#(ooc: i had a nightmare with dark in it too!)

[fromthedeskof-darkiplier]

I had a nightmare with you in it, you're very scary

Did you, now? Would you care to relay it to me?

-D

[literaila]

one in the morning

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

"satoru. where did you get these kids?"

warnings: slight angst, awkward child rearing, a bit of arguing, and pining (of course), slightly ooc gojo

a/n: because i am a sucker for little megumi

*

year zero. year one.

it's not that you're not expecting the call. except that you're not. 

like not even a little bit. an asteroid coming down and destroying only you and your apartment building is slightly more likely than satoru gojo calling you in the middle of the night, like he hasn't done in the last six months. 

the last year, really.

a year ago you would've known who it was immediately and probably would've cursed satoru out for calling you at three in the morning to see if you wanted to go get ice cream with him (and then you would've gotten up and put on your shoes to find him outside of your room, already grinning). 

but now you have to check the caller id. 

you blink around in the dark--struggling through the dregs of dream you're still waking through--and sigh. 

unfortunately, you've never had quite enough willpower to ignore this phone call. shoko has called you an idiot many times--too many times, actually--telling you that satoru's attention-seeking habits are not your responsibility. not that she's had to say that in a while, though... and it's not like you're going to sneak out in the middle of the night with him anymore--you can't sneak out. you have your own house. there’s no yaga to look down on you disapprovingly here. 

and he hasn't called you in six months. you haven't even heard about him beyond some irritated remarks from yaga, and shoko's knowing glances when you try to nonchalantly bring him up.

and still. 

it takes you a moment to pick up the phone, your thumb hitting the answer button before your mind can stop you. 

"satoru?" you whisper, listening to the breathing on the other end. 

there's some muffled moving around, and then a breath, and then someone in the background speaking, and then-- 

"i need your help." his voice is quiet like he doesn't want anyone to hear what he's saying. 

what time is it? have you ever heard satoru say those words before? 

your first thought is that he's on another mission. that there's a cursed spirit and he needs some assistance. but when has satoru gojo asked anyone for help with a cursed spirit? when has he ever needed it? suguru was typically there to keep him from-- 

you pause, sitting up in bed. this might be a nightmare, but usually, you're more accustomed to them. "where are you?" you ask him, speaking in the same soft voice. 

you expect him to name off some city, some house, some country that you couldn't possibly get to. you expect him to crack a joke, say something to you about being lost without him, or laugh at how serious your voice sounds. but he only murmurs, "at your door." 

like it isn't a completely crazy thing to say. how does he even know where you live? 

"it's one in the morning," you say, frowning. some small part of you wants him to actually be there, expecting a knock to come from the void of your hallway. and the other, much bigger part, thank you, wants him to be joking. 

"i know," he sighs, and the receiver is muffled again, and then, "can you open it?" 

"what's going on?" 

"please," he repeats. there's no joke to this. this is not satoru asking you if you want to go get donuts at six in the morning, or milkshakes at midnight. "i'll explain. i just need your help." 

you bite back some remark about how he hasn't needed your help for the past year. about how he hasn't called, hasn't texted, and hasn't even asked about you since-- 

but you stand up, trying to untangle a knot in your hair. you hang up on him without answering. your heart gets a bit of satisfaction from that. 

and go to your door, giving yourself two seconds to prepare for the real-life satoru in front of your face. blue-everything eyes, you think, wall white hair, and a stupid smile. 

but when you open it, your eyes drift to his (sort of) like they're already sure of where exactly he might be, it isn't just him. 

there's a little boy--as tall as satoru's waist, with dark hair and furrowed brows to match--standing in front of another little girl--the same dark hair, but blank face--glaring up at satoru like he's kidnapped both of them. 

your eyes widen as you realize that he probably has. 

"this is basically every kid's dream," he's telling this boy, his playful voice like they’ve known each other for years. "i got you candy and i'm letting you stay up late. why aren't you normal?" 

"why aren't you?" this boy retorts, and his voice is hard. unreasonably sarcastic for such a small person. it might make you giggle, the obvious tension between the two of them, if you weren't so worried about these kids' poor parents, freaking out at their disappearance. 

the little girl is the first to notice you there, and she waves, her face much softer, much more exhausted than the boys in front of her. but she doesn't look frightened; not concerned with wherever this strange man has taken the two of them. 

and satoru looks up at the motion, his mouth turning as he looks at you. 

the little boy frowns, but his eyes settle. there's a brief moment where he watches you and you think that he's about to start begging for your help, but then it's gone. and his eyes trail back to satoru, still angry. 

you blink, swallowing at the three of them. this is not ice cream.

"satoru," you get out, eventually. "where did you get these kids?" 

*

"okay," you set a glass of water on the coffee table, trying to put on a normal smile. your hands are shaking, so you tuck them under your sleeves. "i'm sorry i don't have a lot of extra blankets, but if you get cold i'll go look through some boxes and see what i can find." 

it's been ten minutes with them inside your apartment, and you already feel like you're doing something wrong. satoru, obviously, just briefly introduced the two of them to you, before you grabbed his arm and dragged him--along with the kids that trailed behind--into your apartment. 

you'd hissed at him about how it was cold, and one in the morning, and they needed to be asleep. he only smiled and asked how you were. 

so now they're cuddled up on your couch, with your only spare blanket, both of them with dreary eyes. you're trying not to look too closely--to check if they've been crying, or if they're harmed in any sort of way.

the little boy--megumi--nods and tsumiki smiles at you. 

how four little eyes can look so appreciative, you're not sure.

satoru is leaning against the wall behind you, watching you move around these children like it's normal, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from screaming at him.

"is there anything else you need?" you ask them, trying to be softer than you are. you should’ve taken that babysitting job when you were twelve; you’re completely out of your depth here.

megumi shakes his head. 

"no, we're good," tsumiki says. 

and you seriously want to get them to a hospital. where did they come from? why does satoru have them? is he insane? are they insane? have you just dreamt this all up?

"okay, satoru and i are just going to go talk in the kitchen for a bit. come get me if you need anything." and you smile again, taking a couple of hesitant steps as they both look away from you to the show that tsumiki put on when you handed her the remote. 

at least they're not outside anymore.

you drag satoru into the kitchen, thinking about knocking the wind right out of him. he's always been particularly punchable, but right now he's even more so. 

and he's smiling adoringly at you. 

“satoru," you grind out, trying to keep your voice down. he leans against your countertop, crossing his legs. 

and he hums inquisitively. “you know, i don’t think megumi likes me very much.” 

“satoru.” 

“not sure…" he scratches his head, white hair falling over his sunglasses. "i mean he’s kind of a weird kid but still. i took them to the store to pick out anything they wanted and neither of them got anything. even when i showed them the different cakes they had in the bakery. there were matcha rolls today, too. do you think they’re robots or something?” 

“satoru. where did you get those children?” your voice is a step away from furious. 

why is he here right now? why does he just barge into your life at unprecedented moments, acting like nothing has changed between the two of you? 

acting like you haven't missed the sound of his voice or the way he speaks with his hands, or how he's standing right next to you, warmth radiating off of him like a toxin. 

“is that important right now?” he asks. “we’re talking about their spending habits.” 

“i’m talking about you. tell me that you didn’t steal them from the park and that i’m not obligated to report you.” 

“are you serious?" he shakes his head at you, his voice still teasing, calm as ever. "you think i’d just take some random kids home with me?” 

“i don’t know!" you tell him, finally breaking--your voice is raised, and you almost don't notice. "i don’t even know how you got here, or where you’ve been in the past six months, or whose children those are because they are certainly not yours.” 

he pouts. “you don’t think they look like me?” 

“you’re too pale.” 

“that’s rude, you—“ 

“whose kids are they? now, satoru.” 

you hope your face looks intimidating, but honestly, your demand is more like a suggestion when it comes to satoru. he can listen or he can leave. 

you don't know which one you want more. 

there’s a beat of silence where he rubs his foot on the ground, messing up your tiled floors probably. and then he sighs, relenting. “…toji zenin’s.”

he could’ve said anything else and you wouldn’t even care. oh, he found those kids abandoned in a warehouse on a mission? cool. oh, he found some long-lost cousins? great. if it were anything else, you would've waved him off and told him that he needed to get them new clothes, or something. 

but this? 

“what?!” 

“shh. you’re the one who said they need to sleep," he tries to look around the corner of your hallway, even though you both know he doesn't need to.

you’re gawking at him, but, really, can it be helped?

“toji zenin?!”

“well technically fushiguro according to the records i dug up. but zenin nonetheless...” 

“you stole his kids?!” 

“i didn’t steal—“ 

“he tries to kill you so you kill him instead and take his children hostage?!” 

this would be a wonderful moment to wake up.

satoru waves this statement off, frowning. “you’re really brushing over the ‘tried to kill me’ part. what? you don’t care about me?” 

“why do you have them, satoru? what are you planning to do? torture them for information?" your eyes are wide and your heart is panicked. "they’re kids—“ 

he scowls. “of course not.” 

“then what? tell me everything, starting from when toji tried to kill you.” 

“why do you automatically think i did something?" he complains. "it’s not like i asked zenin to kill me first. i didn’t bait him into slicing my throat open.”

“because you always start the problems.” 

“not true. sometimes i solve them, and sometimes i—“ 

“how did you find out about them?” 

he sighs. “he told me about megumi, before he, ya know,” and then he makes a motion across his neck. and a terrible noise that supposedly indicates death. 

you don't even mock him for it “why?” you ask. 

“megumi might inherit the zenin technique. he’s worth a lot to the zenin clan, and i guess that toji made a deal with them.” 

“you guess?” 

“well, it’s not like i had a whole lot of time between the resurrection and murdering thing to ask him. i didn’t invite the guy out for tea so he could tell me about his pride and joy," his voice is riddled with sarcasm, so you can't decide if he's joking or not. 

he is the most infuriating person you've ever met. 

“so what? he asked you to keep megumi away from them?”

“no, he didn’t seem the sentimental type. maybe he told me cause he didn’t want megumi to grow up there, or maybe he told me so i could claim the prize money for myself.” he shrugs. “it doesn’t matter.” 

you glare at him. “oh, it doesn’t?”

“no. i asked megumi what he wanted and this was it. he doesn’t want to live there and leave tsumiki behind, or have her live in that misogynistic shithole.” 

“how old is he?” 

satoru almost winces. "uh, six?”

“you don’t even know how old he is?” you close your eyes, shaking your head. 

“he’s in first grade! we haven’t gone through all of the basics yet.” 

“and tsumiki?” 

“…nine.” 

“satoru.” 

“i’ll figure it out. megumi acts like he’s fifty years old anyway, so what do i care?” 

you can practically see him rolling his eyes. 

“what do you care?" you repeat, mocking. "you just told me that megumi made this decision for himself. he's a kid. he probably doesn’t understand—“ 

“he understands that if he goes to the zenin clan his sister will suffer in whatever way they deem fit. i mean, you know what it’s like for girls there—especially without any cursed energy.” 

“you cant just make this decision for them on a whim, satoru. have you thought any of it through? where are they going to stay? who’s going to watch them when you’re sent away? where are they going to go to school? what if megumi does inherit his cursed technique?” 

“all of that doesn’t matter. i'll figure it out," he waves off the topic of their lives like it's a mere suggestion, "what matters is that i keep those kids from being subjected to a life of servitude and competition. that they get to be kids while they can.” 

you swallow. is there a way not to be frightened by this? “i know—i know where you’re coming from," you give him a weak smile, trying not to yell, or fight, or question this so much that satoru shuts down. "it’s nice of you to be… worried about them. but this isn’t like taking in a lost kitten, satoru. these are children.” 

“do you really feel the need to point that out?” 

“yes. what do you know about kids?” 

he smiles, wide. “nothing!” he exclaims. “that’s why i came here. and you’re already doing a great job.” 

you frown. “what do i know about kids?” 

“well, you like them, don’t you?” 

“what?” 

“when we went to that daycare center during second year you played with all of the kids. you like them," he nods as if affirming it himself. 

you went to a daycare with satoru once to take care of a grade three curse and apparently, it's led him to insanity. 

“you’re comparing my hide-and-seek skills to taking care of those two kids on my own?"

“i mean, i’ll be here too...” 

“taking care of three children on my own?” you correct. 

satoru pouts. 

you think about what suguru told you after riko amanai died; about satoru and the shift within him. some sort of manic strength he hasn't uttered a word about since. 

but you continue, swallowing. "what's this really about?" you ask, softly, trying not to be mad, or worried, or concerned about why he came here to you. "it's not like you to... take responsibility for something you're not responsible for." 

his pout turns into a frown. you can see his brows furrow. "you don't think i'm capable of helping people?" 

"i know you're capable. but why? why now? i mean, it's been a year since toji died, and you're just getting them now? you suddenly remembered what he said to you?" 

"i had to figure out the logistics of toji's deal." 

"okay," you shake your head, "but still. why not have a family take them in? find someone who can give them a relatively normal life before they're pushed into all of this?" 

satoru's face is blank. "no. what happens when megumi is eight and his new 'parents' put him in a hospital because he's seeing things that they can't?" 

for the first time since he's walked through your front door, he sounds almost serious.

"i--" 

"what happens when they're afraid of him because he draws in cursed energy? when his 'family' rejects him like yours did? like suguru's did?" 

"satoru." 

"honestly, do you think that's any better?" he gestures to your living room, to the kids he's proclaimed responsibility for. "if he does inherit his technique then the zenin clan will go looking for him anyway, and he won't be able to protect himself because there was no one to teach him how. no matter where he goes he's going to be ripped away from tsumiki, who seems to be the only thing he actually cares about. he didn't even want to know--" 

"is this about suguru?" you ask him, the words falling before you can catch them. 

satoru stills. you can see every one of his muscles tense. preparing for a fight. "what?" 

"are you trying to... make up for his decisions? do you feel guilty? is megumi supposed to replace him?" 

"replace him?" 

"i know you think that you can take care of everything on your own, satoru, but you can't. it's not your fault that toji died. and it's not your fault that suguru left--" 

"it is my fault." he says, so softly the words are almost caught before they can reach you. "it is." 

you shake your head. you should've had this conversation months ago. a year ago, before any of this could happen. 

"c'mon, y/n," he continues, no laughter, no smile, no swagger. "i saw what was happening. everyone did. but i was his best friend. i was supposed to be there for him." 

"suguru didn't want you there. he didn't want you to be a part of it." 

"well i could've stopped him. even if i couldn't save suguru--" his voice cracks on his name. "i could've saved everyone else. but i didn't." 

"that's... that's a ridiculous suggestion. how are you supposed to kill your best friend? why should you have to save everyone? why would you even--" 

"megumi isn't some replacement. he's a little boy, and if i'm not there for him then he's going to be stuck with his family. just like i was. he's going to be used for his cursed energy and who knows how he'll turn out? if he'll kill people recklessly like toji, or die trying to do the right thing?" 

you're silent. 

"i'm the only one who can protect him from this," satoru says, and you realize that he's been thinking about this for the past year. that every second since he almost died, this has been on his mind. "they're not going to touch him if i make it clear that i won't let them. i won't--i'm not going to let him become someone he doesn't want to be." 

you sigh. "satoru..." 

his body moves at your voice and he smiles again, shaking off whatever anger you drew out. it's almost a complete shift in who you're talking to. like the stakes no longer matter to him; these kids are just another obstacle to face, a power to control. 

like he's remembered the role he's supposed to play. 

"besides, someone's going to need to take over for me eventually. i might as well train him myself." 

you cant see his eyes, and that’s probably good. you wish someone else were here to take your side, explain to satoru that he’s just a kid himself. that he shouldn't have to take care of everything on his own. 

because when it’s just you, he always has the upper hand. he always gets his way. 

"okay," you say, eventually, after you realize that you'll never win this fight. that you don’t want to fight with him at all.

"okay?" he repeats. "so you'll help me?" 

"help you?" 

"yeah. why do you think i brought them over here?" 

you pause. "you want me... to what? raise them?" 

"with me, yes." 

"are you kidding?" 

"no. you're probably the only person i trust to help." 

the words do something almost indescribable to your body. the person you were a year ago would've cried out in relief, would've clung to him like glue to paper. 

but you frown instead. "seriously?" 

"you've already taken care of them better than i could. look." he drags you around the corner to where tsumiki has her head on megumi's, both of them snoring softly, folded into the blanket you gave them. 

the tv flickers in the background, bothering neither of them. how they've managed to fall asleep with all of the yelling that's been going on, you don't know. 

"see? they already feel safe around you." 

"they're exhausted," you correct, but feel yourself soften at the sight of them. they are kinda cute without the scowl or concern plaguing their faces.

"we're going to be great parents," satoru coos, slinging an arm around your shoulder. 

you push him away. "we are not their parents. we are... permanent babysitters. nannies." 

satoru fixes you with an amused look. "okay." 

"and you still owe me an explanation. i want a complete narrative about what you've been doing for the past six months. and how you found the two of them." 

"okay," he steps closer to you again like you won't notice. 

"and--" you don't have anything else. it's one in the morning. how clear is your mind supposed to be? "and you're paying for anything they need." 

"uh huh." 

eventually, you sigh. it's a surprise that you've lasted this long. "fine. i'll help you. but only because they'd probably die if they spent more than twenty-four consecutive hours with you." 

satoru doesn't say anything--not to whine or roll his eyes--and it's a small acknowledgment, a thank you he doesn't have to say out loud. he'll take this win, at least. 

the two of you watch them, relaxing into the wall. 

after a minute satoru whispers. "by the way..." 

"what?" 

"i didn't tell megumi that i killed toji." 

you turn to him. your eye might as well start twitching. 

"what? he said he didn't want to know--" 

*

you're sneaking into the kitchen when you notice him sitting at the table. his hands are crossed in front of him, his eyes focused on a stain you haven't been able to get off of the wood. 

he's very small, you realize, watching him. his hair is messier than it was the night before, sticking to his head like he slept slumped against it. 

he's not doing anything, really. just sitting there. you can see his legs swinging in the air. 

and before you can prepare for what to say to this little boy who you're probably going to be spending a lot of time with, your mouth is open. "hey," you say to him, just whispering. 

tsumiki must be sleeping. 

megumi looks up, quickly, like he wasn't expecting you to be there. his eyes are wide like he's been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. but then he slumps down again and gives you a brief nod in acknowledgment. then looks back down, because the table is very interesting.

you wonder how many mornings he's woken up alone, with no one to tuck him back in.

"can't sleep?" you ask him, standing across from him and leaning against the table. 

"this is when i usually wake up," you recall his voice the night before when satoru was teasing him, rougher than a boy's should be. but it's soft now, quiet. 

it's probably seven if the clock on your bedside table is to be believed. 

"you were up pretty late, though." 

he almost rolls his eyes, remembering the events of the night before. 

and you can tell that he doesn't really want to talk to you. he doesn't know anything about you, or what you want with him. why should he trust you? 

you clear your throat. "how old are you?" 

he looks up again. "six. why?" 

"satoru wasn't sure." 

this time, megumi actually rolls his eyes. you're familiar with this sort of annoyance directed at satoru, so you smile, just a little bit. at least there's something you can relate to. 

"and tsumiki?" 

"seven." 

you nod, stepping away. 

what do you say to a boy who has been dragged into your home by a maniac? 

you sigh, clearing your throat again. "are you hungry?" 

megumi's eyes narrow. there's a brief second between the two of you, where some sort of understanding passes through his eyes. who was the last person to make him breakfast? 

and then he nods, slowly. 

you smile. "okay. c'mon, let's see if i have anything you like." 

*

next part.

[limolib]

Wilted lemon trees

──────────────────────

──────────────────────

The recruiter x Female reader

Summary; He roped you into his world, you crawled out. Now he’s sent to kill you. In a game of cat and mouse with way too much feelings for either of you, assassin vs assassin. (think Ada Wong and Leon Kennedy except idk who’d be who) The story follows the plight of trying to kill you as well as flashbacks of better days. This is angstyyyyyy

Wc; 20k...I think I blacked out writing this. (I added breaks though dw)(I added a lil more to the ending lol)

Warnings; Violence, blood, guns, one mention of DMV (not against reader), stalking, one mention of weight gain, recruiter being a creep, they match each other's freak tho, sfw, kissing. Non sexual nudity. All ‘smut’ is just fade to black or mentions. Drinking. Breaking glass, breaking hearts. Death, a lot of it. MAJOR ANGST THERE'S LIKE V V LITTLE FLUFF. No happy ending. Kinda graphic descriptions of injury at the end. No reader body/race/age descriptions (if any pls lmk), but in my mind there’s an age gap. A little ooc at the end I guess. NO USE OF Y/N. English is not my first language, also this is like only kinda proofread so lmk if something is wrong :D

Reader is referred to as 038, Recruiter is referred to as 013, ex gf oc is referred to as 024.

Other ending 🫶🏻 

──────────────────────

The pitter patter of rain hit the top of your umbrella with a heavy force, picking up speed as your boots squelched in various little puddles. You hurried under the little bus stop, kneeling down to grab the can of tuna from your handbag. The strays had been following you for a minute or so as you tried to find a dry spot for them to eat. They meowed in affection and contempt, allowing you a few headscratches each before they swatted your hand away, your cue to leave. You walked back out under the rain, still bearing down with intensity as you crossed the empty street to make your way to the narrow back alley where the door to your building was. It was warmer inside, but only by a degree or two. You kicked your shoes off, albeit prematurely, but you knew climbing all these stairs in them would be a mistake.

You sniffed slightly as you fished your key out of its hiding spot, the metal cool on your already freezing hand. Before opening the door, you noticed the carpet in front of it being a little damp. Not enough for anyone to notice, but you did. Mostly because you’d stepped on it barefoot. The apartment door croaked open inwardly, revealing your place just as you’d left it; dark and stuffy. The far window was opened slightly, just a centimeter or two. But you knew for sure you’d always kept it shut, meaning only one thing.

Your view of the studio was obstructed by the wall on the left, only allowing you some vision of the foot of the bed and the bathroom by the door. You were at a disadvantage here, gun in your belt useless if you couldn’t see your target. You flicked the central lights by the door on, the room falling into an eerie yellow glow allowing you to catch a hint of his reflection in the window. Your shoulders relaxed slightly and you allowed yourself to fully step into the place and shut the door. 

“You’ve gotten real sloppy.” You shrugged your flimsy coat off and hung it on the hook by the entrance. Dislodging your gun from its spot, you rested it by the table opposite to the bed alongside your keys, paying him no mind. 

“Maybe I wanted you to know I’m here.” He spoke plainly, eyes trained on your movements from his comfortable position on the bed. You looked at him then, willing yourself to soak in the man that had been haunting both your nightmares and dreams. Had it been that long since you last saw each other? The fine lines at the corners of his eyes tell you so. Maybe he’d just been smiling more often in your absence, but that's doubtful. You trailed your eyes over the rest of him, pristine suit contrasted by your cheap bedsheets, gun safely within reach by his hip. 

“Take your shoes off the bed.” you gave him a tired sigh and he pouted, tilting his head slightly but ultimately humouring you. 

You moved to grab a bite from the minifridge by the window, opening it to grab some leftover bread and the nearly empty jar of jam, when an unfamiliar smell hit your nose. 

“Did you- Smoke in here? You know I don’t own the place my landlord’s gonna kill me-” “You’ve had quite the fall from grace.”

“Shocking isn’t it.”

He stood up, rocking slightly on his heel with his gun in hand, arms crossed over his chest. You followed his eyeline to a spot where paint was chipping on the ceiling. 

“Why do you allow yourself to live like this?” 

You turned back to the fridge and grabbed the half-full bottle of cheap whiskey, standing up to grab two of the clean cups on the table and pouring some into each. Swinging your hips softly to shut the fridge door, you turned around to fully face his intense gaze, offering his share. His eyes shot down to the cracked glass and back to you in a mocking manner. He ultimately took the drink though, sipping on it with more class than it deserved. 

“How do you drink this crap?” He grimaced.

“It gets the job done. Any more questions for tonight sherlock?” You raised the glass to your head, an attempt to ease the headache that he’s about to cause. 

“Yeah. You don’t even have ice?”

You didn’t reply, only watched as he let go of his pride and downed the fluid in the cup, his expression turning into a slight frown as he put the cup down on your bed. You knew this wasn’t him being unable to handle his liquor, just pure disgust at the drink you gave him. And at you, just a little.

“You looked like you needed that.” you chuckled, pointing out the tenseness in his jaw.

“Yeah well, I have a very big job today.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” You feigned innocence, moving closer to him slowly, not that the distance was already that large. He gave you a half lidded look, watching intently as you inched closer to him. 

“I think you know,” he smiled slightly.

“Say it.”

“I’m here to kill you.” he whispered, the distance between you now less than a breath’s worth. 

“So do it.”

He didn’t move and neither did you, both holding your positions in determination. Or maybe this was a fight for dominance. His hands were rigid at his sides, gun in one and fist balled up in the other, his head was tilted to look at you, gaze finding the contrast between your lips and eyes an interesting sight to compare time and time again. You were getting a little bored, so your hand found it’s way to the one with a gun and brought it up to your torso, aimed straight at the heart. 

“Shoot. Me.”

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, air hitting your face as he held his place. You felt his fingers move around the gun, placing an index on the trigger. You moved your face ever closer to his, lips almost touching as you both stood in the stillness of the room. He met your eyes, conflict and turmoil simmering in his. 

“You gone soft on me?” You challenged. “How boring, I need a shower,”

You pulled away from his warmth and he watched as you turned around and began undressing, stripping casually and folding your outside clothes neatly on a nearby chair with other garments. You turned back to him once more, finding his gaze begrudgingly fixed on your face rather than your naked form. Once he made sure you were watching, he lazily took in the rest of you, a new tally of scars peppering your arms and abdomen, and one particular nasty one near your hip bone. His eyes stopped at it, observing the irregular healing and stretched, discolored skin in an almost circular shape. 

“That one didn’t heal quite well.” He commented.

You chuckled mockingly, stepping towards the tiny closet space to grab a towel and stepped back into his armreach slowly.

“Well the guy who shot me used a shotgun that day, close range too.” You were ever so close to him again. “Ain’t he cruel?”

His nostrils flared slightly, recalling the actions you were referring to. His hand moved to grab you on its own but you slipped away, as you usually did. His gaze never left your back as you disappeared from his line of sight into the bathroom. 

“You’ve gained weight.” He said playfully, eliciting a loud laugh from you in the adjacent room. He strolled the short distance to where you were slowly, habitually avoiding making any noise. 

“You like?” You leaned your head out of  the bathroom door, tilting your head innocently, as if you two were just some couple flirting with each other. “That’s what happens when you stop seeing death so often, you start regaining your appetite. It’s crazy, you should try it sometime.”  

You whipped back into the small room. He made his way to its door leaning slightly on the frame, observing as you stepped under the water stream in the far corner. Far is an overstatement actually, it was only a step or two away from him. A singular white light bulb lit the overhead, hanging from some loose wires. Quite the fire hazard. One hand found a way into his pocket whilst the other rested by his side, gun still heavy and presumably loaded. He watched you curiously, your trembling muscles telling him the water was cold. You had your body towards him, head angled away from the water to avoid wetting your hair. You brought your hand over your face, rinsing it with some of the cold, a sobering motion it seemed, as you then quickly met his looming figure. 

“You gonna join me or just stand there like a creep?” You finally acknowledged him. 

He didn’t know why he obeyed, why his feet made their way into your embrace, stepping under the stream with you, causing his clothes to get soaked. His hair was getting wet too, though he didn’t really mind. Your back hit the cool shower tile, allowing him to step fully in and lean over you. He began shivering a little, too. The cold finally found his skin through the thick suit. Your hands smoothed over his toned abdomen from above the wet dress shirt, roaming up to his shoulders to help him out of the jacket and tossing it onto the ground. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you soaked him all in. His teeth started clattering a little. 

“You can’t afford warm water?” he whispered, the distance between you not calling for his voice to be louder than that. You didn’t answer, instead grabbed his tie and pulled him in. He took the initiative to slot his lips onto yours then, soft and unsure. You pulled back momentarily, allowing only a whisker of space between you. 

“Why are you being so gentle?” You poked at him. “I’m afraid you’ve really lost your touch.”

“You used to be more polite last I left you.”

“Oh don’t go telling people you left me now, it’ll ruin my image.”

“Do you always have to have the last word?”

“How many more questions are you asking me tonight?”

You were pissing him off, he knew this was purposeful. You loved to get on his nerves, rile him up over the littlest things. He’d abandoned this part of him so long ago, and now here you were forcing it back out of the depths of his being.  

He used his free hand to grab your cheek harshly, pulling you into his lips once more. Only this time, the kiss was bruising. He was not letting you get one single breath in, biting at your bottom lip a little causing it to draw blood. He lapped up that flavour like a man starving. Still deep in your air, his loaded hand traveled up with the gun, aiming it at your chin from below. He pulled away only when he physically couldn’t breathe anymore. You were in a very compromising position, you both knew that. 

“There he is.” You panted with a small smile, a hand coming up to brush a stray hair off his face. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

He knows, of course he knows. You didn’t acknowledge the threat at your neck, whether this was trust or a challenge he wasn’t sure. He isn’t ever when it comes to you anyway. The water above you two sputered, signaling the end of the reserve. You snorted at his face, he must’ve been appalled or something, and turned the tap off, stepping off to his side leaving his warmth. He stared at his shoes, back to you as you dried yourself and left the room, water dripping down his head and to his feet. He willed himself to just get this over with, end this game you two have going on. Push the memories back down to where no one could elicit them again. His grip on the gun tightened, but what good does that do if he can’t twitch his finger on the trigger. 

1. . .1

He stared at the range from behind the thick pane of glass, using the cold cup to ice the bruises on his knuckles. The place was really nothing more than a hole in the wall, but it had it’s charm. A combination bar-gun range with some pool and poker tables, likely a front for money laundering, considering it was only ever busy on weekends. Otherwise it would just be him and the bartender of the night, but he enjoyed the break from the outside world. Plus he could watch amateurs give it their all in a macho-off, usually ending in some form of fight. They disgusted him, the people here. He’d people-watched long enough to know who most of them really were beyond these walls, pathetic and indebted to a vast array of people, yet they blow thousands on stupid bets and rigged games of poker, he can’t get that much entertainment elsewhere really. His spot in the corner gave him quite the view of all the commotions. Occasionally, he’d venture into the poker tables and play a few rounds. Losing his first couple of hands only to win big when the players got cocky. Something about watching low-lifes lose their entire net worth gave him satisfaction. He’d leave the winnings for the waiting staff that night anonymously, though he’s got a feeling they’d caught on to him. Other times, he’d watch as patrons came up with their own gun-shooting competitions, placing silly bets and risky prizes. He always joins those, they’re quite rare. Like tonight. There was a particular man in his mid-thirties that would spark these contests. Ex-policeman, that much he told everyone. Through a little more homework he found out that his wife left him and now he’s running away from several domestic violence charges. Unfortunately, the man had never given him the chance to drain him dry, always refusing to bet any real money on these contests. That’s why he’s resorted to staying at 3rd to 4th place when they play, waiting for the cop to let his guard down. Laying the trap so that he could pull the rug from under him. Yes, he plays the long game here, no matter how often they trash talk. 

That’s where he first fully laid eyes on you. You were usually behind the bar, so seeing you waiting tables meant that they were likely very short staffed. You smacked a piece of gum as you maneuvered around drunk patrons to reach the tables. You made it to the gun area with the beers that the men had ordered, looking captivating as ever in your unassuming uniform. Something about you drew his attention, though he couldn’t quite place it. You set the drinks down in front of the loud men, your gaze finding his for only a fraction of a second. 

“Thank you doll,” the older policeman said with a bit too much honey in his tone. “Oh and uh one more thing,” causing you to turn around, notebook in hand ready to take the next order. 

“How bout that kiss huh,” smooching sounds came out of him and you made a very obvious face, the drunkards around him roaring with laughter. You didn’t say anything, only turned back around to wait more tables. 

Later on in the night, after the contest had ended leaving the policeman, once again, victorious. He placed 5th, already almost feeling the fruits of his patience start to blossom as some of the guys had begun discussing re-matches with serious money involved. Oh how he could not wait to drain these fools dry. Bye-bye college fund. You made your way back to their place with refills of their drinks. The bar was a lot less busy now, considering the approaching dawn. Most of the other staff had left, and now that he looked around, most of the bar goers had gone too. Leaving you and the group he sat with. The man couldn’t resist taking another shot at you, now more vulnerable with less people around.

“Cmon sweetheart, what’s a man gotta do to earn your affection?”

You ignored him, continuing to slowly place the cups onto the table. He then slapped two 50,000 won bills on the table. “Cmon baby, how much for the night.”

“Not for sale,” you grumbled. 

“Let's make it a bet then. If you win, I’ll give you double the amount” he said, slapping two more bills on top. That piqued your interest. You looked at the money then back up to him. 

“And if I lose?”

“You know what, but I’ll be nice. Maybe tip ya after.” 

You swallowed thickly, weighing your options carefully.

“What’s the bet?”

“If you could shoot better than my buddy here,” the man pointed back to him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Then you win.”

You smiled a little. 

“Why him? Why not you?”

“Just giving you a fair chance sweet thing,”

You sucked on your teeth a little, smirk evident on the corner of your mouth. You shoved your hand into your pocket and pulled out some bills, tips he assumed, and stacked them onto the money on the table. 

“No, I'll shoot against you.”

Ooohs erupted from around. If the man had a little less ego he would’ve seen your confidence and took it as a sign to back out. But he didn’t, instead he sneered and motioned for one of the other men to grab two handguns, 10 bullets each. 

The officer went first and the other bartenders huddled in with the group to observe. Out of the ten bottles they used as targets, the man shot down 5. Yes, 5. That was the high score for the night. Though, most of them were drunk and probably struggling with diplopia so that’s impressive enough. They reset the bottles and everyone held their breaths. 

He observed your stance, way too comfortable with the weapon to be just a waitress. You shot bottle after bottle, missing not a single one. The dim lighting of the place coupled with the breaths of a dozen men down your back should've thrown you off, but it didn’t. Color him impressed. Cheers of bewilderment rose through the crowd as you moved to grab your money but a hand stopped you, causing the roars to quiet down.

“You cheated.” the officer accused.

“How? I made the bottles blow up?” You mocked.

“One more round, this time we use the bullseyes”

 “Hmm I don’t really feel like a rematch,” you pouted, causing the angry man to slap a few more bills onto the table.

“No that won’t do…How about that card?” You smiled innocently and the man’s jaw clenched.

“Fine, but if I win, you won’t like how you’ll end up tonight.”

That statement didn’t scare you, only disgust present on your face as you continued chewing the gum. 

He watched in awe once more as you handled the bullseye with ease, the skills of a marksman present in your grip. Though he could tell you were holding back. Ultimately, you had the winning paper. He stood by you as you watched the angry man get escorted away by security as you gave his credit card an obnoxious kiss, followed by waving an enthusiastic goodbye.

He was so intrigued by you, just itching to know more. 

2. . .2

He made his way back to where you were, clothes dripping onto the floor with every step he took, panting a little with frustration. It was neither the water nor the cold that bothered him, but the effect you hold over his being. He observed your movements with tongue in cheek, looking at you with his head tilted to the floor slightly as you waltzed around the small space as if nothing happened. As if he wasn't here to end you. As if you hadn’t spoken in almost a year. He spent the better part of it clawing your ghost off his skin, promising himself self control if he ever saw you again.  

“Why didn’t you run?” He sneered.

“This is me running.” You replied plainly. He hugged himself a little as he leaned on the wall, crossing one leg over. 

“You’re doing a terrible job.”

“Hard to flee the country when you’re legally dead.” You handed him an item of clothing but he refused it before even checking what it was, convincing himself he would not be staying that long anyway. He gave you a mocking sympathetic expression as he decided to pull himself deep into his thoughts to build up the strength to just shoot you. 

You took the item back and turned away from him on the opposite side of the room, rummaging through a bag on the floor. He thought of everything he had on the line, everything he was risking by letting you live this long and it fueled his grip on the gun. You’d both gone silent now, the room only filled with the loud clicking of a beat up clock you have on the wall. He cocked his weapon, allowing you the warning to say any last words. Your hands slowly came up from your sides, showcasing their emptiness as you turned around with wide eyes. He didn’t ever gather how you’d been able to read him so well, how you know when he’s weak and when he’s willing to take the shot. You stared at him with a hurt expression. 

“Any last word-”

“You won’t make this a game at least?”

“I have a job to do-” His words were cut off by a swift trick of your hands, pulling out a throwing knife from its hiding spot in your sleeve and lodging it in his shooting shoulder, causing the first bullet to miss and break the window instead. His free hand came up to clutch the bleeding joint as his grip weakened in pain, though he kept it aimed at your head. In the meantime, you pulled out a gun yourself, yours aimed directly at him, too. Your expression had changed from fear to determination and he noticed you’d put outside clothes on. He must’ve been distracted while you were changing. 

“Is this why you took my jacket off?” He laughed a little and you smirked. Of course you did, ridding him of the only form of protection he had on, leaving him just as vulnerable as you were. Evening the playing field, clever girl.“I don’t want to die,” You shook your head slightly, silently telling him this wasn’t going to be an easy win. 

“No hard feelings, 038.” He used your guard ID, further driving a wedge between the two of you. The sudden change in demeanor like a punch in the gut. 

“Ditto.”

Time stood still once more as his hand clutched the firearm, carefully weighing the options here. Last time you two had a standoff like this you ended up with that scar and he wasn’t unharmed either, but you both lived. He can’t let that happen again. The yellow bulb casted a weak glow on your face making you look quite ethereal. He couldn’t come up with a way to move things forward. He knew that the moment he took the shot, you would too, leaving you both dead. He also knew that he couldn’t dodge it from such a short distance. 

You could though, because you wouldn’t wait for him to take initiative. Another concealed knife made it’s way into his arm as he shot in reaction to your sudden movement, lodging itself near the elbow causing his muscles to misalign and miss you, the shot landing in your biceps instead. You took this opportunity to lunge at him, knocking him to the ground in the process. Your undamaged hand wrestled with his twice injured one in an attempt to disarm him as you straddled his abdomen, but he managed to toss the gun into the other palm and hit you on the head with it throwing you off balance. He moved quickly to position himself on you but not before you managed to grab the weapon embedded in his shoulder, soaking his formerly white shirt with even more red. He re-positioned the pistol to your head as he noticed his blood staining your face, but you managed to stab him in the same arm once more, twisting the knife causing him to cry out in pain. The blood from your little trick dripped onto your lips and you smiled, then took this opportunity to knee him right where the money’s at, hindering him enough to be able to wiggle out from beneath him and get up. 3-1, to you. 

The front of your boot collided with his sternum causing him to fall back as you reached down for his gun. You kept your foot there as he panted beneath you, and you made a show of unloading his gun of its ammo all around him, tossing the weapon out of the broken window, your hand then coming up to clutch your injured arm. 

“You haven’t changed at all,” he laughed, defeated and bleeding from three different wounds in the same arm. 

“You, however, have gotten real rusty.” You kept your own firearm aimed at his head, knowing that logically, this is the only out you have. 

“Is it too late to convince you to change your mind?”

“What? And come back to the games?” you asked and he nodded softly. “I left for a reason, 013. Plus they’d have my head the moment I step on the island, I’m not stupid.”

“I could put in a real good word for you,”

“I don’t think you’re as significant as you think you are.”

“Got you in, didn’t I?” That caused you to ponder.  “Back then I was even less significant.”

You frowned a little, unsure where he was going with this.

“Is this fear talking, 013? You scared to die? Scared I’ll shoot?”

He laughed, tossing his head to the side a bit before re-meeting your amused expression. 

“No. I know you won’t shoot,” He smiled. “Maybe I just miss you too.”

He propped himself onto his elbows as you both panted in frustration, sweat dripping down either of your bodies as you contemplated his words. He was pretty like this, so harmless. It often makes you forget who he really was, so the little weasel wasted no time in reminding you. 

In one quick movement, he grabbed the knife in his forearm and stuck it in your leg, hitting bone in the process, you yelped at the sudden pain.

He took the opportunity to volt back up, grabbing an empty bottle from the floor and throwing it at your head, you managed to duck though, the glass shattering on the wall behind. You used this moment to run for the door, bag of belongings slung on your good shoulder. You reached the knob before he grabbed the glass you’d been drinking from earlier and charged at you, smashing it on your head, causing bright blood to drip from your scalp onto your face. He used his position behind you to wrap a strong arm around your neck, his other hand stabilizing your head as he began ridding you of your air supply. You struggled once, twice, smacking his forearm with all your might, then went limp in his embrace. He loosened his grip on you at the relief of your unconsciousness. He hadn’t though, anticipated the shot that rang out. You were only pretending to go limp and the relief he grated you allowed you to snake your arm around yourself, shooting blindly into him. The shot landed near his liver, but he knew it likely missed anything important, you weren’t shooting to kill after all. He clutched his side, vision going a bit blurry from the accumulated blood loss, causing him to drop down against the wall, staining it red. 

He watched as you wheezed violently, coughing up blood as you clutched your trachea for relief, your injuries exciting him a little, especially your painted face. You both heaved in unison, either one of you unable to take the winning shot. You kneeled down next to him and stuck a hand in his pocket, he didn’t have the energy to stop you. 

“Take me out to dinner first,” he chuckled, earning no reaction from you. You made a show of jiggling his car keys in front of his face, clutching them back in your palm before he could snatch them away. Before you turned to leave you leaned in close and planted a feverish kiss from your busted lip onto his. His hand instinctively cupped your face, dyeing it with some of his blood to match yours. Your bleed seeped slowly into the kiss and he couldn’t get enough of the flavour, chasing your warmth a little when you pulled back, wiping your face and sniffing.  

“Don’t keep me waiting for you that long again, baby.” You pecked him harshly once more and rose back up to pull the door open, letting the building’s cold in. This occurrence must not be that rare since none of the residents cared enough to come check or even filter into the hallway. You turned back to him once more, shooting him a smirk-wink combo before slamming the door shut in his face. 

His tongue wiped his teeth free of your taste, tangy and metallic as he sighed, laughing a little maniacally to an empty room. The events of the night being the highest form of entertainment to him. Baby. What an odd word, he chuckled. He reached his hand into his pocket to call for backup, something he’d never usually do but he’d rather not bleed out here, all alone. His fingers stilled in his pants as a realisation dawned on him.

You took his wallet too

.

3. . .3

He’d spent the last few weeks watching you intently, finding out all there was available to know about you. Your name, how old you were, where you grew up, went to school. Basic stuff. He’d also made a habit of following you along your daily routine. It was fun, always being around without your knowledge. He knows where you live and on which floor. He knows what time you get off your morning shift and he’d watch you change into a different uniform for the next. 2 different jobs a day and sometimes you’d add the extra night at the bar. Your favorite coffee spot became his and the store you stop by regularly had started to recognise his face. All information available about you, every routine, every like and dislike, every hobby and nervous habit, he had memorised to heart. He’d held out for this long cause not a single pattern in your past or present gave him a clue about your skills. Not military service, not an ambitious parent, not self defence classes and not even a pastime. Away from that one night at the bar, you’ve never picked up a gun again in the last weeks. How could someone so ordinary hold such a specific skill? Fascinating. He skimmed your medical records looking for any slip up he could find, a wound unfitting for a simple waitress, finding nothing but endless bills piling up in debt. The only logical next step was to just ask, but he had bigger plans. 

“She’d have to join circle and work her way up” 

He sighed. No, that wasn’t satisfactory. He tried pleading once more with the head guard, his position as head triangle guard not strong enough to make a case, but his charm has gotten him way bigger things before.

“That would be a waste of quite the sharpshooter.”

“When she comes in and is able to display these skills you speak of, we can talk then.”

That's The best he could get. 

You got off work, as usual, at around 2am. He waited in the quiet corner of the bar as you rid yourself of the apron and packed your things. He followed from a safe distance, your first stop on a sunday like this being the 24hr convenience store a few streets down. Then you’ll take an  extra five minutes to pet the sickly dog whose owners won’t feed him at the end of the street, leaving him some sort of processed meat before you turn back to the actual way home. Near the end of your tour there’s a particular alleyway you have to cross to get home. He’d noticed how you always tense up then, likely due to the constricting and dark nature of the path. He’ll strike you then, it’ll earn him the best possible reaction, scared and alone. That part is for his own enjoyment, nothing more. 

Tonight though, weather much warmer and no breeze in the air, you’d taken several unplanned detours to seemingly random places all around. This angered him, following you like a lost puppy, briefcase heavy in hand as he tried to keep up appearances, but your sudden spontaneity put him on edge. He trailed you errand to errand, though you never seemed to have a reason for them. Clothes store then a jewelry one then you went fruit shopping, he really couldn’t fathom what you could be preparing for. At the end of the night though, you fed the ugly dog and treaded back to his made up meeting point. You were several paces ahead of him as you turned the corner into the alley, disappearing from his sight momentarily. He took a deep breath, willing himself to keep the excitement inwardly. He turned the corner in your steps only to be confronted face to face with you. The coldness of your revolver an unexpected feeling on his forehead, doing its best to ward off the summer heat. You stared at him with a tense expression, hand steady around the firearm you were pushing into his temple. 

“Drop it.” you ordered, motioning to the bag in his hand, so he obeyed and you kicked it far out of reach across the dirty street floor. Both hands came up in surrender. 

“Game’s over pretty boy.”

He shot you one of his million dollar smiles, the one he usually resorted to to get what he wants. It didn’t seem to affect you though, only clenching your jaw as a response. 

“I come in peace.”

“That why you’ve been following me for the last month?”

So you noticed him. Did you also notice him watching you change? And jump from job to job? Or just following you home? You were a lot more vigilant than he’d given you credit for. His chest filled with admiration. 

“You are not at all who you seem to be, ms…”

“Oh you know my name too?” You scoffed. “You wanna stop flashing your teeth before I make a hole in that head of yours?”

“My apologies,” he cleared his throat, amusement still evident on his face. “So aggressive…” he whispered, but at the distance you two stood at, he knew you heard him. Your expression remained unchanged. 

“I’ve come with a proposal for you.”

“I decline.”

He bit his tongue to suppress his smile, letting out a shaky breath of pleasure. He wants nothing more than to break you apart, bit by bit, your strong attitude making the image in his mind ever more satisfying. 

“I beg you to let me convince you then.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not interested in drug schemes,”

“Do I look like I would approach you for that?”

It was that statement that caused you to take a good look at him, recognition finding its way into your face. Yes, the man from the shooting range. 

“Ah, you’re the scammer.”

“I am no such thing.”

“Right, you pretend to be bad at poker so they play their life savings onto the table then win, scamming them out of their money. You’d been doing that at the range too right? But they won’t give you the chance.”

He smiled ear to ear, you knew him a lot more than he anticipated. 

“You call it scamming, I call it a fun night out. Besides, I assure you my employer has nothing to do with that.”

“And what makes you think I’m buying whatever you’re selling”

“The fact that you haven’t shot me yet, anyone else wouldn’t have given the strange man following them a chance to speak, let alone converse. So either you’re morbidly curious to what I have to say or you’ve got no sense of self preservation.”

It was your turn to smile, flustered a little as you bit on your bottom lip, his effect now impossible to deny.

“May I ask you lower your weapon?”

 “No you look good like this.”

That caught him off guard, causing a little blush to rise to his cheeks.

“We’ll be needing your skills-”

“My shooting?” you interrupted.

“Yes, you can say you’ll be ridding the world of its filth.”

“Sounds like community service.”

“You could call it that.”

Your gun finally went down to your side as you pulled away from him, turning to give him your back “I’m good, thanks.”

“10 million won for around 2 weeks a year. More, if they like you.”

That stopped you in your tracks. 

“I know what that kind of money could do for you ms…, the hospital records are easy to access.”

“What’s the catch?” you turned around slowly.

“There’s no catch.”

“What kind of community service is it?”

He crossed the distance between you, picking up his long forgotten case in the process. He smoothed his clothes over and reached into his chest pocket, pulling out a brown business card. 

“You’ll just have to find out for yourself.” He offered you the card between two fingers, neat and trimmed. You grabbed it, going to inspect what exactly it says. 

3 shapes and a number on the back. 

“Hey this doesn’t really-” You looked back up from the paper, finding no trace of the man you’d become familiar with. You never even caught his name. The card in your hand felt heavy, as if it was calling for you to sell your soul to it. Ok that’s a bit dramatic, but the nature in which you were handed it didn’t really ease your worries. What kind of work has their - albeit, smoking hot- representatives stalk potential employees? And they’d take you based on just this guy’s word? He must be important.

You stood dumbly in the dim corridor, gun in one hand pointed at the ground and the card in the other. The kind of money he speaks of…it could change everything, it could give you a new life. 

What’s the worst that could happen? 

4. . .4

He clutched his side, chasing any form of pain relief he knows won’t come. The streets were empty aside from the occasional bar or party. The car was window sprinkled with raindrops from earlier. They zoomed past the dingy part of town he’d cornered you in, heading back to the main quarters he presumed. The silence was deafening, he waited for anyone to say anything, though there was no one in the car. He was expecting a call from one of the higher guards, though his position granted him a lot of immunity from them. 

“013.” a voice came over the speaker and he tensed up, knowing exactly who this belonged to.

“Mr. Frontman.”

He sat up straight, knowing he was likely being watched at the moment, wincing in pain as some blood oozed out at the sudden movement, his vision growing more blurry by the minute. The matter was a lot more serious than he’d given it credit then, to have the man himself discuss what happened with him could only mean one thing. You’d been causing more trouble, running your mouth and needed to be put down. It’s not a lot that could spike his nerves like this, but the thought of losing everything he worked hard for because of some girl, it tore at him. 

“What happened tonight?”

He had a feeling the man already knew.

“A slip up, it won’t happen again.”

“I took quite the risk sending you, 013. But you’ve let her get under your skin, again.”

He opened his mouth to protest but only groaned in pain. 

“I’ll find her again, and this time I won’t-”

“I’d like you to take backup.”

Backup? He scoffed. He was not a child needing babysitting. 

“I assure you-”

“Take 024, that’s an order.” The line clicked and he sighed, grabbing one of the glasses on the armrest and smashing it in anger, both hands then coming up to rake through his damp hair in frustration. He tried to even his breathing, recollect himself and not allow you to have this effect on him, failing miserably. The car screeched to a halt in front of his own building, guess he won’t even get good treatment tonight.

He limped his way to the elevator and smacked the button with a closed fist, leaving blood everywhere he stepped. He leaned back on himself a little, head tilting up to observe the numbers decrease then a ting! His feet shuffled in and punched in his code, the elevator closing shortly after as he began the ascent to the penthouse. With his back against the wood of the elevator wall, he observed his reflection in the metal of the door. Bloody, tired, defeated. 

Pathetic.

He couldn’t help but recall the way your hands moved over him earlier, already stupidly missing your touch. Another ting! And he was at his place, cold and empty. His finger flicked the central lighting by the elevator, bringing the place to life. He kicked off his shoes, walking barefoot to the nearby guest bathroom. Guest… yeah. The room was relatively small, in comparison to his main bathroom anyway, but he didn’t want to taint the whole place with blood. He’d hate to get rid of yet another cleaning lady. He stepped into the shower, not bothering to toy with the water settings as he turned it on. For the second time that night, he’d found himself under a stream, only this time the temperature was much more humane. Usually he likes cold showers, but the warmth was a lot more efficient in getting rid of your icy memory. He stripped off his blood-soaked garments, red fluid flowing down his legs and into the drain, tossing the clothes to the side. He rested his pounding head on the tiled wall, sighing as the heat eased his aching muscles. Then he pooled some water into his hands, bringing them over his face and head a few times to wash away all impurities. The injuries littered across his body burned a little causing a shiver to crawl down his spine, he needs to take care of those. 

Back out in the kitchen, he made skillful work of the needle and thread through the deep wound as the dirtied clothes sat by the door waiting to be taken care of. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still freshly wet from the shower. He’d fished the bullet out, placing it next to him as a token of defeat. The needle pierced his abdomen easily and he pushed it back out the other side with impatience; he still had a few stab wounds he needs to get to. But at the rate he was going, it would heal quite badly, then you two would be matching. How revolting. Once he was done with that mess, he moved onto using surgical staples for his arm, since there’s no way he could fix that himself. 

He used some bags and gloves to handle the clothes next, transporting them to his disposal oven. He tossed everything in there, his shoes, pants and shirt. The door of the furnace slammed shut and he observed the rising fire through the little window. He ought to do that to you, he thought, lit cigarette in hand. He hates smoking, the smell of it and the aftertaste don’t go well with him, but its effects as a stress reliever are undeniable, considering the other option is on the run at the moment. At the image of you sneaking back into his mind, his body slumped a bit forward as he kept his eyes trained on the dancing flames. A thousand thoughts raced through his head, mostly memories of better days and yearnings of what ifs, things that he did not want to dwell on right now. The phone in his hand read the familiar number, one that often left a sour taste in his mouth, but he had to click dial. Captain’s orders. He took a long drag in. 

The tone rang once, twice then,

“Hello?” A soft female voice enthusiastically replied from the device, clearly anticipating his call. He could only stare at the contact, grimacing a little at the prospect of who was on the other side, blowing some smoke at the screen. 

“Hellooo?” The voice called again, then laughed, “I know it’s you 013,”

“Hello, 024,” he replied finally. “I trust you got the memo,” He took another inhale.

“Yeah I did, wanna come over to discuss?” the voice a little too sultry for him to deal with right now. He knew what she was insinuating, he’d tried to find comfort in her at your disappearance. Big mistake seeing as he spent their fleeting moments together looking for hints of you in her, wasting both of their time. Exhale.

“That will not be necessary, I’ll see you at headquarters tomorrow morning.”

“Aw, sugar, why so cold? She hurt you that bad? I’m always here to kiss it better.” He rolled his eyes, not needing to be present to feel her winking. 

“Goodnight 024.” He ended the call before she could get another word in. The fire was long gone now, leaving only ashes and a burnt out cigarette as a testament to the night’s shenanigans. 

5. . .5

You woke up groggy in a pristine red and white room, mind scrambling to try and recall where you were and how you’d gotten here, though you could only remember the latter. You took the man in the suit up for his offer, dialing the number a few days later and getting into that weird storage container. Everyone else there knew what to do, leaving you the sheepish odd one out. You considered backing out then, since no one would tell you what the hell was going on, but for some odd reason, you pushed through. Maybe you were worried you wouldn’t see his pretty face again otherwise…maybe. There was a blinking camera in the corner, indicating your every move being watched. You moved the covers off your body to reveal a black set of loungewear underneath; a tank top and leggings. To your right there was a toilet with its cover shut, a red uniform placed neatly on top of it and a black mask with a huge circle on it. You looked around for any instructions, explanations but found none, so you sat cluelessly, weighing the options. But by the time you decided to try the door, a knock came from outside. You shot up, ready for anyone to tell you what the hell was going on. The door cracked open to reveal a looming figure in the same uniform that rested in your room, his face covered by a triangle mask. The whatever pushed past you, welcoming themselves into your room. They turned to the camera to reveal their identity, discarding the cover to the side. You shut the door softly, leaning back on it as you observed him turn around with an eager smile on his face. His presence was oddly comforting. 

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up.” you mirrored his expression.

“You’ve been awake for all of 5 minutes, plus I had things to do.” He teased. 

“Well?” You gestured to the surroundings. 

“Well,” he parroted. “Just put your uniform on, I’ll get you shooting soon enough.”

You nodded and he left the room with determinants in his movements, face once again covered.

He maneuvered through the empty hallways he had access to, mind set on reaching the head guard to work his magic for you. He was evidently excited, hoping for a front seat view of presumably your first kill. The door to the room slid open upon identification, revealing some of the other heads as well as the main one readying up for the game in their lockers. He skipped past everyone and aimed for the highest ranking man in the room.

“She’s here.” he stated.

The other guard sighed, “She can join circle for now-”

“Red light, green light is the best time for her to show you what she could do.”

The man stopped his movements and turned to him, despite having his face hidden and a voice changer on, he could tell that he was tired of his antics.

“013, as head triangle you know we’ve got a full house,” the man said sternly. “If someone drops out for any reason, you could have her fill in.”

That’s all the motivation he needed, he left the bathroom stalls in search of you once more, leaving that lanky kid’s unconscious body in a locked stall. He doesn’t really feel bad for him, he’s a terrible shooter so there’s no net losses anyway. 

He knocked on your door once more, an extra mask in hand to be gifted to you. You opened and he observed your figure in the unflattering uniform, face still uncovered. You took a small step to the side to allow him in and shut the door. 

“Ok, put this on. Your number is 038, for now.”

Your identity was now fully concealed, the only difference between the two of you being the height. 

“Follow my lead, don’t ask questions till we get to the shooting range.”

You nodded and he reached for the door handle but your voice stopped him. 

“Wait, I never caught your name.”

“That’s confidential.”

Actually, it's been so long since someone referred to him by his actual name, the people here use guard IDs for ease of recall. 

“Oh come on,” you lifted your mask to get rid of the stupid voice changer. “You know all there’s to know about me and I know absolutely nothing! I can’t keep referring to you as ‘gun guy’ in my head.”

He chuckled quietly, appalled at your insistence of finding out who he was. He mirrored your previous action, moving the cover of his face so that you could see him. 

“Just call me 013 for now, ok?” He put the cover back on, referring to the number on his chest.You rolled your eyes, “Sure.” and fixed your mask once more.

You trailed behind him as he led you through colourful passageways and winding corridors. Nothing about the place could give you any indication as to where you were or what the task was. Or what’s with the eyesore for uniforms. A few people passed you on your journey, all wearing the same uniform save for different shapes on masks and numbers. He finally brought you over to a small room with black walls and a singular window on the opposite side. The area was tiny, barely leaving any space for you two to stand side by side. The walkie talkie on him made a sound but no words came out, only a sort of code you assume. 

“Wait here,” he turned back to deal with whatever that was. “You can take the mask off.” 

Didn’t have to tell you twice, that thing is so stupidly suffocating it’s insane. Sweaty too. You have a feeling someone was wearing it before you put it on. Ew.

You crouched to inspect the view from the little hole, sitting on your knees. It looked out onto a vast desert-like arena with painted walls, huge. It was also made so that you’d have to be laying down to shoot, well, like a sniper. Near your side of the arena there was a large doll-like statue with its back to you. Some red guards began filtering into the from the sides, contrasting the dull blues of the place, like blood on a surgeon’s scrubs. The heat was unbearable in the uniform, they really could afford all this but made the thing out of polyester? Was cotton out of budget? Maybe it doesn’t come in this ugly colour. 

Your fashion critic moment was cut off by ‘013’ sneaking back into the room, a black case in his hand. He dropped it gently at your feet before taking his mask off and fixing his hair, beads of sweat dancing on his forehead. 

“I trust you know how to handle this?”

You popped the case open to reveal a sleek black sniper rifle, the kind way too expensive for you to have ever held it. But you knew the concept.

“More or less.” you grumbled as your hands went to work assembling the piece as he stood over you with his arms crossed, watching with intense eyes. He saw you struggle a little with the support tripod so he leaned down to help you. You both worked in silence and efficiency, moving the completed puzzle to the window. You took your position behind the trigger, patiently awaiting instructions. He sat down by your side, mumbling something into the device in his hands. 

The small doors opposite to where you were opened allowing teal blue figures to move in. You used the scope to observe the targets closer.

“People…?” You questioned out loud. “People??”

“I wouldn’t call them that” the gruff voice from behind you replied as you began piecing the situation together. 

“What the hell is this?” You turned to find him smiling sickeningly at you, his hands toying with a smaller weapon. 

“Red light, green light.”

“The children’s game?”

“If the players move when they shouldn’t, I’ll tell you a number, you find them, then shoot.”

“I’m not killing anyone.”

His jaw clenched in frustration, suddenly making you feel fear in the compromising position you’re in. A voice outside began explaining the game rules. 

“The game is simple enough, really, but you’d be surprised how often they mess up.”

He cocked his gun. 

“My instructions were also pretty simple but I’ll clarify them for you. They move, I tell you the number, you shoot.” His eyes were fixed on your terrified ones. “Or else I shoot you.”

He pointed the gun at you and something about the whole circumstance made you sure he wasn’t just talking. You turned back to the scope, observing as the players readied themselves for the task and he lodged the gun into your side, keeping it there. 

“Do they know?” Your shaky voice betrayed you. You didn’t have to turn around to see the smile on his face, coupled with a short laugh. 

“No. Not yet.”

The doll sang her melody and the victims began to play. Stopping at red, going with green. Your palms were sweaty on the trigger as you tried to come up with a way to back out of this, finding no escape. You saw the man move out of turn before 013 relayed the number to you.

“255” 

You had the shot aligned to his head, breath getting quick and frantic. He pushed the gun further into you. 

“Do it.” 

So you did, jumping back a little at the loud bang. 

“Domino down.” He laughed into the walkie talkie and you weren’t sure what he meant. Soon enough though, the realisation came to you. 

The arena descended into chaos, almost half of the players had now started running the way they came from, breaking the rules.

He leaned in close to your ear. 

“Cmon now, don’t disappoint me.”

You blocked it all out, the screams and cries of fear, the blood splashing all around outside, the clothes sticking to your skin, all of it, and began to shoot. 

Moving targets were always your favourite anyway. 

Shot after shot after shot. You became numb to it, the thought that these were real people, bargaining with the idea of it being either you or them. No longer waiting for the numbers to be called out, you can tell who lost yourself. The machine in your hands made headshots a breeze, the scope making it impossible to miss, or maybe you were just getting cocky, knowing you’ve shot better with much more rudimentary equipment. 

“013,” a voice came from behind you, “tell your girl to leave some kills for the rest of us.”

He laughed into the device, “get better.”

You were not his girl. 

The rush died down and the doll explained the rules once more to the surviving competitors.  

Red light, green light. 

You watched closely for any more losers, shooting a handful in the remaining game time. Your lip was bloody from how hard you were biting it as you got back up with a vacant look in your eyes. He got up as well, grabbing your discarded mask and handing it to your shaking grip. His hand came up to your face, brushing some of the blood on your lips with his thumb. You swatted his arm away and looked at him, a sick smile plastered on that perfect face of his. You turned back to the door and quickly left as he watched you in amusement, bringing the bloodied digit onto his tongue. Kneeling back down to dismantle the weapon, he wondered with a smirk if you’d even be able to find your way back, or if he would find you in some empty corner all scared and alone, easy prey. He put the gun back into its case and exited the room, being met with a short triangle guard’s presence blocking his way. 024.

“Who was that?”

“New recruit.”

“You don’t sneak into new recruits’ rooms or personally oversee their stay. Who is that?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“I’m…curious.”

“Sounds like jealousy.”

The woman only shrugged. 

“I made whatever was between us clear, 024. Don’t interest yourself in my personal life.”

“Personal?”

He pushed past her, berating himself for giving too much away. But he only had one thing on his mind at the moment and he wanted to be there to watch it. 

You didn’t end up seeing him again for the rest of your time there, falling back into ‘circle guard’ duties. From laundry to cooking and cleaning the arenas, this was much more tame than the excitement you had that first day. 6 nights went by in a blur, moving from one duty to the next. You didn’t actually know what the protocols were like here but some of the other circles were kind enough to show you the ropes. 

Kind. 

Funny word. 

From your interactions you’d learnt that most of them were in similar situations to you, broke and struggling, which really conflicted you but you tried not to think about it. You heard them speak of talks of making routines stricter, limiting interactions between guards. Maybe someone got pregnant. 

At the end of the week there was a celebratory gala that you had to cater at, as the lowest guard rank of course. They switched out your uniforms in favour of sleek black suits and decorative face masks. You saw him then. 

He had a different mask on, but you knew it was him, looking care-free as ever with his arm draped around some girl. All you could think about is what he made you go through, the stuff he put you in. You were so incredibly angry at him for acting like nothing happened at all. You totally spilt wine on him that night, ruining his outfit then scurrying away in giggles to one of the staff rooms. 

You heard he looked for you all night. 

The next time you crossed paths again was the night you were leaving. You only knew it was him because of his number and that obnoxious stance of his. He made you sick. Still hot though, unfortunately. He was standing next to some other guards and a man dressed in all black as they bid all circle guards goodbye. The man in black, who you’d come to learn was the frontman, gave some sappy, thank you for your service type speech and left you on your way. 

You promised yourself you’ll never trust random men in dark alleyways again. 

6. . .6

He remained quiet, allowing the unknown number to identify themselves first. He was, afterall, used to receiving key info from burner phones and unsaved callers.

“Is this supposed to make me feel jealous?”

He smiled, biting his lip a little to prevent himself from alerting his partner. Your voice was music to his ears, a welcome comeback after a little less than 3 months of silence. His wounds were a lot better now, his mind way more set on the goal. For the past weeks he’d been working with 024 to pin you down on the map, attempting to pull on leads and follow weak clues to where you were. You hadn’t been making things easy, he expected no less. You were at least decent enough to leave his car in pristine condition at some junkyard and he was able to retrieve it before they tore it apart. Barely. You were more clever than he often gave you credit for, disappearing without a trace on such short notice, but you were bound to slip up eventually. Currently, he was sat with her at a lively cafe, observing your meeting with a friend of yours. They thought you hadn’t spotted them, leaving shortly after a quick exchange and heading to your motorbike, rented and license plate-less of course, back to your hideout. Following you would be difficult, especially in a vehicle so obvious to you as theirs, so they needed to come up with another way. 

But here you were, dropping it at his feet. 

Amatuere work. 

“Hello again, 038,”

“I suggest you get rid of her.”

“...Or?”

That seemed to shut you up, long enough for him to signal to 024 for help in tracking the number. It was a temporary phone no doubt, but it could give a clue. 

“You need a nanny to help you find me 013?”

He knew you were just trying to rile him up, but his plan was working so he wouldn’t quite give in yet.

“You’re very slippery,”

That earned a chuckle. 

“I warned you.”

The line cut off, but the location was already obtained. And, stupidly enough, it seemed you were keeping the phone on you, giving away your temporary escape. A busted motel in the outskirts of seoul, a place where there's more shady people than not, allowing you to blend right in. You’d done everything right up until now; used cash, avoided cameras, changed your gait but it was jealousy, jealousy that was your ultimate demise. He moved the cup of cold coffee to his lips to avoid the smirk catching the other woman’s attention. 

The location was just as he’d imagined; cheap and with a laughable amount of security. All he had to do was bribe the front desk with a stack and they gave your room number up immediately, 8F, the money probably worth more than your entire stay’s worth. The key felt light in his palm.

“I’ll take the inside, you wait out here in case she gets away.”

“No, I'm coming in with you.”

He sighed, already feeling suffocated in the car at the thought of confronting you again, he’d really rather not have the other woman in there too. 

“And if she manages to escape? Or never even enters the room because she caught us?”

He wasn’t really making sense, prompting 024 to give him a look. 

“From the moment she walks in, I’ll give you 5 minutes. After that I’m coming in to finish the job. I know you won’t.”

He rolled his eyes, opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air. 

“You better not screw each other!” She called out, he pretended not to hear it. 

There was not much inside that caught his eye, the place as unwelcoming as your last one. It was, however, an absolute mess. Clothes strewn about all over, unmade sheets and leftover takeout on the bed. The place was, well, filthy. Very unlike you. On the nightstand sat your notepad, a habit he noticed you always held close. He couldn’t stop himself from looking through it. It was filled with random entries and detailed sketches of everyday items. There was a page for the night you saw each other again, three months ago. The paper was stained with tears.  

He hasn’t changed a bit, still a psycho freak and still so. hot. It’s actually infuriating now. Left my mark on him though, physically and emotionally. My leg hurts like hell, my head too, but you should’ve seen the other guy, haha. 

Seeing him again was…oh I don’t know. Everytime I pretend I’m over him he sneaks back into my mind one way or another. If only he wasn’t trying to kill me. Sigh, maybe in another life we end up together, the normal way. I know I shouldn't, but I miss him. So, so, so, so, so, you get the point, much. I think he missed me too, doubt his pride would let him admit that though. Wait he actually did admit that, but I think he was just talking. I feel so empty, he’s left a print on me I can’t freaking get rid of. He’s trying to K I L L you you idiot, pull yourself together. I should've killed him when I got the chance. But I always wonder, you know? What if he could change? What if we could be? I feel so silly, thinking of white picket fences and wrap around porches with a man who can’t wait to put a bullet through my skull. 

He tried not to let your words get to him, tried to ignore the feeling it made in his chest. Longing. You weren’t the only one dreaming of different circumstances. Though he hates to admit it, he’d been looking for your face in every crowd and your voice in every song. He may be a maniac, sure. But that didn’t stop you from sneaking into his barren heart. What a mess. 

The following page had a drawing of your kiss in the shower, done in pencil and with an amazing attention to detail, reminding him of the exact woman you were before he roped you into his world. He doesn’t regret it though, it gave him the pleasure of knowing you. He ripped the page out, keeping it as his personal souvenir of you. 

He flipped through the next few pages.

Meeting with x at 9;00PM, by the nursery

Flip,

Need to buy some metoprolol, DON’T FORGET!!!!

Flip,

Total spent; 6k! Girl get it together.

Flip,

Saw him again today, he is so fine ffs. 024 was with him, lol. Gonna have to work harder than that to get me mad, babe. 

Flip,

Though it is a bit unfair don’t you think?

That one caught his eye, flip,

2 against one? Low blow.

What? Flip,

Surely you’ve gotten it by now.

His breath grew quicker. Flip, 

If you’re reading this, it’s too late.

See you soon ;)

The smile on his lips remained as he shut the notepad forcefully, feeling himself slowly lose it.He turned on his heel, the journal still in his hands, toward the widow that was covered by blinds. It overlooked the parking lot, allowing him to have a direct view of his car. 

Empty. 

Whatever you had planned involved 024, apparently. His jaw clenched so hard he felt his teeth might shatter. The anger got too much, you were, once again, two steps ahead of him. This time, he genuinely had no idea what you might be up to, or where you were. He yelled in frustration, slamming the notepad against the far wall. But it wasn’t enough. He picked up the bedside lamp and shattered it on the window, pieces of glass flying everywhere, cutting him all over his face and chest. His hands shook as he did a final sweep of the room and adjoining bathroom; no sign of you. This was a setup, and he fell for it. Of course you’re smarter than to leave your location on, so easy to access. He should’ve guessed.

Now though, 

Now this game ends. 

He stormed away to his vehicle, hair a mess and blood staining his shirt. He tried not to feel hurt over the words you wrote, assuming now that you only put them to mess with him. Of course you don’t love him.

He doesn’t either. 

In fact, he can not wait to watch the life drain from behind your eyes as your body lays there helplessly, at his mercy. 

He was in for another surprise at the car though, looking down to find it nearly touching the ground. Slashed tires. These were custom made, you moron. But of course you wouldn’t let him find you that easily, you had to slow him down somehow. He kicked the stupid thing, turning back to wipe a hand over his face and through his hair. He had to think of something, fast. 

4 cheap tires and a long 50 minute drive later, he parked his car carelessly at the foot of his building. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for, only thing he knows is that if the plan went sour, 024 was meant to meet him back here. He gave her a temporary code that his phone notified him of it being used, meaning she was back here. Maybe she overpowered you somehow and brought you back here for him to kill you himself, but why not call? Whatever it was, he knew they’re regrouping now. The 10 second ride up felt longer than usual, the uncertainty of what to expect kept him on edge. He tried 024’s number again and again, nothing. The doors to his place slid open, revealing a dark and empty apartment, though that only worsened his worries. He flicked the lights on and did a quick view of the immediate environment; peaceful. Nothing out of place. Well, nothing except the sleeping figure on his couch. He pulled out his revolver, only 2 bullets inside because of an altercation he got into on his way here. The figure was completely covered and he couldn’t really make out who it was, he approached from behind the couch, shoulders relaxing a little at the sight of 024’s shoes. Then he saw it. 

Blood. 

So so so much blood. Dripping from the body down to stain his perfectly white carpet. He moved the cover quickly, cringing a little at the sight. It was 024, slashed and torn from multiple places, a handful of bullet wounds all around. She was still breathing, somehow, though she was definitely unconscious. He saw something move out of the corner of his eye on the upper floor, making the hair on his arms stand up. He whipped around quickly, but his gun was shot out of his hands before he could do anything. 

You emerged from your hiding like some cartoonish villain, twirling the gun in your hands a few times before blowing off imaginary smoke. You rested against the black railing, giving him a clear look of your face. Bloodied, bruised with a few cuts, but so cocky. 

“Surprise!” You said in a sing-song voice.

“Missed me?”

7. . .7

The bar was less busy than usual, regulars turning in for the night rather than stay their normal hours, leaving you and just a few more patrons who were closing their tab for the night. It was nice like this, quiet. No big fights or smashed glass, just a few drinks and counter wipe-downs. The days seemed to have been blending together these past weeks, routine just barely changing, if at all. You were at peace with all this though, guilt of the blood on your hands slowly being washed away with the ordinary day-to-day. 

Money though, now that’s another issue. 

The not so small payout you’d gotten was always on your mind, seeing as to how your life greatly improved afterwards. You slept more soundly at night, knowing that the next meal will be warm and within reach. Sure, it didn’t really affect your debt on the grand scale of things, but it did make you more comfortable. You know you shouldn’t consider going back, calling that number again and putting in a better effort, you were better than this. Better than killing for dirty cash. 

Or you tried to be anyway. 

The bar had been barren for almost an hour, but you had to stay open for at least another two, management’s orders. You could risk it, just leave and deal with it next time, but you preferred having a stable source of income to gambling it. You hadn’t heard anyone come in, not even that obnoxious bell by the door. You had your back to the bartop, inspecting the bottles with hyper focus, trying to decide if you should re-arrange them..for fun. Or boredom. But you were taken out of your trance by a firm knock on the bar behind you. You turned around only for your eyes to meet his. 

“You.” You sneered, causing him to smile a little.

“Missed you.” 

Your expression didn’t falter, pure anger evident on your face. You crossed your arms over your chest, unsure what to do now.  You hadn’t seen him since that day, 2 months ago. He looked so different in this lighting, almost like a normal person, rather than a mass murderer. The grey shirt he wore was two sizes too small for him, suffocating his biceps. His hair was neat, as it usually is and he wore a pair of black combat pants, with boots to match, he almost looked human. 

“What the hell do you want?”

He raised his arms up in a mock surrender, “Just wanted to see how you’re doing, that’s all.”

“I’m well, you can leave now.”

“Oof, ice cold.” he pretended to get stabbed in the heart and you huffed in annoyance.

“I wanted to talk to you actually, but how about we make it fun. Let’s play poker-”

“I will not be doing that.”

“How about pool then?”

That got you thinking. With poker, a liar like him would easily beat you, but you were pretty good at pool, meaning you could beat him at whatever his ulterior motives were. It’s not like you had anything better to do anyway. Realistically though, you should be telling him to piss off, not allowing him access to you again. But that charm of his…unfortunately difficult to resist. 

“Sure,” you sighed. 

“But we need to make it interesting. How about this; everytime someone gets a ball in, they can ask the other person a question. If the person refuses to answer then they have to-”

“Strip.” You pushed past him to set the table up. 

“Bold. I was going to say take a shot but, as you please.” he smiled. 

You set the balls in their place and handed him a stick. 

“Ladies first,” ever the gentleman, you rolled your eyes. 

Conversation between plays was kept to a minimum, the place was so silent, filled only with the sounds of balls rolling and colliding. You got the first point in. He gestured with his hands, almost like he was a bit excited, then leaned onto his stick, awaiting your question.  

“What’s your real name?” You smirked a bit, knowing that his body is about to go on display. He sighed loudly before resting the stick to the side, arms coming to pull his shirt off of his head, revealing a very toned, well-looked after chest. 

He whistled “Eyes up here.” smirking a little. This atmosphere allowed you to loosen up, quipping back at him with

“Nice tits.”

He won the next point. 

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

So your apron came off. 

“Oh come on now, no cheating,” he winked, prompting you to unbutton your work top as well. 

He whistles again, “Anything else you hiding down there?” 

“You’ll just have to work hard to find out”

The next few rounds were spent blocking each other’s wins, the air was getting tenser with neither of you willing to break the silence between, neither of you wanting to strip nor spill. Well that was broken by a smug victory smile on his face, you slumped a bit, ready to likely have to strip again. You stared at him and you could almost catch the amusement behind his eyes, like the question had been eating up at him for a bit. 

“Was that your first kill?”

Of course that’s what he wants to know. It wasn’t, but you’d put that part behind you a while ago, hoping to never fall back into old habits, blood money. You’d built up a new life for yourself, albeit a bit pathetic compared to how you used to lavishly spend. You’d strayed so far away from your old ways, you’d almost started to believe you were a good person. Almost. 

“Yes.” You breathed out. 

“Strip.”

“What?”

“I said strip.”

“No I heard you- I answered the question; I’m not stripping.”

He stalked towards you, a sure and entertained look on his face. 

“Liar.”

“I don’t follow?”

“That was most certainly not your first kill, you were way too comfortable with that trigger. Fast too. Would’ve taken a little more hesitation from someone clean, don’t you think? I mean-”

He laughed, bringing his free hand up to squeeze his lips. He leaned on the table only inches away from you. “You killed those people no problem, headshots and all. Anyone else would’ve shot one or two at most, you capped off at 76, almost as high as my high score! Very-”

“You had a gun to my side you ass,”

“Wasn’t loaded.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t loaded. If you gave a little more resistance I would’ve let it go, let you go. I would never shoot my new favourite thing so early on. I’ve still got plenty of ways to break you and you’ve still got plenty of ways to disappoint me.”

The air in the room was getting tighter, the way he spoke made you gag, your eyes held his with disgust. You knew he was just toying with you, that the gun was more than likely loaded with bullets with your name on them, and that he was just trying to put the blame on you. You tried not to let him get to you, with that satisfied smile and look of admiration he had on at the moment, but it was difficult. 

What if?

What if your finger hadn’t been so itchy in the trigger? What if he wasn’t lying?

Someone else would’ve killed them dummy, don’t let him mess with your head. 

Yeah, but the blood wouldn’t be on your hands. 

The rest of his words registered then. ‘ I would never shoot my new favourite thing so early on. I’ve still got plenty of ways to break you and you’ve still got plenty of ways to disappoint me’

Who does this dude think he is? He’s got you all up in your thoughts conflicted between what you see and what you hear. You could swear he was blushing a little. 

What kink is this? Weirdo. 

“Who do you think you are?” You picked up one of the balls and angrily threw at him with full force, aiming for that big head of his. 

He caught it.  

“I’m not your thing, and I think you should leave.” 

You began to walk away, setting the stick to the side. 

“So it wasn’t your first kill,” 

“Piss off,” 

He quickly got in front of you to block your little escape. 

“You are so very entertaining,”

“Don’t you have something better to do with your life,”

“I do. You can say this is my new hobby.”

“Seek therapy.”

He pouted “You think I’m crazy?”

“A psycho actually.” 

“I’m very flattered.”

“Of course you are,” you rolled your eyes, stepping past him to find your long discarded top. 

“Didn’t it feel good though? All that money.” He called out, taking a few steps in your direction. 

It did, it really did. You faltered a bit. Warm meals and hot showers were a luxury you didn’t realise, along with paid off prescriptions. The fat stack they handed you had left you way more than comfortable, stress about bills gone for a nice period of time. It was the only thing, the only reason, you hadn’t ran away from him until now. The money. You knew it was wrong, to be willing to kill again to have a roof over your head that isn’t leaking, but the comfort was so tempting. Your hands picked up your blouse and began buttoning it, trying to come up with some escape so that his words don’t find their way into your mind. It was difficult, this internal monologue fighting itself, and he could tell. 

“You aren’t as moral as you pretend you are, you know?” He chuckled, but you still had your back to him, still refusing to talk. After finishing your top, you picked up his shirt and turned to toss it at him, surprised to see him standing very close to you now. You tensed a bit at the proximity and shoved his shirt into his bare chest. 

“Don’t come looking for me again.” You tried to sound sure of yourself. 

“Or?” He pulled his shirt over himself, messing his hair up even more in the process.

“Is this what you came here tonight for? A game of pool and one worded replies?”

You moved behind the bar to grab your things. You knew he won’t let you go that easily, you’ll either have to kill him or yourself. Or fake your death and change your name, again. 

“I came with an offer actually,”

“I’m not killing more people, you creep.”

“Is it fun to call me every name in the book?”

“I don’t know what you’re actually called, so, yeah.”

“No killing involved this time,” he sighed from the other side of the bar and you shot him a questioning look. He threw his hands up in surrender, “I promise,”

“Oh good, your word means so much to me.”

He made a betrayed expression with his face, lips pouting a little and brows furrowing in sadness. You only stared in annoyance. 

“Goodbye, weirdo.”

“We need a helping hand in training new recruits, shooters. I’m sure you could guess why we have a high worker turnover. You’ll only be helping them shoot targets, not humans. Not animals either.” He cut you off before you even spoke, “It’ll be good pay, you might have to help with a few other duties as well. The rules are a lot more relaxed between games, in relation to masks and uniforms. I knew you couldn’t stand them.”

“I would still be helping someone kill someone; a killer by proxy.”

“Don’t go pretending to be noble now, you’re already a killer.” He rolled his eyes, getting a little mad. “Plus if you don’t do it, someone else will. These ‘people’ will die anyway. Might as well get paid for it.”

You paused for a beat. He was, unfortunately, making a good point, to you at least. You were a killer, hands stained with more red than he could imagine, what’s another shade deeper at this point. That or you starve in a cycle of debt and pitiful repayments. 

“Why me? Why not someone more willing?”

That was the first time this whole night that he stuttered. Opening his mouth and closing it, trying to find something to say to your question. That caught you off guard, you’d never seen him so…flustered?

Oh.

OH.

“Someone’s got a crush,” you giggled in a sing-song voice, your coat snug around you as you moved close to him, swaying a little, until you were face to face. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, I’m just…intrigued by you.”

“Intrigued oh-” you couldn’t stop giggling. “Oh you wanna sleep with me so bad.”

That shut him up, fully, instead just keeping his gaze cast on your face, momentarily jumping to your lips then back up. He didn’t even try to deny it. Leverage, you’ve got leverage over this hot piece of work. Bingo. He was smiling with his jaw tensed forcefully, attempting self control-you guessed. 

“Your higher-ups know you’re here, 013?”

Once again, no reply. You moved in closer, just so your lips were barely brushing his. 

“Where’s your tough guy act now, hmm?”

You pulled away after a beat, watching as his lips chased yours for a second, but failed. 

“I’ll think about it.” You sped a little towards the exit, leaving him with a problem he’ll have to take care of himself. 

8. . .8

He observed as you descended the steps lazily, shrugging off your coat to reveal a very provocative dress underneath. 

“You wore that to a gunfight?” he questioned the ridiculousness of it all. 

“Of course not, it's freezing out.” You chuckled, moving towards his discarded gun. “But you took so long and I got bored. You sure know how to keep a lady waiting”

His jaw clenched as you picked up the weapon and moved towards the open kitchen. He took the moment with your back to him to quickly grab the spare gun under his couch; one of many around the place. But the moment it came into his hands, he could tell something was wrong. It was empty, the glock’s amo cartilage taken out of it. He stared at the thing in defeat, turning around to find you with a smug expression on your face. 

“I wouldn’t bother with the rest of them by the way. Or the knives, though I know you can’t aim those to save your life anyway.” you smiled. “Can we not just have a nice night, like normal people?”

“My ex is dead on the couch.”

“Oh she isn’t dead.” you snorted, then your expression suddenly dropped. “Why does this bother you anyway?”

There it was, jealousy. It was such a lovely colour on you, filling him with butterflies. Your jaw tensed, your legs moving closer to where he was.

“You jealous?” he chuckled. 

“No, just possessive.”

“Same thing.”

“It wasn’t ‘same thing’ when it was you speaking, no?”

He laughed a little, a smile finding its way onto his lips. He wanted to get it all over with, get rid of you. But something about how you looked in this light, at this hour, some blood on your body born from desire. He saw something then, a future perhaps. You were so similar, two souls meant to be. He couldn't help but allow himself to indulge in you tonight, just this once he’ll let his resolve crumble in favour of his hunger. He drank in your appearance, eyes stopping at all the scratches all over. He wanted to kiss it all better, wipe the stains from your skin. Your eyes scanned him as well, finding the cuts from the glass from earlier. You both stood there in silence, leaning into eachother’s warmth subconsciously. He captured your lips with his with the force of years of yearning, your hands coming up to find his face-

A groan stopped you both, the injured woman behind you struggling to pick herself up. You rolled your eyes, turning your head to shoot her square in the face, ending her run immediately. You turned back to him, a look of lust and admiration painted all over his face. 

“Where have your manners gone, sweetheart?” he pretended to be upset. “I mean-really? My white carpet, my tires, you’re milking me dry.”

“Wanted to leave my mark.”

“I think…” he hesitated. “I think you’ve already done that.”

There was a moment, where just everything seemed so normal, regular. Like you two were star crossed lovers who met at the wrong time. Like, if you two worked hard enough, you could have a life of laundry and burnt pancakes. 

You slammed your lips onto his once more with desperation and want, air being sucked out of your lungs with passion. Your hand came up to rest on his chest and he winced, causing you to break apart once more. 

“We should get you cleaned up, there could be some shards inside.”

He chuckled, “After you.”

You sat in the balcony, the air a lot cooler from how high up you were. He poured you a pretty glass of aged red wine.

“How do I know this isn’t poisoned?”

“Poisoned? You think I’d stoop low enough to poison. That is such a lazy way to kill, you know I’d rather have my fun.”

 You worked a soaked gauze on the cuts littering his chest, one particular one having a few shards that you had to pick out of the wound. Nothing needed stitches though. He rested a warm hand on your bare thigh, eyes watching the knot in your brows form in concentration, a sheet of sweat and dirt dried over your face. You avoided his gaze in nervousness, fearing your heart may break out of your chest. He grabbed your forearm, noticing the deep cut in it.

“This needs stitches.”

“It’s ok I’ll do it later-”

“No. It’ll get infected if you leave it like this, let me.”

So you switched roles, sitting back to watch his attentiveness to your pain, hand more gentle than he ever was with anyone or anything ever. Afraid to hurt you. Everytime that needle pierced your skin, you’d tense, to which he’d apologise. Every time. It was like something was different that night, the occasional distant car horn being the only other break in the silence. He finished you up and wrapped your arm, kissing your hand afterwards. His lips were rough and broken on your equally calloused skin, dreary eyes looking up at you. There was a sadness to it all, knowing this won’t-can’t last. Doomed by the narrative, you two were destined to end prematurely. But you pushed it all to the back of your mind, willing yourself to just enjoy the night to come. But first, 

“We should burn the body.” You looked over through the glass at the now permanently red stained area. He leaned back on his chair next to yours, spreading his legs until he got comfortable. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, pants hugging his knees as the jacket hung loosely around your bare shoulders. Sighing, he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket along with a lighter, covering the flame to light the smoke. 

“Yes, that would be best.” he inhaled a puff, blowing it out towards the night sky. 

“You won’t offer me one? Chivalry really is dead.” you teased. He turned to you, firm grip grasping your chin to bring it to his face. He took another inhale then tapped his thumb on your bottom lip and you obliged, opening your mouth to allow him to exhale into it. He then slotted his lips against yours once more, recycling the same breath. He repeated all this a few times, till the cigarette was burnt out, once your breath and the next his, a little game of who could taste sweeter. 

“Let's go take care of that.” His forehead rested on yours, but neither of you moved. Another blanket of silence

“We should-”

“Yeah.”

You don’t really know what’s with the awkwardness all of a sudden. You two moved in tandem to transport the dead woman to the little furnace, blood staining both of your bodies. You watched the flames dance around the corpse, the day’s events weighing on your soul, causing you to lean onto him for support. He stood rigid, arms crossed as his breathing slowed with your touch. You hugged yourself for a little warmth, before taking a deep breath to break the silence. 

“Are you still going to kill me?” 

He sighed, “I have no other option, you killed 024, they’ll have my head otherwise.”

“We could run away,” You stood back up and his hand came to rub his eyes, already not convinced with whatever you wanted to say. “We could leave Seoul, leave korea all together and-”

“And go where? Huh? Run for the rest of our lives?”

“I’ll figure something out, we could go anywhere in the world 013-”

“They’ll find us.”

“We’ll change our names and-”

“Where would we get the money?”

“Same way I always did, odd jobs and daily wages.”

“We’d be dirt poor.”

“But we’d have each other.”

As cheesy as it sounds, you really thought you two could be something more, something permanent. No-one got you like he did, no-one got him like you did. 

“Why did you come here tonight 038?”

Tears had built up in the corners of your eyes. “I don’t know I just- I thought you could change, that we could be.”

“You meant it? What you wrote in that notebook? White picket fences and wrap around porches?”

“Yes! Of course I did.” The emotion had leaked from your eyes and streamed down your face. He cast his gaze to the floor, avoiding your sad eyes. 

“But you know it won’t be like that, we’d have to slave for our next meal.”

“I don’t mind.” You sniffed.

“I do!” He yelled out suddenly, brushing a hand through his hair and panting in an attempt to compose himself. “I can’t go back to that, 038, I can’t. I don’t- want to. I love my job, I have never felt more fulfilled, ever-”

“You send people to their deaths!”

“They deserve it! Don’t you get it? It’s the one system where they get what they deserve. They could choose not to go. Chose to get up off their ass and crawl their way out, but they chose to-”

“The system doesn’t work that way.”

“It did for me!”

“That’s cause you have charm and a pretty face, 013, you got lucky.”

“It was not luck.”

“Yes it was! The sooner you realise this the sooner you’ll be face to face with the fact that they’d replace you the moment you die.”

“I’m not abandoning my dream life, that is final. So if that’s what you were here for, then go.”

You turned away, makeup running all over your cheeks, but it took him all of 1 second to change his mind, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back into him. His eyes were glassy as he pushed you up against the wall, his hands tangling in your hair as his mouth sought you out once more. Rough, desperate and aching, that’s what this kiss was. You let yourself get lost in his smell as he placed open mouthed kisses on your shoulder. His eyes came up to meet yours for a moment and you both knew what this was. Your final night together, that’s for sure.

Might as well go out with a bang. 

His muscles were sore the next morning, he was never really one for sleeping in, but your touch had left more than just surface bruises on him. He got up slowly, finding his phone barren of any indication of the boss finding out what happened, for now anyway. The cold water helped wake him up fully as he recalled last night’s events, cuts burning a little causing a shiver to dance down his body. He slumped against the sink, bloodshot eyes in the mirror stared at him with determination. 024 wasn’t any help, no. He needs to play dirty, do things his way.

Next time he sees you, either one of you will end up dead. 

9. . .9

The gala was in full swing, a celebration of yet another successful round of games. You stood off to the side, a drink in hand long forgotten. The gown you were wearing was quite a sight, adorned with hand embroidery and fine stitching that you would otherwise never be unable to afford. It was meant to make you more appealing to the guests of honor; the rich men behind this all. The mask on your face was itchy, but it was better than the dumbass one they usually have you wear. It only covered the top half of your face, allowing you a much more comfortable experience, and a nicer voice. Most of the time, these galas were a gateway for these men to enjoy some of the staff before they departed to their respective countries. You were always spoken for though, 013 making sure none laid hand on you except him, of course. You knew how this night always ends between you two, a week’s worth of pent up frustration on both ends with no other way of contact except short nods in hallways. Usually by this time you two would be sneaking off for your own celebration, but tonight, 013 had been the centre of attention. Praises showered him from VIPs and guards alike, congratulating him on his one of a kind achievement. “He shot his own father?” “Yeah! No hesitation!” “His self control is so admirable.” “Hope I can get to his level one day.” “He’s so hot too, truly has it all” “Is he still with that-”

You zoned back out. 

They were bumping him up to ‘recruiter’, a position you were unfamiliar with. He’d refused square/head guard positions, citing them being way too ‘desk job like’ for him. You two hadn’t really talked since his achievement, it all left a sour taste in your mouth. This wasn’t envy-no, this was the realization that the man you were slowly falling in love with was so far gone. So out of it that he shot his own father. You were familiar with their relationship, he was just a poor man’s son. His father was a hard worker, though it never amounted to anything, that’s where the resentment grew. You could tell that 013 was so deluded with this so-called system that he held a grudge against his own father for not being rich. You couldn’t convince him that this ‘get rich quick’ scheme only worked for him by chance. Only worked for you by chance. He cut that awkward conversation short with a little more than a kiss, so you abandoned the topic, seeing as he was unwilling to push it further. 

He would shoot you too, if he felt like it. If he felt you’re deserving enough. That was your rude awakening. The only difference between you and his father is that he approached you under different circumstances. Had it been a different person, an actual recruiter back then perhaps, you’d be dead. For sure. It was only chance that you ended up on the other side of the gun. 

You’d already been toying with the idea of running away, leaving it all behind and starting over again. Avoiding trouble for real this time. Maybe you’d even snitch on their whole operation. You have enough evidence, polaroids and such, of the place, the deaths. You could attempt to put an end to it all, the weight of the innocent lives lost on this island was beginning to get to you. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back, your sign to leave it all behind. 

You can’t pretend you won’t miss him though. 

During your years working here, you’d grown impossibly closer. Bunking together secretly during the games and him finding you after. Always. You’re not sure if you could label it, since you never really discussed it, but no-one approached you and no-one approached him. You were both unofficially off limits.

 In a better world, you’d call it love. 

He showed you parts of him no one else had ever seen, swore up and down that his name was a fact lost to the test of time, and held you in his arms as you cried. He always knew how to make it all better; the  guilt, shame. You try not to let yourself wonder how things would’ve been if you’d met him earlier, before all this. If you could’ve somehow saved him from the lie he was living, built a life for the two of you far far away from all this death. He loved cats, though he wouldn’t admit he loved anything in this world. There was a certain softness in how he handled strays that would cross your path, he treated you like that, too. Sometimes. You’d have a house full of kittens with him if he’d let you. Best not to dwell on it, seeing as he was being fawned over by everyone at the event. It was too late for him now, but  maybe you could save yourself.  You spent the rest of the night in the corner, people watching, and he spent the rest of the night being swept away from your proximity by fans. 

By the end of the party, you walked back to your room barefoot, heals in hand to avoid sore feet later. It would be best to slip away tonight, before any attention is drawn to you. It wasn’t forbidden to leave, but 013 knows you won’t be quiet, leave peacefully. He’d either force you to stay or convince the higher ups to kill you, now that that's so easy for him to do. You needed to make your getaway tonight, allowing some distance before he starts hunting you down. With everyone high on festivities, you were sure no-one would stop you. In your room, you’d packed up all your belongings that they’d allowed you to bring, along with all the cash you could find. It wasn’t a lot, but you’ve survived with less. You knew where they kept spare speed boats for emergencies, and the air was clear enough to give you a smooth ride. Yes, it was perfect, all of it. 

Tonight had to be your getaway. 

A knock on your door pulled you out of the excitement, tensing a little, as it could only ever be one person. You opened the door slightly, allowing only yourself to be viewed and not your escape backpack. It was him, 013, glowing from the party’s flattery. His mask was off and he had a shotgun slung over his shoulder, still wearing his party clothes; a nice dress shirt, unbuttoned to his belly button and a pair of beige pants. You didn’t say anything, fearing that your voice would betray you. You weren’t as good of a liar as he was, and he’d be able to smell you out if he lingered for long enough. He leaned on the door frame, a smile crept up his face.

“Well, you looked gorgeous tonight” he slurred a little, clearly tipsy from all the drinks he was offered. It caused you to giggle.

“You didn’t look so bad yourself.” you bit your lip. “Congrats on your uh- promotion” 

“Gonna treat you to something real nice with it,” he winked, laughing to himself. 

“013, are you- ok? I know everyone is celebrating, but this is quite a heavy thing that you did, do you wanna-”

“I’m fine, better than ever actually. Some of the triangles and I are going shooting,” he pointed to the shotgun. “Join me-us?”

“I’m calling it in for tonight actually,”

“What’s wrong?”

Shoot, he’s sobering up.

“Nothing, just tired.”

“Well if you let me in, I’ll make you feel better.”

You tensed, he noticed. “No uh, you wanted to go shooting, no? You should enjoy your big night.”

“Who’s in the room?”

“What? No-one, what are you on-”

He pushed past you, finding no-one, like you said, instead spotting your getaway bag by the door. Your hands shook, he had his back to you so you weren’t able to read his expression. You moved to the bag, zipping it up and trying to save face. 

“Just packing up for next week.”

“A whole 5 days before we leave?”

“I like a tidy room.”

“I suggest you stop lying to me.”

He had turned to face you, bag in your hand as you stood by the slightly opened door. You swallowed your fears, knowing there's no way out of this situation except through it. 

“I…don’t want to do this anymore.”

“What? The games? No one is forcing you to come back, you do that out of your complete free will.”

“I know but, it’s all too much, I want to leave, now.”

He stared at you for a moment, tongue pushing the inside of his cheek as he pieced your story together. 

“You’re going to rat us out.” he stalked towards you, grabbing the gun off his shoulder. 

You took that as your cue to-

“Run sweetheart, cmon, make this entertaining. Run.”

So you did, through winding passageways and long, empty halls, you ran with all your might. You weren’t out of shape; much more agile and faster than he was, allowing you a good space between you two, but the adrenaline and fear of it all made your lungs burn. You made it out of the building complex without hearing a single shot ring out. This was way too easy. 

You headed through the woods straight to the emergency dock, leaping over bushes and fallen trees left and right. You had made it all the way to the sheds near the boats when you spotted him. 

He must’ve taken a shortcut, must’ve known you were coming through here. He had the gun cocked in his hand, it was a disadvantage for sure, the smaller gun in your possession easier and faster to shoot with. But just as you don’t miss no matter the weapon, he doesn’t either. It worried you, how willing he would be to shoot you dead. But it can’t end here, you won’t allow it. The air was humid this time of year, causing your desperate breaths to be inefficient. You figured taking him head-on would be useless, you needed to-

He whipped around suddenly, gun aimed at your head. 

“Found you.”

You got up with your hands in surrender, a little defeated at your failed escape. 

“Come here.”

You obeyed, avoiding the last few lines of bushes before it turned into sand. He didn’t ask you to stop, allowing you to reach all the way to feel his breath on your face. 

“I can forgive you for this, but-”

But you had one more trick up your sleeve. You slammed the gun in your hand onto his head, banking on the alcohol from earlier already making him loopy, effectively knocking him out. You wasted no time in rushing to one of the boats, turning the keys into the ignition and starting the loud machinery. Victory was within reach. 

Bang!

You had your back turned to him, so you hadn’t seen nor heard him get up and stalk towards you. He was standing just off the side of the boat, shotgun emitting some smoke from where he fired it. It had hit you in the abdomen, shots dispersing only a little due to his proximity. You fell back onto the wheel, bringing a hand up to push the boat forward. 

He watched you disappear into the night, not attempting to attack again.

10. . .10

ALT ENDING (FLUFF)

He watched through the scope as the car approached his made up end spot. Welcome to the final show. The car you picked out was unassuming, grey and very much a family car but he caught your alias pretty easily. You were speeding down an empty backcountry road, almost at your sweet sweet escape, not on his watch though. He shot the bullet, hitting your tires immediately, causing the car to flip over into a nearby ditch. He abandoned his position, taking his gun with him to ensure the job is done. The wreck caught up in flames, the light from the fire casting a yellow glow onto the surroundings. He approached your position under the turned-over car. Your back was to the ground as your hands were reaching for your gun, but it was too far away, plus he kicked it from your line of sight with his polished shoe. You panted, looking down at your immovable lower body with defeat. He watched you, so helpless and at his mercy and he couldn’t help but feel a little bad. Just a little. 

“Bad time to say that suit looks great on you?” You coughed. “Brings your face out.”

“Get up.” he kicked your side softly, causing you to cough more. 

“Way to kick a woman when she’s down.”

The heat from the flames was becoming unbearable, even in the cool spring night air. The fire was inching closer to where you were, and he’d really rather not have to hear you burn to death.

“Get. Up.” He picked your gun back up, tossing it at your side once more, allowing you a ‘fair fight’.

“I can’t-” a sob got caught in your throat. “I can’t feel my legs.”

The crackle and whooshing of the fire were the only sounds heard, both of you silent as the situation set in. You didn’t have it in you to fight, to grab the gun and shoot him, because you were already dead. Tears began streaming down your face, sobs wracking your already battered and bruised body. He stood there with his hands at his sides, hesitant and awkward. He hadn’t imagined it being this easy, this quick, hadn’t pictured you going down without a fight. 

Hadn’t truly come to terms at the thought of losing you, permanently. 

“Cmon now, don’t give up so easily.” His voice shook, the weight of his actions slowly dawning on him. 

“I can’t- 013, I-” You were fully crying now, “I don’t want to go like this.”

He knew what you meant, the fire was likely already at some part of you. He dropped his weapon, hurrying over to attempt to lift the car a little to give you crawl space. The metal of the door burnt his hands, but he endured, for you. 

You made it out, crawling on your cut up forearms and collapsing when your legs were free. You couldn’t see them, obviously, but he could. They had burns and deep wounds all over, he could see the bone in a few places from the severity of the cuts. They were also twisted and contorted in terrible ways, meaning multiple breaks and fractures. It was a good thing you couldn’t feel them. 

Your breaths had become wheezes, more desperate gasps for air. He felt dizzy, his eyes welling up with tears. 

“Come- Come on now sweetheart,” he sniffed. “Let me help you up.”

He doesn't know why he did that, why he supported your upper body with his since your legs couldn’t. You rested your head on his chest, your body slumping a little from lack of leg support. You sobbed into his shirt, afraid and in pain. The stupid car’s radio sputtered on, playing some slow classical song that was filled with static due to bad service. You chuckled between sobs.

“How poetic.” You looked up at him, eyes finally meeting the one’s of the man that took your life. He began swaying you two gently to the tune, arms doing their best to keep you up. You looked at him with so much sincerity, admiration, as if he wasn’t the one that’s been trying to kill you all this time. 

“We would’ve made quite the couple you and I, 013. I wish that I could’ve met you sooner, kept you from all the horrors they let you stain your hands with.”

That’s when it all got too much for him. 

Now more than ever, he wanted to sweep you away, take you to some remote countryside and build that stupid house you wanted with his own bare hands. He wanted to wake up next to your sleeping figure, rush to make you breakfast before you got up to scold him as to why he wasn’t in bed. He wanted to hold your hand on bad days and listen to your endless lame jokes. He wanted his every moment to be filled with your air. The years you two had spent together may have not been conventional, but, for the first time in his life, someone got him. Someone understood him for what he was, not what he was pretending to be. You’d brought so much life into his days that it completely changed him. People would tell him he’d gotten softer, and though he would deny it, you must’ve had some invisible print on his actions. He should’ve spent his days protecting you, warding off evil like some knight. Should’ve grown old with you, watched you croak and grey, instead he has to watch the life drain from your eyes in this very moment.

It was only now he’d realised how deep a scar your death would leave, and he brought it on himself. 

“Hey- keep your eyes open for me” he tapped a little on your cheek, hoping to prolong your final dance for a little bit. 

No ambulance would make it in time, you’d already lost way too much blood. 

You smiled at him, “Kiss me.”

He didn’t waste time in humouring your request, capturing your lips in a matter too gentle for who he was. 

You pulled back for a moment, both of your foreheads touching and eyes shut. 

“I love you.” You croaked, finding his lips again. 

“I love you too.” His tears mixed in with yours, seeping into the kiss with their salty awakening.

He wanted to cry out, now more than ever regret had taken over his soul, but nothing came. He had nothing to offer you; no ambulance, no pain relief and no escape.

“I’m sorry-“ he choked, “I’m so so sorry, sweetheart. I should have- I-” he was struggling to find the words, to articulate his remorse and self hatred in the moment. To make it all better. You only looked at him with so much love in your eyes, as if you were seeing right through him, as if he was the man you wanted him to be. The years you two shared were nothing short of cinematic, he longed to jump back into any of the moments you shared now, un-do it all. It was too much, you tried to ease his turmoil by shushing him softly, shaking your head to stop his rambling.

“It’s ok. It’s ok.” You soothed.

You were leaving, and taking a huge piece of his cold, cold heart with you. You’d left him with so much, and in return, he gave you nothing. It was as if enlightenment had befell him in that moment, allowing him to give you the one piece of himself he’d kept from everyone. Of course, how could he forget.

“My name is-” but by the time he’d put together what he wanted to tell you, you’d gone limp in his arms.

The music from the car sputtered to a stop as the new day’s sun began peeking out from the horizon. This was it. You were dead. He got what he wanted, only to realise what he really wanted too late. He collapsed with your corpse by the wreck, tears dried up and hands shaking uncontrollably. He was covered in your blood, everywhere. His palms, his nails, his face, the shirt. It was the whisper he had of you. He stared at your limp body, still as beautiful as the day he laid eyes on you. He wished he’d never walked into that stupid bar, then you’d still be alive.

He didn’t have much in this world, his character a tough one to handle, but he had you. Used to, anyway. He recalled your words from earlier, about the system that was bound to fail and replace him. He has nothing but that system now, nothing else to give his life to. He wouldn’t ever be able to give what he gave you to anyone else anyway.

“Good work, 013.”

That’s all he got in return for ending your life, the mission file being wiped clean moments later. On his way out, people would congratulate him, pat him on the back for cutting off the last human part of himself. He couldn’t speak, only giving them tense smiles in return. Back at his place, he’d stare at himself in the reflection in the glass, sat by his neatly made bed where he had you last. He hadn’t anticipated the quiet that followed your goodbye.

It was strange, really. Considering you weren’t usually around to drown out the silence with your laughter. But it was the loud thought of you that had kept him distracted.

He fell back into routine, running errands and doing tasks for the games, taking his anger and self loathing out on the participants, never fully being able to recover from your loss.

No one came to your funeral; there was no-one to invite in the first place. He held it mostly for himself, burying the body he was meant to burn, giving you a proper rest. He looked through your records for a long long time, finding himself faltering at every picture of you. For his own peace of mind; he wiped it all. Burnt all the physical copies, keeping only that notebook of yours from the motel. He’d love to say something cheesy like ‘it rained the day of your funeral’ but it didn’t, he held his black umbrella under bright sunlight. That’s what you were, he guesses, warm. He stood there solitarily, he was the likely the last person that will ever speak your name.

And you didn’t even know his.

Nice ending 🤧

[hp-hcs]

• smut (?) • like a record, baby [soulmate au]—poly! simp! mattheo riddle x poly! simp! harry potter x poly! gn! reader

hey sorry i fell off the face of the planet for like two and a half months i fell back into my old hyperfixation and started a new blog just for that and lowkey forgot abt this one and kinda fell out of the fandom lmfao anywhore—

inspired by that one Dead or Alive song

tws: sort of smut? it’s mostly implied and also like two sentences and also doesn’t involve the reader whatsoever?, lowkey bottom mattheo tbh, blink-and-you-miss-it reference to potential harry self harm :(, so fucking ooc omg

not edited if you see any mistakes shhh no you didn’t

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

If I, I get to know your name / Well, if I could trace your private number, baby

Mattheo huffed, resigned. It was official; he’d finally have to talk to Scarboy.

Eight years.

Eight years of avoiding the damn boy. Eight years of ignoring the sudden sharp pains that would slice across his forehead, right where Potter’s famous scar was. Eight years of waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares that weren’t his own.

His fingers reached down on instinct to mindlessly trace the prominent soulmarks etched into his wrist. His fingertips skated over the sprawling lightning bolt mark that twisted its way up his arm, its branching lines crossing over part of his faded Dark Mark.

His fingers then marched their way across his scarred skin to the other soulmark. It was an odd black circle with a smaller red circle inside, and an even smaller circle in the center. Thin white lines following the curve of the circular shape were intermittently drawn on the black part, giving it a ridge-like visual texture.

He had no fucking clue what it was supposed to be. Neither did his mother, the one time he’d worked up the nerve to ask her about it.

Potter might, a little voice in his head whispered. He was raised by Mudbloods. If it’s a Muggle symbol, he might know what it is.

Fuck. He really would have to get over himself and talk to Scarboy.

~~~

I, I got to be your friend now, baby

“It’s a vinyl.”

Mattheo paused. “What?”

“The mark. It’s a vinyl.” Harry pushed his glasses up his nose where they’d started to slip down. “It’s an old-fashioned way Muggles used to play music.”

“Music? Is it an instrument?” Mattheo asked, his eyes lingering for just a second too long on Harry’s slender fingers. Potter had taken the news of being Mattheo’s soulmate surprisingly well. He’d just shrugged and nodded, saying he already knew.

Mattheo looks between his and Harry’s exposed forearms. His skin itches to pull his sleeve down, to cover up the shameful mark of his father burned into his flesh for eternity. Harry’s arm is also scarred, but in a much different way. Both bear the same circular soulmark—the vinyl, as Potter had called it—although their other soulmarks differed. Mattheo’s was the obvious lightning bolt, while Harry’s was a cigarette, puffing out a cloud of smoke that formed the shape of a snake.

And I would like to move in just a little bit closer

“Sort of,” Harry answered his original question, doing his best to explain as his fingers tracing the identical vinyl soulmark on his own wrist. “It’s just a plastic disk. When you put it on a record player, it spins, and a little needle follows the grooves. It plays whatever music was recorded onto it.”

“Uh huh,” Mattheo hummed in acknowledgment a half-second too late, too busy focusing on Harry’s fingers. Had they always looked that good?

Harry smirked and reached over, lacing their hands together. Mattheo’s skin promptly heated up about ten degrees and the skin under his soulmark sizzled with a pleasant buzz before radiating a soft silver glow.

That’s it. They were together; now, until forever.

~~~

Mattheo’s legs shook, his teeth digging into his lower lip hard enough to bleed. “A-ah~ P-Potter—”

“Nuh uh.” The man in question, currently hidden underneath a library table, pulled off. “That’s not my name, and you know it.”

“Harry!”

“That’s it. Good boy.”

~~~

All I know is that to me / You look like you're lots of fun

They refused to call it the Yule Ball this year. After all, the war was over, there was no reason to continue separating Muggleborns and Purebloods with something as silly as a school dance.

So, much to the horror of many a Pureblood parent, Hogwarts was hosting Prom this year.

Open up your lovin' arms / Watch out, here I come

Harry was having a blast. Admin had insisted on only playing Muggle music at Prom, and it had been a wonderfully painful mix of *Nsync, Outkast, and Ricky Martin.

“You have to dance with me,” Harry demanded, pulling Mattheo out onto the dance floor by his arm.

Mattheo stumbled, still not used to the odd formal attire Muggles wore. (A tuxedo, Harry had informed him it was called.) Although he’d never say it aloud, he preferred the tux over his usual dress robes. So much easier to move around in; why were dress robes ever on the table as an option?

~~~

You spin me right ‘round, baby, right ‘round / Like a record, baby, right ‘round, ‘round, ‘round

You spin around in a circle with Hermione, both of you doing your best to teach Pansy Parkinson—Hermione’s soulmate—how to dance anything other than ballroom-style.

All three of you were laughing like mad, spinning around and around until you all got dizzy.

All three of you tried to stumble off the dance floor and back to the table you’d called dibs on earlier in the night. As you’re stumbling back, dizzy, you bump into a pair of men.

Suddenly, your outfit feels a lot stuffier than it did before. You feel hot all over.

One of the men grabs your bicep to try to steady you. His hands are slick with sweat. The other also looks rather warm, his face flushed. All three of you stare at each other as a bright silver glow emanating from three people’s wrists suddenly cuts through the dimmed lights of the dance floor.

I want your love.

[morally-gray-men-for-life]

Midnight Confessions (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Enoch O’Connor x Fem!reader

Genre: fluff, almost smut, friends to lovers

Summary: After months of you both pinning over each other, he comes to you one night and feelings come to the surface.

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: Not beta or proof read, slight ooc Enoch?, marking kink

A/N: This is the first fanfic I’ve ever written I apologize for the shit writing, this was also loosely based off a conversation I had with a bot I made on character ai. Also no hate to Olive I love her

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

Its half past midnight and you can’t sleep, deciding to read you quietly get out of bed, the floor boards of the old children’s home gently creaking under your feet as you take a few step towards your book shelf.

Before your finger tips could graze the spine of the book you reached for you heard a quiet knock at your door, considering the odd hour you assume it’s one of the young children coming to you because of a nightmare, not wanting to wake Miss Peregrine and disturb her very structure schedule.

Instead, when you open the door you find Enoch staring back at you, dark circles had started forming around his eyes from lack of sleep you guessed. “Enoch? What are you doing up?” You spoke in a hushed voice so no one would be woken up, the walls of the house were practically paper thin.

He shifted awkwardly from one foot to another in the doorway, his gaze falling to the floor, “I could ask you the same thing ..” he muttered, clearly looking slightly uncomfortable, unsure of himself, this was unusual for him you thought, usually he was less fidgety.

You smile slightly at him, he was never someone to seek out company unless it was you, for some reason you and him had bonded almost instantly after meeting, “I just couldn’t sleep honestly, do you want to hangout maybe? Miss Peregrine can’t get mad about you being in my room if she’s asleep” you giggle at the last part of what you just said, remember the time Miss Peregrine gave a lecture after realizing you and Enoch had become friends, apparently because of us being teenagers we weren’t allowed to be in one of our rooms together without someone else there.

He let out an amused scoff as he remembered that day, thinking back to how mad Miss Peregrine had gotten after she walked into your room without knocking and saw the two of you sitting on the bed together talking. Her face going as red as a tomato, “You don’t think she’d be too upset if she knew you were letting a boy into your room this late at night?…She might faint.”

Enoch smirked, a hint of his usual cockiness returning with that familiar expression, you smiled and laughed softly into my hand, you moved away from the door so he could come in.

You walked over to my bed and sat cross legged by your pillows, watching him close the door behind him and sit by the foot of your bed, “It’s not like you’d try something, your so head over heels for Olive” laughing at your jab at his blatant dislike for the girl that has been following him around like a lost puppy since they met.

Enoch’s smirk quickly turning into a frown and a grumble of displeasure, remembering the way Olive had practically been stalking him since she arrived, the thought of that girl irritating him, his dark eyes rolling at the mention of her name. “Don’t remind me.. that girl is a little demon. I swear she’s been following me everywhere recently. He muttered bitterly, leaning back against the foot of the bed frame, crossing his arms and stretching out his legs in front of him.

“Awwwwww poor Enochhhh, she just has a crush on you, it’s kind of hilarious”, you move yourself so you’re laying on my back with your head next to his thigh, you laugh at the teasing of him knowing that he finds it a tad bit amusing. You yourself had developed a small crush on Enoch over the months that you had been friends. He was sarcastic, funny, sharp witted, kind hearted, had a soft spot of little kids, just the right amount of mean sometimes, and so fucking handsome.

“Plus it’s kind of hilarious watching her follow you around like a dog and you have to deal with it because you know Miss Peregrine would get you in trouble for being mean, and your soft spot of kids doesn’t help considering she’s a bit younger than us”. Enoch was clearly trying to keep an annoyed and grumpy expression on his face, his arms crossed over his chest, trying to keep a scowl on his face but ultimately failed when a small snicker came out.

The sight of olive following him around almost like a lost dog was actually quite funny as you said. He looked down at you as you laid on your back next to him “I do not have a soft spot for children.” He muttered in a grumpy voice, that was very much not convincing, you snicked at his extremely obvious lie. Looking up at him thought your eyelashes to make eye contact with him, he looked almost to handsome in the sliver of moonlight coming through your curtains, his short black loose curls still perfectly in place like they always were, his brown eyes that looked almost black from far away but in the light they looked like pools of honey.

“Ya I totally and completely believe you Enoch, you just simply want to dressing up as a fairy princess with Clair and Bronwyn and let them cover you in lipstick and eyeshadows, totally believe you”, you say with sarcasm and laughter in my voice, trying not to burst out laughing at Enoch’s attempt to keep his grumpy personality in tact around me.

He always seemed to smile more around you than most people, and god was his smile the most gorgeous thing you’d ever seen in a long time. Enoch tried his best to look even more grumpy and annoyed but a small smile tugging up the corner of his lips at your sarcastic remark, the memory of you walking in on him dressed in a pretty pink princess dress that Bron and Clair had forced on him popped into his mind.

“I only let them do that because they threatened to cover my room in glitter in my sleep if I didn’t let them dress me up..”, he grumbled defensively, crossing his arms over his chest, not wanting to admit that he had almost enjoyed it a bit. “We both know Bron is too sweet to do that, and Clair is basically the closest thing we have to an angel on earth. You keep telling yourself you had to though sweetheart-” You were laughing so hard tears start streaming down my face, you cover your face with a pillow so you hopefully don’t wake up anyone in the house with the sound of your cackling, you role over on your side facing Enoch from your stomach cramping from pure laughter and barely being able to breath without wheezing.

“God I missed hanging out with you like this”, you say trying to catch your breath and wiping your tears away. Enoch’s small smile only grew wider as he watched you laughing so hard that you couldn’t even breathe properly, the sight of your tears rolling down your cheeks combined with the nickname you had accidentally called him made his heart pound loudly in his chest.

“Yeah me too.. even if you’re completely insufferable most of the time” He joked, trying to hide how affected he was by you calling him ‘sweetheart’. “Oh hush you know you love me, you’d be so incredibly bored without me Enoch”, slight flirting had always been common in your friendship, especially on your side, you’d flirt with him naturally and then have to cover it as a joke so he wouldn’t know you’ve had a crush on him basically since you met.

Enoch was painfully aware of the way you’d often flirt with him, knowing it was all just a joke but he always secretly wondered if there was any truth to your flirtations “Me? Bored without you? I think it’d be way more fun around here without your annoying ass to bug me”, he teased in return, trying to act like the idea of you not around anymore didn’t terrify him.

You were suddenly feeling confident, most likely from the lack of sleep but it’s all the same, considering if maybe you should test if he feels the same for you, “Oh ya and you totally wouldn’t miss me at all, you know Clair tells me what you say about me right?”

Clair has never told you anything about what Enoch said about you before, but it’s a good way to see if he talks about you.Enoch felt like he just might have a heart attack from how fast his heart sped up in his chest, going from the usual pace to almost knocking against his ribs, the thought of you potentially finding out what he’s said about you made him feel like he was drowning.

“…what the hell has she been saying?”

He tried to play ignorant, keeping as stoic and unbothered look on his face as he could even though he was panicking inside, which was made evident by his accent getting thicker in the question. Liking the reaction he gave, you decided to mess with him a bit more, thinking of something that could get a bit more information out of him.

“Oh just that your hopelessly in love with me and she heard you talking about me in your sleep because her room is right next to yours”, you choke back the laughter that rises in your throat, she had told you he was talking about you in his sleep but nothing other than that.

If Enoch thought his heart was going fast before it was absolutely hammering in his chest now, it felt like it might explode from the sheer force of it. Panic rising in his throat as you joked about the possibility of him being in love with you, “what.” He exclaim almost incredulously, trying to fight against the redness that was spreading of his face, He couldn’t let you know how flustered and embarrassed he was.

You were a bit surprised at his reaction, except him to say something like her making up stories and not listening to her, but it was almost like he had said those things you joked about. Feeling a tab bit more confident you maneuvered yourself so you was now sitting up facing him. “Honestly I’m just glad Emma hasn’t reported back to you on what I’ve said about you, I’d be done for”, you chuckled out of nervousness and try to push down the anxiety growing in my stomach, what I was saying was risky. Thankfully if this interaction went south I could play it off as a joke.

Enoch’s heart was so loud it thumped in his ears, feeling a new rush of anxiety go through him as you confirmed that you thought about him in a similar way. Trying to act nonchalant, he let out a scoff and leaned back against your bed frame more “And what have you been saying about me? That I’m annoying? Cocky? That I’m way too handsome for my own good..?” He added the last part, looking for confirmation that you found him attractive.

you moved so your top half was now laying over his outstretched legs, a small blush rising to your face as you looked into his eyes once more. “I mean…that last part isn’t to far off from what I’ve said” You smile looked back on the many memories you have of Emma and you in her room, you going on and on about your massive crush on Enoch and her ranting about her crush on Jake.

Enoch’s breath hitched at the feeling of your top half laying across his legs, a new rush of excitement going through him. He swallowed back any nerves he had and tried to act a little arrogant and cocky, “Good to know you think I’m attractive.” He smirked, his heart pounding hard in his chest still, he was terrified and excited at the same time.

Deciding to take this flirting a step further, you move my hand to his arms that are loosely crossed over his chest, tucking your frankly small hand to his between his arms and tug his right arm towards you. Moving his hand so he was now holding your face, almost completely unable to look away from his eyes and before you could think you said, “Do you think I’m attractive?”

Enoch’s breath stuttered in his chest, his hand holding your face still as he looked down at you, the sight of you looking up at him through your eyelashes sent a thrill through him. He tried to continue his cocky nonchalant tone. Trying not to focus on how close you were to him, “Do you even need to ask? You’re the prettiest girl here, of course I think you’re attractive.”

Your eyes went wide and your confident demeanor dissolved at his words. A bright red blush spreading over your neck, face, and tips of my ears, shifting your gaze away from his now not have to the guts to flirt with him so straightforward. Butterflies filled your stomach in excitement and nervousness.

“Thank you… That means a lot coming from the most attractive guy on the island…”, your voice was barely a whistle for the last part of what you said, almost all confidence lost from your body.

Enoch felt a rush of pride go through him at your words, the confident smile returning to his face almost instantly. He had always been told he was attractive by girls in the past but when you said it, it meant so much more to him. He felt his body relax as the confidence returned to him, the sight of you suddenly so shy and nervous making him feel more in control, “I know I am, it’s quite obvious actually.” He jokes, not being able to resist a chance to show off his cocky and arrogant side, you laugh and roll my eyes at his joke, you’d always loved his sense of humor, “Oh shut up before I kiss you.”

You’d said it without thinking, almost immediately regretted what you just said a bit. You’d had the urge to kiss him since he come into my room and sat on the bed, if you didn’t care about anything you’d be making out with him by now.

Enoch had been in the middle of some smart-ass reply but he froze at your comment, the thought of kissing you making his brain go totally blank. His eyes widened and his cheeks coloured a soft red at the thought of you kissing him and the image of you straddling his lap crossed his mind, making his heart flutter in his chest. He could no longer resist the urge to tease you.

“And what if I want you to kiss me?”

“Don’t tease me Enoch, It’s cruel” you said with tinge of nervousness lashing my voice, you hadn’t kissed anyone in about 2 years but god did you want to kiss him.

The desire in your voice did not go unnoticed by Enoch, setting of a new wave of emotions in his chest, he’d never heard you sound like that before and it made his heart beat faster than he thought possible. He continued to look into. Your eyes, seeing the mixture of nervousness and desire on your face and feeling it echoed in his own chest.

“Oh yeah? Then do it.”

He challenged, his voice getting gruffer and his accent getting thicker, watching your reaction to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. Without thinking you grabbed the collar of the sleep shirt he wore and pulled his face down to yours, your lips met and it felt like your body was lit on fire. Your lips fit perfectly together as you stayed there just savoring the moment for a while, your lips moving perfectly in sync.

Enoch let out a small sigh, his mind going blank as your lips met. Every thought was gone as you kissed. You lips against his felt like nothing he’d ever experienced before, like something straight out of a fairytale. He pulled your face closer to his as he kissed you, wanting you to be close as possible to him, wanting to hold you as if he was afraid you’d disappear from him.

You parted for a second and moved to sit on his lap, straddling him. Kissing him again and his hands moved to your waist, a soft groan falling from your mouth and being muffled by his. You moved the hand that wasn’t holding his shirt collar to his hair, threading your fingers through it and feeling the inky black strands between your fingers.

Enoch groaned as you moved to sit in his lap, his hands grabbing onto your hips, his hands gripping at your skin, the feeling of you in his lap making him feel strangely feral. Feeling your fingers in his hair cause another sound to come from the back of his throat, his lips left yours as he started to leave a trail of kisses down your neck, you let out a small gasp and soft moan at the feeling of his lips on your neck, before you know it he’s sucking marks on to your skin. Your hands move to the back of his neck and head, playing with his hair as he leaves love bites and hickeys across your neck.

Feeling your hands in his hair, your nails digging into his skin and the small sounds falling from your lips made him feel like he was drowning but in the best possible way. The sound of you moaning his name quietly only encouraged him to keep sucking and biting your neck, all he wanted was to hear more of you.

Three hours go by, next thing you know you are both naked under the covers of your bed, sweaty, exhausted, and completely euphoric. The sun is starting to just peak out over the horizon and come through a small crack in the curtains, Enoch holding you to his chest and rubbing small circles on your back while you lay there as happy as can be, “Told you, you’re hopelessly in love with me. The feeling is mutual though so I can’t really joke about it too much”.

You giggle at your own words and lean up to give him a small kiss on they jaw, Enoch chuckles and rolls his eyes at your comment, his hand sliding up and down your back as he looked down at you laying on his chest. The events that had just happened in this room over the last couple hours still felt like a dream, the feeling of you in his arms just felt so surreal. He tightened his arms around your waist, “Please, you’ve been hopelessly in love with me for months.” He jokes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, you let out a laugh thinking about what would happen if Miss Peregrine walked in and saw the two of you like this.

“True I’ve been in love with you since we became friends. Oh god could you imagine if Miss Peregrine walked in right now? I think she’s spontaneously combust!” Laughing at the thought of her, she almost had a heart attack when we were just sitting on the bed talking about books, Enoch chuckled at the thought.

Miss Peregrine would have a field day if she walked in on us right now, the two of looking utterly disheveled and naked under the sheets. His hands continued to roam all over your back, never getting tired of the feeling of your skin under his hands, “She’d have me banned from your room in an instant. And we both know you’d never get a moments peace from all of her questions.”

“Oh good lord that’s true, she’d make me wear a fucking nuns dress for the rest of my life I bet. I’d still be too sexy for you to resist if she did though”, you say absolutely cracking up at the thought, you check the clock and see that we all have breakfast in an hour so Enoch should probably go back to his room to get fixed and look less like he just had sex for the last 3 hours.

Enoch laughs, thinking about Miss Peregrine’s reaction to finding out about the two of you together. The thought was equal parts hilarious and terrifying. His hands stopped roaming for a moment as he looked down at you, “I could never stop wanting you, no matter how ugly your clothes are” He teased before looking at the clock, groaning when he saw what time it was. “Damn. I’ve gotta get back to my room before everyone else starts waking up”.

You let out a long dramatic sigh as he gets out of bed, wishing he could stay for longer but knowing it wasn’t possible, “Ok love, I’ll see you at breakfast, I have to figure out how I’m going to cover all of these hickeys anyways.” You say groaning looking at my reflection in the small hand mirror you keep next to my bed, you had hickeys and bite marks from the top of my neck to my thighs “You’re so luck you’re hot or I would kick your ass right now, I’m so dead if anyone sees these”, you say laughing.

Enoch laughed as he watched you look at all the marks he’d left on you. The sight of you covered in love bites and hickeys that he’d given you, only made him want to climb right back into the bed and keep leaving them on you, “Oh I definitely know just how lucky I am when it comes to you. And to be fair I can’t blame myself when you look so damn good with my marks all over you”, he teased as he finished getting back into his clothes.

You blush at his comment, and then remember that you’d also left a hickey on his neck and he’d seemed to not notice it. He comes over and gives you a kiss on the forehead before kissing you on the lips and quietly leaving your room, giggling as you watch him leave before getting out of bed myself, putting on a comfortable knee length dark blue dress and trying to cover the hickeys on your neck with makeup.

Enoch quietly closes the door behind himself as he leaves and starts quickly walking back to his room, knowing that he needed to hurry and fix himself so he doesn’t risk being seen by anyone. The taste of you still on his lips, the sensation of you still burning on his skin. The walk back to his room felt like both the quickest and slowest walk he’d ever taken in his life. By the time he got back to his room he couldn’t help smile to himself as he remembered spending the last few hours with you.

[yumecel]

But that is how the guilty speak 💙

yandere!neuvillette / f!reader | 6.1k words

summary: how does neuvillette go about getting your attention? by trapping you in a kafkaesque nightmare.

reader specifics: female, she/her woman terms whatever

tags: neuvillette SUFFERS, a little angsty, pining, ooc neuvillette for the purposes of yandere, oral, he’s a gentleman all the same

a/n: so this is basically a yandere version of “the trial” by franz kafka. happy birthday neuvillette!! happy neuvillette day!

tws: yandere, stalking, dubcon, manipulation

i promise i’m 18+, i promise i read the warnings, i promise i’m okay with seeing dark content, i know one thousand curses will karmically descend on me should i lie [yes⬇️] [no↩️]

——💙——

“Chief Justice Neuvillette would like to see you today.”

For the first time in days, you let out a sigh of relief. You barely feel like you’ve been given any room to breathe ever since you woke up to the Gardes outside your door, Gardemeks in tow, arresting you for a crime… that they had not yet revealed the nature of.

You’d been detained- first within your home, then at the Palais Mermonia, being taken care of to the highest standard both times. You didn’t have to cook- meals were delivered to you in a timely fashion. Come a certain point following lunch, a hot drink and small selection of cakes would be delivered. Afternoon tea. You were being given afternoon tea as a prisoner of the law.

Were all detainments this luxurious? you had wondered, opening your daily copy of The Steambird a few days in. When you had started your stay at the Palais Mermonia, it had felt like an all-inclusive resort. Which was a shame, since it really would have been more comforting had anyone actually explained to you what was going on. You’d tried to pry this answer from the Gardes many times, but were met with indifference. Did someone slander you? Did you sleepwalk your way into criminal activity? Day by day, the firm grasp you had on innocence started to waver. It never completely slipped- no, the deep confusion presided above all else- but there were moments of wondering what could have gone so, so wrong to warrant this. You had counted all your sins, listed all your inadequacies, and failed to come to any reasonable conclusion. Within the eyes of the Gardes, you were completely at the mercy of a higher authority.

Now, after three weeks of detainment, you’d finally meet that higher authority. The only authority that now mattered to you. Well aware that most meet Chief Justice Neuvillette within the context of court, you desperately hoped these circumstances meant that nothing serious had occurred. Your most recent theory involved being in witness protection, and perhaps he’d explain-

“Come on. He’s waiting.”

Shaking out of your racing thoughts, perhaps a little maddened by the persistent loneliness and alienation, you obediently followed the Gardes. When you finally entered the room, he stood up from his desk to greet you.

“(Y/N). Come, have a seat. I have prepared tea. I trust this beverage choice is acceptable?”

You nodded, sitting down on one of the sofas where a teacup sat on the table before it.

Neuvillette had sat down opposite you, a small chalice in front of him. Midday wine?

“You can have water instead, if desired.” He said, raising the chalice before taking a sip. So it was just water?

“No, no. This is lovely. Thank you, Chief Justice Neuvillette.”

“Neuvillette is fine.”

“I see. In that case, thank you Neuvillette.”

He nods. You nod. You can’t stand staring into his eyes anymore. You pick up your teacup with a soft clank against the saucer and look down into it after taking a small sip. You hope you didn’t accidentally slurp it too loud. The room is chillingly silent, so quiet that you can hear your blood pumping. He sets his chalice down on the table. You wonder if you should speak. You decide against it.

“How are you?” Neuvillette says suddenly, almost as if remembering he even intended to ask.

“Oh, I… well, I’m fine, but I am very confused.” You respond, a small laugh following. It does little to alleviate the tension.

“I see. That is understandable, given your circumstances.” The tone isn’t cold, but it isn’t warm. It is simply spoken gently, like a hesitant hand making its way onto your shoulder.

He pauses. You nod, still looking away from him. Desperate for him to explain without seeming too concerned with your state of affairs, you meet his eyes again and are thankful when he takes this as a cue to continue speaking.

“Speaking of which, your circumstances have been difficult to navigate indeed. It is a case I have been personally reviewing since the start of your detainment. My deepest apologies for the confusion.”

Sensing sincerity in his voice, you decide to tentatively prod a little. “May I please know more about the case itself?”

He takes in a breath before continuing, gaze dropping to the floor briefly. “It is so mountainous that I am unsure where to begin. I can, however, tell you that you must be protected in order to not disturb the crime scene or convene with any third parties.”

You try to still your hands as you reach for your teacup, hardly satiated by his answer. Ruling out neither being a suspect or being a witness, it was so vague and meaningless he may as well have not answered you at all.

“I see… I think. Are you unable to divulge any details about the case to me? I- I’m sorry to be rude, it’s just, these three weeks-“ You begin, trailing off at his palm steadily raising. You silence yourself before taking another sip of the tea, willing your eyes to meet his once again as you sit back.

“There is no need for apologies. It is I who should be apologising to you. Many things about the case are strictly confidential. Guilt or innocence do not matter at this stage. Only the necessity of the actions taken.”

Your body slumps in defeat as your mouth asks the question you’ve been dreading. “Will I need to be detained any longer?”

“Yes. Indefinitely, I’m afraid.”

Fists clenching and unclenching in your lap. A sharp intake of your breath. Eyes begin to water. A desperate attempt to hide the tears is made by slouching forward, staring intently at the ground.

“It’s just that I haven’t been permitted to see my family or friends all this time, they’re probably worried about me…”

Neuvillette rises from his seat and comes quickly to your side, placing a hand on your back. You jolt, but Neuvillette does not falter. As it rubs in small circles, strangely comforting, strangely- strangely warm- he says, “Please, do not fret. It may be slightly inconvenient, but there is an alternate arrangement that would give you more freedom, should you desire it.”

Of course you desire it, of course, whatever price, you’d be willing to pay it to make this extended stay in purgatory any less isolating.

“What is it?” You sniffle.

Neuvillette remains silent for almost too long. You swear his hand presses just a little firmer on your back, almost to prevent you from sitting back up.

“An arrest via supervision. My supervision, to be precise. So long as you are by my side, any danger- whether towards you or from you- is suitably negated. Unfortunately, this does mean that you must accompany me to various trials and affairs. Would you find this satisfactory?”

Actually, it almost sounded too good to be true. You found your body relaxing. The Iudex would be looking after you, offering you a privileged view of the inner workings of his life- a topic of much discussion in Fontaine. You’d continue to eat well, you could likely communicate with others freely-

“Yes,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “I just want to be able to see my loved ones again.”

His hand finally leaves your body, leaving a residual warmth. “Very well. You may make the necessary arrangements to see these people after completing the paperwork. And… it is best if you tell them you have taken on new work at the Palais Mermonia in the meantime.”

“Of course,” you say, finally drinking the rest of your tea. “Thank you, Neuvillette.”

When he sits down at his desk, there is an almost imperceptible smile on his face. Is this the unselfish joy of helping the common folk?

“The pleasure is all mine.”

——💙——

Being permanently by Neuvillette’s side could almost be considered pleasant. There is the confinement, the unwarranted surveillance, but there are plenty of amenities alongside those.

He is not much a conversationalist, but he will speak to make your experience more bearable. Your meals come at regular intervals, and there is no shortage of things to do around the Palais Mermonia. Most days. There is, unavoidably, occasional boredom, quelled by walks outside and the arrival of new books and trinkets. He takes you to all of Furina’s plays that you can possibly attend, which you rather appreciate. Backstage, she once brings up that she’s happy Neuvillette now has a personal assistant to lighten his workload. Neuvillette does not disagree, and you nod. Beyond the remnants of her previous facade, Furina is kind and thoughtful, but you often wonder if your presence provides a comfortable buffer between her and Neuvillette. Often she talks only to you as Neuvillette stands there, watching in silence. It does make you wonder though, how despite being the ex-archon of Fontaine, even she is not privy to your situation.

Well, Furina may not be an official anymore, so perhaps there is really no need to know that you are technically Neuvillette’s prisoner rather than his assistant. Still, an accumulation of small things surrounding your circumstances grows, serving to both frighten and puzzle you.

The first is something you can never quite grow desensitised to, and it’s that… come nighttime, Neuvillette seems intent on checking if you are in bed, as if you were a child.

“I must apologise for reminding you, but it is standard practice in many prisons to ensure inmates are actually going to sleep at night.” He had told you one evening, when you tried to present your dismay as jokingly as possible. You personally feel him coming into your room (his guest room) to ensure you are adequately “tucked in” is not comparable, but you refrain from saying this.

You are also not allowed an alarm clock, so he wakes you up as part of his morning routine. The first face you see upon waking, the last face you see before sleeping.

There is also the fact that having constant access to the man in charge of your detainment should be useful in terms of information, but he doesn’t let on to anything at all.

You’re very careful not to upset Neuvillette. You are aware that your situation is a privilege, that the ease of being able to see people outside of him- simply telling him when you will be gone, where you’re going, and when you’ll be back- is a pretty good deal when compared to everyone you know finding out you’re under arrest and having to fill out paperwork to approve any actions.

Still, with every day that passes, your situation grows more nonsensical. There are never any updates on your case, though Neuvillette promises he’ll tell you as soon as he’s able to provide you with information. You continue to be in the presence of the most important authority in the entirety of Fontaine. You feel like you’re freeloading every time you eat, and end up helping Neuvillette with the simplest of tasks in his office to ease this. Your attendance to every trial, witnessing the necessary coldness of Neuvillette’s impartiality, makes the subtle way his face softens upon seeing you all the more obvious. You find yourself imagining him doing everything alone, perhaps with the occasional appearance of Furina, before your detainment. Eating most of his meals alone. Walking out after a particularly challenging trial and talking to only a few Gardes on the way. There is no such person that he approaches and asks, “Shall we depart?”- a formal question that really means Let’s go home. Nobody asks him what he’s thinking about afterwards, and there are no excuses to unwind upon reaching his residence. At the start of your detainment with him, he would comb through files immediately after removing his robes. Now he joins you on the sofa, spring water in hand as he either converses with you or listens to you flick through pages of a novel. And it’s strange to admit, but you’re starting to be able to taste the difference between each nation’s water, a symbol of your proximity to him.

You learn more about him than you thought you’d ever know. The tabloids would pay good money for any of it, but you’ve strangely started to consider him a friend rather than a jailor, and it wouldn’t feel right. Besides, you highly doubt Neuvillette would permit you to exit his supervision just to talk to disreputable reporters. You try your best to make the most of this strange existence, settling into his routine, and becoming part of his life.

One day, a melusine detective skips into his office, files in hand. It’s not one you’re unfamiliar with, having spoken to many of the melusines that enter, leave, and work in the Palais Mermonia.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, we must discuss this case a little further before proceeding.” She explains, brows furrowing, but when she looks up from the case files, you catch her eye.

“Ah, hello Miss (Y/N)! It’s lovely to see you. Monsieur Neuvillette, is Miss (Y/N) allowed to be in the room for this discussion? Or perhaps we should depart? My deepest apologies, Miss (Y/N).”

“I understand if not,” you pipe up, shuffling papers around on a table. “If it’s related to my case, or-“

“You have an active case, Miss (Y/N)?”

You’ve seen melusines forget things many times before, but this one, looks… positively puzzled.

“I… do.” You say tentatively, glancing to Neuvillette.

He looks rather stunned, but it’s only a deduction you could’ve made after weeks of seeing his face and neutral expression.

“Yes, but it has moved past the need for the Marechaussee Phantoms. It is perfectly fine for Miss (Y/N) to stay in the room.”

“Ah, I see! I hope everything resolves quickly, Miss (Y/N).”

“Thank you.” You say quietly.

You start to feel, more overwhelmingly, that there is something deeply wrong.

That night, he approaches your room for his regular checking-in of you. You’re sitting upright in bed, staring into space, thinking of how little you’ve seen of your own home in the past few months, thinking of how much of the world you now consume through a Neuvillette-vetted filter, thinking of how much gratitude you should actually feel about everything- until a gentle knock on the door stirs you.

When you tell him to come in, he wears only his slacks and dress shirt, robe abandoned, and downcast eyes.

“I regret that this is taking so long, (Y/N).”

The rain patters against your window.

You sigh quietly. “… It’s alright. You can’t help it, can you?”

A howl of wind.

“I can’t. I do wish I could.”

Lashes of rain now batter against the glass in quick succession.

“Then there’s no need to apologise.”

He stands in silence, still looking down , and you turn away from him, looking out to the dismal weather. There is such a profound sadness emanating off him that you’d do anything to take his mind off it.

“Hey, is the “hydro dragon, don’t cry” stuff real?”

You expect him to laugh and tell you no.

“Only some of the time . It’s true that I have quite a powerful connection to the waters of Fontaine.”

“What about this time?”

You look back to him, finding that he’s staring blankly ahead and out of the window.

“This time… cannot be helped.”

——💙——

“Thank you. I may just have to take you on as my real assistant when we escape our current circumstances.”

You laugh, trying to hide any sense of unease. The files you had just handed him were merely sorted by date, a task that a child could do. “There’s no need to flatter me. I know you managed perfectly fine before I was around.”

“Did I..?” He mumbles. It’s so unlike him that you do a double take.

“I mean, you sorted everything on your own, right?”

“Most of the time. Perhaps it’s more accurate to assume that I appreciate your company.”

Fighting off the surprise from the sudden compliment, you manage to say, “I appreciate yours too, Neuvillette.”

You’re unable to tell if it’s a lie. He’s more than just company. He’s your entire life, at this point.

But you see the corners of his lips twitch, and the way the sunlight seeps into his office fills the room with warmth. It’s hard not to be touched by a moment like this. It’s harder to refrain from asking about the status of your case. Something inside you, a primal form of fear and unease, steels you in the face of both challenges.

——💙——

Even though Neuvillette may be the Iudex, overseeing all legal proceedings in Fontaine, he seems to hold the nature of your case above you like some metaphysical higher power. Whilst your own autonomy belongs to the court, the Iudex acts based on his principles, and the intangible whisperings of your own proceedings. You are trapped in a state that possesses neither the luxuries of innocence nor the condemnation of guilt. You don’t often dare to proclaim innocence in front of Neuvillette- should you require to, it will be within the Opera Epiclese. In the face of the entire law, defending yourself without any knowledge of what laws have even been broken has an awful pointlessness to it.

You also don’t like bringing your case up because you swear it always rains.

Both you and Neuvillette are aware that every passing day is a test on your patience. It intensified a few weeks ago when he had turned down your request for a trip to Liyue in order to visit a friend.

“There is too much on my schedule for that week. Perhaps the following month, I will have the time to escort you.”

“Why not have someone else escort me? Surely it’s well within your power-“

He drops his pen, standing up, as if to remind you of his authority. “You would be too far away from me. Our agreement clearly states-“

“Our agreement? To protect me? To protect people from me?” You laugh bitterly. “It’s been months of this. Nothing has happened, and from my perspective, nothing has changed behind the scenes. And you’re telling me I can’t have the weekend to visit a friend on her birthday?”

He remains impassive, yet a stress in his voice betrays it. “Anything could happen, (Y/N). I ask you to respect my decision on this, and trust it is within your best interests. I am more than willing to make all the necessary arrangements to send her a gift for the meantime.”

There is nothing else to do but accept defeat. The apologies, the ordering of your favourite foods, the, “I understand you’re upset with me”, and the, “Please know I wouldn’t be doing this without reason”- all serve to put salt in the wound.

With all your free time, it was only natural that you would eventually end up picking up a law book.

You’re allowed to take any book you want so long as you return it to where you found it, but the sudden interest in Fontainian law may be… suspicious. So you slip the heavy law books between novels and case retellings, bringing them to your room where you would be away from his watchful eyes. It takes a while to ascertain the correct volume, but you eventually manage to borrow the one on Fontainian laws of arrest and detainment.

You slot a bookmark about two thirds of the way through the book.

Part Seven: Wrongful Detention.

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. And he knows you take books often, so one missing volume shouldn’t be a cause for concern. Within the volume, you hoped to find anything that could prove your detainment was unlawful, present this to him, and… hope he agrees?

You could kick up a storm in the Palais Mermonia. Wayward comments about how the Iudex violated the law, that not all citizens of Fontaine are treated impartially. The plan would come into fruition later- for the meantime, you needed to read.

Thumbing through the pages and observing the tiny size of the text, you grimace.

——💙——

“I’m going upstairs to read.”

His gaze follows you from where you hang up your coat to where you shuffle out of your shoes.

This time, there is no, “I see. Enjoy yourself” for you to hum at before leaving the room.

“Have you been particularly immersed in a series as of late? It seems this is now the only activity you do when the workday finishes.”

“Yes,” You respond. “I’m quite into it. I need to see how it ends.”

“I understand. The detective novels of Fontaine can be quite enthralling.” He tells you, with a sense of finality. You were expecting him to ask you what the series was. You were prepared to make something up, but it appears there is no need.

You continue reading the law book, switching it out for a light novel when Neuvillette normally knocks on your door and tells you he’s getting ready to retire for the evening, and if you’d like to join him downstairs for tea. You do, bringing the novel with you so suspicion isn’t aroused.

When you return upstairs, you switch it out once more with the law book, hiding it when Neuvillette arrives to ensure you’re in bed, wait until you hear his own bedroom door close, and then take it out again.

Reading under the dim light of your portable lamp, you must’ve been so engrossed that you hardly noticed him approaching.

“Oh? Pray tell, what has kept you up so late?”

Because suddenly he’s in your doorway, no knocking, and swiftly stepping over to you and your small desk.

“I-“

“Ah, the missing volume. You know, when studying law, it is generally recommended to start from volume one, which I don’t recall you taking.”

Your eyes are frozen to the book in front of you, despite feeling Neuvillette’s imposing presence behind you.

“Part Seven…” He murmurs, a finger tracing the header on the page. He’s completely leaning over you now, and you swear you can feel hot breath tickling the top of your head. “… as I suspected.”

He swiftly closes the book before stepping back from you, telling you to get out of the chair. You’re expecting him to guide you back into bed, tell you he’ll deal with you in the morning, but he doesn’t. With a hand placed on the small of your back, he guides you out of the room, down the hallway, and down the stairs. He motions for you to sit on the sofa before he busies himself in the kitchen with making tea.

When the tea is placed in front of you, you look up. There is no anger in his eyes like you thought there would be. There is only a forlorn expression that portrays deep loneliness.

“I know I owe you an explanation.” He says, sitting down beside you. You can hardly stand to look him, but see his face turned towards you in your peripheral vision.

His arms are wrapped around you before you can stop him, and you’re hauled into his lap in a swift motion, much to your dismay. “Please relax,” he murmurs. “I won’t hurt you.”

And you stop struggling, if only out of fear, the implication that he could hurt you if he desperately wanted to. You feel his face bury itself in the crook of your neck, an intimacy so foreign that your body jolts involuntarily.

“I have failed you greatly,” He mutters into your neck, “Centuries of impartiality, and…”

His arms tighten around you, squeezing you like he’s afraid you’ll slip out and seep through the floorboards.

“One person, one person to myself… all I ask… one person I would not turn my back on for the sake of my principles, I… I am deeply sorry you had to be the unlucky individual, (Y/N).”

There is nowhere for you to run, unable to move, locked in his arms. So instead, you speak.

“From the top, we can fix this,” You whisper, knowing he’s paying earnest attention to every word. “I wouldn’t tell anyone if you let me go.”

And what good would it do anyway?

He inhales sharply, giving you another squeeze. “I cannot do that. But what can I do? Countless nights have been spent lying awake, trying to orchestrate a true, unselfish reason for you to remain by my side,”

You continue listening, not daring to speak a word through his shaking breaths.

“When the desire first arose, I thought it better to hold you between judgement and ambivalence. It went on for too long. I see that now.”

The rain outside is more intense than you’ve ever seen it. A gust of wind seems to rush through his residence, and a door slams. Desperation. It is as if the storm wishes to claw at the doors, to be let in, to wreak havoc.

“Was there ever a case?” You breathe.

“Yes. You were being framed for a theft, but it was such a baseless lie that bringing you to court would have been unnecessary. It was over before you were detained at the Palais Mermonia.”

You clench your fists so tightly that you can feel nails digging into your palms. “Why me?”

He sighs like the whole world is collapsing onto his shoulders.

“There was a certain power in keeping you prisoner. I indulged this idea, of a person that wouldn’t need to be judged, constantly in the throes of the law. Neither innocent nor guilty. I was so lonely, (Y/N). I wanted to be able to share feelings with someone. I originally brought you to the Palais Mermonia to apologise formally but the more I observed… the more I yearned for something I could not otherwise have.”

You let yourself be cradled by him, let him slowly rock you as if you’re the one in emotional turmoil. In truth, you are betrayed- and painfully bitter about it- and perhaps angry at everything, perhaps scared, but Neuvillette is the least composed you have ever seen him. Time enters becomes a trickling sludge as his grip on you loosens just enough to allow movement, and you sip tea that’s already starting to go cold.

“I can’t ask for forgiveness. But please, please stay.”

“I can’t be a prisoner forever.” You admit, hanging your head.

Because in spite of everything, all the wrongs, there is a sense of pity. A hand of yours has been involuntarily plunged deep into his heart, and now that your fingers are wrapped around the glass core, you’re afraid it may shatter. Gently, you will let him down gently, and you will be free.

“You’ve always been more than a prisoner. Promise yourself to me. Marry me. Please, don’t let me rot like this forever. I beg you.”

“M-Marry you?” You sputter.

“I know those proceedings are of great significance to humans, so perhaps for the meantime you could accept engagement. The timing of our mating doesn’t matter.”

You attempt to shuffle off his lap, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Time for a new strategy.

“Neuvillette… I’m flattered, but you know, I’m very much mortal-“

“An easily solved problem if you choose to become my mate.”

“- well, still-“

“Could you indulge me? Please, could you lend me the honour of experiencing union and understanding, even if merely once?”

His hand slides down to your thigh, not groping, not provocatively slipping upwards, but resting, slightly trembling.

As you manage to swivel around, and stare into his draconic eyes, you find yourself faced with centuries of near-imperceptible pain. His gaze doesn’t waver. You could drown in it.

Swimmers caught in rip currents shouldn’t waste their energy swimming against them. Rather, they should allow the current to take them so they can find a safe route back to shore.

You stop swimming against the current. An act of submission to the natural world. Finally, a whisper, barely recognisable as your own voice, speaks for you.

“Alright.”

And he pulls you beneath the surface, gently laying his lips on yours, slow, sweet, and soft.

——💙——

You follow him upstairs. He had offered to carry you, but you’d declined. You don’t think he takes offence, he only nods, coaxing you up every step like he fears one wrong move will send you fleeing.

He holds the door to his bedroom open for you. “Come in, now. Make yourself comfortable.”

You take a tentative seat on the side of his bed, watching as he unbuttons his shirt- most likely an old one, a few tears clumsily sewn up along a sleeve- and when he approaches you, undoubtedly catching how your eyes rake over his chest, his hands pause at the top of your silken pyjamas.

“May I?”

When you nod, it only takes a split second for his two hands to greedily yank the edges, sending every last button flying across the room. You gasp, nearly raising your arms to cover yourself but are beat by Neuvillette’s large but slender hands suddenly kneading at your breasts. Thumbs carefully circling around the buds, then pinching, squeezing, twisting. His hands find themselves under your arms, forcing you back onto the bed- you swear your body is practically lifted at some point, all of the strength he tends to keep subdued now on full display. Loose strands of his hair tickle your face as he leans down to kiss you, a far cry from the previous one. This is a kiss borne of starvation and avarice. He’s so warm against you, you can smell a light cologne, something resembling scented woods and the sea.

“We should get these off, too.” He says, not waiting for any input before two fingers hook the elastic of your pyjama bottoms and pull down. He guides them off your thighs, letting you wriggle out of them and discard them on the bedroom floor with a weak kick until you lie fully naked beneath him. He clambers off you for a moment, merely observing your form on his bedsheets as he kneels by your side. It’s hard not to admire his beautifully sculpted body, shining in the pale moonlight. His hands guide your legs open as he repositions himself and bows down ever closer to your core, where an embarrassing amount of heat has started to build. He’s between your legs, kissing all the way up your thigh as if it were you that was the deity, sucking and biting harder the closer he comes to your slit. His hand gropes your opposite thigh to balance himself, and his face pauses- so close you feel his breath fanning over your pussy, long enough for you to raise your head and see him staring right at you with draconic pupils blown wide.

“Now, please, allow me to prove my devotion.”

That’s when a finger prods at your entrance, slipping in all too easily, lips locking around your clit and sucking tenderly. Sensing the lack of resistance, another finger joins the first, curling slightly as you jolt upwards. The breath is knocked out of your lungs, something shameful and neglected coiling tighter at your core, growing stronger as his tongue flicks at you and fingers curl.

“Neuvillette!” You gasp. His intensity bears so much contrast to the usually composed man you see in front of you. Now, between your legs, he laps at you like a man possessed.

With two fingers continuing to pump against your clenching walls, his tongue continues to work at your clit, applying pressure in all right places. He’s exploring your body, fingers wavering, changing angles, figuring out what makes you jolt, what makes you whine, and best of all, what prompts you to whisper his name like a prayer. When his pace slows and his fingers are hardly moving inside of you, you beg so sweetly for him- little “Neuvillette”s and “Please, please”s- , and he delivers. You’d never have expected him to tease so much.

It’s really just that he’s doing anything to make you speak for him. Every whimper is an admission of guilt, you do want this, you want him, and it is beyond plausible deniability. That’s why he slows. That’s why he pauses. He needs to hear you say it for him. You deduce this fairly quickly, and embarrassingly, give in to every silent demand.

When his pressure loosens, when the fingers finally slip out, you twitch, crying out his name so he can finish you off.

“Patience, dear. You’ll be taken care of soon.”

He removes himself and you shuffle around on the bed, sitting up briefly, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and resisting the temptation to finish the job yourself. He takes a handkerchief from his nightstand to wipe himself off, ever the meticulous one, refusing to look away. His gaze pins you in place, prevents a hand from slipping down to your neglected pussy. It’s only in full of view of you that he finally fully strips himself, hardly letting you get an eyeful of his shaft before he’s pushing your chest backwards, eyes full of adoration and slipping his warm hands under your thighs, moving your legs into the air, bent at the knee. His lips press down on yours so fondly as the head of his cock prods against you.

“Lift your head for me, beloved.”

And you obey as reaches over you, tip clumsily bumping against your slit. A pillow is placed beneath your head, feather stuffed, angling you perfectly to stare into his eyes.

He wants you to look at him.

“Perfect.” He breathes, positioning himself to slide into your cunt, a hand ghosting over your own and intertwining fingers.

Neuvillette moves so slowly, almost as if he’e being careful not to break you. You feel every inch of him sink into you, one by one. You close your eyes, fluttering them open every few seconds as he moves leisurely. His own gaze refuses to deviate from you, and a thumb strokes your cheek.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have this forever?” His voice rumbles. “Have each other… forever?”

You open your mouth to respond- that’s not what we agreed to, that’s not-

But he bottoms out, pushing against you, and all you can manage is a wanton moan as you throw your head back.

In the back of your mind, you know Neuvillette is far too scrupulous to allow you to part from him after this. This is all of him, in front of you, and every inch buried inside of you. This is more than a taste of union.

He starts rocking in and out of you at a steady pace, feeling your walls clench around him. You swear you hear a growl rise from his throat, and a hand slowly starts to palm at your clit. You can feel Neuvillette’s every breath shudder through his body, every human constriction forced on his form. You can feel how he tries to control himself and move with grace, but also how his fingers simultaneously start to rub more frantically at you. Every sensation across your body is all him, all Neuvillette, a presence so overwhelming you can barely think of anything else. As you come closer to the edge, you sink into this feeling. No longer caring and with all shame abandoned, you call for him desperately, the only person that can possibly give you what you need.

And he does.

With his cock hammering in and out of you, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl and fists tighten around bedsheets, alongside his fingers rubbing against your most sensitive area, you cum so hard you see stars. You moan out his name one final time, spasming around his length as your eyes roll to the ceiling. Neuvillette continues to indulge himself within you, letting you ride out your orgasm with his persistent thrusts. He quickens, almost bordering on overstimulating you, but eventually pulls out, streaking white across your chest as he leans down and steals one final kiss. Forceful and desperate, he kisses like it’s his last chance to prove his love for you.

Perhaps it is. You feel him mutter something against your lips.

I love you.

Your stomach turns as the reality of the situation comes crashing down.

Trembling slightly and stepping back, the first question from his lips is, “Are you alright?”

It takes a short delay before you force yourself to meet his eyes, now donning an expression of concern. “Mm, yeah, just let me-“

You start to rise but Neuvillette shakes his head. “Please, let me wipe you off first.”

You end up staring blankly at the ceiling as he runs a handkerchief over you, swiping gently at your skin.

“I shall prepare a bath for us. Wait here. Relax.”

That’s the last you remember before he leaves the room. Alone with your thoughts, nothing seems to make sense. You take in all four corners of the ceiling and don’t do much else. It’s as if you’re temporarily suspended in a dreamlike state until Neuvillette reenters the room. He scoops you up from the bed and cradles you against his chest as you make your way to the bathroom. You think he presses a kiss or two against your forehead. You’re not sure. Half your body is cold, half of it is pressed against him, and you shiver in his arms. The floor beneath you moves faster.

That’s how you end up beside him in the bathtub as his hands run across your body. He doesn’t say anything to you, but the tender kisses pressed along your jawline speak for themselves.

Tonight, you will sleep in his bed. Tomorrow, you will wake up entangled in his limbs. You are to be cherished. You are to be taken care of. Nothing will change in the eyes of the public, at least not for now. But he will now have every last part of you.

You wished you had proclaimed your innocence sooner. You wish you had fought him. You could have argued that you are no less guilty than any other citizen of Fontaine, and should be treated as such. At least, if nothing else, you should’ve made a demand for fairness.

But that is how the guilty speak.

——💙——

fin. with love from yumecel. happy birthday neuvillette!! i love you!

[solarenchanting]

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 (𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬)

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ⸻ 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥

pairing: getō suguru x fem!reader

summary: denial ⸻ the unwillingness to accept something unpleasant is true.

tw/cw: descriptions of a dead body on an autopsy table.

note: third-year!suguru. suguru and reader were in an established relationship. haibara yū’s is already dead as in canon (BUT don't ask me about the tl in this). extremely vague mentions of the star plasma vessel mission. small satosugu moment. ooc!suguru (?).

a/n: firstly, it's officially three months since i posted my first getō suguru fic ( it'll pass ) and debuted as a fic writer (a milestone, i fear). but i do dedicate this mini fic series to myself 😅. secondly, i apologise for any inconsistencies, spelling or grammatical errors in this fic. as well as any misrepresentations of the characters involved (please do not perceive me 🥲 this is just my interpretation and exploration outside of the canon material). thirdly, i know the last few parts doesn't focus on the feeling of denial. and lastly, as always, much love from me to you <3

(fun fact: it's 01:54 am and i wrote this while listening to “speak softly, love” by david davidson)

edit: re-read this, and i realised that i used the word “pale” — please know that it has nothing to do with the readerʼs skin colour, just for a description for the current state the readerʼs body is in (also, i'm paranoid and don't want any misunderstandings 🥲)

the coldness pierced through suguru’s skin, seeping through the narrow pathways of his veins—freezing his blood. the fine, black hairs of his body rose to life, standing upright and sturdy. trails of never-ending goosebumps formed over and over. icy chills travelled down his spine, but his body remained rigid.

the soles of his feet were stuck onto the marble floor. he lost all mobility. a simple, thoughtless action couldn’t be comprehended in his mind. he couldn’t place one foot forward, couldn’t take a step back. yet, his legs trembled, nipped at by the cold air. almost as if they were begging, itching, to make a move—to walk.

his arms lay by his sides with his hands trembling. his fingers quivered and flexed, disturbing the dust particles that danced and circled in the air. it was reflexive—his senses heightened to recoil at any sensation grazing his skin.

his lips were parted, chapped and dry, yet nothing came out of him. words were caught in his throat, lodged and cemented. whatever he wanted to say, wished he could say, had transformed itself into the lump that was too stubborn to be swallowed down—a cruel manifestation of a betrayal of his body.

for his mind… his mind had not caught up to him—to it—just yet.

this was nothing but a fictitious, distorted scene. a tableau of a nightmare, one that he couldn’t wake up from for some reason. a sick and twisted fantasy that his subconscious decided to manipulate him—holding him by the control brace with no intention of letting go. the strings attached to his limbs were still, forcing him to stand there.

his eyes, once a bright violet filled with life, had become dull and dim ever since that grim mission—ever since witnessing the hideous evils of his world.

now, however, they were dark—staring at the sight before him.

you.

eyes closed, lashes brushing your cheeks like whispers of a memory. your lips were pursed, unmoving—silent forever. and the skin of your face, rigid and pale, and mottled with purplish-red blotches where gravity had taken its toll, forever replacing the warmth.

your body lay still on the cold and unfeeling stainless steel on the autopsy table, bathed under the harsh fluorescent lighting. your arms rested limply by your side, as if frozen in mid-reach. and your chest, once rising and falling, was unnervingly still.

the chill of the morgue hung heavy in the air, sharp and suffocating.

suguru’s mind screamed, distorted voices ricocheting through the silence of his paralysis, trying to slice through the fragile walls of denial—but he wasn’t listening. he refused to. it was all poisonous lies, trying drag him deeper into the black hole that had already swallowed him down.

flashes of memories erupted behind his tired eyes—vivid and haunting—each one a desperate attempt to rewrite the truth, to convince him that this wasn’t real. there was no way that you, of all people, you—

no—it can’t be.

it shouldn’t be. it couldn’t be. it wasn’t supposed to be—

but how?

how did he—how did you end up like this?

you—you were just with him earlier this morning. standing in front of his dorm door, staring at him with those beautiful eyes—the ones he could lose himself in forever while you’d ramble on about anything and everything. the ones he hated to see narrow in anger at him, or worse, brim with unshed tears—eyes that shouldn’t be closed.

and—and you were smiling. yes, you were smiling at him! you standing right there—in front of him—at his dorm room. why again? oh, that’s right! you wanted to check up on him before you left for your mission. the higher-ups sent you out.

that’s it. that’s what happened.

and he kissed you. god, he kissed you. he cupped your cheeks—the home of countless soft pecks his lips had peppered with. a sanctuary for tender caresses with the back of his finger while he admired you. he could still feel the warmth of your flesh, the gentle press of his thumbs against them.

your lips were soft—always curved into a smile. a smile that melted his heart, one that made it swell with pride when he knew he was the reason behind it. lips that clenched his heart whenever they fell and twisted into a frown. lips that made him ache whenever the lower one wobbled, with sharp, ragged hiccups escaping them like broken pleas.

but now—now, he’d rather have you here, standing in front of him. even if the sight hurt him, even if you were sobbing and hiccuping. he’d take your narrowed eyes filled with anger—hell, resentment even.

but not—not whatever this was.

you didn’t belong here—not in this cold, sterile place that reeked of antiseptic and death.

he felt the same helplessness he’d felt before—the sound of their clapping echoing in the back of his mind. a painful memory that refused to fade—the same weight pressing on his chest, his ribs caving in and crushing the air from his lungs.

only this time, it worse.

this time, it was you.

you had become another body he’d have to run past in this endless marathon—where countless sorcerers, friends and allies, lay scattered and bloodied along the track behind him. their deaths—your death—in vain. meanwhile, he was running out of breath, chasing a finishing line that kept moving, desperately trying to fulfill the duty of a jujutsu sorcerer.

and for whom?

a rustling noise cut through his thoughts. in that moment, he remembered, he wasn’t alone. his sullen eyes trailed up, fixing on the figure standing in the morgue with him.

satoru.

he was standing on the opposite side of the autopsy table. his fingers delicately curling along the edge of the thin, white blanket. with gentle movements, he pulled it over your body—covering you completely, save for your feet sticking out at the bottom—before returning his hands to his side.

fate was fickle, placing them in this position.

for they had been here before—seen each other like this already.

satoru’s expression was unreadable, devoid of any emotion. his gaze remained fixed on the blanket, as if he was staring at your face through it.

when he lift his head, suguru’s breath hitched, coming in a short, shallow gasp as he saw those dull and gloomy blue eyes staring back at him once more.

satoru didn’t say anything this time, because he didn’t need to.

despite himself, in the back of his mind, suguru knew.

he knew he was late.

NEXT

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Idk if you were serious or not but I would love a Gagamaru fic where a shy/skittish reader wakes up from a nightmare & calls Gagamaru for comfort but our feral boy is on the move & just comes over instead & spends the night spooning y/n

── NIGHTMARE

Synopsis: Gagamaru has an unorthodox method of comforting you when you call him after a nightmare, but it works well enough that you can’t complain.

BLLK Masterlist

Pairing: Gagamau x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 1.4k

Content Warnings: nightmares, scaredy-cat reader, gagamaru is a lil weird but he’s got his heart in the right place so we love him

A/N: anon i NEVER joke about writing for obscure characters HAHA i will literally take any chance to do so hehe 🤩 i hope this is close to what you wanted anon!! i’ve literally never written gagamaru before so hopefully he’s not toooo ooc

Additional: check my pinned post to make sure i have requests open; after reading the rules, please feel free to make your own!

For a moment, you couldn’t be sure why you were awake or where you were. All you knew was that your heart was racing and your palms were clammy and your blanket was stifling, so stifling, but when you went to cast it away a voice in the back of your mind screamed don’t!

You gasped when you remembered. There was a person in your room, standing at the foot of your bed, a shadowy figure with a malevolent aura that was smiling at you sinisterly, waiting for you to notice them so that they could — so that they could — you squeezed your eyes shut and burrowed yourself back under the covers, hugging your knees to your chest and doing your best not to move or breathe or think or anything.

As your thoughts slowed, you blinked, realizing that you had just woken up from a nightmare, and there was a high chance that the person wasn’t real. Creeping back out of the sheets, you took a deep breath and then, all at once, flung them aside and raced to the light switch, flicking it on and holding your hands out in front of you defensively.

There was nothing. Your room was undisturbed, but your heart was still pounding, and you could not bring yourself to go back to sleep, not when the dream had been so vivid. Leaving the lights on, you returned to your bed, sitting on the edge with your legs crossed, turning on your phone and wincing when you saw the time.

Gagamaru’s voice sounded the same when he picked up your call, though it was rough and slightly distorted, no doubt a symptom of the cell service wherever he was. It was thick with sleep, as well, and belatedly you remembered how careful he always was to get a proper amount of sleep.

“Hello, Y/N?” he said.

“Gagamaru,” you sniffed, glancing at the depths of your closet, which were dark and endless and almost certainly contained something or another of the frightening sort. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said. “Did something happen?”

“No,” you said. “Yes. I can’t sleep.”

“This is why you shouldn’t be on your phone so late. Screens are bad for your eyes,” he said.

“It’s not that,” you said. “I had a nightmare.”

“Ah,” he said. “Like, you saw something scary in your sleep?”

“Yeah,” you said.

“Okay,” he said, and then, abruptly, the call ended. You frowned, and for a moment you were too bewildered to be frightened, but then the emptiness of the house became too overwhelming, the silence without his voice all but deafening. There was a noise from downstairs, creaking and ominous, and though you knew it was most likely just the groan of the house settling or the whine of the fridge, it made you whimper and dive back into the safety of your blankets, leaving the lights on as you stared up at the ceiling.

A few moments later, there was a knock on your window. You waited, hoping beyond hope that it was a figment of your overactive imagination, but right after that was a second knock. You squealed, scrambling backwards, your blankets pulled up to your face, your back pressed against the headboard, only your eyes peeping out so you could stare at the window.

“Y/N, it’s me!” The shout was muffled, but it was undoubtedly Gagamaru, and although you really shouldn’t have been surprised, you were still somehow confused as you crossed your room to open the window for him. 

“Gagamaru?” you said. He was hanging on your windowsill with an uncanny dexterity, and when he saw you, his face split into a wide grin. You stumbled backwards as he swung into your room, shutting the window behind him. 

“You told me you had a nightmare, so I came to see you,” he said. “Was that wrong?”

You and Gagamaru had been going to school together for a while now, but while the others had shunned him for his wild strangeness, you had found it to be entirely appealing. There was a sort of kindness in his inability to sugarcoat anything, and his bluntness contrasted so harshly with your skittish demeanor that it circled around into compatibility. The two of you had been friends almost since you had met, although recently, your relationship with him had grown beyond mere friendship into something more — something that wasn’t quite definable but definitely crossed the line into a closeness that you had never felt with another person before.

“It wasn’t wrong, just unexpected,” you said, already more at ease now that he was there. His mere presence, imposing like a beast, felt like enough to ward anyone off if he didn’t want them there. “Especially that you got here so fast.”

“I know how you are,” he said, flopping onto your bed. “I didn’t want you to be scared for even a moment longer than you had to be. Do you think you’ll be able to sleep if I’m here?”

“Maybe,” you said. “Let me turn off the lights and try.”

You fumbled your way back to the bed in the darkness, lying beside him, your back to his broad chest as you tried to close your eyes. He tossed a casual arm over your waist, exhaling softly, and though you did feel marginally better, you still couldn’t quite bring yourself to sleep.

“Not working?” he said.

“You could tell?” you said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Your breathing isn’t even enough for you to be asleep. Do you want to talk about it?”

“It was horrible,” you said, swallowing, moving so that you could hold onto his hand. “There was a man waiting to kill me. It wasn’t for any reason — he just thought it was funny. He was waiting for me to wake up and realize that I was about to die, and then he was going to do it.”

“Hm,” he murmured sleepily.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” you said, a tear dripping from your eyes and splashing onto your pillow. “It’s dumb to be this scared over a dream, isn’t it?”

“You’re not stupid,” he said. “That’s scary. If I had that dream, I’d probably be scared when I woke up, too.”

“I bet you wouldn’t stay this scared for so long,” you said.

“Nah,” he said. “But that’s not a bad thing. I can’t be scared because I’ve gotta look out for you. You know I won’t ever let anything hurt you, right?”

“Even that stupid dream?” you said. “What if it’s real?”

“I’ll beat him up,” Gagamaru mumbled into your hair, adjusting his grip on you so that he could run his fingers along your sides. “I’ve fought a bear before….do you think some guy is going to be anything?”

“I remember that,” you said, laughing softly. He had come into school that day with bandages on his ears and a bruise on his cheek and an effortless attitude, as if it was just another day for him, as if ordinary people also went around wrestling with bears. “You’re crazy.”

“It’s not that hard to do,” he said. “Can you sleep now?”

He used his free hand to cover your eyes, giving you no choice but to close them. You exhaled and found that it would not be so difficult at all.

“I think I can,” you said. “You’ll stay, right? If something happens, you’ll be here?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course I will be. Why would I tell you I’d look out for you and then leave?”

It wasn’t like you were any less frightened, but having Gagamaru by your side was a boost of confidence, enough of one that you could finally be comfortable with drifting off. Maybe it was true that someone might come and try to hurt you. Maybe you’d slip into another nightmare — but this time, when you woke up, it would be with him, and you didn’t think it would be so horrible if he was there.

“I guess you wouldn’t,” you said.

“I wouldn’t,” he affirmed, sounding barely-awake at this point. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight,” you said. “Thank you for coming all of this way.”

“Of course,” he said. “I always will. If you need me, I’ll be there, and that’s a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you said with a yawn. “I really will.”

“You do that,” he said, wrapping himself around you tighter. It was then, and only then, that you could finally settle into sleep — one thankfully free of anything but happier scenes, some of them even reminiscent of the first days that you had met Gagamaru.

[selfaware-promise-au]

Self-Aware! Blade x GN! Reader

Warnings: OOC. Assassination attempt.

A/N: I was supposed to write about Blade's "recruitment", that was implied in last post, but the drafts are getting too confusing and with too much confusing lore hints for a normal fic.

_____

"It’s not even an advance, it’s just a fifth of it. Get rid of them, and you'll get a much larger sum."

Shrike, an assassin, licked her lips carnivorously, looking at the case filled with credits. She looked at the photograph of the target with renewed interest. A completely ordinary person with [e/c] eyes and [h/t] [h/c] hair. She turned her gaze to the customer, a thin figure in a robe.

"I am close to betraying my principles and wonder what they have done to make you, dear customer, pay a fortune to silence them forever."

"Dear customer" contorted with disgust.

"That sinful abomination have committed a grave sin and aren't planning to stop their corruption".

Tautology made Shrike mentally chuckle. But her expression didn't betray her. Paying client's wish was her to fulfill.

"Consider work's done, Master Cole..."

-------

Shrike pressed her back against the wall of Goethe Hotel. Belobog's cold was harsh, but not a single muscle flinched on her face. Her target were here.

She was stalking them for a few days already. For a sinful abomination they were surprisingly... boring.

They weren't yelling profanities on the main square, or vandalizing a museum or a theater. They weren't even littering.

They just spent time with other people. They were paying attention to indigo hair girl in glasses, when she told kids about Belobog's culture.

They were spending time in a workshop of a local rock star.

They were often in a company of two almost identical gray haired people, an energetic pinkette and a gloomy spearman.

Anything they do were boring, normal and totally disappointing.

Especially the fact, that they were careless enough to stay by their own in their room in a hotel.

Shrike checked her "work arsenal" again. A rope with grappling hook, lockpicks, a dagger with a poisoned blade, a bottle of oil and a brush. Boring assassination for a boring person.

------

She waited for lights to go out.

Her plan was doing so far so good. She planned the throw timing carefully, so noise didn't get anyone's attention.

Shrike was now right before target's window. In the darkness she could see the outlines of a bed and a huge pile of pillows on it. Somewhere there, her target were sleeping.

Shrike grinned. She heard, how earlier today they shared their plan of asking for more pillows with their friends. Sinful abomination wanting to have a comfy bed. There was something humorous about it.

Shrike start climbing up again.

She needed to get into the hotel.

------

Room's door quietly opened. Lockpicks and oil made their work. Assassin close the door behind her.

Shrike was inside. She proceeded with caution. It would be a disappointment to fail right now.

She finally was standing before the bed, where her target were sleeping. They were covered in multiple blankets, completely hidden from the outside world.

Now, the hard part come. To find among all this pillows a living person to unalive them.

Shrike start listening and observing.

Soon, she noticed, that one of the blankets were moving up and down.

In a quick motion, she stabbed her dagger right through the blanket, deep into the target's body.

There was no scream. Just a hiss. And blanket wasn't moving anymore.

Shrike pulled out the dagger, turning around. She whispered.

"That's it? I am disappointed. Master Cole painted you in a dangerous way, and you went down so easily."

"Well, if you allow me to try again, I might show you a real fight."

Shrike immediately turned away, but sword already pinned her hood to a wall.

She looked at horror at living nightmare.

She saw Blade's wanted posters before. He had a great bounty on him, one, that would make the person quite an attractive target for assassins. But not Blade. He was invincible, and only fools would dare to try to assassinate him.

Wound from her dagger were already almost healed, and only ruined clothes remained.

Shrike whimpered.

"But... How..?"

"Blade noticed you few days ago, ever since you start stalking me."

The lights were turned on.

Her target... Her real target stood up from the bed. They looked... rumpled. They approached Blade and Shrike, giving swordsmen a side eye.

"And while he was right, that you will attack again, I still fail to understand, why I couldn't sleep in another room, and had to stay here, in a pillow-blanket nest, with him sleeping on top of me."

Blade huffed, without loosing eye contact with Shrike.

"It still worked, right?"

Her target didn't answer. Instead, they looked at Shrike with unreadable expression.

"I... I really don't want to do it."

Shrike knew, that words weren't addressed to her.

"You knew, that she will try again. Others will come, but, at least, we won't have to worry about her."

They were silent. Then they nodded.

"Do as you see fit, Blade."

With ease, Blade pulled out his sword, freeing Shrike. He immediately grabbed her by her hood and start dragging her away.

Room's door opened and closed.

Shrike's last moments were silent and painful.

------

You were sitting on the bed. Waiting for Blade.

He was your first bodyguard, appointed by... 𝖍𝖎𝖒. (A bracelet on Blade's wrist were his sign). And he took his job seriously.

When you were near Blade, you felt small, if not outright tiny. Like you were a pebble, and he was Mount Everest.

Each time you were transported in this world, he was always near you. Protecting you from assassinations attempts.

Devines of this world hated you for breaking their control, for becoming a symbol of redemption.

And they wanted to destroy you.

Door in the room opened and closed again.

Nothing in Blade's appearance indicated, that he just killed someone.

You sighed, holding out your hands to him.

It was strange to see a somewhat soft experience on Blade's face. That experience he made only when he was with you.

He stopped before you, sitting on the floor.

You put both of your hands on his head, running your fingers through his hair.

He, as usual, leaned into your touch.

He was supposed to be a fictional character from gacha game. But now you couldn't see anyone from this world as fictional.

He was a dangerous swordsman. An avalanche of destruction.

And you, a small pebble, could easily hold that avalanche down.

"Freedom... Our Freedom..."

Blade's eyes stared into yours, filled with unspoken adoration. You didn't flinch. You were getting used to that. You didn't utter a single word. But, your expression...

"[Y/N]... Our [Y/N]." Blade's tone didn't change. Still full of gratitude.

You just continue to play with his hair.

As long as you will stay here, your life will be in danger. Back in your world, you will still work on getting people of three worlds their rightful freedom.

But, for now, in this silent room, everything was easy and slow. And, you dared to say, normal.

You continue to play with Blade's hair, enjoying this moment of normalcy in this mad world.

[kiddiewrites]

Command Me To Be Well pt.2

I'm so sorry I took this long to post, I had to make modifications and still this part is not proof read :'D So if there's

This is part 2 to the “Command Me To Be Well” fic, i wanted a happy ending but it was going to go two ways with this one, either I rushed the ending or I stretched the angst a bit for maximum relief and fluff in the end, I want to do a “sunshine after a storm” kind of fic

The text in italics are memories, mostly from the boy's pov but there are (y/n)’s too :D

Angst, T.F.141 x reader, Platonic!T.F.141 x reader, HURT, bit of OOC T.F. 141, pining!reader, extension of the angst, Injured TF141, MAJOR injuries, late night confessions, Poly!141, fluff, bit of relief.

PART 1

∞ Happier Than Ever ∞

“I don’t relate to you, ‘cause I’d never treat me this shitty”

As it turns out, transfers among the task force without a valid reason were not easy to pull off, Laswell very much told you so when you tried to apply for a unit on the other side of the country.

So the next few days were full of awkwardness between you and the rest of the unit, not for lack of trying from the boys, except for Ghost, barely managing two words to you before you turned away from them, under the excuse of files that needed reviewing or soldiers that needed patching up.

Speaking of which, the other soldiers noticed a shift in your dynamic and even under no fault of their own taking the brunt of it, mainly in the shape of a monstruos training program led by a very much pissed off Lt. “Ghost” Riley. It was almost a common occurrence from the last few days that soldiers arrived exhausted at the med bay with dizzy spells or injured ankles or even passed out from exhaustion. Desperate for some sort of relief in their “punishment” some of them tried to convince you to go to the training grounds and have a talk with him so that maybe he could tone it down out of concern for their fiscal health. You refused. Not because you didn’t think they deserved it or something like that, but because of the glares he had been sending to you since that day. 

The Death Stare, is what the soldiers called it. Even the mention of your name would get the poor soldiers under a heavy gaze full of hate, needles to say when you tried to speak to him regarding injuries or his medical history he would just turn away not before looking at you like he wanted to murder you.

Johnny tried his hardest not to look at the spot in the dining hall where you used to sit on your breaks, a task that he couldn’t really manage to accomplish due to the weight of guilt that hung heavy on his shoulders since that day, the words you spoke replaying in his head like a nightmare.

- I know I’m pathetic to you, I know that you think I’m… how you put it, Sergeant MacTavish?- At the mention of his name he looked up at you - “so fucking annoying”, I think was the term used.- 

He tried to apologize over and over again but you always shut him down, not giving an inch. Out of pride or hatred he couldn't tell but … your eyes… your sad (e/c) eyes adorned with heavy dark circles under them, made the regret multiply.

-Don’t sweat it, Sergeant, let’s just don’t let it affect our work- you’d say with a tight lip smile and a tired sigh. 

But that was just it, it may not affect you but it sure affected him… more than he cared to admit, he never thought that he’d miss your shining eyes and blushing cheeks, that he’d miss your shy giggles and the way you’d follow him around base with a box of cookies or a bag of gummy bears that you’d share. Oh, how he regretted every word that came out of his mouth that night but by all the Gods above, he would fix it. He was a stubborn one after all. 

Kyle was a bit harder to read, for such a calm and collected man he was feeling like shit. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you, not like Johnny or the captain tried to. He tried a more “actions over words” type of approach, trying to make sure you’d still take care of yourself and if you noticed it you didn’t say anything. In all honesty, he was about to give up, until one night where he stayed up late. It had been a rather slow day and he tried to catch up on his reading before they were inevitably deployed. He sat in a corner of the hardly used couch in the break room and there he stayed for a few hours until it was dark out, the clock reading almost 2am when he averted his gaze off of the pages. Setting the book aside, he stood up and stretched, a few joints popping while doing so. Recovering his book, he left the break room and headed for his dormitory. On the way back his mind drifted back to you and the way you always seemed to have the utmost care when patching him up, the way your brows would frown in concentration and your lips seemed to purse a bit. He remembered the time they came back from a mission, Kyle sporting a huge gash to his side and almost passing out when they landed. He remembers your voice, reassuring him he would be okay and giving instructions to the nurses who worked with you. He passed out but when he woke up there you were, still checking in on him.

The sun shone in his face, stinging his eyes when he tried to open them, the beeping of the heart monitor ringing in his ears and the distinctive smell of the med bay seeping into his nose. He groaned trying to get up, only to be stopped by your gentle hand guiding him back down. 

-Easy there, Sarge. You took a nasty cut to your side and lost a lot of blood, you’re lucky it didn’t go any deeper otherwise I don’t know if you’d been able to make it.- His eyes opened completely  and focused on your form standing next to his bed, with a gentle smile and tired eyes, no doubt from staying up all night saving him. With the sun giving you a different glow, he thought you looked almost angelical.

-It was a bit of a challenge to get the boys off of your side, I think Ghost threatened me when we took you to surgery.- you said with a small smile and a knowing look. 

-Something about framing me with murder of a ranking officer if I didn’t save you- you took a step back to check on his vitals in the monitor.

-I…-  He croaked, the lack of lubrication in his throat making it difficult to speak- I thou’ I was a goner fo’ sure- The reality sinking in once he was completely awake, the thought of not seeing the boys again forming a few tears in his eyes, you didn’t comment on them and he was grateful.

-Don’t worry, Kyle.- You said as you approached him and placed your hand in his arm, his name falling from your lips with such care that he felt a blush creeping up to his cheeks and looked away from you. 

-I won’t let you die on me, not when you need to go home- 

It was the way you said it, so gentle and reassuring. Letting a few tears escape, he felt your hand retreating and heard you moving around the room. It wasn’t until he heard the door open and your voice calling for the captain that he let the tears slowly and silently flow. 

-Captain, you can come in now, he’s awake.- Next thing he knew rough hands were cupping his face and turning his head, he saw the captain… no… not the captain, this was John he was seeing. Worried features and red puffy eyes. THAT  was John.

-You ok there, sarge?- his voice dripping with relief and fondness. Kyle stayed silent but gave a gentle nod. He soon heard other footsteps and turning to the door he saw Johnny and Simon, they approached with care. Johnny with a wide smile at seeing him alive and Simon with relief in his eyes, the baclava obscuring his face but they knew. Oh they knew their Lieutenant. 

- I’ll give you a moment, if you need me I’ll be right outside- your voice was soft but caring. Neither of them turned your way, except for the captain who turned back to you.

-Thanks Doc- he said with a tiny smile, at this yours grew a bit wider.

-Of course, cap- and with that you exited  the room, leaving the boys together to process what happened.

The memory brought a small smile to his face and he subconsciously reached for his side, where the now scar was. As he approached the barracks he walked by the med bay, where he saw that the light was on. He peeked through the small window and found you asleep over a few files, with a small smile and realizing a tiny sigh he walked in. Thanks to his years of service and the ability to walk almost imperceptibly helped him at the moment, very carefully he picked the throw blanket you had in one of the chairs before your desk and placed it on your shoulders. He heard you release a small sigh of relief and at that he let out a small chuckle. 

-Hav’ ye always been this hard’eaded?- he said in a low tone, trying his hardest not to wake you.

-We’re really sorry ya’ know?- He said it in a whisper, he didn’t really expect you to answer him, the way your chest was rising and falling made it clear that you were not conscious. 

He went for the exit and shot you a last glance before he left just as quietly as he entered. 

-I know- just a whisper… but he heard it, a small smile making its way to his lips.

-Goodnight, Doc- and so he left with a slightly better heart and in a better mood. 

“You made me hate this city”

Things seemed to be looking a bit better, at least you weren't entirely avoiding them now. 

And so, Soap saw his opportunity one morning and decided to talk things out with you.

There he stood with a little bag of pastries and a cup holder with two coffees, he had a whole speech prepared for this moment. But the moment he stood in front of your office door, he just couldn’t move. 

You could hear the shifting of his feet on the outside of your door, it had been a few days since he last tried to speak with you so you decided to take the next step, literally. 

You stood up from your desk and headed for the door, you opened it just as he was about to knock.

It is a funny sight, to see a man of his stature and build look like he was caught red handed, which he was. 

-Hiya there, sarge- And oh how he missed it the way your little smirk would accompany the way your head tilted a bit to your side as you looked up at him, it made him feel things, needy things. 

-Hiya the’e, doc- he said in a low voice and a small smile, he looked at you as if it was the first time he ever did, your hair pushed back with a headband letting him see your pretty (e/c) eyes. 

-May I com’ in, doc? I brou’ coffee and thos’ pastrees ye lik’ so much- It was the most gentle you ever heard him talk and it was heartwarming and really how couldn’t you say no to chocolate spread pastries and warm coffee.

-Come in, then.- You stepped to the side and he let himself in. 

You watched him for a bit before closing the door and making your way to the desk. 

You took a seat on your chair and signaled him to sit down, you cleared the few files that were littered across the desk so he could set the coffees and the pastries down. After everything was settled he reached over the desk to pass you your coffee, which you took from his hand accidentally brushing your fingers with his, you felt a little blush come up to your face. He sat back with a little smirk at your blushing face and sipped on his cup. You stayed there relishing in the silence and just looked at him, only to find him already looking at you. His beautiful blue eyes just staring back at yours, a little fondness to them but also with something else. Something that you really couldn’t figure out yet but had your stomach do a little flip. You stayed there for a few minutes just looking at each other, you couldn't help to release a little chuckle at the softness of it all. As if he’d never almost pinned you to your desk in a fight that day. 

-Some’in on yer min’, doc?- he said with a teasing tone, one that had you looking down at your desk to try and avoid his piercing eyes. 

As you looked up once again, you asked the question floating in your mind ever since he came in.

-Why are you here, John?- You’d never called him that, but it felt kinda nice saying his actual name. It felt good. 

-Shit, doc. I ain’ been call’d like tha’ since my ma was royaley pissd off at me.- The biggest grin plastered on his face as he said it, quickly changing to a light smile as he saw your gentle serious one. 

-I came t’ apologize, doc.- He looked down at his lap, not really wanting to meet your eye.

- I actet like a fecknig fool, I knew from the baggining you tried to geta long, but I jus…, I guess I realey couldn’ and wouldn’ want ta let ya in cos…- he went quiet, there was something else he wanted to say but saying out loud was a bit more difficult than he care to admit. 

-Johnny, it’s ok- His eyes shot up at you and he could see the smile on your face, a genuine forgiving smile. One that he would hold on to, even when he went onto the darkest of places. 

-I must admit I may have come on a bit too strongly and first, I know it could sometimes be a problem.- The sincerity in your voice was not lost to Johnny, almost as if this wasn’t the first time you had this conversation.

-And uhm, it’s not that I was mad at you for being annoyed with me.- At this Johnny frowned in confusion.

-Then… wa’ was it?- He was genuinely at a loss, he couldn’t really figure out what it was. 

You couldn’t help but laugh a bit, watching him furrow his brows and tilt his head to the side was cute, like a puppy. 

So you took a deep breath and said it… What was bothering you…

-It’s ‘cause you didn’t tell me from the beginning- His eyes were focused on you, your giggle sounded really cute but the reason behind it wasn’t something he expected.

-You’re not the first nor the last to say those things about me- His eyes widened and he felt the guilt starting to form in his chest

.-I…I’m sorry, doc…- He felt the shame rising in his chest along with something else, a tiny rage, a sense of protection coming over his entire self.

-You don’t have to worry about it, Sarge- Your smile was disarming, the genuine forgiveness coming in waves taking a hold in his heart. 

Blushing he smiled back and oh god, what a beautiful smile. All boyish and charming he looked so pretty… so you blushed.

-So, Sarge… wanna take the first bite?- The sly smirk and your low voice sent a tingle of excitement down his spine. 

-Ahh…I.. Eh yea’ yea’- his brain short circuited but it felt amazing, he reached for the chocolatey pastry and smiled.

You’ll be the end of him

“And I don’t talk shit about you…”

Something Price always found amusing was the way Simon would find “refuge” in his office when he didn’t want to deal with… anything really.

He would sit down in a chair, fold his arms and sulk, just staring at the wall and huffing.

First time he did it, Price tried to talk to him and all he got was grunts and hums. By the fifth time he sulked in his office, he just let him stay there for the afternoon and only addressed him after he finished his paperwork. Leaning back in his chair he stretched out and felt the satisfying pop of his back and arms.

He turned to look at Simon, who already seemed to be looking at him, a gleam of hunger in his eyes.

-Interested in a drink, Lieutenant?- He asked with a slight smirk and a tilt of his head, a soft satisfied growl was heard from the giant man as he stood up and made his way to the captain’s desk.

-I take any’hing ye give me… sir.- his seductive voice was muffled a bit by the baclava adorning his face but the tone was enough for Price to feel the effects of it in the most intimate part of his soul.

-Careful, Lt.- His eyes scanned the form of his second in command and found himself a bit hot under his uniform. The way that only a few words were affecting him made it so hard to resist, Simon knew exactly what to do and say to push his captain’s buttons and make him feel just the way he wanted to.

-Ye know we can’t be doin thi’ ‘ere- his voice was gruff and low and oh so inviting, his words were one thing but his body… it said something else entirely. 

-I den’ see ya resistin’- Simon caressed John’s face in a gentle manner, it was so gentle and so warm that he couldn’t help but lean into his hand. 

-Lieutenant, please.- His eyes closed and felt Simon settling into his lap, instinctively he wrapped his arms as much as he could over his wide hips helping his second in command to adjust to the size, when he opened his eyes he swears he felt something stir in his stomach, it was as if he saw them for the first time. The deep blue connecting with his in a very gentle and beautiful manner.

The intimate moment was held for a few minutes, relishing  in the silence where they stayed for a few more minutes trying to forget everything that had occurred for the last week. 

“Never told anyone, anything bad…”

The rising and falling of the captain’s chest was steady, however breathing was a bit difficult given the tattooed arm that rested across it, he turned his head to watch at the giant man that stayed with him all through the night. The silence was broken by the sound of the telephone ringing had the captain stood up from the bed to answer it, being a difficult task due to the insanely quick reflexes of the lieutenant, as carefully as he could he removed Simon’s arm and stood up to receive the call.

In the quiet of the morning Simon stirred in his sleep, he stretched his arm trying to find the warmth of the captain instead finding cold sheets he bolted right up, as he stood up, the captain came out of the bathroom with a towel draped around his hips.  He sat down in the bed, and caressed Simon's  hair while he informed him of their next assignment, one that would require you on the field since it would be a rather long deployment, “almost a month long assignment” he was told. So they couldn’t afford to bleed out while waiting for their extraction.

The growl that came from Simon’s throat was a dangerous one, he still hadn’t completely forgiven you for shoving Johnny, the rage stirring in his stomach at the thought of that day. 

-Ye’ know tha’ ye hav’ to get along with ‘er, ‘ight?- John tried everything he could for the past week to get you too to maybe bond a bit, but it was a tough task. He had been rude and you hadn’t backed down either, for every rude comment he made you responded with an equally cold and spiteful one. 

He didn’t like the idea of you joining in but… orders are orders. 

- Yes captain- 

And so one cloudy cold day with a medical bag strapped to your back you boarded the plane with your squad ready to be deployed. Not knowing what came ahead.

Tagging (If you'd like to be added to the taglist please comment here :D) : @blackhawkfanatic - @beebeechaos - @d3vils-adv0c8 @azkza - @asherwesley - @praying-for-the-sun @xbubbleduckx - @blepleaxelotle

[autumn-foxfire]

"I find the act of murder disgusting and unforgivable," Shinichi said with a whisper, "To steal away another person's life... I can't imagine ever bringing myself to ever do so." He sees Kaito in his mind's eye. Kaito, who picked up the mantle of a ghost for the sake of justice, who put himself on the front lines so no one else would have too, taking bruises and bullets so he can finally put the souls stolen by evil to rest, whether the harm comes from the dark who stole a boy's innocence or from the light who view him as nothing more than a nuisance instead of the hero he truly is. "I didn't think I'd ever be able to understand how one comes to feel that way," Shinichi continued. His fists were clenched so hard that his nails were digging into his skin and drawing blood. He stared Toichi straight in the eyes, the rage of a demon burning bright inside his own blue eyes, and he sees Kaito, his love, his moon, who had cried against Shinichi's shoulder when he finally shared his burden he had been made to shoulder by himself for too long. He sees Kaito, pale and broken, as his parents show him a ghost and tell him he's real. He sees the mockery they made of his beloved and feels nothing but a fury too strong for him to contain. "Yet," Shinichi spits at the man, the monster who was behind Kaito's nightmares, "looking at your smug face, it's taking all my will power not to snap your pathetic neck and put you back in the grave where you belong."

Yes, this is ooc, but Kaito deserves to have someone protect him from the monsters that are his parents and Shinichi is such a good person for that because he's constantly faced with the darkness of the world and you can see his anger when he doesn't understand how people can be so horrible, especially to those he loves.

[snowballseal]

My Dearest

Part 5

LaDS Zayne X Foreseer!Reader

Prologue / Part 4

Summary: Things take a turn in the dead of night. Confessions are made after Zayne suffers a nightmare, and you realize you may have a bigger part in his Fate than you originally thought.

Word Count: 2993

Note: Things are picking up >w< in good and bad ways

Warning!!!! This chapter covers topics of illness, death, torture, and some intense emotions. There is a lot of angst. Zayne's backstory is not nice (woops) but neither is his in-game backstory! Also, he may be a bit ooc, but aren't we all in the face of trauma?

Anyways, read at your own peril and please be safe.

---

Sickness comes with a scent.

Every muscle in Zayne’s body draws taut at the familiarity of it. A cloying mix of bitterness and overly ripe fruit. Bile and medicine and sweat. It lingers in the stale air, thick and even more suffocating than the heat.

“Dab perfume under your nose if you wish to mask the scent.”

The familiar tone of his teacher’s voice murmurs from his side, muffled and distant, as if his ears are stuffed with cotton. Zayne looks, thinks he looks, but the hall before him is empty, stretching and warping and twisting.

A cold feeling sinks into his gut, violently screaming that he is meant to be somewhere else, he is meant to be working, doing something, helping someone.

And his feet are moving. Racing. Throwing him down the endless hallway. Panic buzzes like a thousand ants under his skin.

what have you done what have you done what have you done

The world blurs around him, details colliding, fissioning along the edges of his vision, drifting yet still. Dread curls around his throat like a noose as the scent thickens in the air, rusted iron and sweet perfume and sickness. So intense he can taste it on his tongue. So intense he could choke.

“Give me the medicine.”

“Teacher-”

“There is no time, give it to me, Zayne! We mustn’t let her die!”

The words echo down the grand hall. A thousand voices, overlapping, repeating, screaming, whispering, coming from nowhere and everywhere. They rake across his mind, so violent and clear that even covering his ears can’t drown them out.

Desperation forms like a pit in his stomach.

He can’t let that happen. He can’t fail, not when he’s come so far, not when he’s had to prove himself over and over and over again. He can’t.

It was merely Fate.

A door appears before him and he slams into the heavy wood without hesitation, forcing his way into the all too familiar room. The room he spent so many days in. The room drenched in floral perfumes to disguise the scent of death.

Everything stops.

A bed sits in the middle of the room. Small. Empty. White.

Except for the pool of blood at the head.

His knees hit the ground, the chill of the tiles seeping across his sweat-soaked body.

It was merely Fate…

“You killed my daughter.”

No no no

No, he did everything he could. He worked day and night, researching, brewing medicine, wiping the sweat from her small face. He sacrificed so much-

“I will watch you suffer, just as she did.”

Everything fades, blurs, giving way to a darkness that threatens to drown him.

And then the pain.

The sharp edge of a knife dragging across his fingers, digging into the flesh of his palms, drawing streams of thick thick blood. His skin burns, as though his hands have been forced into the coals of a kindled fire, the flames eating away at his blood and pouring into his veins. He chokes on the pain, on the metallic scent of his own blood, and it’s too much too much to-

“Zayne!”

Zayne jolts up in bed.

Panic strangles him, blinds him, his hands trembling so viciously as he grips at the thick pelts at his waist. The pain lingers so vividly in his skin and he can hardly breathe, his chest aching, throat burning.

Until a cool hand presses against his cheek, touch featherlight and hesitant, and his whole body lurches. 

Frenzied, hazel eyes meet yours, and you stare back at him, unwavering.

“Breathe, Zayne,” you murmur, voice tense, commanding, desperate.

And so he does.

---

You’re not sure what wakes you.

The night is still, almost unnervingly so. No storm, no gales, not a single sound you would expect to hear at such a late hour. It is as though the weather itself has grown tired, though the peace feels far more dangerous than the storm.

Your body unwilling to return to a state of sleep, you find yourself wandering the halls aimlessly. It has always brought you comfort, tracing the lines of stone that make up your Tower’s walls. You can feel where your feet take you most often, the edge worn to smoothness under your fingertips, leading you to the staircase that ends at your former bedroom. Where Zayne rests.

You pause at the foot of the stairs, casting your gaze up into the dark, climbing spiral.

How odd that your instincts bring you here. It almost makes you feel a touch pathetic, knowing that your subconscious is drawn to him so certainly. Only a few days have passed since you allowed the ice to thaw between you, and here you are, seeking this man as if he is the only one capable of settling this unease in your chest.

Ridiculous.

Sharply, you turn away, ready to retreat back to your new room, to make another attempt at sleep -

Until a shuddering gasp echoes down the stairs, a gasp filled with pain.

Suddenly your feet are taking you up.

And the sight you find at the top has your whole body freezing over.

Zayne lays twisted in the pelts of your bed, every muscle drawn inhumanly taut as he arches off the bed, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his blanched skin. It is the body of a man ravaged by pure agony, his chest heaving with labored breaths, like his soul is being torn from his flesh.

You move to the side of the bed, magic prickling wildly under your skin as a foreign sense of panic sweeps over you, dropping the temperature in the room drastically. Your eyes scan him, just as wildly, looking for any injuries, any blood, any reason he might be experiencing such pain, but you find a disturbing lack of anything. His body is untouched, apart from his old injuries.

So why is he facing such torment?

“Zayne?” You call, wavering beside the bed. You can’t sit. That would be too close. Too comfortable. You can’t cross that boundary, you can’t.

Yet when the man cries out between his gritted teeth, the sound so completely broken, you can’t bring yourself to stay at a distance.

The bed shifts under your hesitant weight. Now that you’re closer, you can see the stark paleness of his face, the tight clench of his jaw and eyes, the way his dark hair sticks to his forehead. Your hand wavers in your lap, torn between waking him and being unsure of if you should interfere yet again. Could this not be Fate’s form of punishment?

Though, once again, the decision is made for you when Zayne turns his head, face going tight with such inconceivable pain, his fingers curling desperately into the edge of your cloak.

Your mouth sets into a thin line.

 This is not atonement. This is torture.

“Zayne!”

---

“Breathe, Zayne.”

The man takes in air greedily. His whole body trembles with the effort, the cold air easing the burning ache in his throat. And your touch. Your palm is so cool against his heated skin, pressing tenderly against his cheek, like the soft touch of snow.

Mind too torn for proper judgement, he lifts a shaking hand to yours, nuzzling further into your gentle touch. His warm, quivering breath brushes over your pulse, filling your senses with him him him. The balmy heat of his skin, the light touch of his raven hair tickling your fingers, the desperation with which he holds to you, one hand still wrapped in the edge of your robes, as though you might disappear.

How long has it been since someone has wanted you?

A sickening tenderness grips you by the throat, the tension between your shoulders easing as Zayne takes a few deep breaths, face near buried in your palm. Your fingers skim gently over his cheek, magic seeping through your touch to ease his temperature, as you’re not sure what else you can do.

How does one comfort a human? You’re not sure. You have never wanted to. Yet, in this moment, with this man, you want to do nothing but. You want to ease the tightness between his brows and take the pain from his body, his mind, his soul, even if you have to experience it yourself. Oh, how far you have fallen.

Eventually, Zayne breathing begins to even out. The roaring pace of his heart eases to something normal, adrenaline dripping away and leaving behind a mess of sore muscles. Breathing out a sigh, his eyes flicker back open, pupils wide and dark, glazed with exhaustion.

And then he realizes just the position he is in - his hand trapping yours against his face, his other wrinkling the beautiful fabric of your robes, the mere foot of separation between your body and his.

He rips his hands away, a raspy apology lost on his lips, but you do not move. Your fingers do not waver against his cheek, tracing the dampness of his skin with such utter tenderness. A low shudder traces Zayne’s spine when he feels your magic curling within the depths of his body, like streams of cool water flowing over every nerve. It feels far too intimate, as though you’ve connected yourself to him, as though you are curling your very soul around him.

“My lady,” Zayne chokes, low and rough, eyes desperately searching yours. Why?

You find that you have no answer.

“I have never witnessed someone suffer such a violent dream,” you admit instead, hand drifting down to settle on the curve of his neck.

Another shiver wracks Zayne’s body, though this one you interpret as being due to the cold of your touch.

“My apologies.” You start to pull away, glancing to the side. “You must be far too cold now-”

“No-!”

Both of you freeze as his fingers wrap desperately around your wrist. His touch is still searing, such a stark contrast to your ice - a pleasant one. You turn your eyes back to him, careful to keep your emotions under control. You can’t both be lost.

Zayne wavers. He glances down to where his skin touches yours, his long fingers so effortlessly encircling your wrist. You could pull away with ease, you could reprimand him harshly for stepping too far, for being a mere human daring to touch such divinity, but you do not. You simply sit, watch, as if waiting to see what he will do next.

“I-” Wetting his lips, he allows his dwindling adrenaline to make him brave, and dares to press a little closer. Close enough to lean back into your touch. “I do not dislike the cold, my lady.”

I do not dislike your touch.

Quite the contrary. Zayne desires nothing more than to wrap himself in it, to indulge in the smooth satin of your skin, to press his lips to every curve and every plane, to see if your body will flush under his attention.

What a heathen he has become.

“Not many find comfort in my presence,” you murmur, almost doubtful, as if you wish to correct him in this. “Most claim my touch is as cold as the ice in my veins.”

“My internal temperature runs higher than most,” he assures you, unyielding, gaze soft but certain, “I suffered often during the heat of the warmer seasons. My teacher-”

A lump forms in Zayne’s throat.

His teacher. The dream. It flickers back through his mind, pain still lingering in his fingers, his scars. Ever since he arrived at the Tower, such memories have been so distant, he had almost thought the nightmares were over. 

How foolish of him.

Reading Zayne is like reading a book, you find as you notice the subtle shift in his expression. One must pay close attention, lest they miss his soul. But you have grown too familiar with his being to miss the distant look in his eyes, as though they are locked on something you cannot see. His fingers curl tighter around your wrist. 

The thin scars on his skin catch your attention, and you allow yourself to analyze them for a brief moment. Up close, there are far more than you originally thought. The sight makes your chest clench with something you don’t recognize, and your fingers move without thinking, tracing one of the thin marks.

The touch draws Zayne back and he flinches as though he has been burned. His hand drops to his lap, tucking close to his body, as if he wishes to hide it.

Is that what his dream was about?

Your voice comes out soft when you press, perhaps too soft, “Were the humans who injured your knee also the ones to do so to your hands?”

Zayne swallows thickly, jaw flexing.

“They were.”

“As punishment?”

“Yes.”

“...May I see?”

He takes a sharp breath, hands curling tightly around each other until his knuckles go white.

“They are unsightly, my lady,” he tries, voice raw. Afraid.

“If I were to show you my scars, would you deem them unsightly?” You challenge, brows steepling with gentle disapproval.

No, no of course he wouldn’t. He would rather cut out his tongue than speak such a blatant lie. No scar could tarnish your beauty, though the thought of anything marring your body, marking the delicate color of your skin, fills him with something violent and so uncharacteristically possessive. How dare someone harm you. How dare they spill your blood. He can only hope they are suffering a far worse fate than his own.

None of these thoughts pass the tight grit of his teeth, though.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he whispers instead, eyes downcast.

“Then I would ask you not to think so lowly of me,” you murmur, “Do not forget, mortal, I saved your life. I have been witness to you hanging between life and death and I have witnessed far more gruesome realities than anything you may know. Scars are merely Fate’s way of allowing us to remember what once was so we may continue into what is.”

It is meant to be comforting in some way, in the only way you know how. Fate may be cruel, but not all she allows must be viewed with an eye of suffering. You know that all too well.

And it seems to ease Zayne’s worries, if only a little. The stiffness fades from his body, and he only hesitates a moment before wordlessly offering you his hands, fingers still trembling imperceptibly.

Slowly, you allow your fingers to trace over his, touch lighter than the drifting snow. His muscles twitch, stutter, moving away before pressing back into you like a tide against the sand, more determined, more certain. Still, you keep your movements slow, keenly aware of the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

His skin is still so warm against yours. It is like holding the sun compared to the biting cold that lingers in your flesh. You trace the fine lines of his knuckles, brush your thumb over the surprisingly soft skin of his palm, trailing down the inside of his wrist. He sucks in another short breath, pulse jumping under your fingers, but remains perfectly still under your attention.

His scars are many, indeed. They cover every inch of his hands, down his fingers, over his knuckles. Faint lines that gleam almost like silver on his pale skin. The marks are easy to recognize, likely from a small knife. How much pain each one must have inflicted…

“Humans can be quite cruel…” It is nothing but a whisper, shivering in the air with muted anger.

Zayne’s chest aches. He wants to agree, he wants to feel the rage you bear so easily. He wants to hate them as much as you do, and maybe a part of him does, but-

“You killed my daughter.”

He nearly chokes on the guilt.

Brows furrowing, your other palm presses more firmly to his jaw, slowly tilting his face up. Your eyes bore into him with such intensity, as if you can strip him bare and draw out every vulnerable thought trapped in his body. And, in part, you do. In the depths of his eyes, wide and dark like a lamb before the slaughter, you see his despair. It threatens to fracture your frozen heart.

“What sin could warrant such suffering?”

The words ache behind Zayne’s teeth, words he has never spoken, a story he has buried so deep under his skin, that drawing it out now feels like stripping his own flesh. What will you think? Your kindness, your mercy, wasted on a man like him. You may very well choose to end his life, as it should have ended in the kingdom, as it should have in the cold grip of Mount Eternal.

But he owes you far more than just his life, doesn’t he?

“I was a student under a renowned physician at the time,” he rasps eventually, fingers twitching in your grip. Anxious. “The royal court called upon us by name. The king’s daughter was ill, a broken leg that led to infection. My teacher claimed it was an honor to treat her, but it was worse than we expected. Her symptoms were unheard of together, and we spent every hour pouring over medicinal journals to find a cure. We tried everything…but nothing worked. The sickness took her only a few days after we arrived.”

So this is his sin, according to man. Being unable to stop the death of a child, a princess. A death seemingly no one could stop…

A feeling of sickness washes over you suddenly, like a pit opening beneath your feet.

You know this tale. You know it far too well.

It was a prophecy from your own lips.

Your fingers tighten around Zayne’s hand, his scars now burning against your palms.

Fate may wield the sword, but you may as well be the one who sentenced him to death.

---

Part 6

This chapter was interesting to try and balance. It started off way different, but I kept hitting a wall, so I changed it to start with the nightmare and it all made a lot more sense to me. I hope there was enough comfort to balance out the angst, sorry!

Tag List: @pirana10 @antivanblessing @animecrazy76 @xx-riffraff-xx @seris-the-amious

[jm-2406]

Summary - Tommy Shelby has been slowly drifting away from his only son after losing his wife. You are a nurse specialising in children's wards. When Frances comes running to the hospital with little Charlie in her arms, you decide to give a piece of mind to the bigshot gangster.

Words - 1.5k

Note - this is silly. I wrote it in less than one hour. It features an OOC Tommy Shelby and a daring reader who doesn't fear him like others.

Tommy Shelby, MP OBE was not used to getting calls between meetings, especially from his loyal housekeeper who knew when not to bother him. He was busy dealing with some important people, drowning himself in work like he usually did after Grace passed away. It was not that he didn't care for his son but sometimes looking at him was too difficult for him, the little boy had so much of Grace in him. So imagine his surprise when instead of Frances it was someone else on the other side of the telephone.

"Mr Shelby, I'm not Frances. My name is (Y/N) and I'd like to let you know that your son is not well. You should come as soon as possible to the hospital." You informed him without any hesitation, the concern for Charlie made your nervousness take a back seat plus not looking directly at his blue eyes also helped in retaining your confidence.

"What happened to him?" His lazy drawl came as a reply. "Well if you insist…" You tried to stall, tried to get under his skin so that he'd come to see his son but his silence made you speak up. "Mr. Shelby, I understand that you are grieving but so is your son. He was having a nightmare and needed someone to hold him close, to soothe him. I'd say he needed his father, not his nanny or Frances. Help yourself and your son by being there for him." Without thinking about the consequences, you pour your heart out and immediately hang up.

• • •

It has been a few days since the incident. You were worrying about Charlie and went to meet him directly at 'Arrow House'. [Yes, you are daring and a risk taker]. You knocked gently, arranging the basket of freshly baked cookies for the three-year-old cherub in your arms.

"Who are you?" A deep male voice caught your attention. Looking up, your breath got caught in your throat. Standing in front of you was the man of the house himself, Thomas Shelby. "What are you doing here?" You questioned foolishly instead. In your defence, you did not know that he'd be home at eleven o'clock since it was a Tuesday. He merely raised his eyebrow at your remark.

“If you didn't know Miss, this is my house. I live here.” Your cheeks reddened and you turned around to escape when a high-pitched voice stopped you. "(Y/N)" shouted Charlie. "Call her inside daddy. She's my friend." He said - more like ordered - his father who complied with a small "as you say, son." You felt a sense of comfort seeing the father and son interacting almost normally after that phone call incident.

Nervously, you stepped inside and Frances immediately took your coat as well as the basket of cookies. Charlie ran inside to get his colouring pages and asked you to wait for him. You were looking here and there, avoiding the dark-haired man but he had other plans.

"Thank you," Tommy said. You furrowed your brows in confusion. He cleared his throat and elaborated. "For making me realise that I was unknowingly neglecting my son, pushing him away from me. I love him, I really do. Thank you for making us come closer." He was not a man of words, especially praises but something about you got him talking, was it your kind nature, your non-judgemental eyes or your stern yet concerned voice when you called him that day that made him open up to you, he didn't know… but that is a topic for later.

"You're welcome, Mr Shelby. Charles is a sweet boy. I wish well for him." You blushed, no one had said such kind words to you. "How about you join us for dinner? Charlie would like that." Tommy said unexpectedly. Just as you were about to deny it, considering it rude to intrude, Charlie came running to you asking you to stay and colour with him. You couldn't say no to that adorable face.

And that's how you spent the evening, laughing and enjoying the company of two Shelby men, happier than ever.

• • •

[PART - 2]

It has been almost half a year since that evening you spent in the company of the Shelby men and you couldn't help but feel lucky. Everything went uphill after that, luckily.

You found out that you and Tommy had a lot in common which was surprising in itself. You both were mostly emotionally detached but were willing to cross any line if it meant saving your family, you both liked to read though Tommy was secretive about it for reasons you still didn't know, and nothing could surpass the love you had for horses, those strong yet gentle beasts were the only faithful friend you had… except for each other.

While your thoughts started to roam in dangerous territory, you were still unsure of Tommy's feelings on the matter. You have heard that the man was ruthless and incapable of feeling affection but you saw a side of him that was hidden from the world, his gentle and loving sight, his respectful side… you were certain that what you felt for him may not be love but it wasn't anything less. You decided to ignore this newfound feeling, unsure of what he felt.

The sudden knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. "What-?" You were confused about finding a drunk Tommy Shelby on your doorstep. "(Y/N) How are you my angel?" He continued to stare at you making you realise that this was an actual question and not a rhetorical one. "I - uhh - I am fine Tommy. What are you doing here at midnight?" You pulled him inside.

The sight of a drunk Tommy Shelby lying on your cheap broken sofa with the bottle of Irish whiskey clasped in his hand was unusually tempting and soft, as he gazed up at you with his bright blue eyes.

"Charlie loves you (Y/N). Did you know he was calling for you earlier today?" He whispered and gulped the remaining of the whiskey immediately after.

"No Tommy. I am sorry. I was busy today." Your heart broke hearing about the little boy calling for you and not finding you by his side. "Yeah. Being a lifesaver is not easy, eh?" He said rhetorically this time, placing his hands on your waist. The cool of his hands seeping through the thin material of your nightgown.

"I asked him to be a well-behaved little boy and I'll bring you to him… maybe permanently what say?"

You gasped hearing his words, not knowing what he was suggesting. "Tommy… you're drunk. We'll talk about it in the morning if you still remember what you said." You pushed him to your bedroom, tucking him in like you'd do for Charlie. taking the spare pillow and blanket, you laid down on the sofa.

• • •

"You alright Mr Shelby?" You asked giving him a painkiller. He looked at you with wide eyes, just like Charlie would… The resemblance between them always melted your heart.

He cleared his throat before addressing you. "(Y/N) about last night - uhh - I meant what - what I said." You gawked at him, The Tommy Shelby stuttering in front of you. You were definitely special to him.

"I - you mean - what exactly did you mean by 'permanently' last night?" Your cheeks reddened, little hair on your neck stood as you awaited his answer.

"I didn't plan for this to happen so spontaneously but we gotta do what we gotta do right?" He paused and you held your breath for his next words. "I'm not good with words so beware. Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) I am grateful for your help in more than one of my life problems. My son loves you and calls out for you all the time, I adore you and your strength. Will you do the honour of making me the luckiest man in Birmingham by marrying me?" Tommy pulled out a small jewellery box from his coat pocket and held before you a simple but elegant and beautiful princess-cut diamond ring.

You sobbed. "Is that even a question?" You nodded, unable to speak as he placed the ring on your finger. You jumped up, unable to control your excitement and hugged him with all your might. And for the first time in many years, Tommy Shelby was finally feeling peace. He felt a wave of hope… for himself and your future together.

• • •

[qin-qin16]

Murder Time Trio as a poly... or something else

NOTE: This was supposed to be a relationship chart, but I couldn't find any that I liked, and I got frustrated trying to make one, SO I decided to do it in the form of text and headcanons and is slighty ooc because i can’t write them realistic, its against my policy

Before I elaborate on my thoughts about Murder Time Trio poly, I will present to you a summary of the BACKGROUND that I will use for my upcoming discussions about this trio.

In this post I share a bit about that thought and there is this au created by @what-have-i-unleashed named Mermaid Bunny AU, you can find it on their pinned post (is focused on kist in some parts, read the warnings before reading!)

However, since that post I made was more focused on Killer, I will also comment on the other parts of this relationship below!!

NOTE²: To avoid confusion, the first Killer will be called Kei (as a way to start fresh, he chose to abandon the name given to him after his code was altered), while the second Killer will simply be called Killer, as he has neither the desire nor the order to change the title given to him – a title his best friend, his partner, gave him. That being said, let’s move on to their background

HORROR'S ARRIVAL

Horror was the second to arrive, dragged by the slimy tentacles against his will – Kei vaguely remembers hearing his screams calling for someone, spitting threats at Nightmare as if he had no fear for his own life. He didn’t even notice his soul subtly writhing when Nightmare did nothing but toss the skeleton at his feet. "Show him his new home." Those were the orders he heard, and not even a minute later, they were already walking through the abandoned place (whatever it was, the hallways were too long to be considered part of a house, and the rooms were dark enough to make Horror question the things he saw inside them).

It wasn't for lack of trying that their almost-friendship was created – as fragile as a thin twig. Kei had been ordered to teach Horror everything he knew: what Nightmare liked to hear when they returned from missions, how to act when spotted by any resident of the universe they were exploring, what not to do when the hallways of their home (Kei called that dreadful place home, even though it was worse than the hell Horror said Snowdin was) seemed to grow darker and darker, how to ignore the torn and moldy paintings when they appeared to move in the shadows… Everything Kei had learned, he passed on to Horror, but like a mule being whipped to carry its load, Horror would always stall at the most important moments.

Like the time he screamed to go back home, for Nightmare to throw him back into the deep hole that was his past problems. Kei never heard Horror mention his old home again after that night – at least, not while Horror was conscious; only on nights when he finally fell asleep, so light that even the faintest sound would bring that red orb back to life. Of course, Kei knew this – who else but him would keep an eye on his copy to make sure he didn’t try anything stupid? He had to check and act as the loyal right-hand man he was. It wasn’t as if Horror was the only somewhat safe company for him there, no – he couldn’t allow himself to get attached to someone that he would abandon at the first chance he gets.

But Kei could be a little selfish, couldn’t he? Horror was selfish too when he claimed the least uncomfortable bed would be his when they were traveling, or when he shrugged whenever Kei questioned the disappearance of some witnesses who had seen them lurking too close to AUs near the Omega Timeline. Or when Horror got too close to his body on freezing nights, trembling after hours of walking through the thick snow surrounding their home. “This thing is warm.” He pointed at the circle in front of Kei's chest, seeming to hesitate – or not wanting – to call it a soul.

Kei could be selfish if Horror was the one to blame for making it impossible for him to sleep in separate rooms after that.

MURDER'S ARRIVAL

Horror never thought that a third member would be added to the chaotic and dysfunctional duo that was him and Kei. From what he could hear through the poorly closed and fallen door of the room where Kei and Nightmare often argued about their performance, the boss (even though Horror would never call him that) never mentioned anything about adding another screw-up monster like them to the group.

But it wasn't as if Nightmare cared about their opinion on anything, or even cared about their existence - as long as they stayed alive, that was enough.

Murder's entrance was so different from his, so much more... silent. No sudden movements, no explosion of LV, nothing but incomprehensible murmurs beneath that dark hood. If Horror thought Kei was unpredictable and full of weird traits, Murder had just stolen his place. It wasn't as if Horror was a healthy or sane person either, but Murder was an extreme even for him: clothes covered in monster dust, eyes — when lit — always twitching, looking side to side as if others were in the room besides the three of them.

And it was agonizing to see someone so similar to his former self — when there was no danger around them, or when Murder seemed to finally relax those pale bones, those two little lights would glow in white, in a nostalgic way. Horror didn’t like that feeling. Kei was another one who seemed out of place with Murder’s addition to their little group.

“You’re real…” he murmured between laughs — an almost undistorted reflection of himself.

It was hard to adapt Murder into their already chaotic and unpredictable routine, almost like caging an euphoric animal alongside two others already in captivity — the rare calm of before was quickly torn apart by Murder's trembling and impatient presence. As sadistic as the last one, Kei once commented, referring to Horror, who just scoffed and mumbled something like "don’t compare me to that..." It wasn’t a good start between them, definitely.

And no matter how much Horror tried to deny it and even fight with himself, he wasn’t so different from the other two. Nightmare’s motivation in handpicking each of them was clear — it almost had a bitter kind of charm to it, if it weren’t so inconvenient. At least he and Murder seemed to want to be as far away as possible from there, but Kei? Why was he so loyal to that demon?

Horror never knew Kei’s deep desire to escape that hell, to crush Nightmare’s rotten soul underfoot like an insignificant insect. At least, Kei never confessed it to them specifically. No, no.

"As if I care who you talk to outside of work..." Horror once huffed, sounding strangely genuine. "If you want to chat with that rainbow skeleton, that's your problem, don't drag us into your issues, capiche?" And so Kei did.

Part two is on their way~

[candiedcoffeedrops]

Geborgenheit

Notes: I yap a lot so I'm putting them at the end this time along with the German translations.

WC: 1,020

Pairing: Ring Schwartz x Reader

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, SFW, Written from suitor's perspective- still like doing that apparently lol

CW: Possible spoilers for Nica and Ring's backstories. I took what I've heard and read from JP and ran with it so be warned. Also potentially OOC because Ring's route isn't out yet.

No beta, we die like mne.

“Subjects 404 and 405.” A clinical, dispassionate voice called out as a wide room materialized around me. Tight restraints kept my arms and legs secured to the seat I was forced to lay down on. I flexed my wrists, trying to find a way out of them despite knowing that the people who put me here wouldn’t give me such a kindness. The room smelled like chemicals and dust and iron. My heart thudded in my chest and my breathing became shallow. Sweat beaded on my brow and neck despite the chill in the air.

Something isn’t right. Why do I keep coming back here?

We left. I know we did. Dari came and we–

“Leave him alone!” 

Nica’s voice. Somewhere. It sounds warped and far away, like hearing him yell through water. I know he’s here somewhere but why can’t I see him? Why can I never see him when I come back here?

“Nica? Nica, where are you? I’m scared…” My voice left my mouth– frail and wet. Younger. When I blink, my eyelashes are wet and cold. 

Expressionless faces that I know all too well and yet can’t quite remember fully begin to draw closer, their owners wearing sterile white coats. One of them holds a long syringe filled with an eerie cyan liquid. I pulled with everything I had against my restraints, eyes fixed on the needle. My breathing came out in shallow, harsh pants now.

“Nein,” I tried to yank my torso and my neck further away from the approaching drug but there was no use. Two sets of sturdy hands pressed down on me while the needle touched the skin of my neck. “Fass mich nicht an. Es tut weh.”

As soon as the needle broke my skin, I felt the liquid being plunged into my body. It stung like thousands of tiny glass shards all at once, a searing heat followed by icy numbness spreading from my neck outward. It hurts. It hurts. Why do they keep doing this to us? Why me and my brother? Why did we have to be here? I miss the sun. I miss the wind and clouds in the sky. There was never anything here but prodding and scraping and needles and new drugs. Why wasn’t Dari here yet?

“Ring?” Your voice– gentle and sweet, sounded out to me in the midst of the dark and terrifying. You weren’t supposed to be here. You’d get hurt, you’d be-

“Ring, wake up,” Your touch, soft but insistent as you shook my shoulder pulled me from the inky black cold of my memories. My eyes shot open to see you, your brow upturned, stitched together in worry as you looked down at me. Your name escaped my lips as I reached out to touch you, my fingers hesitating before grazing your jawline. You were here. You were warm and real. A shaky breath of relief left my chest as I slumped back against the mattress, feeling heavier than I had before. Another nightmare.

“You were restless and talking in your sleep. It looked like you were having a nightmare. Are you alright?”

“Ah,” I inhaled deeply, my eyes scanning the ceiling of your room. The more I saw, the more I felt at ease. I wasn’t strapped down in that horrible lab, waiting for the next cut, the next needle. My skin wasn’t yielding to medical blades and syringes for the sake of experimentation. I was here. I was home. I looked at you again, studying the contours of your face. The shine in your eyes, the shape of your lips, strands of your hair, mussed by sleep. “Better now. Much better. Thank you.”

I brushed my knuckles against the soft skin of your cheek. You leaned into the touch and I felt my heart melt a little– the warmth chasing off the cold bite of the nightmare. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered slowly, your eyes darting over my face. 

“Maybe in the morning…it’s too much right now.”

You nodded in understanding, moving an errant strand of my hair from my face. I noticed it was damp with sweat. 

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Schatz.” I felt my brow furrow. “...I’m sorry.”

Your hand gently wrapped around mine as you turned your face to place a kiss on my finger with a smile that was far too kind. “You can’t control it. There’s nothing to apologize for, Dearest.” 

I allow myself to sigh in relief, some of the tension in my shoulders easing. You pressed your forehead to mine and I closed my eyes, savoring your closeness. 

“You’re too good to me,” I whispered. How many times would you be there to pull me from the depths? You shouldn’t have to do it at all. I was supposed to be stronger than this. If I can’t even fight off what’s in my own head then-

“Shhh,” you wrapped your arm around my head and held me close to your chest. “None of that now. You deserve to be treated with kindness, Ring.” I wrap my arms around your torso, letting out a shuddering breath as I nuzzle my face into your chest. The scent of your soap filled my nose.

My eyelids began to feel heavy again. A faint worry of repeating the nightmare echoed in my mind but it felt dulled, your warmth around me acting as a shield against the cold and the dreaded. I felt safe. Guarded. It feels welcome and also strange, after spending so long either helpless or guarding others. I feel your lips press a kiss to my hair and my face warms.

Your fingers stroked lazily through my hair, a slow, soothing rhythm that lulled me further into the warmth of your embrace. My body, still tense from the ghosts of my dreams, finally began to yield, my breaths evening out, my grip on you loosening but not letting go entirely.

"Sleep," you murmured, your voice a quiet promise against my temple. "I've got you."

And for the first time in a long time, I believed it.

Tags: @drachonia

Notes: Thank you to @velisle for the inspiration for this guy something to the tune of several weeks ago on Discord lol. Hope you like it! And also thank you to @injudescoat for looking over the German I used to make sure I was using it properly💜💜

Translations:

Geborgenheit - Security

Fass mich nicht an. Es tut weh - Don't touch me. It hurts.

Schatz - Treasure/Darling

I don't remember who did the banner, but the orange pearl divider is by @saradika-graphics

[cherubmm]

🍎☪⇢ ˗ˏˋ INJURIES ࿐ྂ

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ━━━━FEATURING: PASSIVE.nightmare

⊱.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ━━━━CONTENT WARNING: Yandere in general. Soft yandere. Unhealthy attachment. Obsessive Thoughts. Delusional mindset. Abandonment issue implied. Self-harm(?). Violence mention. Gashlight hinted. Vague whether the relationship is platonic or romantic (up to the reader's interpretation). Not-proofread. OOC. Reader was referred to as a 'prince' once

⊱.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ━━━━PROMPT BY : cherbmm

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Deciding to use my own prompt instead from now on since i just realize that majority of my writing doesn't even align with the actual prompt.

Nightmare sat silently beneath the towering Tree of Feelings, his body aching from head to toe. The sharp pain in his ankle told him it might be damaged. His dark, torn clothes clung to him, barely holding together after another beating he'd endured. Scars lined his form from head to toe, and fractured bones peeked through disheveled fabric from rough handling. His gaze remained low, a dull, pained expression clouding his usual soft demeanor.

Then came your voice, sharp but full of concern, breaking through his haze. "Seriously, what's gotten into you?" you muttered, frowning as you knelt beside him, your hands working deftly to patch him up.

A rough bandaid was pressed against his cheekbone, causing nightmare to flinch as a small whimper escaping his lips. Your touch, although gentle compared to what he’d endured earlier, still sent little jolts of pain through his body. You were frustrated, he could tell, and you weren’t holding back.

"You’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep this up, nightmare," you grumbled, continuing to work. Your fingers were slightly rough as you cleaned a particularly nasty gash on his arm. "If I find out who did this—" you trailed off, your voice dropping to a near growl, "I swear I’ll make them eat more than a dirt."

The threats were half-hearted, yet there was an unmistakable edge to them that made him feel... safe, in a strange way. "I... I just—" he began, his meek voice barely rising above the rustling leaves, but you cut him off with another sharp retort.

As your hands continued their work, wrapping bandages around his arms with deliberate motions, Nightmare found himself staring off into the distance, His thoughts began to drift as you continued to aid on his injuries.

'Why do I keep doing this?' he thought bitterly, heart heavy with guilt and self-loathing. Those villagers… always hated him, fear him and don't want to do anything with him.

but you're different, you... stayed.

Nightmare clenched his fists. He hated making you worry, but at the same time, the thought of involving you terrified him. If those villagers ever found out you were close to him… stars, he couldn't bear the thought of you being hurt. They would do far worse to you, and that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

...So, he let them beat him. Let them take out their anger on him, use him as their punching bag. All so he could come back to you and see the way your brows furrowed in concern. All so you would patch him up, focus on him more.

A selfish part of him enjoyed it—not the pain directly—, enjoyed how much attention you gave him when he returned bruised and broken. He felt bad about it, but it wasn’t enough to make him stop. You were the only good thing in his life, and he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even realize how quiet he had become until a particularly rough tug on his arm made him flinch back into reality. You were wrapping a strip of silk tightly around his forearm to cover the broken bone beneath.

"Too many injuries," you grumbled, your eyes narrowing in frustration. "Damnit, nightmare— why are you not saying anything to me..?!"

The latter flinched once more, staying silent than necessary as his gaze stayed fixed on your face. You were frowning, lips twisted in frustration, your brows furrowed in anger. You looked absolutely furious, like you were ready to burn the entire village to the ground.

Nightmare blinked, momentarily disoriented as he focused on your face, taking in every detail. Despite the clear anger plastered across your features, you looked... beautiful. Ethereal, even. His eye lights flickered, a deep purple blush creeping across his cheekbones. His metamorphic heart began to pound, fast and hard. He couldn’t help but stare at you, utterly entranced

You looked like an angel to him— his very-own guardian angel.

'How could anyone be so beautiful?' His mind whispered before abruptly stopping as another wave of embarrassment washed over him. 'stop it. Stop thinking like that!' he scolded himself, He felt ashamed for even thinking this way, knowing you were only doing this because you cared for him as a friend. But that didn’t stop the thoughts from flooding in.

He quickly averted his gaze, his eyes darting to the grassy ground. Nightmare snapped his gaze away from you, staring down at the ground where his book lay open in the grass. It was an old story—one about a prince and a beast.

He hadn’t finished it yet, but the scene that stuck with him the most was the prince, leaning down to kiss the beast and break the curse, turning them into a beautiful princess.

His mind wandered again, and suddenly, he imagined you as the prince. And him? Well, he’d be the beast, of course. A cursed creature, waiting for someone to save him, waiting for you to...

...

Another layer purple flush dusted his cheekbones. It's a surprise you still haven't noticed it at this point (or maybe, you choose to ignore it). The thought made his entire face flush purple, his bones tingling with a strange warmth. 'What’s wrong with me?' He felt his soul twist in embarrassment, heat rising in his skull. 'This is so stupid, so embarrassing!'

“Hey, are you zoning out again?” You snapped your fingers in front of his face, pulling him back once more. Nightmare blinked rapidly, feeling the cold sweat trickling down his forehead.

“I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled. His voice was small, meek.

Ⓒ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐦 ──── 10/15/24 Navigation | Masterlist