defeat.

“Don’t touch her!”

Jisung. Jisung? Why did Jisung come? This was your mission, not his.

“Jisu– no!”

The hand that just struck you comes down on Jisung next, knocking him to the ground with too much ease. It sends Jisung sprawling, and his body looks too much like a ragdoll for your liking. He sits up a second later, eyes flashing with rage. Blood trickles from his lip and browbone – a bit of the droplets catching on his long eyelashes – and he stares forward at the officer.

“I said don’t fucking touch her. You don’t own her, and she doesn’t belong to you. So hands off, you piece of shit.”

“She’s not for sale.” It takes a second for you to realize that the voice is real and not in your head, not Jisung’s, and when you glance up, it’s Yeosang who stands beside you. He glares forward at the merchant, hand pressed against the gun in his thigh holster. “And she’s not a slave.”

If only it were that easy and the man weren’t so adamant.

“Oh, come now. Don’t be shy! I’ll treat her well.” His hand darts out faster than you expect, and you brace yourself for an impact that never comes.

“I said she’s not a slave. Is that not clear to you?” You crack an eye open to look forward. Wooyoung has his hand in front of your face, blocking your line of sight with the merchant, and his gaze is so intensely melancholic that you freeze under it in an instant. His hand comes down gently on the side of your head. His lip waves up and down, a sign that he wants to say something, and he’s trying to say something but nothing comes out.

“I’ll offer triple the usual price for a female! Especially since she seems to have some meat on her bones! Double for the boy if he can handle some prostitution work too.”

“I’ll fucking murd–”

“Oh no! It’s okay. Really not for sale. No deal, no bargain!” Yunho interrupts as he pushes his way in front of Yeosang before the man can pull his pistol out. His hand closes around Yeosang’s right arm, reaching all the way around his body to grab onto him and keep him from moving further. “Neither of them are for sale, but thank you. We’ll just be going now.”

Yunho’s lips stretch into a tight smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, and he pushes Yeosang further away from the stall before the merchant can make any further remarks.

“You should’ve let me ki–”

“And cause a commotion? No. It’s fine. He didn’t touch either Y/N or Wooyoung, right?” Yunho shifts to look at the two of you, Wooyoung’s hand still pressed oddly against the side of your head. You turn to Yunho and pull away from Wooyoung, his hand slipping out and falling uselessly by his side. Yunho keeps waiting for a response from one of you, and you finally shake your head in denial. “See? Everything is fine, Yeosang.”

Yeosang doesn’t appear to believe the same. He brushes Yunho’s touch off and moves further into the streets. Wooyoung doesn’t even hesitate – he chases after the blond on quick feet, hand slipping into his with little effort and resistance, and their steps align. Yunho comes up along your side, one of his large hands folding over yours. You flinch at the suddenness of his touch and jerk your head to face him. He smiles back at you, grin soft around the edges, and his fingers slip between yours. He must notice the hints of confusion in your stare because he speaks up before squeezing your hand tighter.

“Seonghwa said this has helped you relax and calm down some before.”

“O-Oh,” you exhale with a small nod. You’re tempted to ask what else Seonghwa has told him – the nagging panic of wondering whether Seonghwa mentioned anything about your identity – but you keep your mouth shut and decide not to say anything else.

“You look like you didn’t get any rest,” Yunho notes as he starts tugging you along the streets. Your first instinct is to draw closer to his side, shoulder brushing his arm and your hands trapped between your thighs.

“A nightmare kept me up.”

You figured someone would ask about your haggard appearance and dark circles eventually, but you don’t particularly want to revisit the dream you had the night before. You have no idea where Seonghwa was last night; you didn’t see him after leaving the bridge. It would be a lie to say that you didn’t watch your door and wait to hear a knock on the other side, but it never came and you fell asleep alone. His presence was sorely missed in the Dreamscape. Your past’s ghosts refused to leave you alone, though you should’ve known something was wrong because of the way the moon was shrouded by dark and looming clouds.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Running. The memories of the dream are hazy, but you remember running through a dark forest as voices followed. All asking why you were running, but you don’t even know why you were either. And then Jisung appeared before you. He looked as though he hadn’t changed one bit in the past few years, with his gentle and rounded features and a soft smile sent your way, but that crumbled into a frown.

“Why do you keep running from the past? From me?”

You have yet to think about what that means. You aren’t even sure what you’re running from because it used to be an attempt to keep everyone out of your life rather than in it. Now that seems to have morphed into something else entirely, but what that something else is exactly still eludes you.

“No, I’m not even sure what it means,” you admit, bringing your free hand up to tug your mask back over your nose.

Except you think you do have an idea of what it means. Jisung’s confrontation in your dream sent you to the ground, except when you fell, there was no ground to catch you and you entered a freefall. The moon was suddenly before you, and you were falling from its red abyss, tumbling through the air with no direction or reason until you hit the black lake with a thud and a splash. You rolled onto your hands and knees, staring down into the water only to find that the reflection looking back at you wasn’t your own. It was Hyunwoo. And the second you saw him, your hands moved on their own and came to close around his throat, pushing him under the water. No matter how much you screamed for it to stop, it never did. And once he was dead under your hands, he looked up at you and blamed you for his death. So yes, you think you have an idea of what that dream meant, and the growing pit of guilt in your gut only furthers your suspicions.

“Well, if and when you’re ready to talk about it, I’m always here.”

“You need a better hobby,” you scoff, eyes scanning the streets as Yunho continues to tug you along.

“Unfortunately, my hobby is to make sure none of you keel over and die from exhaustion, so you get to deal with me a little while longer because of that.”

“Disappointing.” You huff out a sigh again and glance up at the sky to watch the snowflakes fall from a new perspective. Against the glittering lights of the festival, the snow seems so bright and cheery. Warm, almost, despite its naturally cold state. The shouts and yells surrounding you aren’t ones of panic or pain either; all hold a joy and happiness that feels a bit foreign to you. You squeeze Yunho’s hand tighter as though it’ll provide some comfort, and it does when he returns the squeeze with one of his own. “You said… your mother used to bring you here?”

“Yes,” Yunho replies, a soft smile playing at his lips. “There’s always lots of families here. Like… one calm day in the year.” He pauses to look down at you. “It’s nice to come here with the family I got to choose and not the one I was given.”

“Yeah, that’s…” You trail off, unsure of where you were going with the train of thought, but Yunho speaks again after a moment and saves you from having to talk.

“I noticed San leaving your room last night. Are the two of you on better terms now?”

“Yeah, we’re doing fine, I suppose. I, uh, I-I told him about my t-time in the military.” Yunho’s smile stretches wider, and he just stares at you without saying anything for several seconds. “Why the hell do you look like that? It’s so weird. Why do you have to do that?”

“I’m just proud! You’re opening up. I’m glad.”

“It’s because of you,” you mutter, turning your head away from Yunho, so you don’t have to see any arrogance across his features.

“What?”

“Thank you! I said thank you,” you grumble. The heat of embarrassment hits your neck and creeps up your cheeks, and you know Yunho is looking at you, but you still try to avoid his stare. “I’m grateful that you’ve been patient with me even when I know I’m difficult.”

“You could say that again, yeah.”

“Shut up and let me finish.”

“Okay, damn. No need to get aggressive!”

“I’m grateful for San and his stupid big heart too. And for Seonghwa and–”

“That dick?” Yunho cuts in, a loud laugh tearing through his chest. You swing your free hand up to smack his shoulder. “Ow!”

“Stop that!”

“Okay, okay!” He laughs as he shies away from another half-hearted swing from you. “But are you grateful for it?”

“Oh my god, shut up. I’m grateful that he’s there to comfort me.”

“With that dick?” Yunho teases again. “Listen, Y/N. Everyone has their coping mechanisms. There’s no need to be ashamed if the Lieutenant’s dick is yours.”

“Say one more word, and I am going to put my fist through your face.”

Yunho scoffs at your response. “So much for gratitude!”

You open your mouth to respond, but a loud shout cuts you off, which sounds quite different from the typical mirthful ones you hear around you. No, this one is full of rage and anguish, and Yunho picks up on it as well. You both turn to find the source of the sound. As you move, Yunho tugs you closer to his side as though he’s expecting the worst.

“Hold on,” he mumbles before pulling you closer to the yelling. A woman comes into view, standing atop a rickety wooden box and holding a large and crudely painted sign. The message on it is more than apparent. The insignia of the military of Aurum with a red smear through the middle, the same emblem you used to bear on your lapel. Her voice becomes loud and clear the closer you get to her.

“Do not trust your military so blindly! Listen to my words and hear me with your own child at your sides and in your arms!”

You’re hit out of the blue with a sudden and violent flashback, a memory you don’t even recall having.

Strong arms yanking you forward, fingers closed around your bicep.

“The military steals them!”

Weak cries for help and attempts to pull away. A cold chair against your back, then the touch of rough leather straps coming over your wrists and ankles.

“Takes your children and brainwashes them with no hesitation or guilt!”

Writhing and kicking to get out of the chair, only to be hit across the temple with a sharp jab.

“Steals all their memories and makes them cruel and unfeeling soldiers!”

A stab of a needle, a syringe going into your skin, a strange blue liquid being pushed into you. Warmth, then the feeling of your blood turning to ice.

“They stole my son when he was only fourteen. Took him from my grasp and wiped away all his memories of me!”

Your mouth forced open and something being shoved deep inside. Red. So much red. Hands coming down on your head. Then – nothing.

You grab for Yunho, moving your hand from his to cling to his forearm desperately. He looks back at you with wide eyes and rests a hand atop yours.

“I-I… they – they did that to me, Yunho. I th-think they took my memories away.” The crowd around the woman is getting larger by the second, disgruntled rumblings among them. Yunho glances over to where Yeosang and Wooyoung wandered off.

“We need to get you out of here. If anyone recognizes you, there will be trouble. Same with Yeosang. And if a riot breaks out, we won’t be alone for much longer, and the military will be forced to come in. Come on.” Yunho tugs your arm lightly and tries to shoulder his way through the crowd for both of you. You do your best to stay close to him, hand still wrapped around his arm, but a sudden blast tears you away from him in seconds.

It happens too quickly for you to process what exactly happened. All you know is that you are no longer beside Yunho, ears ringing and echoing with shouts of unrest and pain. You pull yourself up to look around. The people who were just standing have been flung to the ground, and the small box where the old woman stood is gone. She is gone as well, but you don’t make an effort to look for her in favor of finding Yunho’s distinctly colored head of hair. The ringing in your ears bleeds out and lets the yells and screams come into focus.

“Death to the kingdom!”

“Death to the enemy!”

You yank your mask down to gasp for fresh air, but the searing pain of smoke fills your lungs instead.

“Y/N!” Yunho appears before you looking none the worse for wear aside from a bit of dirt over his forehead. “Come on. We have to go right now.”

“What’s going on?” You ask as he helps you to your feet. You try not to look at the bodies around you, unsure of which are alive and which are not, and the cries aren’t helping ease your concerns in the slightest. Your mind drifts back to Yeosang and Wooyoung. “Where are Yeosang and Wooyoung?”

“It’s a riot. People tend to get… violent like this, but I’ve never known them to leave bombs or traps like that. Especially on innocent civilians. That woman – s-she did this. The bomb was under her box. Why? What problems does violence solve?” Yunho shakes his head, looking off towards the spot where that woman was standing before. He tugs his satchel forward and goes to open the front flap. “I need to help these people.”

“No! No, Yunho, we have to go,” you insist. “If we try to stay, we’ll get caught or die.” Yunho’s breath catches in his throat, then a deep sigh slips out.

“You’re right, yeah. We need to find Yeosang and Wooyoung.”

“Could they have already gone back to the ship too?”

“Yeah, but… if one of them is hurt — no, no. Let’s head back. They’re okay, I can feel it. They’ve got to be.”

You feel around your thigh in search of your pistol, but the weapon is gone.

“I can’t find my gun.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. You won’t need it. If we move now, no one should stop us.” Yunho drops a hand to your back, pressing between your shoulder blades and pushing you forward. “We just need to keep moving.”

You imagine this is harder on Yunho than it is on you. Those suspicions are confirmed when you see how he continues to cling to his satchel full of emergency supplies. The pressure against your back never lets up for a second, and it seems to be the only thing keeping him grounded for the time being. He was right though; all the civilians around you are too busy and panicked to be looking at you, and you think that you’re in the clear until you near the ship’s docking hangar.

“You there! Don’t move!” Yunho freezes before you do, and his hand falls away from your shoulder to grasp at the gun strapped to his thigh. The man before you seems too ordinary to be a soldier, but he holds up a gun as he steps in front of the two of you. The hangar isn’t too far away behind him; if you make a break for it, you might be able to escape him with little issue. “You’re awfully stupid to be walking around with that mask not on your face.”

It takes a moment for you to realize that he’s speaking to you. The thug shifts the pistol to your head, and you stare down the barrel to look into his dark eyes. You only see him for a few seconds. Yunho steps in front of you after that, blocking your line of sight and the pistol’s target.

“You must be mistaken. We’re just trying to get back to our ship.”

“I’ll shoot you too if you dare take a step further!” The thug snaps, pistol clicking as he shifts the gun to Yunho. You lean to look past Yunho’s broad shoulders and eye the thug with a wary gaze. Yunho is slow in his movements, but he pulls his own pistol out, aiming it at the thug in return.

“Move, or else you’ll lose your life,” he threatens, voice deceptively flat.

“Not a chance. She’s got a fat bounty on her head. Dead or alive. I’m taking her in dead.”

Yunho shifts his hand and clears his throat. The gleam in his eyes is threatening, and you would be afraid to be in the thug’s position if not for the way Yunho’s hand trembles. He can’t hold the gun still, shaking fingers trying and failing to tighten around the trigger.

“Go. I don’t want to kill you,” Yunho hisses out through gritted teeth.

“Are you stupid? I’m not going anywhere!”

“Take the damn shot, Yunho,” you plea, pressing a hand against Yunho’s shoulder. Despite your words, Yunho still doesn’t move his finger. You would admire his determination and resolve if it wasn’t your life and his on the line. Thus, you push forward and wrap your hand around Yunho’s. He lets the gun slip into your hand, and within a second, you shoot the thug point blank between the eyes. A choked noise leaves Yunho’s lips, but you merely turn back to him and pass the pistol back to him. He won’t look at you, hands still frozen in place. The gun hangs loosely from his fingers.

“H-He – you… you didn’t ha-have to k-ki–” Yunho can’t finish the sentence. You don’t wait for him to either, snatching the gun back from his hands and shoving it into your thigh holster.

“What did you want me to do? Give him the benefit of the doubt? He said he would kill us, Yunho.”

“But I could’ve – we could’ve ta-talked him down and–”

“And what? Don’t be foolish, Yunho. There was no other option. Your job may be to save people, but mine… mine is to kill them.”

“You shot him. You shot him. K-Killed him.”

“And? I protected you, didn’t I?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah. You did. Thank you.” You want to console Yunho more, help him be less shaken up somehow, but you don’t get the chance.

“Hey! Guys!” It’s Wooyoung’s voice that breaches your ears, and you’re glad to hear it. Any more encounters with thugs like this one might break Yunho. You shift to look towards the source of Wooyoung’s voice. He has Yeosang’s arm draped over his shoulders, holding tight onto his hand with one of his own, and the blond seems to be on the verge of unconsciousness. It’s enough to kick Yunho’s ass back into gear. He rushes over to the pair and hurries to lift Yeosang off Wooyoung’s shoulders and onto his own.

“What happened? Yeosang, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

“We were hit by the blast,” Yeosang grits out.

“Yeosang jumped in front of me just as the explosion went off. He dislocated his shoulder coming down, but I put it back in place. He’s a little battered and bruised, but that’s all,” Wooyoung explains, chest heaving a bit. Sweat pours from his brow, and it’s evident that he’s been carrying the brunt of Yeosang’s weight the whole way back.

“I’ll help him onto the ship, okay? Let’s get going.” Yunho tugs Yeosang forward and hoists him up a bit to carry him better. You linger by Wooyoung’s side, eyes following Yunho and Yeosang as they walk along, and Wooyoung does the same for a while.

“Are you okay?” You ask once the silence between you grows unbearable. “Did you get hurt?”

“N-No,” Wooyoung stutters, shaking his head a few times. “Yeosang blocked me from the blast. I don’t even have a scratch.”

“I meant mentally.”

“Oh, um, yeah. Just a bit shaken up. That was too close for my liking.” You press your lips into a frown but opt not to say anything else, focusing on the ground in front of you as the two of you follow Yunho and Yeosang to the ship. “Are you alright?”

The question catches you a bit off-guard. You try not to let it show, but your breath catches on saliva when you open your mouth to respond, and you choke on spit. You cough through it, Wooyoung’s worried gaze causing a surge of embarrassment to rush through you.

“I’m fine, yeah. Maybe a little smoke in my lungs, but that’s it.”

“I wasn’t talking about the explosion.” Your brows knit together in confusion. “When we were at the stall with the merchant… you – I noticed the look on your face. You were afraid that he was going to hit you.”

“T-That? It was nothing. Just a gut reaction.” Wooyoung whips his head towards you, and his hand darts out to close around your wrist.

“A gut reaction doesn’t look like that. I recognized it, Y/N. From my tim–”

“Stop. Don’t… don’t press me for answers. You won’t get any.” You were never a slave. Have never been one and never will be. But something about the way Wooyoung looks at you makes you feel like you were. Because as much as you don’t want to admit it, you were afraid of the merchant striking you after calling you a runt. Wooyoung thankfully falls into silence after that, and his grip on your arm leaves as well. You stare forward at Yunho’s back rather than looking over to Wooyoung. That silence persists even after you climb back onto the ship. No one is there to greet you – not that you were expecting it, but it’s at least nice to know there wasn’t any sort of emergency while you were gone.

“I’m taking Yeosang to the medbay to check his shoulder and make sure there’s no further damage,” Yunho announces, glancing back over his shoulder at you and Wooyoung. You merely offer a nod in response, but Wooyoung moves forward to press against Yeosang’s side.

“I’ll come with.”

“Okay, Woo.” Yunho offers a small smile of reassurance, then looks back at you as though waiting for you to say something.

“I’m just gonna shower and get cleaned up. Go ahead.” You watch them walk down the corridor without moving, only shaking yourself out of your thoughts and following after them once they round the corner. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the exhaustion is settling into your bones. There’s a bit of dirt and blood on your hands, though the blood isn’t yours, and you have no idea where it came from either.

“Damn, you look like shit.”

You lift your chin upon hearing the voice, not even noticing the heavy steps of the people approaching you until they’re right in front of you. Jongho and San stand before you. Both bear concerned expressions complete with knitted brows and slight frowns, so you try to reassure them with a lopsided grin.

“I feel like it too,” you joke. Jongho huffs out a laugh, but the concern doesn’t leave his face.

“What the hell happened? And where are the others?” He asks, arms coming to rest over his chest.

“There was a bit of an explosion in the marketplace.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Yeosang got hurt, but Yunho has him in the medbay. Wooyoung went with them.”

“Shit, how bad? No, wait, nevermind. I’ll go check in on him right now.” Jongho turns on his heel and walks back in the direction he must’ve come from, off towards the medbay. San glances at him out the corner of his eye but doesn’t move to follow, remaining in front of you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks after a breath of silence.

“Yeah,” you insist with a sharp nod of your head. He reaches out to you all of a sudden, hand coming to rest on the side of your head. You aren’t sure what he’s doing, but it’s just like what Wooyoung did to you outside the stall with that merchant. The gesture feels completely different with San though. An attempt for comfort and not one that’s defensive as Wooyoung’s was. Seconds later, you are being pulled against his chest, and he drapes his arms over your shoulders to cling tighter to your body. The suddenness of the hug causes your breath to catch, but you settle against him when a light laugh hits your ear.

“What would’ve happened if you died out there?” He asks, the lightness and mirth leaving his voice in an instant. “And I wasn’t there to be with you. What would I have done if you died before I told you how much I care about you?”

Your heart clenches painfully in your chest. The words choke you and take the breath out of your lungs with little to no effort. San just continues to push the invisible knife further into your chest.

“I’m scared. Each step closer feels like ten steps apart. I fear that by the end of this, one of us will be gone. But… I want to cling to you for however long I can,” he whispers against the shell of your ear.

“I-I just – I don’t know who I am,” you mutter back, trying to keep your voice quiet, so it doesn’t break. “The more I – the more I learn about myself, and the more I remember, the less I feel like I know myself. The bounties, the reports, the tales they tell about me – they all say that I’m strong, dangerous, cold-hearted, unapologetic. But I just feel like I’m broken glass that’s been put back together the wrong way.” San huffs out another laugh against your skin, and it causes a quick chill to run up your spine.

“Then I’ll take you apart and put you back together the right way.”

“Careful, Choi San. I might believe you can do it.” You fall quiet for a few moments, words catching in your throat, and when you speak again, you sound much more fragile than you like. “Thank you. I know I don’t know it well or often but… I am really grateful for you. And you’re the only reason why I’m still here and alive. So, yeah, I’m grateful for it and for you. While I still don’t feel like I deserve it, I’m grateful that you care about me because it makes me feel needed.”

“Hongjoong and Seonghwa found me as a thief. The others found me as a weapon, as Spectre. But you found me as San. I’m still trying to figure out who that San is and what it means, but for once, I think — I think I have an opportunity to be saved.” The warmth of his lips touches the side of your head a moment later. You squeeze your arms a bit tighter around his torso. You think he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t get the chance. Somewhere behind you, someone clears their throat. You pull back from San in an instant and turn to face the person, finding Seonghwa’s tall form several feet away. The expression on his features is unreadable, but you aren’t sure you want to try and figure it out anyway.

“Sorry to interrupt, but… Hongjoong asked to see you on the bridge, Y/N.” A breath of hesitation, just long enough to cause a spike of anxiety in your gut. “Alone.”

✧✧✧ a/n: hello guys ;-; i missed yall so much. im sorry this is coming out later than usual; life really kicked my ass this week between a whole mess of public stuff and personal stuff i dealt with for the past few days. i'm feeling better now but still not 100% so please be patient with me as i heal some 🥺 in any case, i hope you guys enjoy this chapter, the next one is the end of act three! we've got so much more to come and i can't wait for it :c

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ds-ts-smut-fics · 4 years ago

Text

Far From Home [Chapter One]

Read on Ao3

Synopsis: When Logan, a human monk, comes across an unconscious tiefling in the forest, he nurses him back to health and they decide to travel together. Logan quickly realizes there's a reason Remus is on the road, and not one easily fixed.

Trigger warnings: NSFW, dnd typical violence, demonic possession, lmk if i missed anything!

Words: 5,379

A/N: There's some sex scenes in this fic, fair warning. Feel free to give suggestions on what to do, events, loot, etc! This is a completely homebrew world so no limits. They're currently at level 5. Claire is playing Logan, I'm playing Remus. Remus is a bard rogue.

Logan had never travelled so far between towns.

He’d been going for several days. There was nothing but fields of dying grass and thick clumps of trees. If memory served well, he was close to the Jubilex Thicket, thus not too far from a river he could wash up at. The sun was setting fast, though. If he didn’t find a place to camp soon, he’d be travelling in the dark.

In between the clopping of Juniper’s hooves, something slithered to the right of him. A rustle of leaves, a grunt of pain, and a thud.

The forest was too dark to see inside, but something rustled. Pulling up on the reins, he tries to see what's moving, hand sliding to his sword as he debates calling out to the dim area off to the side of the path. It could be an ambush, and that would not end well for me. On the other hand, it could be someone in need of aid.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

Something slithered away with a slorp sound, and the forest went still. Shivering, he pats Juniper's neck.

"That's not creepy or foreboding AT ALL…. I think we should continue on our way, maybe there's a clearing ahead."

Juniper shakes her head, moving towards where the sound was, making a soft sound. Frowning, Logan slides off, trying to see what she does.

"What is it, girl? You see something, hmm?"

Logan stared hard at the ground, where Juniper sniffed at, but he couldn’t for the life of him find anything. That was, until moonlight glinted off something on the ground— a sickle. Logan trailed his eyes to the hand wrapped loosely around the handle, up to what he quickly realized was a tiefling laying in the dirt. Deep black skin, shoulder-length hair that faded from green to black. He was covered in black clothes, a trenchcoat, hood, and a mask. With Logan’s human vision, it was no wonder he couldn’t see him.

"Oh dear heavens!" Dropping to his knees, he does a quick check for wounds, using some of his ki to heal him with a touch after moving the weapon as he doesn't want to get stabbed.

The man’s eyes snapped open— stark white and pupil-less. He sat up with a rush, then dropped one of his sickles to grip his head with a groan.

Shifting back a little to give space, he can't help but smile. "I promise, I mean no harm. My name is Logan, may I offer some water and rations? Once I make camp for the night I can attempt more healing. It is getting dark for me though, I nearly missed seeing you!"

He blinked and looked around, his eyes nearly glowing. His voice came out gravelly, painful to even listen to. “Uh… That- That’s okay. I have some. Thanks for the help.”

"You're welcome, I really must insist though, it wouldn't be right to leave you here. At least spend the night? I can build a fire for warmth, lend you a blanket?" Offering a hand, he hums softly, calloused fingers tan and marked with the practice of using the sword at his hip. "What do you say?"

The man hesitated. He grabbed Logan’s hand and hoisted himself up, then reached down to snatch his sickle. “I’m Remus. If you make a fire, I can set up a place to sleep.”

Remus didn’t have much on him. He clearly lived out of his backpack, a bedroll stuffed messily on top. His hooves were rough and scratched.

"Sounds like a deal, Remus! Oh, this here is Juniper, she led me to you." Helping him over, he looks Remus over. "Been out here for long?"

Remus smiled at Juniper awkwardly, then set his bag on the ground to pull out his bedroll. “So-so. Do you have a bedroll or anything?”

Tapping a bundle on Juniper, he nods, smiling a little as he turns to get a fire going for them. "I do. Want me to pass it over? I'll get her settled after I get a fire going."

“Yeah. Here.” Remus dug around in his bag for a minute, before taking out a paper-wrapped box. He tossed it to Logan. “Some meat you can cook. Do you eat meat?”

Catching it easily, he nods, the fire starting to crackle and glow merrily. "I'm not terribly picky so long as it's cooked. Did you hunt this?"

He tossed out his bedroll then grabbed Logan’s. “Yeah, this morning. Just glad it’s not going to waste.”

"Do you not eat meat then?" Tipping his head, he sets his pack down next to the box, turning to tend to Juniper.

“No, I just meant…” Remus laughed weakly and pulled off his trench coat, revealing a ripped up button-down in loose fabric. It hung off his shoulders and showed more of his chest than it covered. He pulled his mask down. He had delicate, round features, face covered in scars. “I almost died. It would’ve just rotted in my bag, you know?”

"Oh!" Blushing softly, he lets his eyes wander a bit, 'assessing the damage' on Remus. "You were quite injured, but I don't think you would have passed on. Shall I do another healing?" I knew I was more attracted to delicate males, but I am in trouble. He's so lovely!

He shook his head. “No, don’t waste it. I’ll feel better after getting some rest. Are you a cleric or something? How’d you… You know?”

"How'd I heal you? I'm a monk, I follow the traditions of the way of mercy. I used some of my energy to give you a little boost in health, and I can do so several more times before I rest if you have need?" Brushing out Juniper a little, he slides off her harness so she can graze.

“No, really, I’ll be fine. Thank you, though, that’s… Interesting.” He helped Logan skewer the meat over the fire, roasting it almost like he roasted marshmallows when he was younger. “Are you headed anywhere in particular?”

"Thank you." Turning the meat occasionally, he smiles. "I'm not really headed anywhere specific, are you?"

Remus hesitated, then nodded. “West. There’s a village on the coast I need to get to.”

"Would you object to some company? I was simply instructed to leave the monastery and assist others." Looking over at Remus, he smiles a little.

Remus pulled a sliver of meat from the fire and stuffed it into his mouth, showing off a row of sharp, fang-like teeth. Feral tiefling? Logan pondered.

Stick your hand in the fire!

“No,” Remus mumbled.

"Ah, excellent, then I shall accompany you to that village." Nodding, he hums. Feral or not, I did offer my assistance. He's dangerous but oddly cute.

Remus looked up in surprise, then bit back a curse. “I really don’t need any help,” he promised. “You don’t have to.”

"I don't, that's true. However, I did offer, and I truly don't have anything else to do. It would be a pleasure to accompany you if you'd like a road companion."

What, scared you’ll have to find a quick way to get rid of him? I know a fun way!

“Shut up,” Remus mumbled, then said louder, “Okay. Sure. I’ll take first watch, you get some sleep.”

He stood, then with a quick echo of fire? in his head, Remus swept his hand through the top of the flames and stepped away to find a good vantage place to take watch.

"Remus, wait! You're still recovering… If you won't let me heal you, at least let me take the first watch so you can rest and heal?" Logan frowns lightly, worried by the sporadic behavior of his new companion. Is he really okay?

Remus turned to him, pressing his now slightly-burnt hand to his skirt made of rags. “If I go to bed now, I won’t wake up on time for my shift, and I won’t be able to protect us as well. Let me ride the rest of my energy, then I’ll get some sleep. Promise.”

"Promise to wake me when your energy wanes?" Holding out his hand, he hums. "Let me heal you at least a little more as well, please?"

Remus hesitated, then sighed and took his hand. “It’s really a waste, but sure. And yes, I will wake you up.”

Taking his hand, he smiles softly, kissing the dark skin. "Mmm, thank you. It eases my mind to know you're more healed up to protect us."

Remus’ face turned bright red. “Uh… Th-thank you. Go to sleep, alright?”

Nodding, he winks, standing straight again and heading for where his bedroll is set up. "I will. I have some stretching to do first, but I'll be settling in. Thank you for watching the area, Remus."

Remus climbed up to a low-hanging branch and settled against the trunk, watching their little area.

You could always wait for him to sleep and take his stuff. His horse has taken a liking to you! She’d be easy to steal!

“I’m not doing that,” he mumbled.

Humming lowly as he works though some gentle stretches, Logan turns and clicks softly to Juniper, offering her a cube of sugar as he bids her goodnight. Remus went through his watch, enduring Adelaide’s taunts until he got tired, and finally let Remus settle into quiet.

He waited until he was about to fall off the branch from nodding off before he got down and shook Logan awake.

Waking easily, he smiles a little as it clicks who this is over him and he hums. "Remus… You waited a little longer than I thought. Did you want my warm bedroll? You look about ready to drop."

Remus blushed. “Uh… Sure. Let me just roll mine up.”

He reached for his cold one, only to land hard on his hands. He laughed it off and settled back on his knees, starting to roll it up.

Taking over the motion, Logan gently helps Remus onto his bedroll, settling his blanket around his shoulders. "Definite cue for you to rest. It'll help me wake up to get this all packed up."

Remus hesitated, but he really couldn’t help it. Logan’s blanket was warm against the freezing night air and it smelled like him. “Yeah… Okay.” He crawled around Logan to flop down onto the bedroll, kicking off his skirt and burying his face in the pillow.

Wrapping his cloak around himself more, Logan slides his hood up as he works, adding more wood to the fire. "You deserve a nice warm spot, Remus. Sleep well."

He mumbled something into the pillow, voice tight with embarrassment, and went to sleep.

Giving him a soft pat on the hair, Logan turns to making the camp set up organized, watching the edge of the light as the night passes. Hopefully he rests and heals up. I suppose I could try to sneak in another healing touch, but… He hasn't consented.

In the morning, the sun streamed through the trees and directly into Remus’ eyes, waking him up far earlier than he wanted. He pulled Logan’s blanket tighter around him and buried his face in the pillow.

Reaching over, Logan hums softly, trying to ease him back to sleep. "Shhh…."

Remus hummed at the hand in his hair and on his horns. “When d’you wanna get going?” He murmured.

"Not for a bit. It's just barely starting to lighten up." Stroking more, he smiles softly. "Not light enough for human eyes just yet."

He nodded, and started to respond, only to trail off sleepily. “M’kay,” he managed.

Rubbing over his horns, he smiles softly, getting out a little oil to rub into the chipped surface. "Sleep. I'm watching over you."

“What is that?” He mumbled.

"Oil made from pressed sunflower seeds. It helps skin and nails heal when they're dried out. I use it for when my hands are cracked from overwork. I. thought it might do your horns and hooves some good. May I?"

He blushed and peeked at Logan. “Sure. Not sure how much good it’ll do, but… Sure.” He poked his hooves out from under the blanket and presented his horns, which towered above his head. “Have you been this close all night?”

"I made a small circuit to walk every so often. As it's gotten lighter I can see further though, and you seemed to appreciate it when I was close." Stoking gently, he starts working in the oil with a soft cloth.

Remus hummed happily and stretched out his legs. “Was I talking in my sleep again?”

"A little… It wasn't a language that I know however. You did seem to settle more when I sat nearby. How are you feeling?"

“I’m good,” he mumbled. He sat up and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “We should start packing up camp. We’ve got a long way to go.”

Hand glowing a soft green, he hums. "Very well. So long as you're feeling okay." Finishing up the oiling, he nods. "As soon as we get a little food, sure."

“There should be a town about an hour from here, if you want to get something at a tavern.” He folded up the blanket and bedroll. “Otherwise I can hunt something.”

"Ah, I haven't really been out this way. That tavern sounds lovely." Helping out, he starts putting the fire out.

Remus pulled on his trench coat and mask, then shrugged on his backpack. “I can walk beside you and Juniper.”

"You sure? She can carry us both." Getting the bedrolls attached to her saddle, he hums, sliding on her tack once more.

“I don’t want to impose,” he mumbled.

Reaching over, Logan taps Remus on the nose softly. "It's not an imposition. I offered, if you're okay with either sitting behind me or in my arms in front, we can make faster time? She's faster than either of us."

“Faster sounds good,” he mumbled. “I can be in front if you can drive that way… I’ll keep a lookout for any threats.”

"Sounds good to me, that way you can be warmer too. You could do with some more intact clothes." Offering his arms, he winks. "May I lift you up?"

He blushed and hooked up his pack, then grabbed Logan’s arms.

Settling his own supplies in place, he grins and lifts Remus with a little bounce as he overestimates his weight. "Oh my, you're so light!"

He blushed. “Not- Not that light, no…”

Flexing a little, he grins. "Mmm, toned, definitely. But to my strength, you're light, my dear." Settling Remus in place, he finds a tree and uses it to swing up into the saddle behind Remus safely.

Remus held onto Juniper’s neck, face bright red at Logan’s closeness and warmth.

Grinning, he reaches over to take the reins. "You okay, Remus? You're clinging like… oh, what was that sea creature with all the arms?"

“An octopus? I’m fine.”

"That's it!" Shifting Remus up a little, he hums, easing him to lean back on his chest as he guides Juniper in a slow walk back towards the path. "Just relax?"

“Yeah… Not too much, though. I gotta keep a lookout.”

Logan’s chest was burning warm against Remus’ back, his arms closing him in. When was the last time he was so close to someone? He didn’t think ever.

"That's fair, but at least a little so you don't have to worry about tipping off like a wood plank?" Smiling a little, he chuckles. "Don't want to worry about you falling, hmm?"

“I won’t fall,” he blushed.

"Good…" Scanning the woods, he hums, clicking his tongue to guide Juniper into going a little faster. "Don't want to see you hurt again."

Remus laughed weakly. “Right.”

Letting his fingers stroke over Remus a little in the guise of keeping him steady, he hums. "You're cuter without your blood staining your skin… at least to me."

Remus felt weak. He babbled out something unintelligible, before managing, “Do you save a lot of boys from the brink of death?”

"Not recently… and none quite as cute certainly!" Grinning, he hums, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "It was nice to feel your pulse return under my fingers~!"

Remus leaned back against him, his heart racing. He was in the middle of trying to figure out how to respond when something caught his eye up ahead.

He sat straight up. “Is that a barricade?”

"Hmm? Is it? I could redirect… Or try and jump it. I don't think she'd like that though."

“Don’t. We need to turn around.”

“Stop the horse!” A man demanded from behind them.

"I think that's out…" Kicking Juniper into a gallop, he swerves them to the left, not seeing anyone there even as two crossbow bolts strike the dirt behind them. "Got any ranged weapons, hun?"

Remus snatched his short bow off his bag and knocked an arrow, watching carefully for any sign of movement.

“STOP THE HORSE OR WE’LL SHOOT ITS LEGS!”

"Shit!!" Trying to see where they are and if they're a threat, he leans back a little to give Remus room to shoot as he lets Juniper guide herself, eyes searching for any more bolts. "Where are they?!"

Two more arrows shot off, one narrowly missing Juniper’s ankle and the other flying wide overhead.

Remus’ eyes narrowed as he caught their hiding place. A breeze of fabric swept behind a boulder, a head poking above a dip of land. Two crossbows rested over the cliff.

Remus snatched one of his sickles and dove off Juniper, rolling a bit sloppy but getting to his feet unscathed. Just as he landed, the arrows shot from the cliff. One landed in Logan’s upper arm, the other in Juniper’s side.

Pulling up short with a curse, Logan slides off his horse, turning to place himself between the attackers and his horse. "We're stopped! Stop shooting!”

The bandits, four of them, jumped out of their hiding spots and came closer with their bows. They stood about twenty feet away.

“Drop your bags and you can go,” one commanded.

"What proof have I of that?" Logan frowns, straightening up and using himself as a distraction for Remus, one hand sliding towards his sword.

They all glanced between each other. One of them jerked their bow. “Just drop it! Let’s get this over with!”

“No.” Remus shot his bow and hit a bandit straight in the chest.

He stumbled back with a groan.

"Gary!" One of the bandits steps out 5 feet and shoots at Remus with a shout. Another sighs and decides to take a shot at Logan. "We gave you a chance…"

Logan sidesteps the bolt, stepping in to draw his sword and swing.

The blade sunk into the bandit’s neck, blood gushing forward. The bandit dropped dead.

Remus kicked the second bandit down and brought his sickle through the bandit’s shoulder.

"Very nice!" Whipping his sword to clear the blood, Logan grins.

Seeing how the battle is going the last uninjured bandit turns to flee.

Remus raised his bow and shot, one hoof planted on the bandit’s chest— it sunk into his back, and he fell.

He pressed his sickle to the fallen bandit’s neck. “Are there more of you? Where’s your base?”

Stuttering and stammering, the bandit shakes his head, unable to get a clear sentence out.

Remus pushed the sickle closer. “Answer me or I’ll kill you now and track down your base myself.”

Setting a hand on Remus' shoulder, Logan hums. "Best answer, he means it!"

Gulping, the bandit squeaks. "There's just two more! Up the…" He points up to where there's a clear view of the road coming towards the barricade.

Remus swung, digging the sickle halfway through the bandit’s neck. He turned and stormed forward, leaping over the barricade. There were some shouts, some slices, then Remus reappeared with blood marking his arms and chest. He stared at the ground carefully, walking slowly.

Logan hums, looking up from where he's tending to Juniper, having healed her but only wrapped his own arm. He comes over to Remus, offering a hand. "All set? How are you doing?"

“I’m fine. I’m going after their camp, though. I can meet you at the town.”

Humming softly, he frowns. "I'm coming with, just in case you need backup, or you can meet me at the river. I think we both could use a scrub up."

“I’m not stopping for a bath,” he laughed, stopping to glance at Logan. “They could rob or kill someone else in the next five minutes. Tracks going this way, if you’re coming you’re coming.”

Chuckling softly, he nods, leading Juniper along. "I'm coming, and I meant after the clean up we clean up, before we get to town, dear."

Remus took his other sickle from his bag and ran his hand through Juniper’s mane. “Alright,” he whispered as he followed the tracks. “Uh… Thanks. Sorry for the…” He gestured to himself.

Reaching over, he taps Remus' nose, whispering back. "I'm just glad none of it's yours!"

He laughed quietly. “Really? You’d rather it be…?”

"Mercy where possible, but it should be acknowledged that it is not always possible. There's a reason that I carry a sword. I gave them an option, and they chose violence. I'd rather these few perish as opposed to however many they would harm or kill."

He nodded slowly. “How long have you been out here?”

"I left the monastery, hmm… I believe it was 8 days ago?" Pointing to a fork in the path, he hums, gesturing up.

Remus’ eyes widened. “Jesus. You… Do you have any adventuring experience?” Remus stopped and put a hand on Logan’s chest. “Are you sure you should be doing this?”

"I've been out on expeditions with my fellow monks. We are trained to be wanderers… and I have been on the road with my parents before I joined the order." Smiling, he takes Remus' hand, kissing it. "I am quite capable, my dear, but thank you."

Remus’ face turned bright red. He stumbled over his words for a moment, before taking his hand back and continuing along the tracks.

Grinning, he follows, watching for clues to where the camp is. While Logan didn’t find any tracks, the path they were on was not intentional, made from years of kicking away and flattening foliage. They trudged deep into the woods, silent and crouching the entire way.

Remus saw it before Logan did— Stilts of wood going between trees, a clear barrier. Remus narrowed his eyes and gestured for Logan to wait. Arching an eyebrow, Logan pauses, waiting to see how Remus procedes forward.

Remus misses seeing a wire settled near the ground as he moves forward, only feeling it when it presses against his ankle before it shifts quickly, slicing a little as it pulls a rope around his ankles and a net scoops him up into the trees.

“Fuck!” Remus hissed, scrambling around for his dagger.

There's some rustling in the area where the stilts lead up to, the trap having set off a silent alarm there as well.

Logan curses softly, heading to the area to see if there's a rope he can cut to help lower the net to the ground. "Calm yourself, don't thrash too much, you'll tangle yourself more!"

Remus slashed a hole in the net and it dropped him towards the ground, Logan darting forward to catch him, with a small smile.

"Got you, darling!"

He sets him down carefully, letting Remus get settled with the knife now properly stowed and brandishing his sickles as footsteps raced towards them.

Logan steps in front to shield him from the oncomers, sword out and ready to swing even as he's calling out to the people coming. "Prepare yourselves!"

Remus fought back the blush to focus. A bandit jumped out of the foliage and slashed at Remus with a scimitar, digging into his shoulder and wetting his coat.

Logan curses softly, touching Remus to heal him some with a ki. Stepping in prepares to attack the bandits at the next opportunity. One bandit with green hair kicked Remus away and took another slash, just barely missing. A half-orc stepped out of the foliage to Logan, bow held up. He shot, the arrow nicking Logan’s ear.

A half elf slices out at Logan with his scimitar, slicing into his side and making Logan shout out in pain. Remus growled and snatched his dagger only to throw it, sinking it straight into the half-elf’s eye and taking him down.

The last bandit pales a little, deciding to attack the taller human that they'd gotten a hit on rather than the scary looking black-horned demon, swinging wildly at Logan and missing terribly.

Logan turns, taking two swings at that cowardly bandit, hitting both times and making him choke on blood as he falls to the ground.

The half-orc in the trees shoots another bolt off, and it stuck into the tree above Logan’s head. Remus snarled and whipped around, throwing his hand out.

“You fucking coward!” He snapped, casting vicious mockery.

The bandit flinched and dropped his bow to hold his head, groaning.

"Want to do the honors of finishing the coward off, dear, or let him come down to face us?"

The half-orc reached for his scimitar, stumbling forward with a red face and narrowed eyes. Remus stormed forward and decapitated him with his sickle.

He sheathed them and groaned, holding his shoulder. “Fuck, that hurts.”

Logan frowns softly, reaching over to examine him, using a ki to heal him when he sees the damage.

“Goddamn,” Remus sighed, pressing his forehead to Logan’s shoulder. “How much of that do you got?”

Smiling a little, he gives Remus a gentle hug. "I can do that twice more today."

“I’ll try not to make you need it. I have a greater healing potion for emergencies, so don’t-”

“HEY!”

Remus froze.

��You pieces of shit done yet?!”

“Hide,” Remus snapped, crouching and diving into the foliage.

Freezing a moment longer than Remus, Logan makes for some bushes on the other side of the oath, having to take a moment to find one big enough to hide his bulky frame. Big footsteps fell along the ground.

A goliath bandit captain stepped around their camp, bushy eyebrows knitted into a deep frown. “Hello?” He grunted.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily, then snapped them open and sprinted out of hiding.

The goliath whipped around but Remus was faster, slashing the sickle along the goliath’s waist. The goliath hissed in pain, turning to Remus in surprise.

Stepping out, Logan attacks the goliath's back, slicing in deeply with a chuckle. The goliath stumbled away from them, face bright red.

“You killed my men?” He roared. “YOU KILLED MY MEN?”

He grabbed his great axe and charged Remus, his rage steering him wrong and missing wide. Remus jumped out of the way and brought the sickles down on his ankle, both missing.

“Fuck me!” Remus snapped.

"Maybe later, dear?" Logan can't help but quip as darts in to try a hit of his own, missing as well.

The goliath let out an unearthly cackle. “You murder my men and you can’t even get a hit in? Pathetic.”

He brought the greataxe down over Logan’s head. Logan ducked away but the axe still managed to slice through his robes and crack open his leg.

“Logan!” Remus narrowed his eyes, rage bubbling in his chest. He whispered menacing threats under his breath, Adelaide coming in with his own excitable suggestions.

The goliath looked around in panic, his eyes watering. He almost dropped his great axe, then shook himself out of it.

Grinning a little, Logan steadies himself, attacking once he's steady on his feet again with a wide grin, slicing into the goliath's arm. The goliath dripped blood, a steady trail along the ground. He was looking pretty beat up, but was still steady on his feet, grinning.

“You really think you two will walk out of here alive? A human, and a little devil? Defeating me?”

Remus braced his sickles. “I’ve killed more than you before.”

"Together we are stronger than alone!" Logan grins as he watches Remus move.

He glanced around the camp, taking in the mountains of supplies, the barrels and crates that clearly held corpses. He yelled angrily as Adelaide helped him hit, slicing his sickles into the goliath’s midsection. The goliath groaned and gagged as his stomach dropped blood and skin, dropping down to one knee.

Taking a step in, Logan swings twice, eyes hard. "You shall receive your just reward for the life you have lived here."

He looked back at Logan, eyes hard. With the realization that the two unlikely martyrs weren’t going to leave without killing him, a second wind rushed through him. He pushed himself to his feet. He slashed at Logan, opening a large cut in his chest and ripping away some of his robes.

Remus’ eyes landed on Logan, heaving for breath, limping. He rushed over and touched his face, black energy pooling around Remus’ hand and dispersing along Logan’s body.

Leaning into the touch a little, Logan smiles slightly as he steadies, dripping less blood as some of his injuries heal up. "Thank you, dear."

Turning back to the goliath, he frowns, stabbing him harshly. "I liked these robes. Blue is my favorite color."

The goliath howled in pain. He kicked Logan’s weapon away and turned to Remus. The greataxe lodged into Remus’ side. He doubled over as fire erupted along his side, sucking in a breath of pain.

“Fuck,” Remus choked out.

Adelaide’s laughter echoed in Remus’ head. Remus’ eyes glowed red, and purple flames surrounded the goliath.

When they melted away, the goliath laid on the ground, charred to a crisp.

"Wow…" Letting himself sit heavily, Logan laughs softly, a bit dizzy and mesmerized by the colors now that the danger has gone away.

Remus’ red, pupil-less eyes flicked to Logan. He grinned, blood staining his teeth. “You didn’t think I’d let him break my favourite toy, did you?”

Logan's eyes widened and he frowned. That was not Remus. From everything he’d learned from the monks… A demon was speaking to him. "Remus is not a toy. Release him please." Please don't make me fight him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He knows, Logan knows. Don’t make things worse. Please don’t make things worse.

“Don’t whine, darling, it’s unattractive.” Adelaide sighed and straightened up. That same black energy that healed Logan danced along Adelaide’s fingers, pressing it to his own forehead. Some of his wounds closed, but he still looked pretty beat up.

"Frankly, I don't care about being attractive to you. Remus' reaction is my concern. Who are you and why are you here…" Slowly pushing up, he retrieves his sword, using a ki to heal himself in case he has to fight this creature possessing Remus.

The demon laughed. He turned and headed back into the forest.

Where are you taking us?

“You were heading towards that village, weren’t you? We can have some fun. Don’t you miss it?”

Reaching for Remus' hand, Logan hums, gently commanding. "No."

Adelaide turned to him in surprise. “Sorry, was I talking to you? Or would you like to join?”

"I'm not sure what you're planning, but I have intuition that Remus doesn't agree with the plans. I'm standing up for his wishes. You can't just bully him like this." Keeping a firm grip on the dark arm, he straightens up to his full 6' 2" height and hardens his eyes.

A smirk curled over Adelaide’s lips. “And what will you do to stop me?” His voice echoed. “Remus likes it here.”

Stepping in, he hums, other hand sliding over the dark cheek, smearing a little blood. "Well… I'm willing to give Remus a kiss if he comes back. We had planned to wash up after clearing the bandits. I'm sure they have some clothes he could better outfit in."

Adelaide rested a hand on the side of Logan’s face. He pressed their foreheads together. “It’s cute how you think Remus has a choice in this,” he whispered.

His eyes rolled back and he fell.

#far from home #intrulogical #logan sanders #remus sanders

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thefinalcinderella · 4 years ago

Text

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 2 - The Mountains of Hakone are the Steepest in the World (Part 3)

I actually need an editor this time so...if you have a lot of free time, dm me

Translation Notes

1. Ekiden Tenma refers to the ancient system of exchanging information by going back and forth between post stations by horse, like the Pony Express in the US. An ekiden also means a long-distance relay race.

2. An inro is a traditional Japanese case used for holding small objects like identity seals and medicine. While looking up what raising your inro means I found a lot of references to the period drama Mito Komon, where the hero raises their inro to show his identity, so I think raising your inro is sort of like showing your ID to someone.

3. Tsuburaya Koukichi was a Japanese marathon runner. He won the bronze medal in the 1964 Tokyo Olympics after being overtaken by another runner at the last minute, which he was mortified by. He also suffered a chronic back problem after the Olympics. He committed suicide in 1968 and left a note thanking his family for the food they gave him. You can read the letter on Wikipedia

4. A university-preparatory school or 進学校 (Shingaku-kou) is a school centered on preparing students into getting into university. They usually have higher rates of university acceptance.

5. Putting this here because it took me a long time to look this up, but a 返す刀 (literally “returning (or retaliating) katana”) means attacking one thing and then immediately attacking something else after with a different kind of attack.

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Angry cries and confusion swirled inside the twins’ room.

Impossible. Was he insane? Why we gotta wear shorts and throw on a sash to climb mountains right after New Year’s? What is a Ha-ko-ne E-ki-den? You see, the word “Ekiden” was taken from the “Ekiden Tenma” system (1)… We don’t have any track team members here in the first place. And so on.

In the middle of all of that, Kakeru was the only one who stayed silent.

For those who did track, the “Hakone” was a tournament that had a special place in their hearts. For that reason, they knew how difficult it was to aim for Hakone. Kiyose’s proposal was nothing but a pipe dream. It wasn’t something that the residents of Chikusei-sou, who were all complete amateurs, could aim for just because they wanted to.

Kiyose stood up straight and left the room, then went down the stairs unusually loudly.

“Is he angry?” Jouji muttered uneasily.

“I’m pissed off, too.” Yuki irritably drained his cup of beer. “That asshole Haiji said a bad joke.”

Wondering what was going to happen, Kakeru watched the situation, and then the door was opened again roughly. Kiyose had returned. In his hand was the large doorplate hanging at Chikusei-sou’s entrance. Wondering if he was going to hit them with the plate, everyone reflexively ducked their heads. Kiyose stood in the center of the circle and wiped the sooty doorplate with the hem of his shirt.

“Look at this.”

Kiyose held up the cleaned doorplate like an inro (2) and did a full turn on the spot so that everyone sitting around him could see it.

“Wha, what the hell is that!”

Voices of astonishment spilled from everyone’s mouths. Kakeru also bent forward to take in the words written on the doorplate, and dumbfoundedly realized that this was what it meant to be too amazed to say anything.

“Chikusei-sou” was written in ink on the plain wood board. However, those weren’t the only words. They couldn’t be read until now because of the dirt, but there were two small rows of writing above them.

“Kansei University

Track and Field Team Training Camp”

That was certainly what was written there.

“I’ve never heard of that.”

Nico-chan, the number one old-timer, moaned. The newcomers Jouta and Jouji were looking at each other with ashen faces. By this point, it was clear that Kiyose was seriously trying to take on the Hakone Ekiden.

“In the first place, does our school even have a track and field team?”

Shindou confronted Kiyose with the pitifulness of a peasant begging the governor for a reduction in the annual tribute.

“It’s tiny, but we do. I have said we went to a meet in my first year.”

I thought you participated by yourself. Prince, who was unaware of the workings of the track and field world, muttered. Kiyose didn’t move an inch and made another bombshell announcement as he held the doorplate up.

“And all of you guys are track members too.”

“How?!”

The uproar this time was incomparable to when they were told they were aiming for Hakone. Yuki stood up and drew closer to Kiyose.

“When did that happen!”

“When you moved in.” Kiyose declared nonchalantly. “Didn’t you think it was weird? It’s obvious in this day and age that there would be a catch with a thirty-thousand yen rent and served meals.”

Ignoring the commotion made by the others, Kakeru fixed a glare on Kiyose.

“In other words, the moment we move into Aotake, the team registration form for the track team is turned in?”

“That’s right.”

“And, of course, we’re automatically registered with the Inter-University Athletic Union of Kanto?”

“That’s right.”

“’That’s right’? You really are…” Kakeru sighed. “Isn’t it dirty without the consent of the person? How many people are on the track team in total?”

“For short-distance, we have a dozen or so people, I guess. We’re very weak, though. For long-distance, there’s the ten of us here.”

“So when did we become track athletes!?”

King tried to snatch away doorplate away from Kiyose. Musa hurriedly stopped him.

“I do not understand why. Let’s talk a little about this.”

“Right we will. Let’s just all settle down. Everyone, sit.”

Kiyose calmly instructed. It’s your fault it’s so chaotic, was what everyone was thinking. However, in Chikusei-sou, Kiyose’s words routinely possessed an immense power. They all forcibly suppressed their indignation and reluctantly sat down, once again forming a circle. No one opened their mouths. There was too much, and they didn’t know what to say.

Yuki nudged Kakeru’s side with his elbow. His eyes were saying “Go.” Kakeru was bewildered and looked around at the residents who formed the circle. The twins were signalling Kakeru with their eyes, asking for help. It was already well-known throughout Chikusei-sou that Kakeru went jogging by himself in mornings and evenings. Prince, who shut himself in his room and read nothing but manga, was about the only one who didn’t know.

For Kakeru, who had lived in a hierarchical society, to push aside the more veteran residents who were all sitting in a row and fire the first shot was something to hesitate about. However, the only person who could convincingly oppose Kiyose’s sudden proposition was Kakeru, the only one who was familiar with the world of track. Apparently, he had no choice but to question Kiyose on everyone’s behalf.

Kakeru corrected his posture.

“I’m asking this just to make sure, but who’s the coach? What do they think of these ghost members who don’t even know they’re on the team?”

“Don’t worry about that. The coach is our landlord Tazaki Genichirou-shi.”

“You’re crazy!”

Cries of grief once again rose from all around the circle.

“It’s impossible for us the moment that staggering old man is our coach!”

It seemed that Jouji was so shocked that he got alcohol down his windpipe. He complained while choking loudly.

“That’s rude. Our landlord is someone who was said to be the pride of Japan’s athletics world.” Kiyose chided him.

“When was that?” Jouta asked nervously while rubbing Jouji’s back.

“Well, when Tsuburaya Koukichi (3) died after writing his food-based suicide note, our landlord was already known as a famous coach at Kansei.”

“I do not understand at all.”

Musa tilted his head miserably. Only for this time, neither Shindou nor King the trivia master had the time to answer his question. Tsuburaya Koukichi was an outstanding runner who won the bronze medal for marathon at the Tokyo Olympics, but since explaining that wouldn’t move the conversation forward, Kakeru also decided to ignore Musa’s lamentation.

“Haiji-san, you said we were aiming for Hakone, but to put it bluntly, that’s impossible.”

At Kakeru’s flat and decisive words, everyone except for Kiyose looked relieved.

“You can’t know that without even trying.”

“I do know. Schools that are powerhouses at athletics do tough practices every single day for years, but even so, only a handful of universities are able to participate in Hakone, you know?”

“I don’t want to brag, but I’ve hardly ever ran before.” Prince, who was reading the manga he brought as though none of this had anything to do with him, lifted his head for the first time in a while. “I think it will take longer for someone like me to be able to participate in the Hakone Ekiden than a paramecium evolving into a human.”

“I’m sure even Prince should be faster than a paramecium.” King consoled him poorly.

“A paramecium is a paramecium. Even if it evolved, it won’t become a human.” Yuki cut the conversation off coldly and abandoned it.

Without lending an ear to the voices on the outfield, Kiyose looked directly at Kakeru.

“I’m surprised that you’d tuck your tail between your legs without even trying. Practice is important, but it’s not just a matter of doing hard training recklessly.”

Kakeru also took on the challenge head on.

“Haiji-san, you must know since you also run. Everyone here are amateurs. What is the point of dragging them into such a dream-like story and putting them through pain on purpose?”

“It certainly will remain a dream-like story if you don’t try,” Kiyose unusually exposed his feelings and vehemently argued in an irritated tone. “However, these guys have plenty of potential. Nico-chan-senpai has track experience. In high school, the twins and King were on the soccer team, and Yuki was in the kendo club. Shindou walked the mountain paths for ten-kilometer round-trips to get to school, and the potential hidden in Musa’s physical strength is immeasurable.”

“It’s a prejudice that black people are fast,” Musa said weakly. “Just like how there are black people who hate hip-hop or are bad at dancing, I’m not particularly fast either.”

“It’s been seven years since I’ve done track,” Nico-chan smiled bitterly as he lit a new cigarette.

“It doesn’t seem that I’m being counted, but it’s true that I’m terrible at sports.” King said timidly as he flipped through his manga idly. Kiyose still only looked at Kakeru and spoke passionately.

“And then, Kakeru came to Aotake. We now have ten people all together. Hakone isn’t a mountain in a mirage. This isn’t a pipe dream. It’s a reality where we can tie on our sashes and ascend!”

There was a scattered round of indifferent applause, and it stopped after Kiyose snapped, “Stop fooling around.” Cutting Kakeru off when he still tried to argue back, Kiyose recited from memory the “Hakone Ekiden Entry Qualifications” as though to double down on it.

“‘A registered athlete of the Inter-University Athletic Union of Kanto who belongs to the participating school and applied to participate in this competition no more than four times. If one only participated in the qualifying round, that is included in the number of times.’ The residents of Aotake are members of the Kansei University track and field team, and the team members are automatically registered with the union. Including the qualifiers, there is no one here who has participated in the Hakone Ekiden even once. See, we fulfilled all of the qualifications for participation.”

“The problem is those qualifiers.” Kakeru was finally able to interject. “You can’t just suddenly appear in the Hakone Ekiden.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that,” Shindou muttered.

“Most people only watch the finals on New Year’s,” Kakeru nodded.

“Twenty schools can participate the Hakone Ekiden, but only the top ten schools can get seeded. Every year, about thirty schools take part in the qualifiers that open in October.”

“If it’s thirty schools from all the universities in Kanto, then it’s not that many, isn’t it?”

To Jouji’s words, Kakeru declared, “Naïve!”

“For Hakone, ten people run ten sections, but each section is more than twenty kilometers. Naturally, the qualifiers are also decided by the total times of the athletes from each university for running twenty kilometers all at once. But…first of all, that twenty kilometers is a big problem.”

Pressed by Kakeru’s gaze, Kiyose reluctantly supplemented his words.

“It’s difficult to obtain ten people who can run twenty kilos at a reasonable speed. What’s more, the speeds are getting faster and faster in recent years. There are also prerequisites for taking part in the qualifiers: You must have an official record of running five-thousand meters within seventeen minutes, or ten-thousand meters within thirty-five.”

Perhaps feeling overawed from hearing specific times, silence descended on the room for a while. This time, it was Kakeru who continued.

“The top-level universities that participate in the Hakone Ekiden have most of their athletes run five-thousand meters in the first half of the fourteen-minute range on average. And, that’s a result collected from the best all over the country. Hakone isn’t a competition that you’ll be able to reach just with lip service. A weak track team from a university that doesn’t even do sports referrals doesn’t have a chance to be able to participate.”

Prince timidly raised his hand and spoke up.

“Um, I don’t really get the greatness of that record.”

“Haven’t you done endurance running in high school?” Jouta asked him in a hoarse voice, but Prince only shook his head and said “Not at all.”

“My high school was a university-preparatory school (4), so endurance running was just three kilometers.”

“If it’s five-thousand meters within seventeen minutes, then that means that’s a faster pace than three-and-a-half minutes per kilometer,” Yuki calmly calculated in his head.

“Three-and-a-half minutes! It took me about fifteen minutes to run three kilometers, I think.”

“That’s…hopelessly slow,” Nico-chan muttered without stopping from smoking his cigarette.

“Running five-thousand meters in seventeen minutes is only the condition to participate in the qualifiers. It’s hard to go to Hakone unless everyone has the ability to run in the fourteen-minute range,” Kiyose pointed out more and more calmly.

“It’s obviously impossible for us, isn’t it,” Jouji said brightly as though dismissed from a terrible job. However, Kiyose didn’t give up.

“For long-distance, you need to have endurance and concentration. You can’t just practice lazily. If we narrow down the target to just Hakone and make adjustments, then we can do the impossible.”

“What are you basing all of this confidence on?” Kakeru was amazed.

“If you’re talking about the basis, then it’s what I said before. The residents of Aotake have hidden potential.”

Kiyose was imposing. Probably even the people who had lived with him at Chikusei-sou for several years hadn’t noticed how much passion he had within him until now.

“To put it in concrete numbers, Kakeru can run five-thousand meters in thirteen minutes. Even among the athletes who take part in Hakone, it’s an incredible record that only a small number of people hold. By the way, at the track meet I was at right before I got injured, my record was fourteen minutes and ten seconds. I’ve fully recovered it from it recently, so I’m fully prepared for my legs to break after finishing the Hakone and strengthen that record.”

“Uh, no, you don’t have to go that far.” Yuki, who did not seem to like hot-bloodedness, murmured. “While we’re at it, I want you to stop dragging me into this.”

Kiyose ignored his objection.

“Furthermore, Musa can probably run it in just under fourteen minutes too. All the foreign athletes who take part in Hakone are in the thirteen-minute range.”

“I think it is because those people are overseas students who are expected to be fast.” Musa desperately explained while looking to Shindou for help. “It’s impossible for me. I’m a government-sponsored foreign student in the faculty of science and engineering, after all. More specifically, a car picks me up and drops me off at school in my country.”

“If you had that much money, why did you come to a place like Aotake?” Jouji raised a reasonable question.

“It is so that I can gain life experience. I did not see this happening…” Musa said, looking like a wilted morning glory. Without minding any of that, Kiyose summed everything up.

“Anyways, for the rest of it, if you could just turn a bit of your passion for mahjong or clubbing to running, we will definitely get good results. After all, you guys have more than enough physical strength, at the very least.”

Fueled by Kiyose’s ardor, some of them were gradually becoming more and more enthusiasm. Kakeru sensed that in the mood. As if it was something that easy. He roughly filled up his cup with sake.

A group of only amateurs aiming for the Hakone Ekiden. And what’s more, there was only half a year until the qualifiers in October. If someone who did track seriously heard that, they would think it was recklessness to the point of laughing it off as sleep-talking. What on earth did Kiyose thought running was?

Was inviting me to Chikusei-sou also because he had this kind of ulterior motive? In the end, Haiji-san is the same as those guys from high school who would make a huge deal over only my speed.

However, he couldn’t storm out of the room. Don’t go along with this absurd conversation, just go back to your room. Even as he thought that, for some reason he couldn’t move his body. From somewhere in his heart, a voice whispered, Doesn’t this seem interesting? Are you going to continue to run by himself in a place away from the track and field world forever? If you are, it’s better to launch an attack on the Hakone Ekiden with the residents of Chikusei-sou. It’s not a bad idea to try.

The whisper became a spark that ignited Kakeru.

Kiyose had said it. Kakeru’s running was free and looked fun. That was why he called out to him. Until now, there was no one around Kakeru who had said something like that to him.

There was no need for fun or anything like that in running. You should only aim to improve your speed, and put off leisure, romance, and hanging out with friends. He had heard those words so many times from managers, coaches, and upperclassmen that he was tired of it. Kakeru had only ever been asked to run like a machine. Kakeru’s value was only the numbers engraved on the stopwatch. He should have had enough of those days.

The other residents also seemed to be deep in thought about something in silence. While not knowing what to do with the uncertain and pent-up feelings within him, Kakeru gazed at the room where no one moved an inch,

Eventually, Shindou raised his head.

“I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Surprise-filled gazes concentrated on Shindou. Nobody thought that he, who was quiet and reliable, would be the first to decide.

“In the sticks, I walked many kilometers of mountain paths everyday, so I’m confident in my endurance. Plus, if we make it to the Hakone Ekiden, we’ll be on TV, right? I think my parents would be thrilled about that.”

“If Shindou is doing it, I shall take it on as well,” Musa said. “But I am telling you this in advance, I truly am not fast. Are you fine with that regardless?”

“Everything will turn out fine as soon as our practice starts,” Kiyose said warmly, as though everything hinged on that.

Oi oi, Nico-chan frowned, and Yuki gazed out the window, pretending to be indifferent. Prince was inching towards the door little by little.

The rest of the residents on the second floor, who easily got into the mood and were up for anything, became lively with Shindou’s and Musa’s declarations of participation.

“Hey, hey, Haiji-san. We’ll be popular with girls, right?”

“We definitely will, right?”

“Will this really guarantee me a job?”

The twins and King energetically asked for confirmation in rapid succession. “Of course,” Kiyose assured them.

Kakeru wanted to shout, He’s playing you! However, he knew that it was no use no matter what he said. The twins and King only wanted to escape from the harsh reality facing them briefly. That was why they jumped at the bait called “Hakone Ekiden” that was dangling in front of them. They were like horses that had sweet candy made from crystallized dreams hanging in front of their noses.

King was in high spirits and said, “Alright. Let’s help with Haiji’s ambitions!”

“Now,” Kiyose said, and alternately mowed down Nico-chan, Yuki, Prince, and Kakeru, who still hadn’t confirmed their participation yet, with his gaze.

“By majority decision, it is already decided that we will be aiming for the Hakone Ekiden. But, I don’t think that’s going to convince you guys either.”

Wondering what was going to be said, Kakeru refrained from even breathing and prepared himself for Kiyose’s attack. Kiyose continued to calmly intimidate them.

“Therefore, I am going to use force. You guys have no veto power.”

“This is tyranny!”

“Is this kind of thing allowed in a country where the rule of law prevails?”

Kiyose laughed off Nico-chan’s and Yuki’s desperate protests right in front of them.

“Nico-chan-senpai. Who was the one who, when you were crying ‘I absolutely cannot fail this exam,’ dragged you out of bed on time with the kindness and strictness of a mother? Who was the one who helped you repaper your walls that get sticky with nicotine every year? Who was the one who repaired the floorboards you stepped through in the hallway without telling the landlord on you?”

Like a convict who reformed right before his execution, Nico-chan suddenly became quiet and docile. Kiyose changed the aim of his attack to Yuki.

“You haven’t forgotten about it either, Yuki, the taste of my osechi cooking, right? Last year, you couldn’t get a job because of your bar exam, so you bummed off of me for lunch for the whole year because you said you didn’t have any money. To think that you’ve forgotten about that…”

Yuki could only nod his head like a broken doll. Kiyose turned his blade immediately yet again and slashed at Prince’s back as he was opened the door and was about to escape from the room. (5)

“Prince. Because of your book hoard, Chikusei-sou is at the brink of collapse. Which will you choose: Throwing away your manga, or aiming for the Hakone Ekiden?”

Prince sank down to the floor, but showed a resolute attitude to fight back.

“I hate both of them! Both choices are like telling me to die.”

Prince’s grief-filled lamentations reverberated in the room. Kiyose crossed his arms with a “Hmm” and turned towards Kakeru again. Kakeru lightly raised his arms.

“I get it. ‘Who introduced you to Chikusei-sou? If you don’t like it, you can leave.’ Is that what you’re going to say?”

“I’m not going to say that to someone’s who broke,” Kiyose uncrossed his arms. “All right, then. Kakeru and Prince, I’ll give you a few more days. If you change your mind, tell me.”

Prince stopped lamenting, and approached Kiyose, standing in the middle of the room, a little bit.

“And if it doesn’t change?”

“Are you going to declare a state of emergency next time?” Yuki interrupted sarcastically.

“No,” Kiyose smiled gently. “I will persistently continue to call for your surrender.”

Kakeru’s and Prince’s shoulders slumped in unison.

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#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind #kazetsuyo

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narcissisticselfshippinsinner · 5 years ago

Text

ANGEL

DS Dream X DT Dream

This follows the head cannon that since Dream ate 1 apple he has mini wings instead of big ones like DS Dream.

DT Dream= Dream

DS Dream= Daydream/ Day

____________________________________________

Daydream found himself in the familiar land of the Dreamscape. The gold fluffy clouds spread over the land, looking soft enough to be cotton candy. Daydream ruffled his feathers before stretching out his wings and going air borne: making his way to the centre of the Dreamscape. There stood a mirror tree of the tree of feelings. Admittedly, the tree had seen better days: it being mostly dead. Daydream winced and pushed back menories: nostalgia filling his soul.

He looked for something to distract him from the onslaught of memories threatening to take him over. He always had control of his emotions and he wasn't going to loose that now. That's when he heard it: a hiccup followed by a sob. Successfully being distracted, Daydream searched for an aura releasing distress and negative feelings but was surprised to find none. The only indication of someone else being there, was the soul wrenching sobs and muffled chokes from the other.

Going the old fashioned way, Daydream used his keen sense of hearing: following the sound of hiccups and cries. He found himself under the mirror tree: on what used to be the side where the golden apples hung. He was close now- so close that he shut down his own aura to prevent the other from noticing him. As soon as he did, he could feel the other aura: though its posituvity was controversial to the soul stopping sobs coming from the other. It almost even felt like his own aura: though definitely weaker. He could feel his aura urging him to protect the other: get rid of the thing that was causing the other to cry. He pushed aside the feeling: only when Negativity ruled would he ever allow himself to succumb to his feelings and urges, which would never happen.

he could hear the others mumbled words followed by a series of sniffles and sobs.

"I-I *choke* failed h-him. Im s-such a *hic* h-horrible b-brother. Wh-why do I-I even ex-exist? A-all I-I do I-is *sob* g-get in t-the w-way of h-his ha-happiness. W-what ki-kind of b-brother d-does th-that?*choke* i-im such a f-failure. I-I should st-stob being s-selfish *sob* an-and g-give him his happiness. *choke* even...i-if that is m-my life-"

_________________________________________

Daydream gasped as he sat up in his king sized bed, his duvet falling to his lap. His golden eyes took in his surroundings as his wings twitched in agitation: feathers puffed up.

After gathering his bearings, he relaxed his wings: feathers smoothing out to their usual silky state. Shaking his head dismissively, he got up off the bed and went about his morning routine.

Leaving through his open window, Daydream gently flapped his wings as he lowered himself to the ground with grace only heard of through the legends of angels. His golden wings tucked into him as he limited his positive aura so that his presence could not be felt at all.

He had decided to take a walk. The woods outside his window seemed ideal with the woodland critters just waking up and small animals hustling about. The cool crisp clean air of the early morning provided a pleasant breeze as Daydream enjoyed the solitude of his walk. No expectations, No one to judge him- it was perfect.

Morning dew glittered on the leaves and petals of flowers and trees alike, giving the forest a surreal and magical feel. The sun hadn't risen yet: the sky a mix between pale blue and black: creating an odd harmony. The colours almost seemed nostalgic for some reason.

Shaking his head: Daydream continued his walk, determined to not let his paranoia and overthinking nature take hold of this relaxing walk of his. Alas, his efforts was is vain as the he spotted a odd tinge of yellow to the left of him. A golden yellow that definitely clashed with the cool colours of the morning forest.

'If I ever find out who decided to use this Forest as a dumping ground I swear I'll-'

Daydream's eye twitched in annoyance as he side tracked off the dirt path he was on and entered the bush. As he approached the yellow object, he could feel a weak but strangely positive aura. An aura that was strangely familiar. Rushing forward after realizing that it wasnt an object: bit was indeed a person, Daydream pushed through the thick foliage and found himself on a small clearing.

Daydream's golden eyesockets widened as he took in the person infront him. There: unconsions on the ground, lay a skeleton monster clad in golden yellow and black clothes. That wasn't the fact that seemed to leave Daydream speechless though. What put Daydream into shock was the golden glistening crown that sat snugly on the others head. That and how similar the other looked liked to him in the past: though, past Daydream was taller and less...rounded than the other skeleton.

Getting over his shock, Daydream went over to the other skeletons side. He could feel his suppressed aura screaming at him to protect the other: to make sure he was safe. Once again ignoring the pleas of his aura: he checked the other skeletons soul pulse. After finding it weak, he sighed and picked up the other skeleton: much to his auras delight. Hating himself for giving his aura what it wanted: Daydream spread out his wings and took off back towards his castle, the sun rise causing hues of gold, pink and orange to dance across the sky and light up the area. Not that Daydream noticed: his mind focused on the smaller in his arms.

_________________________________________

"Mmmgg"

Dream groaned as Sunlight penetrated his eyelids. Turning around, he snuggled himself into the warmth of the soft duvet covering him.

'...Wait- duvet?'

Snapping his eyes open before wincing at the bright light, Dream sat up in both panic and confusion: a million thoughts running through his head at once.

'Where am I?- what happened?- aren't I supposed to be in the voi-'

Luckily, his barrage of thoughts were broken by a groan next to him. Slowly looking beside him- Dream saw another skeleton leaned back on a chair: asleep. A comidic snot bubble grew and shrunk as the other slept. Strangely enough, Dream could've swore the other was Ink. The only difference being the others attire and paint mark.

Only when the others shot bubble popped and he woke up groggily, did Dream confirm that the other was not infact just Ink in another outfit. The other had a grumpy aura, shown though his heterocromic eyes: one a green square and the other an orange triangle. As the other blinked the sleep put of his eye sockets, Dream took note on how the others eyelights remained the same, further adding to his confirmations on the others identity.

The Ink lookalike groaned in annoyance as he noticed that Dream was awake, making Dream wince at the reaction. Focusing his aura slightly, Dream noticed how the others annoyed expression turned slightly happy before going back to annoyed.

"Stop that." The Ink lookalike spat, startling the guardian. "Stop trying to control my emotions. Your not even as good at Boss when it comes to that so why try?"

Dream tilted his head in confusion. "Who's... boss?"

FakeInk chucked before growling at the other, earning a whimper from Dream. "I don't have to tell ya anything pipsqueak. All I was told to do was watchya until you woke up. And now that your up, I'm outa here."

Before Dream could awnser, the taller got up and dragged himself out the door: the door clicking shut behind him.

Not knowing whether to try and leave or to stay: Dream sat in the bed awkwardly for a few seconds. Taking in his surroundings, Dream found himself in a bedroom: the themes that of warm colours and different shades of yellow. The bed he sat in was king sized and the duvet and pillows surrounding his were the fluffiest and warmest he had ever felt. Directly infront of him was a large arched doorway: surprisingly with no door as it lead to a small balcony: the blinding light reflecting off the floor indicating it was noon.

Before Dream had the chance to get up and explore the rest of the room, a swify knock was sounded at the door before the door was pushed open and closed silently. Dream watched the figure enter the room quietly, his eyesockets widening at the face infront of him. The other skeleton looked oddly similar to him, though his face was more defined, he was way taller, his eyesockets were fully gold and the two massive golden wings behind his back- not to mention his attire. Dream couldn't feel the others aura as he stared at his somewhat lookalike in curiosity and confusion.

The taller sat down on the bed next to Dream: his wings folded behind his back. Dream couldn't help the shivers down his spine as the other spoke: "Good afternoon. How was your rest?"

Dream looked around akwardly: avoiding eye contact with the taller. "Em... good I guess?" He mumbled passively.

Daydream's soul skipped a beat. Whether it was out of excitement or realization that the others voice was that of the person's in the Dreamscape, he would never know. His aura was once again urging him to comfort the smaller: love him, protect him and make sure he was alright. Luckily for Daydream, he had pretty good self control. And so, they ended up spending the rest of the evening, talking and sharing information: the uncomfortable sansation hanging in the air disappearing, leaving a pleasant and calm atmosphere.

_________________________________________

It had been a few weeks since Dream had started living at the JR. At first, he was sceptical of everyone: including Daydream, but after awhile, he got used to them. Kinda.

The first time Daydream had released his aura to Dream, Dream felt so overwhelmed he fell into a trance: his aura taking over his actions in replacement for his short circuited brain. Let's just say it was very difficult for Daydream not to snuggle the smaller as Dream clung onto him like an adorable koala.

Time, however, passed and Dream had slowly been getting used to the others aura: now able to stand Daydream's aura without short circuiting 65% of the time.

One can imagine the surprize (and hidden delight) when Daydream accidentally found out about Dream's wings. Usually hidden under his clothes, Dream had a pair of adorable little golden angel wings: formed due to his consumption of the last golden apple in Dreamtale.

After this discovery, Daydream had another problem on his plate: that being having to control the urge to preen the smallers wings.

___

Goddamn this stupid aura of his.

Daydream mentally grumbled as he finished his third load of paperwork for the day. A pale yellow blush was dusted along his cheekbones as he couldn't help but feel empty. Like he wanted something- no. Someone to be with him at that very moment. To sit on his lap so he could cuddle the other: nerves calm due to the feeling of the other tucked away safely in his arms.

Not that that'll ever happen. His stubbornness and mental inability to give into his feeling and urges preventing him. He had to stay in control: a perfect angel for those who follow him, a role model. And what kind of role model doesn't have control over themselves, physically and mentally?

However, history has a cruel way of repeating itself. So once again, Daydream walked upto the guest room: having to call Dream for lunch. After knocking on the door, he waited. After a few minutes, he knocked again. A unknown source of worry started coursing through him: His aura once again active in pushing him to check on the smaller. Before Daydream had time to think of it, he pushed open the door and took a step inside.

Just as he entered the room, the bathroom door swung open and in came a shirtless Dream: his ribs and small wings visible for the world to see.

Daydream felt something in him snap. Probably his patience and self control as he promptly walked up to the embarrassed and slightly confused Dream: and picked him up bridal style.

An ominous shadow hung over Daydream's eyelights, hiding them from view. Giving out a startled yelp: Dreams feathers puffed up as the taller held him securely in his arms. Dream struggled in the others arms: confusion and (gay) panic fuelling his actions. That is until he suddenly felt a somewhat familiar warm yet fuzzy aura surround him. Dreams brain felt like ooze as he felt himself melt into Daydreams aura and hold.

As Dream struggled in Daydream's grasp: Daydream could feel the panic and confusion radiating off the smaller. Therefore he had unconsciously released his aura: once again overwhelming Dream and causing the other to instantly relax in his grip. As Daydream made his way to his room, he could feel his soul dance with joy and his aura sing as Dream snuggled and cuddled into his chest.

Opening and closing his door using his foot, Daydream brought the smaller over to his bed. Sitting up against the bed, he pulled the smaller into his lap: spooning the other from behind. Daydream's eyes were glazed over by the (usually held back) emotions and feelings that had taken over his mind. His actions fueled by his aura and soul. Lovingly cradling the other, Daydream nuzzeled Dream's neck before moving his hands upto Dream's adorably tiny wings. Dream started purring in satisfaction as Daydream started to preen the others wings: smoothing out the small soft feathers. Dream learnt into Daydream, loving how the others aura covered him like a protective yet loving blanket. He had never felt safer and more loved than this. Dream felt relaxed and truly happy as his aura sang out a symphony of joy. This was the place to be: in Daydream's arms.

_________________________________________

Dream winced as he woke up to a slight head ache. Sitting up: he once again found himself in the first room he had woken up in: Daydream's room. Even though he was sitting up and the duvet that once covered him was in a bundle at his lap, Dream felt strangely warm. That's when he noticed the large jacket draped over him: Daydream's jacket. He also seemed to notice his lack of a shirt, leading the smaller to pull the coat infront of him: cheekbones lit up gold in embarrassment.

*thunk*

Dream almost jumped out of his nonexistent skin when he heard a strange banging sound. Eyes scanning the area, Dream came to the conclusion that the sound came from the bathroom. Getting off the bed silently and wearing the jacket properly, Dream quietly made his way over to the bathroom: the sleeves of the jacket covering his hands. Dream almost tripped over the jacket as its bottom reached just above his knees. Luckily he regained his balance on time and found himself peeking through the entrance to the bathroom.

His eyes widened in surprise as he found himself looking at Daydream with his head against the bathroom wall: the others fists curled up and pressed against said wall.

Dream felt a strange sense of worry overcome him, running up to the taller he pulled the other away from the wall: sighing in relief at the small bruise on the top of his skull.

"Why would you do that!?" Dream's voice tinkled making Daydream's aura activate and urge him into another cuddle session with the smaller.

Grinding his teeth, Daydream clenched his fists harder: almost drawing blood. Since when was it this difficult to control his urges and feelings? Dream could feel the others feelings spike: his positive aura being suppressed. Daydream's internal turmoil came to a stop as he felt two warm arms surround his torso. Though weak, Daydream could feel the others aura calm him as the storm that ravaged his mind came to a standstill. He didn't know when the tears had started fo flow, but once they did, they flowed like a opened dam: free of the artificial restraints holding it back. He found it hard to breath as sobs forced their way out of his throat: shaking his body to the core.

Dream smiled softly as he rubbed comforting circles on the others lower torso and wings: feathers soft to the touch. It had been the first time Dream had seen the other express their emotions freely: a strong and impenetrable wall bottling it up all this time. Dream could feel his aura begging him to comfort the taller, which he gave into instantly: arms pulling Daydream closer as the other collapsed into his arms.

Dream whispered reassurances and loving words to the taller as Daydream buried his face into Dreams slender chest: his tears soaking through his own jacket. He had never felt this weak before. So...not in control. And it scared him. How could he be their angel if he couldn't even control his emotions. How could he lead them it he couldn't even stop a measly break down such as this?

Daydream felt as though his head was splitting with all the built up and hidden emotions spilling out of him through his sobs and cries.

*Daydream cried for help.

...

*and somebody came

Daydream suddenly became aware of the smaller supporting him: whispering words of comfort and reassurance. "Your going to be okay, Day. Its alright to let them out. It builds up who you are and nobody should have to restrain them." Dream's calming and motherly voice soothed the other: bringing him down from his attack.

Daydream was emotionally exhausted as he leaned into the smaller, hearing the others soul beat. Hoisting himself up, with Dream's help, Daydream stumbled upto his bed: collapsing on the soft sheets. With a bit more struggling, he managed to slip under his extremely fluffy duvet. However, before Dream could say goodbye and leave, an arm reached out and pulled the smaller into the bed.

Orange beams of light shone through the balcony doorway, lighting up the room in mesmerizing shades of orange, gold and reds. The sun setting over the horizon was evident as Dream could feel a intense yet strangely delightful heat cover his cheekbones as his soul beat sped up. Dream could feel his aura relax happily in satisfaction as Daydream pulled Dream into him: his arms curling around the smallers waist and wings circling over him protectively. Snuggling into Daydream's embrace, Dream could feel sleep pull at him: the comfort of Day's hold lulling him into the calming darkness...

_________________________________________

A/N

My God that took forever.

3175 words :)

#Dreamcest #dream sans #dreamscape #ds dream #mini wings #undertale #undertale au #oneshot #onebizarrekai #jokublog #what am i even doing with my life #sanscest #sans #dreamtale #dreamswap

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risingsouls · 3 years ago

Text

Recruited: Chapter 9

[A very self-indulgent, not sfw chapter this time! Forgive me if it’s cheesy; I’m super rusty with actually writing smut. :’3

You’ve been warned.

Bonus song for basically Nabs before she gets some ;3]

Nabooru

Gloved fingers dragged through rain-deprived dirt, hands and feet kicking up a cloud of dust as Nabooru skidded along the ground and twisted her body back around to face her Saiyan assailant. They had been at it for hours, deciding their time off was better spent training than goofing off. Thus, as her muscles and depleting energy reserves begged for rest, a change in tactics to either secure a win or put her in the least embarrassing position possible to request a reprieve didn't sound like the worst idea in the world. Scouter or no, the switch up should catch him off guard enough to at least get a few, solid final attacks in.

She dug her heels in to slow herself and regain control of her momentum after his last blow. Once she found a solid enough footing, she propelled herself forward again, charging like an enraged bull. She closed the gap between them in a flash. As she hoped, Vegeta expected her to throw a punch or a kick, a series of blasts or a wave of energy, and left his midsection open. Head lowered, she drove her shoulder hard into his abdomen and wrapped her arms around him. She felt the air whisk from his lungs and his body double over as she drove him backward and through a plateau. They slammed to the ground and Nabooru pinned him, knees straddling either side of his waist.

She drew her arm back and aimed a punishing strike for Vegeta's jaw, only for it to crash through solid earth next to his head as he tilted his head to dodge it. Her left fist followed up, only to be caught. Energy crackled around their joined hands in the stalemate, jaws clenched with the effort to gain an upper hand.

Nabooru noted his smirk a second too late. She just caught the glimpse of his free arm lifting toward her before his forearm collided with her stomach, forcing her off of him and onto her back. He was on her in an instant, arms pinned and crushed at her sides by his powerful thighs and a ball of red ki aimed for her face. She wriggled to try and free herself, only for Vegeta to shove the sphere of energy threateningly closer, the heat of it grazing the tip of her nose.

"Give up."

Nabooru considered attempting to kick him in the head or back, freeing her hand enough to blast or grab some part of him--his inner thigh, groin, ass if she could manage to reach--in a strategy to surprise him enough to regain some control. But the second her fingers twitched, his knees tightened on her hips, and she bit back a pained yelp from the pressure it placed on her hands and pelvis.

"Fine. You win. Would you kindly get that out of my face now?"

Vegeta's frame shook with his taunting chuckle and the light evaporated from his palm. "You almost had me with that stupid tactic," he drawled, his tail whipping the air behind him in slow arcs. His grip on her hips loosened and he wiped blood from the side of his mouth with the back of his glove. "Too bad you couldn't follow through."

She pulled her hands and arms free, taking the moment to admire the musculature of his thighs plainly visible in his battle suit. She tried to make the upward roving of her eyes seem as organic as possible, hoping the way her gaze lingered on the exposed skin where chunks of his armor and suit were missing in his side and shoulder look like she was admiring her own handiwork before settling on his smug face. Blood from where she headbutt him earlier in the spar had trickled down from his forehead and down the bridge of his nose and was now half-dried there. At least he wouldn't leave their bout unscathed.

"I caught you off guard enough, so I'm counting it as a victory."

The prince scoffed, and she followed the shot of his gaze to find Nappa and Raditz landing beside them. "Did we interrupt something?" Nappa jeered, glancing between the pair of them. Nabooru caught the hint of pink dusting Vegeta's cheeks as he growled and sprang to his feet. She sat up herself, ignoring the fleeting thought of missing his weight on top of her. Forcing herself to look anywhere other than his backside. "If you need a little more time, we can come back later."

"Shut up. I hope you two were paying attention to what real sparring looks like."

Raditz snorted. Neither seemed particularly perturbed by Vegeta's growing temper. "Oh, sparring is what you call it? That's not what it looked like from where I'm standing."

Vegeta ignored him. "How much were you two slacking instead of training?" He raised a hand to his scouter. "Do I need to personally test you to see your progress?"

Nabooru rose to her feet and dusted off her backside before joining the trio. "You really think I'd pass up an opportunity to beat up on Raditz?" Nappa asked, causing the other to roll his eyes. "Even our runt is still getting stronger."

"Hmpt. We'll see." He paused to scrub the half dried blood from his face and, upon noting the questioning stares the other two pinned him with, clicked his tongue. "Whatever. You're dismissed. I want you both back here in twelve hours, got it? Your combat has looked sloppy lately, and I won't stand for you messing something up because you refuse to keep up with your training."

Instead of Nappa and Raditz leaving, Vegeta’s blue-white aura surrounded him and he took off, forcing all three left behind to shield their faces from the swirl of dust. “Are you joining us, Nabs?” Raditz asked, sweeping a hand in front of his face to ward off the dirt.

“Not this time.” Nabooru brushed stray strands of hair away from her face. “I might join you later. I need a bath before I do anything else.”

Nappa snorted. “Like I believe that after that performance you two put on. There was plenty more grappling than usual and I refuse to believe it wasn’t on purpose.” He slapped a hand on her back, causing her to hiss in pain. “If you go for it, just think of it as doing us all a favor.”

With a roll of her eyes, she turned her back on the smirking pair. “You two are the worst.” Feet hovered over the ground and she lifted her hand in salute. “I’ll see you later. Either for a drink or to kick your asses.”

She took the flight back to the resort district at a leisurely pace to reserve what little remained of her energy. Drowning in the bathtub wasn’t exactly her ideal death, and she wanted to enjoy the luxury of one when she only had the option to shower on the bases. She never realized how she had taken advantage of them back home when baths were the only option. Stripping out of her torn, sweat and blood soaked armor and soaking in the scalding hot water to soothe her muscles for hours sounded far better than cavorting around the entertainment district and dealing with crowds full of mostly drunk soldiers. Not to mention catching a wink of sleep before they resumed their grueling training.

Vegeta's decision to spend their off time training neither surprised her nor did it particularly bother her. Considering their conversation a few weeks prior and his suspicions and goals concerning Frieza, she expected and welcomed the workouts over doing nothing or continually searching for ways to spend the next three days, harsh as they already proved to be. Normally, the prince hadn't been particular about how the other two spent their time, however. Did they know his plans? She assumed they did or at least suspected. They knew him better, and his ambitious and entitled nature appended to his royal status was difficult to miss. How soon did Vegeta plan to move forward with his plans? If they kept getting stronger, would Frieza suspect something? Would he care? They couldn't exactly keep their training or any progress made a secret. Was there more to this than just killing Frieza?

Nabooru landed at the entrance to the resort they had chosen to stay in, reaching into her armor and pulling out the key to her room as she stepped onto the elevator. She selected her floor and leaned against the wall. She felt queasy considering what they were doing in full. She despised Frieza and the entire operation, but she risked far more than her own life with this. She didn't know how much she could trust Vegeta, but he offered her an out and that was better than she could get otherwise, it seemed. A way back to her home and her old life. Or whatever her life would be on the new Hyrule. It had to be better than conquering planets for Frieza and his family. Than constantly compromising her morality to keep her people safe and herself alive.

And Vegeta could be worse. For all his threats and insults, he had yet to really harm her. He had shown time and again that if he wanted her dead, he could have done it, both because he was more powerful and he had little qualms with killing. If he wanted to sabotage her, he could have outed her for blowing up the palace on Trimbon or anything else she had stepped out of line with. Perhaps to keep her as loyal as possible, especially now that he decided she was meant to help him in his endeavors, but she would be hard pressed to find anyone on the force without an angle that served their purposes. After all, she had agreed to help Vegeta mostly for her own benefit, to free herself from Frieza and the force and return home. Though his own plight and history, the parallels to her own, didn't hurt his chances of convincing her to risk everything. They could both get what they needed. What they deserved.

The elevator binged and she stepped onto the carpeted floor, heading to the end of the hall where her room was. She unlocked the door and slipped inside, yanking her armor over her head the second the doors slid closed. For all his flaws, she couldn't deny that he, like the other two Saiyans, had grown on her, too. The extra time spent together sparring and the brief conversations following helped, she supposed, as she could see him as more than a dethroned prince with a chip on his shoulder and a thrill for violence. More than anything, he saw her as a warrior first, had since the day they met, as she preferred to be seen. With everyone else underestimating her for her sex or viewing her as a potential bed mate, it went a long way with her. While she doubted he would ever treat her as an equal in any regard, she would survive so long as he continued to respect her as a warrior.

Nabooru struggled out of her torn battle suit and ripped leggings, boots kicked off and gloves dropped haphazardly. She yanked the tie from her hair as she pushed the button to the bathroom door open, the lights motion activated. Clean and simple if not a little small, the bathroom still had what she wanted: a bathtub with complimentary soaps and bubbles. She used her scouter to double check the contents of them as well as the quality of the water, and, finding that none would harm her skin or poison her if accidentally ingested, she filled the tub and dumped a generous portion of the bubbles in the water.

She leaned against the sink counter as she waited for it to fill, tapping through her messages. Only one remained unread, and the origin dropped her heart to the pit of her stomach, worsening her discomfort. It was rare Frieza contacted her, anything he needed to say to her relayed through Vegeta or some other commander. She could only imagine what he wanted to say to her and her alone.

When the foam rose over the lip of the tub, she stepped in and lowered her body into the steaming water. She bent her legs and rested her spine against the back of the basin, letting her head fall back. Hand rose from the water to open the message, her pulse too quick for the relaxing atmosphere she created for herself.

As she feared, it referred to the job on Trimbon. She skimmed through it, chewing her bottom lip to the point of nearly splitting it open. The emperor informed her that she had performed better than expected with her conversations with the rebel leader but lamented her failure to convince him of a peaceful solution, that she could have tried harder in his opinion, resulting in the loss of the greater portion of the planet's army and the palace. Her pay would be garnished for an amount agreed upon between the Empire and Trimbon's royal family once the damages were fully assessed. But the part that sent her mind awhirl with fresh paranoia was the end. A warning, vague but haunting. A reminder that her success and usefulness determined whether the deal between the Empire and her home planet and people stood, and that, should she be tasked with similar in the future, she should be better prepared to push the envelope to obtain the desired result.

Nabooru swallowed hard and pulled her scouter from her ear, sliding it across the tiled floor and away from the tub. She sucked in a breath and submerged herself, the rush of the running water like muffled hoofbeats in her ears. Her chest ached as her mind raced, unearthing the worst case scenarios. He had already destroyed her planet. He would find out why she had blown up the palace and would kill her people for it. He knew what she and Vegeta planned and would punish her by taking the only hope she still had from her. She failed them. All of them. All for a selfish act of consolation. She had no home, no race, she was alone, and--

She broke the surface again and gasped for air. The water threatened to spill over the side, and she leaned forward to turn the faucet off. No, she couldn't think like that. It was just a warning. Paranoia without real evidence to back the thoughts would only drive her closer to madness. The whispered rumor of Frieza's atrocities and Vegeta's suspicions about the fate of his home world were only speculation. Convincing speculation, but without witnessing it for herself...she couldn't afford to let it rule her. The distraction would make her sloppy and ultimately make her fears a reality.

She would stay the course. Continue to train with Vegeta so he or both of them could become powerful enough to kill Frieza. Impossible as it still seemed, it was without a doubt the only true way to ensure her people's safety. With the tyrant in power, their livelihood would always remain tenuous and out of her control.

Dragging her fingers through her wet hair, she closed her eyes in another attempt to relax. She steered her thoughts away from a fate that likely hadn't befallen her home toward the next few days of training and strategizing. Considering ways they could all get strong enough to take on Frieza as soon as they possibly could. Vegeta had mentioned a legend of his people, of a transformation known simply as a Super Saiyan. He said if he could figure out how to unlock it, Frieza would be no match for him. Unfortunately, her pressing on how one achieved the form revealed that the legend didn't elaborate on that with even Nappa and his knowledge of Saiyan lore drawing a blank. They had a goal, at least, but little direction for achieving it. But if anyone could accomplish it, it was Vegeta. The man was impressive in battle, strategic and naturally inclined to combat to a rare degree, and if nothing else, he would make it through sheer force of will.

A few years ago, she never would have imagined she would fight on the same level as someone like him, ki or no ki. The only one back home that gave her a run for her rupees was Ganondorf and Avira if she found her on an off day. Thus, she never imagined this sort of growth or power for herself and a new element to add to her fighting style to boot. She was glad to have someone to help her grow stronger. Test her and push her beyond her limits, even if he did so for purely selfish reasons. No reason he shouldn't benefit from it, too.

Half dozing, her train of thought shifted to their most recent spar, focusing on what she did well and where she could improve. New tactics to try. How to increase every attribute from speed and strength to endurance and stamina. The advantage of switching to less traditional styles as she had toward the end of their bout, and where those succeeded and failed. She went from the pinner to the pinned due to a loss of focus and a split second of carelessness. She could feel his weight on top of her again, his powerful thighs squeezing her hips in punishment for trying to wriggle free. That devilish smirk curling his lips as he slipped his hands beneath her armor and battle suit, gloved fingers gliding up her abs maddeningly slow and his hips pressing downward into hers and…

Her eyes snapped open and she squeezed her legs together, swiping a hand over her face in frustration. For her fantasies to take such a course wasn't particularly rare. When thinking about Ganondorf or Aveil saddened rather than aroused her when she needed to quell her lust, her imagination resorted to her new cohorts instead. For a while, Nappa or Raditz sufficed, but more often than not, they morphed to the prince on top of her or beneath her. Pressing her against a wall or into the mattress. Nipping and sucking along her neck while he pounded into her.

The problem was that, since they started training together more often, the fantasies became more frequent and inopportune. She felt herself drifting from fantasizing to considering making it a reality. If Nappa and Raditz hadn’t shown up earlier, she might have tried her hand at shifting their spar to the sexual sor of physical. He was likely more pent up than she was, after all, and she didn’t miss the occasional glances or what she could only define as his brand of flirting while they sparred or conversed. It wasn’t the potential of being turned down that kept her from going for it. Besides caving to her lust for a quick fling conflicting with her attempts to only bed those she felt worthy of her time, it felt sleazy; he was her commander and she didn’t want some petty rift to form between the four of them over her libido deciding to ramp up to higher levels than she had experienced since joining the force. Even more unsettling, she refused to let meaningless sex get misconstrued and used against her for malicious purposes.

Still...if they were careful, no one had to know, and the forbidden lust concept and high stakes did shamefully boost the attractiveness of fooling around with Vegeta. And for all the potential bedmates to choose from, he was the easy choice. Strong, attractive, a sexy growl she wouldn’t mind hearing in her ear, high stamina, a penchant for roughness she guessed…

Nabooru huffed and did a quick scrub of her body, patience with cleaning up properly and relaxing thinned to nothing. She lifted herself out of the tub and flared her ki to dry herself off in a moment. She dug through her supplies and tended to her scrapes and bruises. More than anything she wanted a distraction from her worries about her homeworld. Something more palpable and effective than her thoughts wandering to a railing from the Saiyan prince. She imagined drowning herself in liquor would exacerbate the problem which left sparring, indulging in her fantasies, or sinking to the level of a one night stand with a stranger lurking around. If she played her cards right, perhaps she could get both of the first two options.

She grabbed her spare battle suit and tugged it on, followed by her stockings, boots and gloves. Tying her hair back up and picking up her chest armor, she left her room and trekked down the hall a few doors down. She knocked on the door and, no sooner had her arm returned to her side did the door open, Vegeta standing on the other side. He halted mid-pull on his glove over his fingers and stared, eyebrows knitting together and frown deepening.

“What?” he demanded, tugging the leather over the rest of his palm and down his wrist.

Just that small, innocuous action had her staring for a half second longer at his hand than was socially acceptable. She cleared her throat and rested her hands on her hips, hoping her expression and stance displayed annoyance or impatience with his terse greeting and gruff tone. “Spar with me. I’m bored and need to blow off steam.”

“And what makes you think I want to?” Vegeta’s lips twitched upward and his tail unfurled from his waist. “You’ve hardly rested. How much steam could you really blow off if I put you down in a matter of minutes? It’s not as fun for me when you can’t put up a fight, either.”

Her grip on the strap of her armor tightened, an already fiery temper further exacerbated by Frieza’s message and the plague of her body’s betrayal and clouding her mind with lewd imagery. “What else do you have to do? Surely you didn’t plan to go find the other two.” Her nostrils flared with an agitated huff and she ignored the flicker of rage that flashed through obsidian. “You were probably going to hole up in your room for the next several hours and fiddle with your scouter or take a nap or brood over the next mission.”

Vegeta’s increasingly vexed demeanor, the vicious lashing of his tail behind him, did little to deter her rant. “Or maybe you’re going to sit in here and jerk off because you’re too good for anyone that could possibly take interest in a short, egotistical prince long enough for even a quick fuck is your damn hand or absolutely in--!”

The last syllable of her nonsense passed her lips as a pained hiss as, in that split second, Vegeta gripped her by the arm, yanked her into his room, and slammed her into the wall. She felt plaster crack from the force. “Hilarious coming from you when you’ve admitted to being just as pretentious about who you fuck,” he growled, hands on her shoulders to keep her pinned. He remained at arm’s length, his fingers digging into her shoulder blades with bruising force. His smirk returned. Slow. Predatory. The tip of his tail brushed along the swell of her hip. “Even more hilarious that you were about to call yourself insane. Tch, don’t act so surprised; you’re not very subtle and I’ve smelled arousal on you more than once during our spars.”

She closed her gaping mouth and heat surged into her cheeks. She wanted to challenge the claim, but she learned early on how powerful a Saiyan’s sense of smell was. “That’s hardly fair. How do you know it’s not just our fights themselves that get me excited and not necessarily who I’m fighting?”

One hand released her shoulder in favor of gripping her chin and forcing her gaze down to his. He forced his knee between her thighs, and she bit her bottom lip, proving him right in her lack of subtlety. It took everything in her to keep her composure and not grind her hips on his muscled thigh for even the barest amounts of stimulation. Though she may have kept her body still, she knew her hooded gaze, flushed cheeks, and worried lip betrayed the surge of desirous urgings her mind flooded her with. The stubborn air she attempted to maintain fell flat in light of it.

“We’re not fighting now.” His growl had deepened, and his gaze remained locked with hers. Sharp canines peeked from beneath his lips as his smirk widened. “You’re not fighting against this predicament you’re in, either. Your claims are a little contradictory, wouldn’t you say?”

She exhaled, lips remaining parted a touch. Her thoughts of regaining a semblance of ground in this exchange clashed with her desire to simply give in to whatever he planned to do with her, if anything outside of teasing her to near death was on his agenda. She could only come up with a compromise for both. She lifted the outside leg, sure to graze along his as much as possible and in slow motion, and wrapped it around his waist to pull him closer. A slight arch of her spine, and his gaze flicked straight to her chest and back again. She swallowed a pitiful whimper as the move shifted her hips against his thigh, too.

“Aren’t you just clever?” Nabooru pushed her hips forward to meet his (she silently cursed the cut of his armor and the guard that hung from the front and sides), her own lips curling upward. “But I’d say we’re both on the same page here. Thankfully. I love a good spar, but all in all, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for it, let alone using it to get you to shove me up against the wall like this.”

He snorted, and his hand dropped from her chin. It trailed down her throat, and she instinctively tilted her head back. It lingered there for a moment longer, a hint of pressure applied from his palm forcing her breath to hitch, before it slid down the center of her body. Between her breasts. Along her abdomen. He shifted his knee down just enough to allow room for his hand to slide between her legs. “Would have never guessed through that temper tantrum you threw.”

She tossed her previous reservations out the window and pressed down into his touch, a shaky breath easing past her lips. “So, I’m a little pent up,” she breathed. Her fingers dug into the wall behind her; just to have someone else’s fingers between her thighs, caressing her even through her battle suit, might have satisfied her for another few days. “I’m sure you understand. You obviously have something of a sex drive…”

Another growl rumbled in his chest and he eased the fabric to the side. The leather of his gloves offered a far more pleasing sensation than she expected, grazing along sensitive skin before parting the lips and delving between them. He pressed two fingers briefly against her entrance before sliding them back up, settling against her clitoris. He teased the bundle with slow circles and an intermittent jolt of measured ki that weakened her knees and jerked her hips forward. All the while, his gaze remained on her face, watching her every minute reaction.

One thought plunged through the clouded haze of pleasure dulling her reason: more. By the look on his face, the pleasure he took in torturing her, he would keep this up for hours. While better than spending that time on her own, lying in the unfamiliar hotel bed and searching for any creative way of fantasy she could to get herself with, she had to take advantage of what she had access to now before he could rescind the offer and send her on her way, dripping wet, desperate, and unsatisfied. That meant convincing him he needed her, too. For the moment.

With her unencumbered arm, she reached between their bodies. She shoved the front bit of his armor up and slid her hand beneath it, hand resting against his bulge. The motion of his fingers stuttered to a halt and she saw his jaw tighten. She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked him through his battle suit. For added effect, she released a soft sight and rocked her hips against his hand. In his moment of surprise, she freed herself enough to lean down and flick her tongue over the shell of his ear.

“Do you really want to use your hand for this when you have me right here, Vegeta?”

As she hoped, it was like she flipped a switch. Vegeta released another growl and swatted her hand away, only to grab her waist, pull her from the wall, and shove her forward. Nabooru stumbled a step and fell face first onto the bed. She shifted back and planted her boots on the floor, hinged at the waist over the mattress and backside pushed enticingly outward. He was on her in a second, one hand squeezing her hip while the other likely released his cock from his suit.

A glint of red caught her eye in the moment's reprieve. His scouter. She reached for it, switched it off, and tossed it into a chair in the corner of the room. She had no intention of being particularly noisy in case Nappa or Raditz returned early, but she didn't care to take chances with the scouter next to her head while he plowed her. This endeavor was risky enough for a multitude of reasons. No need to add on to it.

She cast a glance over her shoulder and bit her lip when he slipped his hand from her hip to slide the fabric aside once more. The extra enticement of arching her spine further and pushing her hips out wasn’t needed as the Saiyan had no intention of dragging their meeting out any further. She stifled her gasp by burying her face in her forearm, and her fingers tangled into the too-crisp sheets beneath her. The brief pain when he plunged his full length inside of her subsided quickly, his teasing from before offering more than enough lubrication and her need being more prominent than a concern for being torn asunder. He remained still for the moment, likely to allow them both to adjust to the sudden change in stimulation, and she idly thought that he could probably stay still and she would probably still climax with how desperate she actually was. A shameful revelation when she touted herself as independent and above needing sex regularly. While still mostly true, her delight, her relief with finally having someone to pleasure her besides herself called it into question.

Toes curled in her boots as his hips shifted back from their flush positioning against hers, her worried bottom lip raw and a shudder raced down her spine at the sensation of feeling each inch slide through her until only his tip remained inside. The coarse fur on his tail tickled the bare portion of her thigh as it wound around it, squeezing and slipping into her stocking to caress her inner thigh.

Just when she thought he had snapped out of the trance her taunt placed on him, that he would return to torturing her for his own amusement, Vegeta’s bruising grip returned to her hips and he thrust back into her with a stifled growl, the force shoving her forward and nearly off her feet. For added stability, she planted her free knee on the edge of the mattress, offering a slight shift in the angle of his penetration. She sank her teeth into the leather of her glove at her wrist and moaned, the pace he set brutal and swift, unforgiving and rough. Gold eyes glazed over as the lines between pain and pleasure blurred, a pleasant heat coiling low in her abdomen.

The trail of his touch as it glided from her hip and down the front of her suit bottoms felt like fire, and she pushed her hips up so the tips of his fingers would reach their target quicker. The simplest graze of her clitoris sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and, as he rubbed the sensitive nub, he once more employed pulses of ki to heighten the sensation.

Between gloved fingertips and the relentless thrust of his cock, Nabooru’s focus wavered from playing it safe to wanting to moan and scream his name at the top of her lungs. She wanted nothing more than to orgasm and feel him topple over the edge after her, and, to her mild surprise, he seemed keen on achieving both. The force of her bite left deep indentations in the sturdy leather, alabaster wet with drool upon release. She tucked her chin and squeezed her eyes shut, murmured, desperate praises of the Saiyan prince dripping from her lips as the heat in her belly coiled tighter and threatened to break.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder, lips pressed tightly together and trapping her mewls in her throat. His hooded gaze lifted from the point of contact, over the swell of her backside and up her spine to meet her lusty stare. A chuckle rumbled in his chest and his smirk returned just as he sent a more potent, constant shock through his fingers. Her eyes grew wide and she just managed to slap her hand over her mouth to muffle her scream. Her legs wobbled beneath her and her whole body arched sharply downward with the force of her climax, each wave stronger than the last.

Vegeta jammed himself fully inside her again amidst her walls tightly clamping around him. A growl ripped from his throat and Nabooru felt him bend over her back, his own body quaking with his climax and his fluids filling her. She moved her hips with his to ride her orgasm out with him, indulging in the slower pace. The sensation of him inside her and the heat that flooded her body. The dull, pleasant ache that already bloomed between her legs. The slight twinge of pain where he held her that preceded bruises in the shape of his fingertips.

Finally, she felt his tail unwind from her thigh and he pulled out of her. As if it was all that kept her upright, she let her body sag to the mattress, her legs squeezing together as another spasm wracked her body. Though quicker and less involved than she preferred, their quick romp accomplished what she needed. Bliss blanked her mind of little more than the prospect of asking for another round and rest. She knew the former would be pushing her luck, however. She could only guess why he had only just now caved along with her, but she imagined this would not be a regular occurrence no matter how much her addled mind wished it could be.

With a soft sigh, she reached back and trailed her fingers along the leg seams of her bottoms, pulling the pliant fabric back up and over her ass. She twisted around onto her back and sat up just as Vegeta tucked himself back into his pants and righted his armor. Another con of their coupling: she hadn't gotten to his toned body bare. They touched each only where necessary. The curse of trying to be quick. As efficient to release as possible.

Nabooru rose to her feet and busied herself with fixing her ponytail, loosened by the rough sex. Arms raised, she paused and her lips twitched in a smile when she caught him watching her, his tail swaying in contentment behind him. When he realized she noticed, he growled and looked away, heading to the corner of the room to retrieve his scouter.

"What are you standing around for?" he snarled, putting his scouter back on. "Get going."

She finished tying her hair up and chuckled. "You sure you don't want a little show or something?" She picked up her abandoned armor and let it hang from her crooked index finger. "I'm rusty, but I bet I can still manage a pretty tantalizing strip tease."

"Go before that tiny brain of yours comes up with any more ridiculous suggestions." He wrapped his tail around his waist again and lowered himself into a nearby chair. He rested his ankle on his knee. "This won't happen again."

Nabooru ignored the twinge of longing that came with his statement; she knew that from the start, didn't she? She went this long without indulging in her desires so she should be set for another three or four years.

She reached out and pressed the button to open the doors. "I'll see you later, then." She fought the urge to glance back at him, cast him a teasing wink, a brush of her hand along her hip, some enticing image for him to stew on, and strode out into the hall and back to her own room.

#fic: recruited #.:not sfw:.#:: nabooru ☀#// vegeta ♅#these dummies #i love how complicated it is for them #this doesn't even touch on why vegeta's like nah this it #no more #can't have that #BUT maybe that will come up in another chapter #or i'll write a little supplemental hc on it #for now enjoy this you heathens ;3

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whumpqin · 4 years ago

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The Open Window, Part One

Splitting this up into two parts. I thought it would be better because part two has some really, really bad stuff in it, and I wanted to let people read without worrying about accidentally reading it! So Part One is bad, but not That Bad.

Also hi, I’m back.

Taglist: @faewhump @imagination1reality0 @galaxywhump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @insanitywishes @spiffythespook (If you want to be added, just let me know!)

CW: Pet whump, creepy/intimate whumpers, conditioning, brainwashing, failed escape attempt, barbed wire, dehumanization, monster whump, abusive language, threats, and perhaps others that I’m missing. Let me know if something needs to be tagged!

Word Count: 2,598

For one, breathless minute, Elisha was merely feet away from the exit to his cage.

Don’t fucking move Caleb, you understand me?

Yes, Sir.

It felt like agony to be forced to stare at it, back stood straight and perfectly still like a toy soldier. Jeremiah had left him there to aid Aridai in their reshuffle of the living room - they had been talking about getting a TV for a while and needed to make room for it - leaving the air of a threat hanging from his stern tone. At this point it had only been a moment since hands had left the leash and the hot breath of one of his captors wasn’t crawling down his neck, and already Elisha felt like the air was being choked out of him.

Minutes turned to seconds. Unconsciously, he counted them.

Elisha’s leash hadn’t been tied down to anything. It had just been untied from the kitchen sink, forced to stand as punishment for dropping some heavy and very breakable earlier. In the moment tears had sprung to his eyes, as Aridai had told him how disappointed they were in him, how bad he was being. So, when Jeremiah had untied him and was initially going to take him to the basement, it was a welcomed relief instead of its usual dread of being alone again.

Now, the leash hung down, swaying lightly against his skin as if it were reminding him that he was technically free right now. He could leave if he wanted. The door was right there, all it would take would be a couple of long strides, twist the knob, and run outside to feel the dirt on his feet after what seemed like an eternity.

Do what you’re told, no matter the consequences.

Elisha wanted to be good, wanted to be still, like Jeremiah had told him to be. If he was good he didn’t get hurt, sometimes they were even nice to him. If he was really good they might let him have the crumbs off of their plates and he was always so hungry. Even forced to sit on his aching feet, facing towards the only barrier between him and a normal life again, he could be good.

Yet the consequences of missing yet another window of opportunity plagued him. Not turning the bathroom door and opening it to scream for help haunted his nightmares. Elisha had dreamt for days after being trapped in the bathroom with a horrible monster and the door locking because he couldn’t get to it fast enough. Neither of his Masters understood why he was so hesitant to go back into the bathroom after that.

A strained tear fell from his eyes, down paths they had already traversed. It didn’t take much for him to cry nowadays, but now it simply was because of the option of choice being dangled in front of him like a morsel of food.

Never go outside with explicit permission, he reminded himself. There wasn’t a choice. There wasn’t anything. He was simply waiting for his Sir to come back and take him downstairs into the darkness again. Away from the light of the outside world that he hadn’t seen in over a year.

It had been 45 seconds when he dared a glance over to his Masters. Jeremiah was holding the couch up while Aridai had crawled under it, only their legs visible while they worked. Busy enough that there would be a few second head start before they could properly react.

I could leave right now and they wouldn’t be able to stop me.

He could hear the sound of lazy crickets outside. Gentle birdsong in the distance that seemed to be practically calling him. He felt like his head was being ripped apart.

But, as the minute came to a close, ticking over into the second, he had made a choice.

Elisha had skipped out on the open window once. He wasn’t going to do it again.

He darted forward, clasping his hands around the doorknob, heart thudding in his ears with each painful millisecond. It took a quick twist and pull for the door to come open and allow him to slip out into the evening light. Elisha didn’t look out, didn’t listen to Jeremiah’s loud call as he darted onto the porch, down the wooden stairs and onto the dirt road that marked the driveway.

He still didn’t look, only squinting at the brightness, as his legs carried him down the road and towards freedom. Even without sight however, Elisha could smell the fresh air as it coursed through his lungs with each aching, tired breath, feeling the wind in his hair for the first time in over a year. It was exhilarating, and he couldn’t help the mad smile that crossed his face as his feet carried him further away from the house.

The road ahead continued to wind in a back and forth motion. Elisha knew that the main road was out and away for the most part after having watched one of his Masters drive down this road in that small car. Said Masters would likely take a more straighter path if they wanted to catch him. He couldn’t let that happen.

Elisha dug his feet hard into the dirt, ignoring the pain that blossomed from it, and cut into the wheat field.

With his long legs he was able to gain more ground that he’d thought, as he heard the shouts from his captors become fainter and fainter. A brief joy flitted through his heart at getting out, getting free, almost lighting his step as he continued in the golden field, blending in with his pale green skin.

He stumbled as his foot caught on something, pain flashing through it for just a brief moment as the adrenaline blocked it out for the most part. Elisha didn’t even look, instead vying to drag the damned thing with him if that’s what it took to get free.

In a cruel twist of fate, his other foot caught and he tripped, tumbling into the wheat. Sharp thorns wrapped around his body, digging into his skin and binding him in thick, pointed wire that prevented him from getting up again. Elisha twisted and struggled, crying out in pain as the spikes embedded into his skin. He forced his arms to stretch out. He was getting away. He was doing this, even if he had to crawl.

A hand grappled onto his horn and shoved his face into the dirt, knee pressing one of the spikes into his back.

“You run faster than I thought,” panted Jeremiah from above. Elisha whined as he attempted to reach for the hand holding onto him, only for his wrist to be grabbed and pressed onto the ground. “You stay right the fuck there, Caleb, or more of this wire’s going around your neck.”

Elisha’s tail thrashed in fury and pain, tears rolling down his cheeks. His voice cracked into a desperate sob as his free hand dug into the dirt.

He had been so close.

Aridai stumbled into the field, panting heavily. “Jesus, he runs fast. The hell’d he do, run track and field in school or something?”

“I don’t know. But I guess my traps weren’t a stupid idea then, huh?” he said, beginning to grind Elisha’s face into the dirt. “I thought I told you to stay fucking still, Caleb. What was so hard about that?”

As his Sir hissed in his ear, a boot slowly clamped down on his tail, pinning it to the ground. Elisha writhed, twisting his head to look up at Jeremiah with utter terror in his eyes. They were going to kill him today, he was sure of it. This was the worst he’d done by far, and it wasn’t like they were forgiving.

“I don’t even have any of my tools with me. We’re gonna have to fucking drag him back to the house somehow,” Aridai complained. Elisha saw out of the corner of his eye that deep red hair, illuminated to fire as the sun beat down on it, as they pulled it into a ponytail. They leaned down to glare at him, all that fake warmth removed so that he could see the deep, emotionless chill underneath. “Maybe get some more barbed wire to tie him up.” Aridai’s expression sneered at Elisha, full of anger and hate.“You have something you want to say to us, you little devil?”

“‘M-’M sorry! Ss-sorry pl-ple-pleas-se!” He cried, squeezing his eyes shut as they grabbed onto his horns and pressed him into the ground while Jeremiah got off of him. Aridai grinded his face into the dirt, sending sparks of pain along his face. “Don’t-don’t ki-kill me, pl-please, ‘mm so-sorry Master!”

“You’re gonna fucking wish you were dead by the time we’re done with you,” they said, their fury barely held back. “I’m gonna make you regret being fucking born. I hope it was worth it, little diamond.”

Elisha was sure that by the time they were done, Aridai was going to make good on that promise, and that terrified him more than any threat being hurled his way.

He felt his skin press further into the barbed wire as Jeremiah wrenched his arms backwards. The wire was wrapped around his wrists while Aridai kept him still, never relenting from the pressure on Elisha’s horns. Both of their hands were no longer gentle and soft, guidance said with falsely kind words as if he really was just a family pet. Now they were both so callous and angry, hissing and cursing like his very presence was offensive. Elisha was sure this wouldn’t be the last time he felt their wrath like this.

Aridai kicked him over onto his back and onto his hands, and he let out a keen of pain as sharp spikes dug into his wrists and made the bindings slick with blood.

From there, he could look up and see their angry faces as they got to work binding him like caught prey. They lifted his legs and tied them together with his tail so that he couldn’t run. They were set to literally dragging him back, Elisha realized. He wasn’t good enough to walk back. He couldn’t blame his Masters for not trusting him anymore, but could for how callous they were with him.

A feral sort of anger found itself bubbling in Elisha’s chest. He wanted out, wanted free, and they were never going to give it to him. His maw parted in a horrific scream, desperate and breaking from the weight of the strain he was putting it under. Maybe there was something, someone out there, that would be willing to hear and rescue him. When red filtered into his view he bared his teeth at it, determined to not allow Aridai anywhere near him for just the briefest of moments. A boot connected with the left side of his face, snapping his head in the other direction and stunning him. Then, it pressed against his throat as he inhaled, preparing himself to screech at the top of his lungs, cutting the air off before it could be used.

Above him, Aridai watched, a light grin tugging at the corners of their lips as Elisha choked on his own air.

“I don’t appreciate tempers, Caleb. Don’t you remember your newest rule?”

He did. He remembered. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be angry but Elisha couldn’t help it, he had been so close to being free and he failed. He was sure this was the last opportunity he would have because he was already so sorry for trying it in the first place.

None of this he could say of course, due to the increasing panic of not being able to breathe. Elisha let out a small whine, looking up to Aridai with pleading, watery eyes. Like always, they stared at each other for the longest time until the edges of Elisha’s vision were beginning to blur and fade, and then they relented and pulled their boot away. Elisha gasped for air, coughing and heaving, scratching his skin up more than he already had.

Aridai bent down, holding his horn so he couldn’t move his head. “Now pet, what’s your newest rule?”

“Pe-pe-p, hh pl-please- ah!” The hand slid down to his hair, wrenching his head back with a sudden force.

“All I want to hear from that fucking mouth of yours is that rule. I’m gonna give you one more chance, and I swear to god if you beg one more time with that stupid fucking stutter I’ll make sure you never speak again. Understand?” Aridai’s words were like poison rain, every drop stinging against his ears until they were nigh unbearable. But Elisha wanted to be good, so he nodded like a good pet and looked up to them, trying not to sob so hard he couldn’t hear them. “Say the fucking rule.”

“Pe-petss, pets don’t, don’t, nn-no, pets, pets wi-with ba-bad tem-tempers, ngk, ge-g… get pu-p-punisshhed,” he said, falling further into desperate tears. He could barely see anymore. With a whine, like a child crying for his mother, Elisha attempted to lean into Aridai’s touch for some sort of comfort, only to feel the hand draw away.

“Don’t try to be all cute now, it’s not going to fucking get you anywhere,” they warned, flicking his forehead hard to make him flinch back. “Now, do you think you deserved to be punished?”

Elisha swallowed thickly, watery black eyes searching for the words so he wouldn’t fuck them up again. He had messed up so much already, he couldn’t risk anything else.

He nodded, breathing hard through the one nostril that hadn’t been clogged up with his crying. “I-I-I d-do, ‘mm… ‘m ba-bad. I-I, I de-des-deserve it.”

There was something in Aridai’s gaze that was sharp and deadly, as they stared at each other, but still somehow pleased. “Good. Then let’s get this show on the road, eh? You ‘bout ready over there, Jeremiah?”

“Mm. I think we’ll be able to drag him by his feet if I tie the wire around his ankles and hold them out here, like this.” Jeremiah wound the wire carefully around Elisha’s ankles, then parted his foot so that it dangled.

Cambion legs - or at least Elisha’s legs, though he dimly recalled his mom saying once that there were others like him when he was young -were shaped a bit differently than human ones. His were more “demonic” as some said to him, animalistic in the sense that they had a second joint before ending in the clawed feet that his mom always used to reason why he was so tall.

Regardless, tying him by the ankles seemed like a good enough idea for his Masters, and they set to dragging him out of the wheat field and back towards the house. Back towards his personal hell.

There was nothing Elisha could do, wrapped in barbed wire, except cry out in pain and sob for some kind of mercy. He knew he wasn’t getting anything of the sort.

His blurry eyes tilted up towards the sky, seeing fluffs of lazy clouds drifting across an endless, blue expanse. The sun was somewhere else, somewhere hidden, offering him this perfect view he knew he wasn’t going to get for a long time, if he was lucky. If he was unlucky, he may never see it again.

With a special kind of twist in his heart, Elisha thought that the sky was beautiful.

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video-killed-the-radio-host · 4 years ago

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Nurture and Nature ch9

LONG TIME NO UPDATE

Earl is woken up by bread hitting him in the face. He jumps and reaches for the knife that Magnus had given him before finding his sleeve pinned to the bed by the same knife that had pinned him to the painting.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Mika unpins him.

Earl relaxes a bit but looks around. “What did you throw at me?”

“I assume you like to eat.” They offer him the roll that had fallen onto the bed. "Anyway I've decided to help you since you're hopeless on your own."

Earl accepts the bread. "Um….thanks?"

"You have no idea how close to human territory we are, do you? You're going to get yourself killed." They cross their arms. "I want you to keep in mind I'm only doing this because Donny asked me to."

"O...kay. Sure."

“It wasn’t a question nor do you have a choice. Get ready. We’re leaving soon.”

"Do you even know where to go?"

"I know where the human territory starts." Mika inspects their knife before pocketing it. "I'll be right back. Get ready to go."

“Okay…”

Mika gives a two fingered salute before leaving Earl alone. The Elf stands and stretches, looking around. The room looked less gloomy in the daylight. He moved to the large window and looked out. The land that spans out towards the mountains were beautiful at one point. Now they were barren. They were likely destroyed in whatever destroyed this kingdom.

“Humans.”

Mika’s sudden reappearance makes Earl jump.

“I’m sorry?” He turns to face them.

“Humans.” They move to join him at the window. “They killed everyone here. Ruined everything because- well that’s not really your business. Maybe someday I’ll tell you.” They brush their hair aside. “Eat up. We have a long walk ahead of us. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

Before Earl can say anything else, Mika turns on their heel and walks out. Earl sighs and picks up the abandoned bread, pulling it apart and eating slowly as he wanders out of the room. Most of the castle’s structure has been destroyed, at least on this side so sunlight filtered in and faded most of the paintings along the walls. He finds a few more of Kevin and the king. He finds a painting of a girl who seemed to be entirely made of wood. A Tree Nymph perhaps? Likely the last of her kind. Further down is a painting of Kevin and a young Mika. The blue hair is unmistakable. At the very end of the hall is what was once a beautiful family portrait. They look….happy. The members of this family look as diverse as day and night but they all seem to fit.

"Are you done gawking? Or do I need to pin you to the painting again?"

Earl turns with a tired chuckle. "Are we ready to go?"

“If you are lying about this and got my brother’s hopes up I will skin you with your own knife.” They press their lips into a thin line.

Earl puts his hands up. “I understand. I do. But I-” He runs a hand through his hair. “I know he-” The Elf grasps for words. “He’s alive. I can feel it in my gut. Which means nothing to you but I’m not lying. I’m the one that left him alone and that got him taken but they want something from him. I don’t think they’d ki;; him. Not yet anyway.” He looks down at the stone he had taken from his pocket. It glints up at him almost mockingly.

“Is there a reason you keep staring at that rock?”

“No. No...it’s just a rock.” He pockets it and squares his shoulders. “We should get going before we lose much daylight.”

“Come on then Lazy Elf.”

-----.-----

Kevin squints into bright sunlight. He was back on the flat stone again but it was different this time. Cold instead of burning. Why is it cold? He can hear voices but it’s muffled. His ears rang as if he was under water. It’s at least two men and a woman. She sounds so familiar… Stop breathing so loud. I can’t hear what they’re saying. Wait. That’s my breathing. Why am I so loud?

Kevin tried holding his breath but that made his ears ring more. However, he did manage to catch a few words.

“...strong. But it’s not enough.”

“Shut up.”

There’s loud laughter. Then a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. He squints more but can’t make out a face. Whoever she was, she was pale with short dark hair. She leans close enough that Kevin can feel her hair brush against his cheek. She pulls his eyelids open before turning to speak to one of the people with her. She moves away and Kevin lets a slow breath out. The silence doesn’t last long. Then came the sharp tip of a knife. It traced the overlapping lines of the sigils on Kevin’s chest but never cut. Always teetering at that edge. Part of Kevin wished the knife would plunge into his chest and this whole ordeal. Unfortunately that was a mercy that never came.

It isn’t long before Kevin passes out again. He swims in and out of consciousness but he was never truly awake. What felt like-or maybe was- days later, he was dumped back into the dirty cell. It takes several tries to even pull himself off of the stairs. He slowly and carefully makes his way across the room. Dirt clung to his skin and the very few scraps of clothing he had left. Once the room stopped spinning, he forced his eyes open and looked himself over. He looks up when he hears footsteps. He hears a clanging and then feels a sharp pain on the back of his head before he blacks out again.

He comes to in a carriage. Where am I? He looks out the window. The passing scenery looks familiar. Kevin looks down and finds his hands twisted in his scarf. Scarf? He gave this scarf to Mika years ago when they stumbled through stitching the runes into a cheap cloak they had bought with money they earned doing odd chores for Charles and the kitchen staff.

The carriage stops outside of a palace. A palace that looked so much like his old home. He’s ushered out and inside. He is then escorted into a large ornate chamber. Kevin looks around. The last time he saw this room-

“We need to get you ready.”

Kevin turns quickly, coming face to face with a girl that appeared to be made of wood. Her curly orange hair is piled into an elegant bun on her head and it made her green eyes pop. Seeing her again nearly makes Kevin cry out.

“How? I saw you die...You aren’t real. You can’t be real.” He whispers before flinching. He had spoken. Out loud.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv kevin #wtnv earl #Oíche vale #nurture and nature #fic wip

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deanwinchestermydaddy · 4 years ago

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TO SEE YOU AGAIN (DEAN WINCHESTER STORY) PART. 20

Y/n's POV:

These past four months have been the hardest for me and Sam. I try to help him but he blamed himself and I did the same with myself. Sam would disappear for days then come back. I couldn't sleep because when I closed my eyes I was able to see or more imagined what Dean was going through and I felt the same pain, how I felt my body being torn apart then put back together. The first time that I had those nightmares I had Sam to comfort me but it wasn't the same he wasn't Dean.

As the time went by I would disappear for weeks saying that I was going to the bar and on hunts to think and free my mind, but I wasn't. I drove to a different crossroads in town then out of town to make a deal, but none of the demons want to make a deal with me to bring Dean back. It was driving me crazy.

"you know Dean wouldn't like you to make a deal Y/n? He made me promise that I was going to protect you and stopped you from doing that" he said as he sat down in front of me, "yeah Sam I know" I said lying to him, "I will go to take a nap then I will bring us food is that alright?" I said and he nodded and gave me a small smile that I returned. I went to my room and did something that I haven't done in years I prayed. I got on my knees and cross myself, "look, I know that I am not one of your favorites. I don't even know if you are real or not, but once again I just want to ask you for a miracle to bring Dean back, he deserves something better than what he has got. So, God, I ask you for a miracle to bring Dean back safe, that's all I ask for. Please and Thank you" I said and got up and grabbed the keys of my car to go to town, "hey Y/n I thought you said you were gonna take a nap?" Sam said as he saw me, "Not anymore Sam. You want the usual?" I asked and he nodded, "be careful alright," he said giving me another smile, "will do Sam," I said before I walked out.

~IN TOWN~

I was walking around not really looking, having other thoughts on my mind which were really only about Dean. I bump or more like slammed into someone and I fall on my butt, "I'm so sorry Miss" the guy said as he turns around to help me up, "no, it was my fault. So I am sorry for slamming into you Mister" I said as I look up and saw that he was wearing a black dress shirt, "Don't call me Mister you make me feel old" he said as he looked down and smile at me and I smile at him back, "thank you... uh I guess young fella for picking me up even when it was my fault" I said and he laughs at what I said and I saw those big blue eyes that twinkle, "no problem, young gal and have a good night" he said as he started to walk away and I just stood there looking at him walk away, "good night to you too!" I said loud and he turns and waves, "may God bless you," he said and it made me froze, then I continue to go and get the food for me and Sam. After that day I left for Iowa to try again to make a deal.

Dean's POV:

"Help! Help! Help!" I said as I was pounding on the wood that was above my head as dirt falls on my face and I continue to pound.

I was in the middle of a grassy field, a simple wooden cross is planted as I crawl my way out of the ground, groaning and gasping. I lie on my back, panting. I stand looks around in the glaring sunlight.

I walked until I saw an abandoned Gas Station and I entered, "Hello?" I say but no one answers, so I enter and took some water to drink I was really thirsty. I started to get more water to take and I see a Newspaper and it says that is Thursday, September 18th. I cleaned myself and started to look on my body and see that nothing that happened to me in Hell is there no scars, well just a hand-print on my left shoulder.

I go to the counter, set down the bag, and hit a single button on the register, snapping my fingers in satisfaction when it pops open. As I'm looting the cash, the TV to my left flicks on, showing only static. I shut it off; only to have a radio to my right turn on to white noise. Not wasting a moment, I go to another shelf and grabs a carton of salt, opens it, and begin to pour it along the windowsill.A high-pitched single tone begins, and I clutch my left ear in pain as I continue to pour salt with my right hand. As it continues, I drop the salt and crouch to the floor, groaning in agony. The window above my head shatters as the sound continues, and I drop to the floor. I leap to my feet to try to escape, and more glass on the ceiling and walls shatters. I went to a phone booth that was there and dial Sam's and Y/n's number but they don't answer, so I try another number. This time it rings and is answered."Yeah?" he said and I was happy to hear his voice, "Bobby?" I said looking around, "Yeah?", "It's me," I say and still sounds that he doesn't recognize me, "Who's "me"?" he says confirming what I thought, "Dean," I said and a dial tone sounds, so I hang up and dial again. "Who is this?" he said again, "Bobby, listen to me" I try to stop him from hanging up, "This ain't funny. Call again, I'll kill ya" he said and the dial tone again. ~AT BOBBY'S~

I pound on the door, and Bobby's hand appears to open it. I smile cautiously, but Bobby looks at me suspiciously. "Surprise," I said, "I, I don't..." Bobby says, "Yeah, me neither. But here I am" I said entering. As I approach him he lunges forward and slashes me, so I grabbed his arm and twist it around, he breaks the grip and backhands me in the face. "Bobby! It's me!" I said but still, he doesn't believe me, "My ass!" he said and I put a chair between the both of us, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after you met Rodney, and later met your wife and... you're about the closest thing I have to a father. Bobby. It's me" I said raising my hands and he lowers his knife and places his hand on my shoulder, suddenly he slashes again, but I quickly subdue and disarm him. "I am not a shapeshifter!" I said but he can't hear me or something, "Then you're a Revenant!" he said and I shove him away and hold the knife, "Alright. If I was either, could I do this – with a silver knife?" I said rolling my sleeve and slicing my arm, "Dean?" he said starting t believe me, "That's what I've been trying to tell you" I said and he grabs me and pulls me into a tight hug and I return it.

"It's... It's good to see you, boy" he says and I felt relief, "Yeah, you too," I said smiling at him, "But... how did you bust out?" he said and I really had no idea, "I don't know. I just, uh, I just woke up in a pine box..." I didn't finish cause Bobby splashes water on my face, "I'm not a demon either, you know" I said spitting the water, "Sorry. Can't be too careful" he said giving me a towel that I use to wipe my face, "What do you remember?" he asked, "Not much. I remember I was a Hellhound's chew toy, and then... lights out. Then I come to six feet under, that was it. Sam's and Y/n's number are not working. They're, uh... they're not..." I said imagining the worst, "Oh, he's alive. And as far as I know, she is too" he said sitting down, "Good... Wait, what do you mean, as far as you know?" I asked him what he means, "I haven't talked to her for months. Sam calls some days to check-in" he said, "You're kidding, you just let her go off by herself?" I said getting angrier, "She was dead set on it and Sam was with her for a while," he said, "Bobby, you should've been looking after both Sam and her, you saw how she reacted!" I said raising my voice, "I tried. These last months haven't been exactly easy, you know. For them or me. We had to bury you" he said trying to make understand, "Why did you bury me, anyway?" I said curiously, "I wanted you salted and burned. Usual drill. But... they wouldn't have it" he said suspiciously, "Well, I'm glad they won that one," I said, "she said you'd need a body when she got you back home somehow. That's all she said while Sam just didn't want to listen. Both insisted that she was acting differently" he explained, " What do you mean?" I asked him to elaborate," she was quiet. Real Quiet. And then she just took off. Wouldn't return my calls. I tried to find her, but she didn't want to be found by me. And Sam said that sometimes she will show up stay for a day then leave for weeks" he said and I got mad, "Oh, damnit, Y/n" I said hitting the table, "What?" he said not understanding my actions, "Oh, she got me home okay. But whatever she did, it is bad mojo" I said shaking my head, "What makes you so sure?" he looked at me with concern, "You should have seen the gravesite. It was like a nuke went off. And then there was this... this force, this presence, I don't know, but it, it blew past me at a fill-up joint. And then this" I said and show him the handprint, "What in the hell?" he said as he stands up, "It was like a demon just yanked me out. Or rode me out" I said having my mind going wild, "But why?" he asked, "To hold up their end of the bargain," I said and I saw the worried on his face, "You think Y/n made a deal," he said as the concern grew on his face, "It's what I would have done," I said and I didn't know what to think.

Me and Bobby left to Kansas where Sam was and to see if he knew anything about Y/n.

Y/n's POV:

It's been a couple of days since I left for Iowa and I have tried at least 5 times to get a deal, but all of the demons don't accept my soul at all.

~At night~

Today it is my last hope to see if I can get a deal so I can bring Dean back, I did the whole ritual and waited for a demon to show up, I was losing my hope when I felt someone behind me and I turn to see him.

" Hello darling, you come to daddy," he said and I just looked at him and recognize him, "Crowley?" I said and he smiled at me, "so my demons said that my special one was trying to make a deal" he said and I rolled my eyes at him, "I'm not your special one Crowley. You should know that I don't like you" I said crossing my arms, "C' mon darling you do like me admit it" he said and I just looked at him, "yeah maybe the size of a mustard seed. But why the King of Hell is here instead of your minions, huh" I said and he raised his eyebrows, "well Darling you see, your soul has something special that I would like to have and I wasn't going let them have it, so I told them to not made any deals with you until I was able to come to make it" he said, "can you bring him back?" I asked him and he gave me a bitch face, "of course Darling, but in exchange for something" he said looking at me up and down, "what do you want in exchange for bringing him back?" I said as he started to walk around me, "you see as the King of Hell I need to have a Queen, and who would it be the best Queen that one of the most feared female hunters, that has a special soul like yours" he said licking his lips and I really wanted to puke, "Dean gets back and I have to go with you to Hell, for how long?" I asked accepting what I had to do, "well that's the thing. Is for eternity" he said and I gulped and looked down, "okay Crowley, where do I sign" I said and he looked surprised, "I thought I had to try to convince you more Darling, but I guess I was wrong" he said and I just wanted to finish this, "cut the shit Crowley and let's do this" I said and he took a step forward, "you have to kiss me Darling to seal the deal and your Ken doll would be back just like we said" he said and I took a deep breath and when I was about to step forward to kiss him my phone started to ring and I knew it was Sam for his ringtone, I stopped Crowley. "I have to answer this first," I said and took a step back.

"yes Sam," I said and Crowley looked at me, "he's alive Y/n!, alive!" he said and I couldn't understand what he mends, "what? who is alive?" I said and Crowley raised his eyebrows and looked away from me, "Dean, he just arrived with Bobby at the Bunker. He-he-he is truly him Y/n" he said and I felt that all the blood was drained from my body, "Sa-Sam don't play with me please" I begged him as tears started to blurry my vision, "sweetheart is me is really me please come back I missed you" I heard that voice that I've been missing for months and I dropped my phone to the ground as tears ran down my face. I pick it up and walked towards my car, "what about the deal?!" Crowley screams at me, "forget it you lied to me!" I said as I drove off.

Dean's POV:

It's been about 7 hours since we talked to Y/n and I just wanted to hold her and tell her that everything will be okay, and that I was never going to leave here ever again.

The 3 of us were at the kitchen, but soon it was just me cause the 2 of them left.

I wasn't gonna go and wait there so I decided to go to our room and sat down on the bed waiting, but I couldn't help to wonder all the bad things that can happen to her, to me, to us. I couldn't help but cry and wipe my tears as more started to run. I listen to footsteps it seemed that someone was running but I didn't bother to look at the person that enter my room, "Dean?" I heard a broken voice said and I felt my heart pump faster and I turn to see her. I stand up and run to her and picked her up on my arms as she wrapped her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist, "thank God you are here" she said as she held me closer and I did the same. I kissed her slowly showing her all the love and how much I missed her.

I felt that I was complete again I put her down and grabbed her face and kissed her again and again, " I love you, Dean, you don't know how hard it was" she said as tears started to ran down her eyes and I wiped them with my thumb, "please baby tell me that you didn't make a deal please" I said and she looked down and took a deep breath, "I tried so many times, but none wanted to accept, well until tonight. But I said no cause Sam called" she said as she tries to smile at me with her teary eyes. I stopped holding my breath as I hear her said that I was really glad that she didn't and that we didn't have to be concern about how much time did we had left together. I kissed her again, "we need both of you at the library," Sam said making both of us break the kiss.

When we were walking towards the library Y/n was holding me close, just like the day that she almost lost Scott, I looked down and kissed her head and smile at her just like she did. We soon arrived and we saw someone standing in the middle with a trenchcoat, "who are you?" I asked, " Castiel" the guy answer and I moved Y/n behind me, "Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?" I asked again as he kept looking staring at me, "I'm an Angel of the Lord" he answers, "Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing" I said and I felt Y/n move, "This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith. Unlike her she did and thanks to her faith I brought you back" he said and I was about to say something but Y/n beat me to it, " I know you, I-I saw you on town I bumped into you, but... you are using the guy as you meat suit" she said stepping forward, "He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this" he answers and the lights started to flash and we were able to see his wings all of us took steps back but Y/n stayed in place even when I try to pull her, "so you are really an angel Castiel" she said and he nodded and step forward towards her and try to reach for her, but I saw her flinch, "I would never hurt you Y/n. You and Dean were chosen by God to accomplish his plan" he said as he caresses her face, "what plan?" Sam asked, "I have to go," he said and he disappears as we hear a flop of wings and Y/n just stays there not able to move and I move in front of her and snap my fingers and she shook her head and blinked, "what happens? where did he go?" she asked confused, "he had to go" Sam answer and I just embrace her and she did the same and I started to kiss her but soon it turns into something more, so I picked her up and I walked straight to my room and shut the door, "WE WILL BE ON THE BAR DEAN, IF BOTH NEED US!!" Sam scream and I really didn't care I just wanted to show her how much I missed her.

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malecsecretsanta · 5 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, @cardiamachina!

This was a real joy to write, mostly because it's a very different fic to what I normally do. I'm super hoping the light angst isn't too much as I know angst was a dislike!

I hope this exploration of immortal husbands makes for a satisfying Christmas gift. I always like to explore decisions and choices in my fic, so this was a really lovely opportunity for me to actually write some of my feelings on why - or why not - Alec and Magnus should be eternal.

Merry Christmas!

Read on AO3

******

A Malec Christmas Carol

Chapter 1: Christmas Eve

“Oh come out, you little bugger,” Magnus swore under his breath as he levered the Angelica out by the root. This would be much easier if he had Alexander by his side - the plant responded to Angel blood and practically leaped into his hands - but he’d nearly run out, Christmas Eve was the full moon and he couldn’t begrudge Alec spending this night with his family. Especially not as last year Magnus had whisked him off to Madagascar for some winter sun. And if he was honest, to watch Alec’s delight as lemurs cheerfully romped over them both, stealing fruit out of their hands. Magnus thought of it like an extension of their honeymoon.

But that indulgence last Christmas left him alone this Christmas Eve, collecting plants by the shore of Lake Lyn, bathed under the cold eerie light of the full moon. Absolutely fucking freezing as well, he thought ruefully. And no Alexander later in his bed to warm him up. Ah well, he would be back tomorrow and they would have Christmas together. Maybe a warm crackling fire and hot toddies and Magnus could conjure a fluffy rug to lay Alexander down on. Magnus grinned to himself and moved to the crop of Blessed Thistle growing out between two rocks. Planning and anticipation was really half the fun.

Two plants obtained, he placed them carefully in his herb pouch and stood, brushing dirt from his knees. It was a fair trek back to the loft in Alicante and Magnus contemplated a portal, but the combination of full moon and mildly holy plants on his person sometimes did funny things to his magic. He sighed, pulled his scarf closer about his neck, and set off, the light of the moon illuminating the way. It was astonishing, really, how bright the moon could be on dark nights, even with the rebuilt towers of Alicante twinkling like beacons in the distance. It was pleasant, really. Had he thought the light was cold and icy before? It seemed to glow now, warmer and warmer, golden round the edges.

Magnus became aware of several things at once.

One, the moon is not golden, nor does it give off warmth. So that was definitely not the damn moon. Two, there was a faint ringing in his ears, not like he’d been to a loud gig, but like thousands of bells and chimes were tangling and jingling in the distance. Three, there was an Angel suspended over Lake Lyn.

Magnus froze, eyes riveted to the vision in front of him. He felt detached from his body, so suddenly immersed in panic he’d come out the other side into a zen-like calm as the Angel opened his mouth and spoke his name.

His real name.

Magnus swallowed.

“Son of the Angel Asmodeus, former-prisoner of Edom. Or do you now prefer Magnus Bane,” the Angel continued, not really making it sound like a question.

“Lightwood-Bane,” Magnus corrected, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his dry mouth and finding his voice. He wasn’t sure he could move any of his limbs, whether by the Angel’s doing or his own fear, he didn’t know. But Angels didn’t appear to Downworlders. Angels especially didn’t appear to the sons of Fallen Angels, Princes of Hell. His eyes adjusted to the light emanating from the Angel and he raked over his appearance, looking for clues as to his identity. Handsome, muscular, scarred - scarred - piercing blue eyes and a long spear with a fluttering white scrap of material clasped in his hand.

Michael then. General of the armies of Heaven. Banisher of his father. Banisher of Lucifer .

Magnus was in trouble. And he’d never get to tell Alexander goodbye.

“I come to you now to offer you payment.”

He blinked, then shook his head as if to clear his ears, chimes still tinkling somewhere. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Payment. Or a reward, depending on how you wish to see it.” Michael spoke in a slow monotone and Magnus failed to read any emotion in his words.

“What have I done that could possibly lead to a reward from the Archangel Michael?” Magnus asked, not trusting anything. This could be a hallucination. A trick from a demon. A prank of a Warlock, not that he was aware of any in Alicante right then.

And yet, he knew. He knew in his bones, in what passed for a soul deep inside, that this was Michael. The real Michael in front of him.

He tried to make himself remember that the Angels were cruel. They’d only just allowed Clary to return to them. Oh, fuck . The probability that this was bad news statistically rocketed when he remembered Biscuit was back in the Shadow World.

“You prevented the destruction of our people. You protected Idris and the mortal world with your blood. Your immortal life. When you had much to stay for, you sacrificed all.”

Magnus cocked his head, narrowing his eyes at the Angel.

“Ye-es,” he dragged out. “I did that over a year ago.”

“Thirteen months, twenty-two days, fifteen hours and eleven minutes ago.”

“Can you tell me the seconds too?” Magnus quipped before he could control his mouth.

“Magnus Lightwood-Bane,” the Angel intoned, his eyes narrowing slightly. Magnus felt a wave of energy swell over him, and he staggered against the sensation.

“Apologies,” he whispered, his mouth paper dry.

“We give to you the gift of immortal life.” Michael stopped, as if this was enough information.

Magnus waited for a few seconds and then opened his mouth, abruptly shutting it again. He did that a couple of times, before running on autopilot, shifting his weight to one hip and waving his hand around airily.

“I hate to sound ungrateful, but I’m already immortal. I know sometimes people can miss that because of the rest of the fabulous-ness, but that’s me. Living forever.”

There was a silence, slightly too long to be comfortable, and then Michael raised one eyebrow. Damn, Magnus was impressed by how sarcastic that one gesture was.

“Who said it was for you? It’s a gift. That you can give to someone else, if you wish it.”

All colour drained from Magnus’ face and he sat down on the earth, collapsing with a thud.

“No,” he whispered, staring at Michael with wide eyes. That couldn’t mean what he was taking it to mean. The Angels, they wouldn’t be that kind. His mind flashed to Alec, surrounded by his family when they’d moved to Alicante, hugging Izzy when she became the Head of the Institute, looking so proud and full of love. No, but they’d be that cruel.

“Are you… are you saying I have the power to make anyone immortal?”

Michael inclined his head once. “Yes. You would bind them to your life force, Magnus Lightwood-Bane. You would protect him with your life.”

“Him?” Magnus echoed hollowly. He hated that Michael could see right through him.

“We see all,” was all Michael replied, and Magnus shuddered. Great, voyeuristic Angels, that’s all his libido needed.

“You have until the clock strikes midnight on Christmas Day to perform the ritual,” Michael continued, and suddenly in Magnus’ mind the knowledge of how to do it, how to bind Alec to his own immortal life force, dropped in like it had always been there. Like he’d always known. It felt obscene, a violation, horrifically unnatural, and Magnus gasped, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple. His herb pouch grew heavier with the small Adamas dagger that the ritual required. They had thought of everything, which is why Magnus, after being tricked by Lilith and his father, was instantly suspicious.

“What’s the catch? Forgive my candour, but we haven’t exactly been used to the generosity of Angels.”

“No? Did Ithuriel not give his life for Clarissa Morgenstern? Have we not guided and protected your loved ones through troubles of their own making? Did Raziel not grant Clarissa’s wish?”

“And then erased her life because she saved hundreds of Nephilim, causing untold pain to those I care about,” he retorted.

“I am not compelled to justify our decisions.” Magnus could make out the beginning hints of colour high on Michael’s cheeks, his lips compressed into a thin line. “We move to God’s will.”

“You’re saying it’s God’s will that Alexander lives forever,” he scoffed, his scepticism rising. There was always something in return. Nothing was ever free.

“And we will not be questioned,” Michael continued as if Magnus hadn’t spoken, the light around him growing dim, the edges of his body beginning to blur and fade. It was a disconcerting effect, not least because it meant the Angel was leaving.

“Well, I’m going to question you anyway. What do you want from me - from Alec?” Magnus held out his hand as if he could entreat Michael to stay longer, aware his voice edged into pleading for answers.

“It’s a gift, Magnus Lightwood-Bane. You may choose to ignore it, and he will remain mortal and die in time.”

“And if I ask him to share my immortal life? Does he remain - is he still..?” Magnus trailed off, swallowing around the words. Despite Alexander’s ludicrous demand to become a vampire to join Magnus in Edom, Magnus had never been able to separate the Shadowhunter from the man. Especially when Alec had so recently been promoted and could finally begin to make real, systemic changes to the Clave.

“He will always be my kin,” Michael answered evasively, which honestly was not as reassuring as Magnus wanted it to be.

“As will you,” the Angel continued, which was possibly even more alarming. Michael’s form faded even further until Magnus could make out the woods behind him.

“Your ki… no, wait. Don’t leave!”

“Until midnight on Christmas Day, Magnus Lightwood-Bane, son of Asmodeus,” the Angel intoned and then winked out of existence as if he’d neer been there. Magnus sat staring at the spot for Lilith knew how long, frozen to the ground, unmoving until his leg cramped and jolted him out of his reverie.

“Ow, shit,” he hissed, digging his palm into the muscle of his calf. Magnus forced himself to his feet, brushing at his clothing, and then risked a look inside his pouch. Out of season lavender curled around the simple hilt of an Adamas dagger. There was a small pouch next to it, and Magnus lifted it out with trembling numb fingers. White Willow bark. Perfect for Moon magic and symbolising long-lasting love. It wasn’t necessary for the ritual - spell, he would say, but somehow instinctively knew the Angels would not want it called that - but it would strengthen the effectiveness, he supposed. They really wanted this to work.

Which meant they had some purpose for Alec to keep living.

Magnus walked home lost in his thoughts, snapping a fire to life in the fireplace automatically when he got inside. He placed the pouch carefully in his study and locked the door, not wanting Alec to find it. Not until he’d talked to him.

How the fuck was he going to talk to him? How could he spring something so momentous on his husband?

Would Alec even want to spend eternity with him?

Magnus shook his head and went back into his study, rooting around for Bearberry and Blue Sage, then threw the herbs into his cauldron. He added brandy because he might as well enjoy the drink, and muttered an incantation for guidance, appealing to the spirits to give him clear thought and a calm mind. Straining it into his mug, he tidied up and relocked the door, making his way to bed.

Even the brandy couldn’t fully mask the bitterness of the drink but he forced it down and prepared for bed, taking off his makeup and settling in for the night. Shooting a goodnight text to Alexander, he turned off the lights and prepared for sleep, hoping that his dreams would hold the answers.

Chapter 2: Past

“Tsk. Well at least you had some sense to ask for my opinion, seeing how well it served you last time. Come on, open your eyes you dramatic old goat, and have some more brandy. ”

Magnus frowned and blinked open his eyes. He was fully dressed, sat in front of a roaring fire in what looked like his old London townhouse, sharing a very good vintage from 1862 with Ragnor Fell.

“So. Not in Alicante, then.”

Ragnor snorted. “Still as quick as ever. Honestly, how you managed to become a High Warlock of anything with a brain as slow as treacle I’ll never know.” He settled back into the large Chesterfield and sipped from his glass, harrumphing into it.

“Slept my way to the top,” Magnus said automatically, falling back into their old banter before startling forward.

“ Ragnor .”

“What is it, you histrionic clothes horse?”

“Am I dead? Are you alive? Why am I in London? Where’s Alexander?” Magnus demanded answers in an increasingly belligerent tone. Ragnor thwapped him in the knee with one slippered foot and Magnus subsided, glaring.

“Because the higher powers have a terrible and literal sense of humour, I’m meant to tell you I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past. I like to think of it as me sensibly and altruistically preventing you from making a terrible mistake of course. Again. As per usual. Come on, get up.” He rose to his feet, brushing down his velvet trousers and smoothing his cravat.

“Mistake?” Magnus echoed, clambering to his feet. He looked at his brandy glass, debated putting it down and instead polished it off in one gulp. If he was going to have vivid dreams like this he was going to enjoy the free booze.

“In your love life, of course. I apologize for missing your first wedding, but I had to RSVP on account of being dead.”

“Ragnor,” Magnus said again, tears springing to his eyes as he pulled Ragnor into a hug. “My oldest friend.”

“Stop touching me,” Ragnor said, wheezing slightly from having his ribs squeezed. “This is very unbecoming.”

“I miss you, you grumpy cabbage,” Magnus grinned and gave him one last squeeze. “Why are you my Ghost of Christmas Past?”

“Because apparently you've forgotten the lessons you so painfully learned.”

“And what lessons might those be?”

Ragnor raised his eyebrows and beckoned him to follow, opening the door of the parour they had been in to the dining room. There in front of them, was himself - exactly as he had been, beautifully brocaded frock coat and laced cravat, rubies in his ear. His hair was parted low on one side and swept over with waved ends and he looked thoroughly, utterly miserable.

The explanation for his misery sat opposite, drinking blood from a wine glass.

The Magnus of the present turned to Ragnor. “Really?” he asked. “If we’re going to remind me of all my terrible love choices, could we not have gone with something a little less… vicious?”

Ragnor nudged him. “Shut up, Magnus. Just watch.” Magnus sighed and went back to observing himself and Camille.

“I was thinking perhaps we could take in a ballet. Or the theatre. Something festive for New Year’s.”

“Mmm,” Camille replied noncommittally, running a finger round the edge of her wine glass, not raising her gaze. “Could we not do something a little more exciting, darling? One does get so tired of the same faces at this time of year.”

“Perhaps a trip, then?” Magnus rose and held out his hand towards her and after a moment she acquiesced with a small sigh, rising to her feet gracefully and taking his hand, although she dropped it before they got to the settee. She tucked herself into the corner and ignored him in favour of inspecting her shoes.

“A trip? Well, I do so like to travel. New places, new people…”

“New opportunities for presents,” Magnus teased her and snapped a wrapped thin box into his hands.

Camille finally looked up and squealed, becoming the most animated she’d been. She held out her hand palm up. “Magnus! You shouldn’t have. We said we weren’t doing anything this year.”

“I know, my dove, but I do like to spoil you. And I know how much you had your eye on this.” Camille graced him with one of her wide smiles as Magnus handed her the box.

A stunning array of emeralds greeted her when she opened the box, tearing the wrapping greedily and then cooing at the contents. “Oh, Magnus.”

“Green to match your eyes. May I?” Magnus leaned over and delicately took the necklace from the box while Camille turned her back to him and smoothed her long hair off the nape of her neck, moving the heavy mass out of the way. Magnus secured the necklace around her and trailed his fingertips through the silky strands as he gently pulled her hair back into place, fingers curling through her ringlets.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

“Magnus, I haven’t even turned around yet.”

“I know you’re beautiful, my love.”

Camille laughed, that high tinkling laugh that now set his teeth on edge and finally rose, turning around. She was a vision, her hair half piled high on top of her head and ringlets curling down her back, her eyes clear and painted colour high on her cheeks. The low neckline of her burgundy dress perfectly complemented her pale shoulders, bare and glowing in the light of the fire. The emeralds sparkled and her green eyes shone.

Magnus leaned towards her, expecting a kiss. Camille ducked away from his embrace and ran straight to the mirror, laughing again when she saw herself, turning this way and that to catch the light in her new gems.

“Oh, we must go out!” she exclaimed. Magnus trailed after her.

“Camille, it’s Christmas Day.”

“Yes, which means there’ll be a party somewhere. Oh, honestly Magnus, stop being such a bore. I want to go out!” She ignored him and went to ring the bell for her maid.

“I thought,” Magnus started, his voice sounding hesitant. “I thought we could just spend tonight with the two of us. Have a romantic evening.”

From this angle, the Magnus of the present could see Camille’s mouth thin and her nostrils flare, before she put on a beseeching expression and turned back around.

“Oh my love,” she cooed again, her voice soft and wheedling. “But you’ve given me such a lovely surprise gift, how can I not want to go show it off? To show everyone how much you love me? You know how I enjoy making all those miserable people jealous of what we have.” She pressed her lips to Magnus’ cheek, taking his hands in hers.

“Just this once, Magnus, please? We’ll be home well before dawn and can spend the whole day in bed tomorrow, just you and I. I’ll wear nothing but this wonderful necklace.” She kissed under his ear and Magnus made a content noise.

“How can I ever say no to you?”

“I don’t think I ever want you to try,” she giggled and then clapped her hands with joy before turning away from him yet again.

“That’s quite enough of that,” harrumphed Ragnor and he waved his hands, the scene in front of them fading.

“And your point is?” Magnus drawled, surprised at how little seeing that memory again hurt. “I was content once upon a time to spend the rest of my immortal life with one person. My choice of person was not the greatest. I am well aware that Alexander is not Camille.”

“But he could be,” Ragnor said and Magnus looked at him in surprise.

“Do you really think so?”

“Immortality changes us, old friend. Love no longer seems so important if you know it is eternal.”

Magnus frowned. “You told me to chase love! And hold on to it!”

“When I felt you closing yourself off to even trying,” Ragnor countered. “You put everything into making Camille’s life happy with scant thought for yourself. I don’t want you going down that road again.”

He shook his head, wondering where this was coming from. “Camille and I had very different views on love. Yes, she and I were happy - for a long time. But it became a lie. I don’t think the same thing would happen.”

Ragnor spread his hands in the universal sign for ‘maybe’ and sat back down, crossing his legs. “Forever is a long time. How can you be so sure you won’t tire of him, or he of you?”

Magnus started to follow him but stopped still at his words. His hand flew up to grasp at his chest, trying to soothe the sharp pain that ran through him.

“I… I can’t.” Magnus licked his mouth, feeling suddenly faint. “I don’t know if he’d stay with me.”

“Are you so willing to risk your eternal happiness on someone you can’t trust to be there for you forever?” asked Ragnor, arching his eyebrows. “I’m trying to protect you, Magnus. So that you protect your own heart. Grieving and loving again is more healthy than losing your love and wallowing until the end of time.”

“I’d like to avoid both,” Magnus said sharply. “He married me. There was an oath. ‘Til death separates us.” And Alexander would never go against his word, he reminded himself forcefully. Magnus could always trust in him.

“So you think the only thing keeping him with you would be his oath? Aren’t you worried he’d come to resent you, Magnus?” Ragnor voiced Magnus’ greatest fear, and Magnus loved him for it. Wanted to kick him at the same time, but still loved him for his honesty.

“I disagree,” came a new voice. “If anyone could make eternity work I would have said it would be Magnus and his Shadowhunter love.”

Magnus startled and turned, his eyes widening at who he saw. “Dot!” He rushed over and embraced her. “Dorothea, my wonder! I miss you. So, so much.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” she told him, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Ignore grumpy here.” Ragnor made an offended noise.

“Come with me. I’m here to show you why this is a truly blessed gift, Magnus.” Magnus stepped forward to join her, but then looked back at Ragnor. He darted back to embrace him one last time, pressing a kiss to his forehead as Ragnor swatted him away.

“Goodbye, old friend. May we meet again.”

“Stop pressing your lipstick all over me.” Ragnor pushed him away but a small smile curved the corners of his mouth. “You may call upon me at any time.”

“Thank you, my dear cabbage.”

“I might not answer, but you can call.”

Magnus was still laughing as Ragnor faded away.

“Well,” Dot said brightly. “Let’s put all of that negative nonsense to bed, shall we?” And she took Magnus by the hand and stepped forward.

Chapter 3: Present

“You can’t let your past dictate your future,” Dot reminded him as she guided him through what looked like a nicely upmarket fitting room.

“How many Warlocks do you know that are in blissful immortal relationships?” he asked her.

“Ok, fair, they’re rare. But if you were willing to marry Alec, with no guarantee that either he or you would stay together even over 50 years, then why can’t you have faith in your love for longer?”

He fell silent, thinking that over. Dot lead him into the bright lights of a store that he instantly recognised as the men’s section of Bergdorf Goodman. Magnus looked around, surprised. A few yards away he spotted a familiar head of hair, easy to see as Alec was so tall. Magnus’ face brightened instantly and he instinctively began to move towards him.

“He can’t see you,” Dot said, linking her arm with his and stopping him short. “We’re not really here, remember?”

“Do I have to just watch again?” Magnus asked, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his voice. He wanted Alexander - to hold him and talk to him and look into his eyes to find the answers he so desperately needed.

“What we share with those who’ve known us the longest - when we know they won’t hesitate to call us on our lies to ourselves - that’s a gift to be able to overhear.” Dot gave him a knowing look. “Like you’ve not wanted to know how Alec talks about you behind your back.”

“I haven’t,” Magnus protested, and then realised that it was true. He’d never wanted to know how Alec spoke about him, simply because he trusted Alec to be honest with him first.

“Well maybe that’s a lesson in itself,” Dot chided him and drew them closer as the siblings shopped.

“Why didn’t you do this earlier? This is pretty last minute, Alec.”

“It’s not like Alicante is teeming with stores like this, Iz. This is Spring Versace.” Alec shook the sleeve of the shirt for emphasis.

“Ok, who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Isabelle grinned and nudged him with her shoulder while Alec blushed and went back to looking on the rack.

“It’s important to Magnus. Therefore it’s important to me,” he mumbled while she cooed.

“Oh, shut up.” Alec rolled his eyes and pulled out an artfully ripped sweater in an alarming shade of crocus.

“No, brother dear.” Izzy calmly steered his hand to place it back on the rack and Magnus thanked her silently. “Definitely not. Anyway, I think it’s very sweet. Simon. Well, Simon isn’t exactly high fashion.”

Alec’s face took on that mixture of fascinated horror that appeared whenever Simon was mentioned in front of him. “Is, um. Is everything alright with you two?” Magnus could see the internal war inside Alec as he waited for the answer.

“Honestly? Yes. It’s wonderful. Amazing, even. He’s sweet and kind and funny and he loves me. He’s really good for me.”

Alec’s shoulders relaxed a notch. “Why is there a ‘but’ about to happen?”

“I want kids,” Izzy burst out and promptly looked horrified. Alec dropped the shirt he was holding and wheeled around to stare at his sister.

“What?!”

“Not right now,” she hastily reassured him. “But. Someday. I want a family.”

“He’s a vampire.” Magnus rolled his eyes. Well done to Alec for pointing out the obvious.

“Yes Alec, we’re aware of that.” Izzy mirrored Magnus and rolled her own eyes. She brushed her hair out of her face and concentrated on a pile of soft silk scarves. “We’re trying to find a way around this.”

“Izzy, don’t you dare think about taking the bite. Don’t you-“ Izzy stopped him by placing her hand firmly against his chest.

“Don’t be an idiot. We’re trying to find a way to make Simon mortal again, obviously.” Magnus’ eyebrows shot up when he heard that. Oh, well done, Isabelle. If anyone had the determination to make that happen, it was her.

“Angel above, Iz. Is that even possible?”

Her mouth set in a determined line. “I’m going to find a way, Alec.” He blinked at her and then Alec’s face softened in acquiescence and he nodded, turning back to the clothing. He browsed the rack for a minute in silence, rolling his lips together to try to hide a smile. Magnus watched as Alec cleared his throat.

“But does it have to be Simon? Really?”

“Oh, you dick!” Izzy smacked him hard on the arm as Alec burst out laughing and then held his hands up in surrender.

“I’m kidding! Well, mostly. Izzy stop hitting me!”

Izzy flicked her hair back and visibly shook off her indignance, the corners of her mouth trying to curl as she fought a smile.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want kids?”

“We try for them nightly,” Alec said dryly and Magnus burst out laughing, echoed by Dot next to him.

“You’ve had an influence,” she murmured to Magnus and he smiled at her.

“Alec!” Izzy swatted him again. “Be serious. There’s nothing stopping you. There’s always children, warlock kids or orphaned Nephilim that need parents.”

“We have the same issue as you two, I guess.” Alec was concentrating too hard on the print on a very nice shirt, and Magnus realised he was gripping Dot’s hand. He grimaced in apology and let her go. She softly smiled at him and took his hand again, and his heart ached with missing her.

“Magnus is immortal and I’m not. It makes it harder, I guess. He’ll outlive any mortal children we could have.”

“Would you want him to be mortal?” Izzy stepped closer and put her hand comfortingly in his forearm, forcing him to turn to face her. Magnus held his breath.

“No,” Alec shook his head. “Raziel, no. We went through that and it’s not. Just no. I want him to live.”

Magnus breathed again.

“Would you... want to be immortal?”

“I.” Alec blew out his cheeks and shifted his weight on his feet, avoiding her gaze and Magnus leaned forward.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane, you answer me right now!” Izzy hissed and jerked his arm sharply.

“Ow, Iz, yes, yes , ok? If I could. I don’t want to leave him. I want a family and I want him and I want to see more of the world, his world. God, Izzy, I love him. And there’s so much to him and so much I want to experience with him and I’m not sure one lifetime is enough. Yes, ok? If it was possible, I’d want to be with him forever. But it’s not possible. And so I don’t allow myself to think about it.” Alec closed his eyes as if in pain and Magnus became aware of a keening noise. He looked around for the source and realised it was coming from him.

“Dot,” he whispered. “Dorothea, why are you showing me this?”

“Because you need to know. It’s only your own fears from stopping your happiness.”

“You’d be ok with not aging? All of us dying?” Izzy gestured to herself, sounding more curious than annoyed.

“Iz, I’m going to have to watch you die anyway. Or I’ll die first, whatever, but. Me not dying won’t make a difference to my family and most of the people I love being mortal.”

Alec sounded so practical. Magnus frowned. There was a difference to knowing everyone around you was going to die and being forced to live through it and live on without them.

“Even if you do have kids? Alec, you went crazy when Max was injured.” Izzy sounded as sceptical as Magnus felt.

“It was my fault.” Alec set his jaw and met Izzy’s eyes again. “Max nearly dying… that was my fault, Izzy. I should never have trusted Jonathan.” Magnus ached to touch him.

“How could you know?” Izzy demanded softly, placing a comforting hand on his forearm. “He was wearing a different face. And I vouched for him. I was the one who brought him in.”

“He was going to come to the Institute anyway,” Alec pointed out and Izzy rolled her eyes again.

“Yeah, and even if you hadn’t shoved him on security he probably would have hurt Max. So if you can cut me some slack, you can do the same for you, big brother.”

Alec finally smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. Alright!” he protested when she poked him as well for good measure.

“Can we please get back to picking out the last of my husband’s presents?” he asked, turning back to the clothing. “Now, he’s often mentioned someone Cavelli. Cavalli? Does that mean anything to you?”

“I’m gonna get you a subscription to Vogue,” Izzy threatened under her breath and grabbed Alec’s arm to steer him to a different section. Magnus wanted to get in their way, to demand Alec answer her about how he’d feel watching his mortal children age and die. To ask how Magnus could possibly deal with that, even with Alec at his side, because Magnus couldn’t even fathom living through that.

Instead, he looked back at Dot, feeling lost. She tilted her head and gave him a sympathetic look.

“It’s alright Magnus. You’ll see. He loves you beyond anything and the two of you are stronger together. This is what you’ve always wanted. Someone who challenges you, and supports you and will explore with you - by your side, forever. I wanted to give you that, but I wasn’t the right person.”

“Dot -” he started to say, intent on preventing her from any self-deprecating sentences, but she shushed him with one finger and then smiled.

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, Magnus Lightwood-Bane. I had a wonderful life, and I’m more than happy with the time I had and my choices. My purpose here is to help you do the same - and not regret for the rest of your life.”

“What if Alec regrets it for the rest of his life, Dot?”

“I’m not saying it’s easy being immortal. I’m not saying there won’t be times where he has to be reminded about perspective and priorities and all the things he takes for granted being mortal. But I don’t think for one second he’ll regret living for you, Magnus. Not one second.”

“You two are sickeningly in love,” a new voice chimed in and Magnus jumped, whirling around to look at the newcomer. She looked... familiar but not - a tall woman with a well-shaped afro. He squinted at her and she laughed, putting her hand up to her throat. A moment before she pulled the scarf off, he knew.

“Sweetpea!” he exclaimed, and she flew into his arms, still laughing.

“Definitely too big for you to pick up, Magnus,” she told him. “Time for you to say goodbye and come with me.”

He untangled himself from her embrace and enveloped Dot instead, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Goodbye darling Dorothea. I hope you rest well and that I see you again one day.”

“Never stop fighting for love, Magnus.” She squeezed his hand and kissed him back. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he whispered as Madzie grabbed his hand and began to pull him away. Dot waved goodbye and faded from sight, so he turned back to Madzie, who led him… right to the front door of their loft.

Chapter 4: Future

“So I’m your ghost of Christmas future, yeah? What I’m going to show you isn’t set in stone. But it is what your path is right now, where Alec remains mortal. Don’t worry, you’ll forget the specifics when you wake up, time travel’s a bitch on free will.”

“Language,” Magnus said automatically and then covered his mouth. Madzie laughed, bright and sudden.

“Yeah, you don’t shake that particular instinct for about another seventy years.”

“Well that’s just embarrassing.”

“Hazard of immortality. Max has it way worse.”

“Max? Why?”

Madzie’s eyes went wide and she gestured hurriedly. “Oh, not Uncle Max. Um, other Max. Baby Max. Ah, fuck it, just look.” She swirled her hand in front of her and the door opens to reveal what looked like a very chaotic Christmas.

Two dark-haired children ran past Magnus giggling as he walked into the living room, followed by an older, red-headed teenager.

“I swear to Raziel, if you two don’t stop running round, I’m telling Uncle Magnus that you broke the vase at Thanksgiving.” The two kids screeched to a halt and slunk back around the corner the way they came before bursting out into laughter and running off again. The girl - Magnus assumed Clary and Jace’s kid, grimaced and made throttling motions with her hands, before an older looking Isabelle, her hair shorter than Magnus had ever seen it, walked into the room.

“If you want to swipe a glass of wine I promise to look the other way,” she told the teen solemnly. “I often tell Simon that the twins are the reason we get through so many bottles every week.”

“It’s ok, Auntie Iz. They’re just hopped up on sugar and also the living incarnation of Satan,” the girl said, yelling the last part of that sentence in the direction of the twins.

“It looks like someone needs a very diluted mimosa,” came Magnus’ own voice, and then his future-self swanned into the room, his hair longer and pinned up in an elaborate fashion. He snapped his fingers and handed a glass that looked like it was mostly peach juice over to the teenager and then promptly summoned a bottle of champagne and two glasses and handed one to Isabelle. She fell upon it gratefully.

“Celine, you’re doing a marvellous job keeping them in line,” Magnus continued and gestured to the couch for them to sit.

Celine shook her head. “It’s ok, Magnus. I need to make sure they’re not trying to get Max to turn them into something weird. But I think Hannah could probably use one of these as well.” Magnus watched himself hand over another mimosa.

“It’s ok, I don’t think Max has quite mastered that trick yet.”

“It doesn’t seem to stop them all from trying,” Celine replied dryly and wandered off in search of the kids and this mysterious Max.

“So how much of our home do Izzy’s children destroy?” Magnus asked Madzie who was still standing next to him.

“So, so much,” she said without a hint of teasing. “You keep saying they remind you of Clary, given that the Herondale children all seem to actually respect rules.”

“I’m sure Biscuit and Blondie just love that.”

“They settle down a lot,” Madzie told him with a small smile. “Alec asked them to train Shadowhunters. Clary specialised in improvised weaponry and tactics.”

Magnus threw his head back to laugh. “That would definitely suit her.”

The front door opened behind them and a silver-haired Maryse and Luke arrived carrying bags overflowing with gifts.

“Where are my grandkids?” Maryse called and suddenly the entire loft swarmed with children of varying ages, all crowding round them for hugs and all chattering at them. Magnus moved out of the way of them, mildly alarmed, as his future self simply conjured another table and more champagne.

“Reinforcements,” sighed future-Magnus and Izzy together.

More noise as Clary, Jace and Simon spilled out of the kitchen to greet them, and Magnus turned to look at Madzie when he noticed the runes on Simon.

“The Mortal Cup,” Madzie told him. “Isabelle said she’d find a way and she did.”

“That’s amazing,” Magnus said, so happy for them. And then he looked up as his husband, temples flecked with grey, came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel, followed by an unknown Nephilim teenager. Alec looked as beautiful as ever, more lines round his eyes but still full of the brightness of soul that had drawn Magnus to him in the first place.

“Papa,” the boy said, and Magnus watched to see which adult turned around. He looked Hispanic and spoke with a slight accent. He must be an orphan taken in by one of them, he assumed. Magnus admired his dark painted nails. Bold, for a Nephilim. Probably Izzy’s child.

His future self turned. “Yes, Raf?”

Everything inside Magnus stopped. He felt frozen, blinking rapidly to try to work out what was happening.

The youngest child broke away from the crowd by the door and ran back to Alec who dropped and swung him up into his arms.

“Daddy, can we open our gifts from Grandma and Grandpops?”

“Of course you can, Max,” Alec said as he bopped the boy on his horns, the boy flaring a bright blue as his glamour dropped and Magnus clutched at the wall behind him.

“Papa, presents!” The child cried out victoriously at future-Magnus, who was deep in conversation with Raf.

“What.” Magnus said faintly. “What.”

“Breathe, Magnus.” Madzie said, not unkindly. “Did you not think that this was a possibility?”

Magnus shook his head, avidly watching the scene in front of him as if he could commit it to memory. "We have sons. We have sons." The Clave had allowed them to adopt a Nephilim, for Raziel's sake. And a Warlock. And everyone was acting as if this was normal.

Raf held his arms out for Max and Max jumped down from Alec’s embrace and ran to his brother. “C’mon Max. We’ll put the presents under the tree and you can make sure everyone has one and then we can open them together.”

Alec looked approvingly at Raf’s words and dropped a kiss to the top of his head as he joined them, casually slinging his arm around Magnus as if this was a everyday occurrence. Them, and their kids. Their family .

Magnus let out an astonished wheeze while Madzie patted his arm in consolation, looking highly amused.

“Rafael’s finished basting the turkey and it will be about an hour,” Alec said as the boys ran off to drag Maryse and Luke into the living room, both of them stopping to kiss Magnus and Alec. “So we have time for presents and then everyone has to wash their hands.”

“Yes dad,” Clary said impishly as she moved past them and Alec stuck his tongue out at her which she immediately returned, both of them smiling at each other in a way that would be impossible in the present.

“This feels like the Twilight Zone,” Magnus said, looking at Madzie with wide eyes.

“Clary and Alec get really, really close after Max - Lightwood Max, not Lightwood-Bane Max - nearly dies. Again.”

“What happened?”

“He was defending the LA Institute. You and Alec are very popular but there’s a small faction of the Downworld and the Nephilim that really don’t like the two of you together. Call you race traitors. They went after Alec’s family. Alec of course blamed himself, because he always does. But Clary actually did kill her brother. They weirdly bond and I think she helped him to see it wasn’t his fault.”

“But he’s ok?”

“Yeah. He’s not here this year because he and his wife are on duty.”

Magnus nodded, still watching everyone settle down around the Christmas tree, ripping into presents - or in his and Alec’s case, taking the opportunity to make out behind an open book Magnus held up in front of their faces.

“Ewwwwww,” chorused Raf, Celine and Hannah while the adults laughed, Jace throwing a wadded up ball of wrapping paper at them.

“That’s enough, you two.”

“We’re missing date night tonight,” protested future-Magnus, flicking the ball away with magic towards Max, who did the same thing back at him, making it smack against Magnus’ forehead with a giggle.

Magnus drew in a sharp breath. “Please tell me I’m the cool dad.”

Madzie laughed and shook her head. “Actually you’re the over-protective one. Alec lets them run wilder than you’d prefer. But then he’d been holding a sword since the age of six, so it’s understandable he sees nothing wrong with them going on adventures. You just want your boys around you. It’s sweet, Magnus. They loved you both so much.”

“I hate that you keep using the past tense.”

“I can only show you the future I know.” Madzie tugged on his sleeve. “We have to move on, Magnus.”

“But I don’t want to go. I want to see how the lunch turns out.”

“Raf’s a great cook. But that’s not why we’re here and you know it.” She made a circling motion with her fingers and the scene in front of them sped up so that Magnus could only see flashes of life in the loft. Him and Alec holding a baby with a proud Rafael beside them. Another family Christmas with more young children, streaks of grey in Isabelle’s hair. A soft morning for just him and Alec, a cane nearby, Alec writing furiously on a tablet and Magnus reading.

The scenery around them changed. A sombre crowd in white inside the main hall in Alicante, Clary’s faded head bowed with sobs. Their bedroom with Alec, thin and asleep with Magnus reading aloud next to him, stealing glances at his husband. Magnus in the same position, staring bleakly at an empty, neatly-made bed, with his book fallen to the floor.

“No,” he whispered, clutching at Madzie’s hand, squeezing his eyes shut so hard it hurt. “I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to know.”

“You have to face this, Magnus. You have to know why the Angels gave you this gift.” Madzie’s voice was firm but full of sympathy. She motioned again and the scenes continued.

He saw himself surrounded by his family, Raf older now while Max looked young still, faces drawn and sad. Then a new apartment, somewhere sunnier than Alicante, Madzie and Max and Rafe hanging pictures. A dinner with young people whose faces contained echoes of Magnus’ present. Another white funeral, Max propping up a grieving Magnus. Raf, Magnus guessed, his stomach churning. Then another new place, smaller, darker. Magnus in a bar, at first alone, then with Catarina, then with strangers. Never the same face twice. Max and Madzie again, arguing with Magnus in what looked like a study. Madzie again, alone this time. Then Catarina again. Then Magnus alone, staring out the window, his back to them as they watched. Fire messages came and there were sharp raps on the door, but he remained alone.

The image didn’t change and he tore himself away from the pathetic view in front of him and turned back to Madzie.

“What are you telling me, Sweet Pea? That losing people hurts? I know that one. That’s not a good reason to irrevocably change someone's life.” He tried to sound dismissive but his hands trembled by his side and he clasped them together before Madzie could see.

“We all know that, Magnus.” She fixed him with her gaze. “The Downworld and the Shadowhunters - we worked in harmony for a long long time. You and Alec were figureheads - the leaders, there to calm things down when tensions rose, there to fight for what was right and fair, not what was based on tradition. And with Alec gone… you locked yourself away from everyone. Even with darkness coming. You tried for a while. For Max. For us. But....” she trailed off and bit her lip.

“What, Sweetpea? You can tell me.”

“You became what you always feared - alone and untouched by anything. You simply faded.”

“No,” Magnus whispered, shaking his head. “No, I wouldn’t. I haven’t before.”

“You deserve so much happiness, Magnus. You deserve to be in the world. But it’s like you decided the world wasn’t worth it if Alec’s not with you. And our world needs you, Magnus.”

“That’s still not a reason to ask him to stay with me!” Magnus cried. “I want him to be with me because he wants to, not because without him I give up!”

“How are you going to know that if you don’t ask him?” Madzie shot back, folding her arms and looking unerringly like Catarina.

Magnus opened his mouth to answer her and realised he had nothing. He looked at her, shocked, his mouth hanging open.

“Well, damn,” he finally managed, completely taken aback at how well he’d been played. “I’m going to have to ask him, aren’t I? It’s the only thing I can do.”

Madzie broke into a huge smile, her eyes alight with happiness. “You’ve always told me to fight for the future that I wanted, Magnus. Finally you’re taking your own advice.”

Chapter 5: Christmas Day

Magnus woke up when the bed dipped, and opened his eyes to the wondrous sight of Alexander crawling into bed with him.

“Mmmmm, what time is it?”

“Nearly midday. You’re sleeping Christmas away.”

“Merry Christmas,” Magnus yawned sleepily and pulled Alec closer, burying his nose in his neck. “Brr, you’re all cold.”

“Yes, it’s December,” Alec replied dryly, and then started to laugh as Magnus began to tug off his clothes.

“That’s not going to help me warm up.”

“Oh no?” Magnus grinned, and kissed him thoroughly. “Challenge accepted.” He proceeded to demonstrate exactly how wrong Alec was about that, kissing every patch of cold skin revealed until Alec’s fingers were twisting in his hair and begging Magnus in a broken voice. He drew him into his mouth, only stopping when Alec was a spent sweaty mess, panting against the sheets.

Magnus flopped back onto the bed and stretched lazily, looking smug.

“Yeah, okay,” Alec said in a dazed voice. “Merry Christmas.” Magnus laughed and curled around him, watching with fondness as Alec’s eyelids drooped until he was sure Alec was asleep.

Then he got up and made breakfast. Well, summoned brunch. There was a lightness to him now, his decision made. He could only remember parts of his dream, the love of his friends filling him with a buoyant warmth, the sheer delight at the possibility of having a future together. A long future.

He could recall enough to know that he had to ask Alec. Ask him if he’d stay with him. It was Alec’s choice, and while everything inside Magnus twisted at the thought Alec would say no, somehow he knew that Alec wouldn’t.

It was a feeling that made him merrier than usual over brunch once Alec woke up again, pulling him into the living room and dancing with him to old Rat Pack Christmas Songs as Alec laughed and stumbled over his own feet.

“I missed you,” Magnus told him and Alec rolled his eyes but smiled.

“I was gone for a night.”

“Still missed you.”

And then there were presents and a perfect Cavalli jacket Magnus assumed Izzy had picked out, even if Alec assured him he had seen it first and she’d only approved, and a little later Magnus conjured a traditional Christmas feast for the both of them and got Alec quite tipsy on a delightful Cabernet.

In the dwindling light, as the glow of Alicante grew outside their window, Magnus summoned a fire and a large, fluffy sheepskin run big enough for the two of them in front of it and beckoned Alec closer, his nerves growing.

Alec went willingly and wrapped his arms loosely around Magnus’ waist, pressing a kiss to his lips and then leaning back for what Magnus presumed was a longer kiss, but Magnus stopped him. Alec looked confused and drew back.

“Magnus? What is it?”

Magnus cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "So I have one final gift. But I don't want you to think it's just for you. This is the most selfish gift I can give.”

Alec raised an eyebrow and threw a pointed - and unimpressed, which Magnus would take a moment to be unhappy about later - glance at Magnus’ crotch. He swatted him on the arm.

“Hush, this is serious.“

“The king-size fur rug suggests otherwise, Magnus.”

“Will you please let me talk?” Magnus huffed at Alec and felt better when he’d settled down and schooled his face into a least a facade of listening, taking Magnus’ hand in his own.

“Yesterday I saw an Angel,” Magnus started and then winced when Alec narrowed his eyes at him. He held up two fingers in front of Alec’s mouth. “No, I don’t mean - that’s not a weird pick up line or that I saw someone beautiful, I mean. Literally. The Archangel Michael was over Lake Lyn.”

Alec’s eyes widened and he grabbed Magnus by the shoulders, looking panicked. “Are you ok? What did he want? What’s coming? Do I need to get Jia?”

“No, no…” Magnus sighed. He was doing this all wrong. “Nothing’s wrong. He gave me a gift - a reward. For my closing the rift from Edom.”

Alec’s eyebrows drew together. “But that was ages ago.”

“I know. I’m very aware that this gift most likely benefits them in some way as well. But. I can’t ignore it.”

“What the hell is this gift, Magnus?” He was getting impatient; Magnus could tell by the ticking muscle in his jaw and he instinctively cupped Alec’s face to soothe him. His stomach flipped over and he forced himself to state it plainly.

“He gave me… he gave me a chance to make you immortal. To live forever. With me. If you’d want that.”

Alec inhaled swiftly, looking blindsided, while Magnus searched his face for some indication of emotion other than shock.

“What?” Alec asked faintly, his hand rising to grip Magnus’ wrist. “Wait, say that again.”

“Michael gave me a way that I can bind my life with yours. It would make you immortal. But we have to perform the ritual by midnight tonight.”

Alec remained silent, his eyes flickering over Magnus’ face as if he was expecting Magnus to start laughing and tell him he was just kidding. Magnus’ heart sank.

“Alexander?” Magnus prompted. “Please say something.”

“Is that… no, wait, why would they do that? What do they want in return?”

Magnus frowned. That certainly wasn’t what Alec was originally going to ask. “I don’t know, but it’s safe to assume they’ll have a use for you or us in the future.” He thought about mentioning his dream again, but that on top of an angelic visitation was probably pushing it. And the way Alec was reacting… suddenly he was seized by the conviction that Alec would say no, that he’d rather be normal and mortal than be with Magnus and be seen as something different.

“Does that matter? I know you probably need time to think about it, or speak to your family. Or the Clave, they would probably have something to say about it. I can give you space if you need it -”

“Do you want this?” Alec asked abruptly and then winced, running his hand over his face. “I mean,” he continued in a softer voice, “is this what you want? I can understand if you don’t want an eternity with one person. Or - that’s probably presumptuous, right? That you would want to be with me forever even if I was immortal.”

Magnus all but melted, smoothing his arm around Alec’s neck and pressing close.

“Oh, Alexander. I meant it when I said this gift is a selfish one. I want you by my side for the rest of my life, not just the rest of your mortal one. You’re everything to me.”

“Are you sure? You can’t take it back.”

“Alexander.” Magnus was very firm as he looked up at Alec’s face, holding his worried look. “I can honestly say there is nothing I want more in this life than to have you in it for as long as I possibly can. I vowed to love you as long as I lived and I don’t think I can ever break that vow. It’s just not possible.”

“Magnus,” Alec said, his mouth working but nothing else followed, his gaze flickering over Magnus’ face as if he was a puzzle to be solved.

“Live with me,” Magnus said in a low voice, just above a whisper, his hand tightening on Alec’s neck. He willed him to see how much Magnus wanted this, willed him to find it in his eyes. “ Live with me, Alexander. Please.”

“Yes,” Alec finally said, his voice like gravel. “God, Magnus, yes. Yes. Always. I mean it. You have no idea…” he trailed off and to Magnus’ horror, shaded his eyes and let out a shaky sob, rubbing his hand over his face to wipe away tears. He groped around blindly to find the arm of the couch and then slid onto it gratefully, burying his face in his hands. Magnus followed him, nervously twisting his rings around his fingers. Saying yes but then crying wasn’t the exact response he’d anticipated.

“Fuck,” Alec said shakily after a moment, taking in a deep breath. “Magnus, you have no idea how much I want this, do you?” He finally looked back up at Magnus, his eyes wet and bright, but - oh, but his smile was wide and breathtaking. Something inside Magnus loosened and relaxed as Alec spread his arms open, inviting Magnus over. He promptly sprawled himself on Alec’s lap, causing him to laugh, and wound his arms around Alec’s neck, his nails scratching at the soft skin at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “You’ve never told me. It always was an impossible dream, Alexander, one I still can’t quite believe has been simply given to us.” He bit his lip when Alec hugged him closer and buried his face into Magnus’ shoulder, his fingers stroking through his hair.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you going to try to talk me out of it with tales of what a burden immortality can be and how it changes your views on everything?” Alec responded, slightly muffled by Magnus’ cashmere.

Magnus suppressed a small grin and looked at the fire, feeling a certain sense of deja vu from his dream. “Well. Yes. Not talk you out of it, but definitely warn you. You have to know what you’re getting yourself into. Watching most people you love die. Having to continue on. Then there’s putting up with the rest of the immortals - you’ll be sick of us. Sick of me.”

“Never,” Alec said immediately, pulling himself back up. “Magnus, look at me.” Magnus reluctantly pulled his gaze from the flames back to Alec.

“Magnus, I could never get sick of you. Frustrated, yes. Annoyed, sure. Sometimes I still don’t understand you. You’ve lived for centuries and I barely know you and at the same time, know you better than anyone that doesn’t share my soul.” Alec cradled Magnus’ face in his hands and brushed his thumb against his cheekbone, wiping away the tear Magnus hadn’t been aware of.

“I want to stay with you. I want to experience everything with you - yes, even the pain of loss, because we’ll at least be together for it. You make the dark days a little brighter, enough to get me through, and you make the ordinary days completely dazzling.”

Alec wasn’t helping to prevent Magnus from crying more, the reality of the gift finally crystalizing into something definitive in his mind.

“Really?” he asked again.

“Now and for all time,” Alec said solemnly, quoting the traditional Warlock wedding vows. Magnus made a small choked noise and buried his face in Alec’s neck, squeezing him tight. The impossible man who always continued to surprise him.

“I love you,” he whispered into Alec’s skin, and could feel Alec’s smile.

“I love you too.” Alec kissed his forehead and then the side of his face, tracking down until he reached his lips, sharing the sweetest kiss with Magnus that he felt down to his toes.

“And we need to do this now, right?” Alec continued in a business-like tone when he pulled away. “Because I believe you and I have plans for that rug that might take longer than midnight.”

Magnus laughed and brushed at his eyes to wipe away his tears, clambering off Alec as he snapped his fingers for his bag. “We have instructions.” Alec made a pleased sound and started digging through the pouch, pulling out the necessary elements for the ritual.

Magnus caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and wheeled around, ready for anything, for Angels to try to retrieve the gift, anything at all - and only coming face to face with his reflection in the living room mirror.

But he wasn’t alone. Behind him were Ragnor and Dot and even Madzie, all smiling at him - or at least in Ragnor’s case, not scowling. Madzie gave him a thumbs up and Magnus laughed, looking over his shoulder at nothing, and then back at his friends in the reflection of the room.

When Magnus laughed, Alec looked up from arranging things on the coffee table.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing,” Magnus said, turning back and smiling at Alexander, his soul soaring as he looked at the best decision he’d ever made, ready to start their eternal life together as soon as possible.

“I was just thinking we need a toast.” He summoned two glasses of champagne and handed one to Alec, clinking their glasses together and then reaching out for Alec’s hand, his heart brimming over with joy.

“Merry Christmas to all.” His gaze flicked back to his friends in the mirror’s reflection. “And to all, a good night.”

#cardiamachina #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

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feykijung · 4 years ago

Text

@feykyuhwan submitted:

DAISY …tell your muse a secret. HYSSOP …sacrifice something for your muse.

` * ∞ ─── canon tbh ─────────────────────── accepting

( tw: death, blood and sadness. so much death and so much sadness. )

( YOUR HAIR WAS LONG WHEN WE FIRST MET. )

hwan is bright eyed and curious, but a little quiet, too. it’s ki’s first impression of him.

they are nothing if not obedient sons, and maybe that’s why, after hwan’s father mumbles something to him, hwan no longer meets his eyes.

they are but eight years old, out on the docks, accompanying their fathers in the closest their village may come to a business meeting: fish for new nets. their fathers laugh, old friends bonded through trades that work so closely together, and ki hears hwan’s father say something like i’d give you this for free, but i’ll take the fish.

the boys are alone, and they wait, not looking at each other, pointedly, and ki knows why. he is too lowly for camaraderie, not worthy of hwan’s attention or time. ki doesn’t mind. it’s just how things are. his mother was a kisaeng and he inherited her status; he is not ashamed of her, even as everyone says he should be. he has never been angry at her for a moment. so hwan doesn’t speak to him, and ki knows why.

still, his eyes wander over to the other boy, now crouched in the dirt, poking at it with a stick. ki observes, and now he is the curious one. hwan stands up suddenly, casting one long glance at their fathers, deep in conversation, then waddles over to ki.

“you’re ki,” he points out, timid, and yet bold all at once-- bold not to ask, bold to approach at all.

ki nods. “yes. you’re hwan,” he states back, with even more certainty. hwan nods in his own form of confirmation, then looks down. ki’s eyes drift down too, to hwan’s tiny fists balled up at his sides. suddenly, hwan extends one to him, and opens it up to reveal a tiny rock.

hwan offers it to him with a, “don’t tell father.”

ki hesitates, a little confused, but as it fades it ushers in appreciation, and even at his young age, he is...moved. he takes the rock, and he grins.

∞ 1636 ∞

the sun approaches the horizon, light of day fading. ki long sent his little brother home, well ahead of nightfall, even earlier than usual. there are rumors of strangers in the north: invaders, impending war. it leaves their village on edge, preparing to fight just in case, but all largely assuming if anything, they will capture the capital. they will leave them alone. maybe the king will call in soldiers from their village to help, but that’s all.

he and hwan are not soldiers, but sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures. they know.

maybe it’s why they talk about such mundane things. it’s catch up; they haven’t seen each other in too long, hwan married now, ki preparing for his own wedding.

“how are you doing?” hwan asks, all gentle concern, and ki smiles, close-lipped, reassuring.

“i’m fine,” he answers, because he must be. it’s been more than a year since his father’s death-- since the entire world was placed on his shoulders, the son of a kisaeng now head of the family, now lowering their social status and raising his own simultaneously. he tries not to be a burden to them. he tries to guide them well. “heon is already doing my job better than me,” he speaks fondly of his younger brother, seven years old, around the age he and hwan properly met. hwan laughs, and small smiles linger on both of their faces.

“your fiance. what is she like?” hwan asks, looking over at him, and his best friend’s smile fades into a look of almost startled realization. “sorry for all of the questions, it’s just...been a little while.”

“ah, no, it’s okay” he laughs a little, suddenly a little bashful. “i mean, she’s really nice. we weren’t sure anyone would ever want to marry me...i’m sure her family is only letting her marry me because i’ve proven i can be the head of my house even as the son of a kisaeng. she doesn’t treat me like i’m worse than her.”

there are still insecurities, however. “do you think i’ll be a good husband? do you think i’ll be able to do this?”

he can feel hwan’s impending response in the air, but the beat of hooves drowns them out. they both freeze in their tracks, and ki reaches for the knife he uses to gut fish, strapped to his side.

ki snaps out of it first, and tugs hwan to hide behind a nearby bush, up against a tree for extra cover. they crouch behind it, and ki feels his best friend shaking beside him. he carefully grabs his arm, holding it, trying to steady him. they both hold their breath as the men get off of their horses mere meters in front of them. they speak to each other in a language ki can’t understand. (i saw two boys here. where are they? find them.)

they do. the man sneaks up behind them and grabs them both by the collar, and they both are paralyzed with fear. ki looks at hwan, his friend’s eyes full of panic, both of them still, not wanting to fight, wanting to preserve their life, hoping they will let them go.

one of the men can speak korean, and he asks them questions, the most compelling being who are you? maybe, if ki wasn’t the dirt beneath everyone’s feet, they would take him and try to get money for him. he hopes, for once, his low status saves him. they ask, and each boy gives them their names. they hope it saves them, even with knives pressed to their throats.

it doesn’t. ki doesn’t understand why he’s the one released, or what it means when the man with power over the others says you’re going to come with me. he doesn’t understand why. he doesn’t understand why, but the man pulls him forward, away from hwan, away from everything. it’s when he fights back, digging his feet into the dirt, that he truly panics, because he realizes he is not stronger than him. it’s like he and hwan realize at the same time, wide eyes meeting, full of tears.

hwan begs. no, please. please don’t take him. he didn’t do anything, what do you have to gain? please give him back. please stop. please, i’ll do whatever you want.

ki sobs, and he shakes his head, but he doesn’t speak. don’t say that. don’t say that. you don’t know what they’ll do.

he still fights against the arms holding him. “hwan!” he yells to him, voice wracked with emotion. “hwan, i’ll find you again!” he swears, right when his legs fail him, right when his captor succeeds in tugging him backwards, further and further away. he says it. he will do everything he can, but they both know it may not be a promise he can keep. “i’m sorry!”

will someone shut him up? the man taking him away says in his native language.

it’s the cue-- it’s the knife that makes a river of flow from hwan’s neck, and ki screams and he screams. even as the light fades from hwan’s eyes, his arms are still outstretched toward ki, and ki reaches for him too even though he knows he will never make it-- even though it is far too late.

kyu.....hwan......

( WE COULDN’T BRING THE COLUMNS DOWN. )

there aren’t many koreans in venice. maybe it’s why, even with hwan’s death still heavy and fresh on his heart despite 200 years passing, he clings to sunghyuk so.

they meet by one of the canals, a kijung known as sungki sitting by the water, staring out. when he does, it almost feels like home. he feels inches away from pulling a net full of fish out of the water, selling most and bringing some home to feed his family. his little siblings feel just barely out of reach. when he closes his eyes, everything even sounds different.

it’s a weighty kind of melancholy. he’s submerged in it when he hears-- feels --someone else approaching, and when he turns around to look, the sight that greets him is surprising. they both look at each other with wide eyes, and then the stranger laughs lightly, although it’s a little shy.

“are you korean?” sungki asks with little fear or regard for manners anymore. the other nods. “are you?” sungki nods as well.

“sorry if i startled you,” he apologizes. sungki shakes his head-- almost reassures him it’s okay, but the stranger speaks instead. “you-- looked lonely, is all.”

is he? maybe. he has mei; she is family now, but...friends? it feels like he has been alone for so long.

maybe his silence is telling. either way, the other boy asks, “can i...?” and sungki nods and scoots over, making room for him to sit beside him.

“i’m sunghyuk.”

“sungki.”

“oh! we have the same first syllable. what are the odds of that?” sunghyuk smiles, and sungki can’t help but do the same, even if it’s muted, as his smiles all are now.

they sit in silence for a while, and sungki has so many questions, but he’s afraid to ask them, lest they get turned on him and he have to lie. there’s so much about his life he can’t say though he wants to. the depth of his loneliness becomes quickly apparent in how willing he is to tell this relative stranger he’s a vampire just so he can be honest-- just so he can speak and be heard, because sunghyuk has warm, welcoming eyes and sungki’s heart tells him he can trust him.

he doesn’t though, even when sunghyuk asks him, “how did you get to italy, if you don’t mind me asking?” even though it’s tentative.

he and mei have a story for this. “i was...am...an orphan. a woman from china found me wandering the streets in incheon and she brought me back to china with her. we’ve been traveling ever since.” we’ve been here for a few years though, he almost says, but it will give away his age, so he doesn’t. sunghyuk sports no skepticism on his face, and sungki judges him as trusting, too.

“how about you?” he returns, and sunghyuk’s smile falters a little.

“i’m a servant for a man here,” he explains, but he seems to predict sungki’s comments of sympathy, and quickly adds, “it’s not a bad life, but i’m not supposed to be out here right now, so please don’t tell anyone.”

“of course,” sungki swears.

“what places have you traveled? what was it like?” sunghyuk is so curious, and it makes sungki smile a little. he can’t help but tell him.

∞ 1836 ∞

they meet weekly for two years, sunghyuk always sneaking away from the family he served to sit with sungki by the canal, talking about everything and nothing all at once.

it’s at the end of year one that he tells him he’s a vampire, and the beginning of year two where sunghyuk, even in all of his trusting glory, finally believes him. it’s not until sungki exhausts himself of all of his stories-- of everything he learned in history, all of his notable memories traveling throughout the asian continent, the details of his low status from birth and how he was saved from it. maybe it’s the last point that really drives it home, further commonality found between them, and even more when sungki tells stories of his sire and sunghyuk relates to it.

it’s probably that which leads sungki to say, “i could help you escape, you know.”

it’s met with a great deal of anxiety from who is undoubtedly now his best friend. (sunghyuk made it easy, and he doesn’t remember the last time he was so happy, if he ever was.)

eventually, sunghyuk agrees, and it’s a relief for sungki, who can’t help but imagine sunghyuk in his place, with his now dead sire, treated the same way as sungki was, with a look at him, isn’t he pretty? it makes his stomach churn, so when sunghyuk says okay, he’s glad.

they succeed, too. sunghyuk sneaks out in the middle of the night, and then sungki and mei whisk him away into their protection, mei prepared to erase the memories of anyone that might come looking.

(part of sungki considers turning him. he talks about it with mei when sunghyuk is asleep. “then we’ll be able to travel together forever, and we won’t lose him,” he tells her. then i won’t lose him. mei tells him it will be sunghyuk’s choice, and sungki agrees, and decides to ask him.)

the day he asks, they’re on their way back to their usual spot by the canal. it’s a risk to go anywhere familiar, they know, but it’s just not the same. sunghyuk goes ahead of them. he’s going to get there first, sungki’s eyes still trained on him, smile still on his face. he’s about to break into a run to catch up when he pauses.

there’s something in the air: an unfamiliar scent that makes sungki’s hairs stand on end.

“hey, sunghyuk, come ba--” he doesn’t finish the sentence before something collides with his best friend, knocking him out of sungki’s field of vision, and it’s now that he runs. he turns the corner just in time to see a hooded figure stab a knife into sunghyuk’s jugular, and sungki screams. the figure disappears, almost into thin air, and part of him wants to chase. part of him wants to destroy them, but more than that, there is a best friend, and he can save him. he can.

“sunghyuk,” he cries. he catches him in his arms before he properly hits the ground. he can hear the way he chokes on air, eyes wide and full of fear. “please hold on, please, please, please,” sungki begs him as they drop to the floor, his best friend’s head in his lap. he fumbles around for the knife he carries with him in his pocket. he hears sunghyuk whimper-- sees his weak hand reaching for him even as sungki digs the knife into the flesh of his palm. “i’m going to save you, i’m going to,” he swears, and he clumsily drips his blood across his friend’s face, and into his mouth, and--

he is met with nothing but sunghyuk’s vacant, lifeless stare, and the pit that opens in his stomach at the realization that he is too late; his best friend is already gone. “sunghyuk i’m sorry...i’m so sorry,” he sobs.

he wails, and then he buries him, and he waits anyway. he keeps track of the time, seated, unmoving, beside his makeshift grave. day one. he is sick with worry, wracked with tears and the feeling that it is all for nothing. day two. he is determined. no, i wasn’t too late. he tells himself he’ll come back. he tells himself he saved him. day three. he waits, and he shakes, and he waits, and the tears set in again. day four. he sobs and he sobs, and it is over, and it was too late.

( THE HISTORY BOOKS FORGOT ABOUT US. )

returning to korea marked the return of optimism for a while, now kiyong a lighter version than the names that came before him, even less than 100 years after sunghyuk’s death. he is just so eager to be home; his heart is open whether he realizes it or not.

it closes for his protection when japan occupies his country, but once they are gone, he opens back up, a little more healed, a little more tired of loneliness, even as used to it as he is in his near 350 year old life.

it’s this heart that finds its way to a certain kwangsoo, and subsequently, a new best friend.

it starts with a library: a new one, the national library of korea, a symbol of freedom from the japanese rule to kiyong. most knowledge is freedom to him, education always a sign of the higher class in his time, only ever to receive an education once he found mei. suddenly, it’s like the entire world is cracked open, ripe to be learned about-- read about.

he goes every day that he can, sometimes with mei, usually alone.

kwangsoo does too, or at least it seems that way. it takes many visits in common before they actually speak, and it’s kiyong that steps through the door and approaches him.

“what are you reading these days?” he asks. “i see you here all the time.”

kwangsoo laughs lightly. “my favorite is historical fiction, but i’ve been reading a lot of traditional poetry these days?”

kiyong’s face lights up. “sijo?” kwangsoo nods in confirmation, and kiyong can’t help the grin that stretches across his face-- the first in too long. “i love sijo.” sijo, the poetry of the kisaeng. he didn’t get to really read any until the early 1900′s, and it always made him think of his mother-- made him wonder if he could ever read something that she wrote. she would’ve been a great storyteller. in moments like this, he misses her without even knowing her, but the recollections are all pleasant. it’s warm.

“kisaeng were amazing, weren’t they?” he muses aloud with a small smile.

kwangsoo nods. “i would’ve loved to have met one.”

“me too,” kiyong replies, almost a sigh, undeniably wistful. maybe kwangsoo notices, but if he does, he doesn’t ask.

they introduce themselves to each other, and it’s not the last time they run into each other at the library by chance, until eventually, it isn’t chance anymore. they learn they go to the same school, and they study together, at the library first, then each other’s respective houses. it’s usually kiyong that corrects kwangsoo, even though he’s in a lower grade than him. (he’s been in lower grades for years.)

kiyong corrects all of the fiction kwangsoo reads about the joseon dynasty too, surely to the point that it almost irritates him, but he still gives kiyong every book he finishes so he can read it himself.

one day, when they’re splayed out in kwangsoo’s room: “hey, kiyong...how do you know so much about the joseon dynasty? i keep studying it so i can figure out what’s accurate and what isn’t myself, but...some of the stuff you tell me i haven’t read anywhere.”

and so kiyong tells him, and kwangsoo in all of his good-natured skepticism asks him to tell him about his life. (and so kiyong does. after, kwangsoo believes him.)

tensions grow between the north and south. many of their friends join the military to help protect their country, but kiyong is too young. kwangsoo, thankfully, doesn’t. he chooses to work toward being a doctor instead, and kiyong is thankful.

( “hey, ki, you didn’t give me back my copy of the dragon lady,” kwangsoo points out.

“oh,” kiyong realizes, and he laughs a little. he turns on his heel and speedwalks away, like he’s fleeing the scene of a crime in which he kept someone else’s book for too long. “i’ll get it back to you next time i see you! i’m sorry!” he calls over his shoulder.

“no, you can keep it!” kwangsoo calls back, and he can hear the smile in his voice.)

∞ 1650 ∞

one of their friends becomes injured before the war even properly starts. he’s placed in seoul national university hospital, and kwangsoo goes to the library less in favor of visiting instead. kiyong tails him often, sitting with them in the hospital. it’s kwangsoo and their friend responsible for most of the chatter, kiyong often reading, content to be present without making small talk. neither of his friends give him a hard time about it, for which he is thankful.

the war breaks out then. kiyong reads all the news he can every day, and kwangsoo still visits the hospital as it grows full of more soldiers and civilians injured alike.

he knows something is horribly wrong when he doesn’t see kwangsoo for a week. kiyong goes to the library every day and sits, waiting in their usual place, eyes trained on the shelf where they met: kwangsoo’s favorite. his best friend’s copy of the dragon lady burns a hole in the library table.

the news comes in later. massacre at seoul national university hospital. 900 suspected dead, and tears well up in his eyes before he even finishes reading.

he shows up on kwangsoo’s doorstep unannounced even though he already knows in his heart what happened. but he has to know for sure. maybe not, maybe--

he is greeted by kwangsoo’s mother, eyes red from crying, and he sees tears well up in her eyes again as soon as he meets them-- as soon as she sees him. his own vision blurs, because he knows, and kwangsoo’s mother sobs, unable to say a word.

“he’s gone,” and it’s not a question even though it should be, because kiyong knows. of course he knows. (he should’ve known from the start.)

she nods in confirmation, and kiyong almost forgot the agony. he almost thought this time, he could escape it.

he falls to his knees.

( THE BIBLE DIDN’T MENTION US, NOT EVEN ONCE. )

"kijungie,” kyuhwan says, and kijung hums in acknowledgement.

“what was the capital of the joseon dynasty in 1500?” kijung can hear him holding back laughter.

“fucking,” kijung replies in exasperation. “seoul! but that’s a trick question because it was hanseong. that’s so stupid,” but when kyuhwan laughs, he laughs too. “at least ask me something nobody but me would know.”

“but if nobody but you knows it, then how do i know what to ask?”

“don’t act like you haven’t already asked me 100 questions, kyu. 100 is like...an understatement at this point.”

“okay,” kyuhwan agrees. “what was king injo like?”

“ugh. he was a pussy, is what he was.”

(it started over shared sheet music, with a kijung encased in the hardest shell, swearing off of friendship, and a kyuhwan too soft to be ignored. kwangsoo was an outlier-- a result of eagerness and optimism in a lonely kiyong, but this time, kyu approached first. it was kyu that asked him over to practice for their upcoming show, and then to study, and then to talk about everything and nothing all at once. they were fast friends, and kyuhwan made it hard for kijung to want to fight it, because he was just so lonely. kyu began to fill some of the holes in kijung’s 400 year old heart, and so he so desperately hung on.)

∞

it’s strange, looking out at the horizon in incheon. everything is different except the horizon. there is still a dock, built up now, surrounded by boats far more extravagant than hwan’s ki could’ve ever imagined.

still, the horizon is the same.

“do you miss them? your family?” kyuhwan asks from where he sits beside him by the water.

(he wanted to show kyu where he lived 400 years ago. he wanted to show him the paths his feet walked before they were immortal, and when he still planned to die-- still prepared his family for the day it would come, still dreamed of love, still dreamed of a future. he wanted to take him to goryeosan mountain to see the azaleas that bloomed their in vibrant purple. he never did it for anyone else.)

"yes. i wonder what happened to them all the time...without me..." his voice grows quiet near the end, and he just stares out at that horizon, gaze distant.

there is still so much kyuhwan doesn’t know. he feels it bubbling to the surface, and he feels himself ready to release it all, if his best friend is ready to hold it.

"you didn't stay?"

he didn’t talk about it, too afraid sharing would produce attachment to someone who would inevitably die, early or late, both too soon. (of course, it happened anyway.)

“didn’t get a choice to.”

kyuhwan hesitates, clearly confused when he asks, “what does that mean?”

"do you remember studying about the manchu invasion? in the 1600's?” he begins, and kyuhwan nods beside him. “i was 17 then. i turned 17 in the middle of it, anyway. i was captured and taken to china afterwards. i think king injo surrendered to the manchu on the day i was turned. maybe the day before."

“...captured by who?” it’s with more trepidation, and kijung can practically feel his dread. no, the story isn’t good. anything kyu feels is justified.

"he was a manchu soldier. and a vampire. i tried to get away, but then he poisoned me...to keep me from running anymore, and tricked me into thinking his blood would make me better. then..." he shakes his head.

he can’t remember the last time he explained it-- maybe never in this detail. he didn’t have to tell mei. she could simply look at him and know. it’s different now, here, not so far from the ground that will always be stained with hwan’s blood for him. it makes his tongue loose, makes the emotions fresh, makes old wounds throb again, but there’s something calming in saying it: the truth. nothing to save anyone else, nothing to maintain a picture perfect image; it is nothing but his life.

“i...” kyuhwan breathes. “i’m sorry.”

kijung shakes his head again. "you don't need to apologize. it was just...bad luck. i wish i could find some reason for it. i've been trying for 400 years, but i think some things just happen, and there's no reason for it at all."

"were you afraid?"

kijung doesn’t even notice it’s a bombardment of questions, one after another, like his soul has been waiting to answer for years. he feels a tightness in his throat, new desperation, that familiar feeling of injustice he thought he stifled.

in the end, he nods, small.

"i was afraid i would die at first. then i was afraid they would do worse to me than death. i think i was most afraid for...my family. my father died the year before and i was the firstborn son. i was going to get married soon. my sister...my little brothers...the next son in line was ten years old. sometimes i wish i couldn't think about it anymore, but...i think i need to remember." a pause. "did you know mei can erase memories? like i can make things warm. sometimes i thought about asking her to erase them. but..."

“what’s worse than-- oh.” thankfully, kyuhwan doesn’t have further questions on this realization, and instead, he says, "you shouldn't. you shouldn't forget them. they're out there somewhere. you have to keep their memory alive."

kijung nods a little, even if he isn’t sure he believes it. the last part, however, he agrees with. "they're nothing to anyone but me. sometimes i think about all of the wars i witnessed and all of the people that died, and how no one remembers their names. thousands of people-- more than thousands --just disappearing just like that. no one remembers them anymore unless they're unlucky enough to be like me."

they sit in silence for a while, air heavy. kijung almost apologizes, keenly aware of how he might’ve ruined this trip with the remnants of his grief.

“i’ll remember you, ki,” kyu offers, voice soft, words gentle, as everything is from his mouth. “even if you weren’t a vampire, i would. i would try to make sure no one forgot you.”

the tears come suddenly, but maybe they lurked below the surface all along. he cries quietly, but it’s obvious enough for kyuhwan reach for his hand and hold onto it. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry,” kyu apologizes.

kijung just shakes his head. “no,” he says through tears, voice wet with them. “i think i just needed to cry. i think...it’s worth crying about.”

“yeah.”

∞ summer, 2019 ∞

he sees death in him, so much so that he seeks out a witch-- a fortuneteller, to ask if it’s just his paranoia or if it’s true.

he will die young, he says, and it’s enough to already break kijung’s heart.

he already considered making him a vampire, in an increasingly frenzied need to avoid more loss-- before, before he even knew of its inevitability. mei told him the same as she did before, with sunghyuk: it will be his choice.

kijung doesn’t ask. he makes the choice for him, with blood in a wine glass, wine down kyuhwan’s throat.

there is time. he knows there is time-- time to change his mind, time to turn him, but he also doesn’t know. he doesn’t know when death will come for his best friend. he decides he must make it never for his sanity, for the selfishness that grips his heart, for his centuries of mourning, because he has been alone so long, and he is so tired.

they wander from the kitchen into the living room, kijung trailing behind kyu, and he puts his hands behind his back to hide their shaking. “hey, kyu,” and his friend turns around, blinking, curious.

kijung could be a good liar, but not with kyuhwan. surely the gravity of the situation shows on his face. but he thinks of an eternity with him, and the world feels a little brighter.

“i’m sorry,” he says regardless.

kyu smiles at him, soft. “sorry for wha--”

kijung doesn’t let him finish. he grabs his face and snaps his neck quickly. he hopes it’s painless. god, he hopes so. (he knew, if he let him finish-- if he looked at him for too long --he wouldn’t be able to do it, and every second that ticked on was one second closer to losing him forever.)

his best friend is still dead on the floor. dead, dead, dead. this time, his hands are the murder weapon.

(he loses his composure. his plan falls apart, just like kijung falls to the floor. he pulls kyuhwan’s head into his lap, and he weeps like he’s lost him forever. maybe it’s because, deep down, he knows all he’s done is make kyuhwan a different kind of doomed.)

( YOU ARE MY SWEETEST DOWNFALL. )

it is kyuhwan’s face. kyuhwan with a slit throat on the captain’s orders, kyuhwan assassinated, turning the waters of the canal red, kyuhwan's face on a wartime newspaper as a symbol of loss kyuhwan just out of reach.

he wakes up with a jolt, face already streaked with tears. his hand wanders in the dark, to his side, to the rise and fall of a chest close enough to touch, close enough to confirm he isn’t gone. kijung breathes.

kyu stirs. “kijung...?” he asks sleepily, and he must hear the tears, because he sits up suddenly too. kijung takes in his face-- the look of concern, and he sees it even in the dark. “what happened?”

“nightmare,” kijung replies simply, and he wipes at his tears, centering himself in the reality of a kyuhwan immortal.

“it’s okay. you’re safe,” and they are words kijung has told him so often-- words his fledgling shouldn’t have to say to him, but they’re needed. kijung breathes, and kyu finds his hand and holds it in silence for a while.

“do you want to talk about it? would that help?”

would it? maybe. he’s never told anyone before. god, he’s never told anyone.

“my friends...” he whimpers. “i saw...you. i saw you die, but they were memories. it was just you dying over and over, the way all of my other best friends died. i saw you--” his voice cuts out, and he can feel kyuhwan’s expectancy, like he knows he isn’t done, but kijung doesn’t know that.

he doesn’t know what he should say, or what he shouldn’t. “do you...do you want to know? do you want to know how they died? i’ve...never told anyone before.”

#feykyuhwan #` * d #` * ss #* // i had to make this a submit so i could readmore #because this is 5k no way was i posting that uncut asdfasdg #i joked about it being 10k when i eventually wrote this and lol!!! close enough!#this got progressively worse in quality as it went on #but welcome to the reinkyunation au #au....yes #bonus points if u know the song #this ending is weak but open-ended in case u want to make it a thread idk

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georgialouisea · 6 years ago

Text

I’m Here.

Pairing - Sam x Reader, Dean. Word count - 2.1k Warnings - Small spoilers for 14x14, angst, injured Sam, fluffy. Written for - @spngenrebingo @spnfluffbingo2019 Square filled - Genre - Sleeping Alone. Fluff - Holding Hands.

SPN Genre Bingo - SPN Fluff Bingo

Sleeping always came as a challenge unless you’d consumed half a bottle of whiskey or you’d been knocked out and carried to a motel bed by a Winchester. Recently it had been much much worse, ever since Michael slaughtered every hunter from the apocalypse world in front of you, you struggled to close your eyes without seeing the scene play out over and over again.

Sitting up you glanced at the alarm clock on your nightstand, 3:24 AM. Grabbing the blanket off the end of your bed you wrapped it around your shoulders, heading towards the Dean cave you already knew you were going to spend the rest of the morning watching whatever rom-com you could find on Netflix.

Walking down the hallway you slowed down when you saw Sam’s door open and his light on, taking slower and lighter steps you attempted to creep past you froze when you saw his room empty, his phone and laptop sat on his desk, dirty clothes from the hunt in the hamper and empty beer bottles in the trash, every sign Sam had been here, just no Sam.

Searching the whole bunker there was no sign of Sam anywhere, all the cars were still in the garage, his phone still here the only thing missing apart from Sam was his gun.

Putting on your boots you walked back to your room, grabbing your phone and gun you didn’t bother changing into anything warmer, one of Sam’s old flannels and a pair of sleep shorts would have to do. Pulling the blanket tighter around yourself you took a deep breath as you walked outside.

Walking down the main road with only the torch on your phone to light your way you couldn’t see him or any sign he’d come this way. The last place you could search was the wooded area next to the bunker if he wasn’t there you were going to have to wake up Dean to help with the moose hunt. Shining the torch as you moved through the trees you heard a gun cock to your right, spinning to face the noise your torch lit up the area, Sam was sat on the ground his gun pointed at you.

“Y/N?” He asked holding a hand up trying to block the light shining in his eyes.

“Yeah it’s me, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Dropping to your knees you let your phone and gun fall to the ground as your palms cupping his cheeks.

Sam’s hands wrapped around your wrists. “I’m fine.”

“What the hell are you doing out here?” You asked as he let go of your arms.

“I just … I needed to get out of there, I can’t sleep.” He ran his hands down his face as he spoke.

Sitting down next to him you draped half of the blanket around his shoulders. “Why the gun?”

“Why’d you bring yours?”

“Because a wise Winchester with better hair than me once told me to never leave the bunker without a gun.”

“Damn right.” Looking up at him the light from your phone helped you see the smile on his face. “Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep either.” Resting your head against his shoulder he wrapped an arm around your waist. “I was going to watch movies but your room was empty and I couldn’t find you.”

“I’m here.” He shrugged.

“Yeah, I know that now, so what are we doing here?”

“Watching the sun come up, this is the best spot to see it all from.”

“Sam, how many mornings have you spent out here?”

“Too many.” His arm around you pulled you closer to his side.

“Is this what you’re doing when I’m watching TV in the Dean cave?”

“Yeah, I usually come in when you’re asleep, fix your blanket make sure you’re comfy and warm.”

“That’s you? I always thought it was Dean.”

“Nope, me.” His hand rested on your knee. “Y/N you’re freezing.”

“I’m sat on the ground in your shirt and shorts, of course, I’m cold.”

“Go inside, warm up.”

“No, I wanna watch the sun come up with you.”

Sam’s hands hauled you up off the ground and into his lap, taking the corners of the blanket he wrapped his arms around you, cocooning yourself both within the blanket.

“Every time I close my eyes I see it.” The back of your head rested against Sam’s chest. “He held me against the wall, I couldn’t help, I couldn’t save -” Your voice cracked as you trailed off.

“I know, I see it too, when I heard that scream and you weren’t with us, I need... I needed to get to you, to know you were safe, I thought we’d find you dead.”

“I’m okay, I’m here.”

“I know you are, you’re here.”

Your hand’s covered Sam’s as he held you against him, your fingers interlinking with his. “We’re both here Sammy.”

Watching the sun come up wrapped in Sam Winchester’s arms was just as therapeutic as a day at the spa, if not more so. When the sun was shining down on both of you, Sam watched you get up to your feet before he grabbed your guns and phone as he stood up. His hand slipped into yours as you walked back into the bunker.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Dean asked with his arms folded across his chest as he watched you walk down the metal staircase with your hand in Sam’s. “And what the hell have you been doing?”

Between your dirt coated knees, blanket and Sam’s sweatpants it was enough for Dean to raise a brow at the two of you.

“Shut up,” Sam growled at his brother. “We’re gonna sleep, don’t wake us up or I’ll hurt you.”

Taking a step back Dean raised his hands. “Okay then.”

Sam gave your hand a small squeeze. “C’ mon.” Leading you down the hallway towards his room. “Do you want to change?” He paused looking down at you.

“No, I just want to sleep.” Dropping the blanket to the floor you wrapped your arms around Sam’s waist looking up at him you smiled.

His palm cupped your cheek. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Falling asleep in Sam’s arms you felt safe, you felt at home, for the first time in a long time you fell asleep feeling calm.

Every night you fell asleep with Sam, one way or another you ended up together. You’d creep down the dim hallway of the bunker and crawl in bed next to him, he was always awake waiting for you, some nights he’d come to you already tucked up in your bed when you returned from the shower. When you shared a motel bed with Dean you’d lay awake as he snored away next to you, it would only take you minutes to get out of bed and seek out the warmth of Sam, falling asleep in his arms you were always scared Dean would wake up and question you two about your sleeping arrangements, but as time went on you didn’t care. Dean didn’t ask a single question, he’d only wake you up the next morning and tell you to get ready.

Dean was driving the three of you back to the bunker after a particularly nasty ghoul hunt, Sam had taken the brunt of the attack as he shoved you behind himself. You’d made quick work of patching him up as he downed half of the bottle of whiskey Dean had given him, paying close attention to a long gash across his abdomen, Dean refused to let him sit shotgun insisting there should be someone next to him to check on him, with that you were both relegated to the backseat. After a couple of minutes, Sam started to relax, his hand covered yours on his knee turning your hand over your fingers interlinked with his, giving his hand a small squeeze his head rested against your shoulder.

“Y/N.” He mumbled as he shifted in the seat.

“I’m here Sammy, do you want to lay down?”

He gave a small nod as you felt him slowly sink down to lay on his side his head falling into your lap. With a grunt, he shifted onto his back one of his legs hanging off the bench as the other bent resting against the back of the seat. Blinking up at you he smiled his hand still holding yours. Smiling down at him your fingers ran through his hair.

“Go to sleep Sam, I’m here.”

Closing his eyes you watched him slowly fall asleep with a smile on his face, looking up from the sleeping Winchester your eyes met his brother’s in the rearview mirror as he smiled at you.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He gave a small shrug. “I just have a feeling you’re going to be around for a little longer than any of us thought you would be.”

“I hope so.” Looking down at Sam his mouth hung open slightly as he snored.

“You need help with sleeping beauty?” Dean asked as he opened the door closest to his brother’s feet.

“Please, I think he’s made my legs numb.”

Dean helped you get Sam into his room and onto his bed, the giant was still flat out.

“Should he still be sleeping?” Dean asked as he took a step back.

“He’s going to be fine, I’ll check him over and any problems I’ll call you right away, okay?”

“Thanks.” Giving you a quick hug he left you and sleeping Sam alone.

Peeling his clothes off you left him in just his boxers so you could check every wound, cut and bruise, he was doing fine, he was just exhausted. Cleaning him up as best as you could you pulled the sheets up over him, dragging his desk chair across the room you got settled in it with a blanket and pillow to keep you comfy and warm.

“Y/N?” Sam reached out to the empty space in bed next to him. “Y/N!” He shot upright when he felt you weren’t with him, his hand flying to his stomach as he groaned.

“I’m here, I’m here lay down.” Grabbing his shoulders you pushed him back down in bed.

“I thought you were gone.”

“No Sam, I’m here.”

“Stay with me.” Wrapping his hand around one of your wrists he gave a gentle tug. “Please.”

“Okay, just watch your stomach okay?” Pulling off your jeans and flannel you crawled in next to him.

“Mhm.” He mumbled as he wrapped his arm around you. “I love you.”

Running your fingers through his hair he smiled as rested his cheek on your chest. “I love you too Sammy.”

“No, I really love you, I’m in love with you.”

“Sam, go to sleep.”

“You’ll be here?”

“I’ll be here.” You could feel him slowly falling asleep on you as you ran your fingers through his hair when his deep breaths slowly turned to snores you turned off your bedside lamp, finally letting yourself fall asleep.

Sam’s hand was running up and down your back slowly pulling you into the land of the living. “Good morning.” He mumbled as he kissed the top of your head.

Opening your eyes your head was resting on Sam’s chest as your arm slung over his waist, pushing yourself away from him his arm wrapped around your waist stopping you from getting too far away. “Sam your stomach.”

“It’s fine, it doesn’t even hurt please just stay with me, here.”

Giving in you let Sam pull you closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder as you looked up at him. “This is nice.”

“I’m surprised Dean hasn’t woken us up sooner.” Sam sighed as his fingers traced patterns up and down your arm.

“He’s letting you rest.”

“Good.”

Closing your eyes you could feel yourself slowly falling back asleep.

“I meant it,” Sam mumbled.

“Meant what?” You asked as you opened your eyes looking up at him.

“I love you.” He smiled down at you. “ I have for a while now, I love you.”

“Sam -“

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Leaning up you kissed him as his arm tightened around your waist, his other running through your hair as he cupped the back of your head. Pulling away you smiled back at him. “I love you too.” Sam’s rumbling stomach interrupted you. “C’mon let’s get you something to eat.” Patting his chest you sat up, grabbing one of his flannels off the back of his chair you pulled it on as you handed him some sweatpants and v-neck out of his drawer.

Your hand slipped into his as you walked down the hallway towards the kitchen.

“Afternoon,” Dean mumbled as he looked up from his phone in his hand.

“Hi.” Smiling at him his eyes trailed down to his brother’s hand holding yours.

“Coffee?” Sam asked as he looked down at you giving your hand a small squeeze as he slowly pulled away.

“Please.” Sitting down at the table opposite Dean he tried to hide the smile on his face with his coffee cup. “What?”

“Told ya you’d be sticking around for a while.”

Smiling back at him your eyes met Sam’s over his shoulder “I really think I will be.”

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