#and felt physically numb and unable to move

[halfdeadwallfly]

manic apathy > apocalyptic sadness

[inkonparchment]

American Wedding | Part 1

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

You've never seen him, you’ve never met him and yet here you are, Mrs Kennedy, a fate that was always to be yours since the day you were born. The golden band on your finger catches dust at the train station, hoping that at the very least, he's kind.

warnings: this is set in late 1800s. reader is described as having long, silky hair. allusions to mental and physical abuse (not by Leon). misogyny. marriage of convenience. arranged marriage. implied age gap. absolute zero research for era appropriateness.

word count: 3k

a/n: ink write something normal for once challenge = FAILED. i saw an edit of Leon to the song american wedding where the lyric goes "M-R-S dot kennedy" and thus i went insane. enjoy whatever the hell this is. or dont idk man sometimes i confuse myself.

next.

You’re alone.

There’s not a soul in sight at the train station, the bench creaking under your weight when you had sat down, hot wind blowing up the dust. There’s nothing but barren land stretching on for miles, littered by small rocks and shrubbery. A tumbleweed had passed when you had been the only person to get off at the station, heavy suitcase in hand, tugging your hat firmly on your head. Steam had exhaled from the engine, the slow rumble of the wheels startling you as it took off.

You has pursed your lips, squinting against the harsh sun as you scoured your new environment. Signage indicating the town you’re in, a decaying wooden shed with old benches and a bored looking clerk snoring behind the barred opening indicating ‘Ticket Counter’.

So you sit and wait. Because what else can you do? You take your hat off, afraid it will blow away by the strong wind, placing it on your lap, hands neatly folding on top of it. Your hair has loosened up from the neat bun your mother had made for you, the strands tugged and pulled by the winds. You glance down at your hands, the gold band glittering on your finger, the familiar sensation of nausea burning at the back of your throat.

It’s a stark contrast against the pure white of your most perfect dress over the most delicate looking corset you had ever seen in your life. You think back to this morning, almost feeling like a lifetime ago, numb to it. It flashes by in your mind in messily taken snapshots; the church, the white dress, your father standing over your shoulder with a stern look on his face, watching like a hawk and ignoring the way your hand shook when you signed the papers.

It was the most luxurious ink pen, black with silver indentations, acquired by your father from his travels. It was perhaps his most precious belonging, cradling it with much care and only brandishing it out to sign all his important deals. And wasn’t that what you were? A deal to be signed away?

So you wrote your name next to the man's who was to own you now, in the pretty cursive you had painstakingly learned under your father's tutelage. You flinch, remembering his screaming when one single line would be out of place. I will accept nothing less than perfection, he would bellow at you, vein throbbing at his temple.

And that’s what you do like the perfect daughter you are.

M-R-S dot Kennedy.

You’re confused why you felt so remorseful, sitting like a hollowed out version of yourself, unable to register your mother’s congratulations, her tears wetting the shoulder of your pristine dress as she held you, your father triumphantly receiving his congratulations from the pastor. You knew this was going to happen, the idea reinforced since the day you could understand words. After all hadn’t your mother met your father like this too?

Your mother had done your hair, delicately twisting your long locks up and decorating them with flowers. Men are kind to pretty things, she had said to assure you, glancing at your blank expression in the vanity of your room. She had softly patted make up on your face, stumbling over her words as she tried to explain what to expect at night. Just...try not to move much, it’ll be over soon.

Your mother had given you a lick of girl hood, doing what she could to let you live past your teenage years without a husband to weigh you down. You were allowed to frolic in the estate on your horse, but not for too long. You have to keep your skin perfect, you don’t want to look like a wrinkled prune for your husband.

You had learnt the ways of the kitchen, mastering dishes after dishes, a reprieve from your father’s tempers, a room he would dare not venture in, instead choosing to snap his fingers at his wife to fetch him whatever he wished.

It was a sanctuary for you and your mother, a place where the shadow of her past self would glimmer, a version you had never known, the version who would tell you stories of the Greek heroes and their tragic ends. She had fought hard for you.

At least that’s what the blue and black bruises on her skin would say.

Your father had glanced at you with pride flashing in his eyes and that had soothed you. Finally you had done something to please him, the soft, awkward pat of his hand at your shoulder, snapping you awake. You couldn’t even revel in it, suddenly finding yourself standing at the train station, ticket in your hand. Your father had said that your husband would pick you up, gruffly saying that it would not be wise to run, to attempt to escape your fate. There would be no kindness then.

Tears gather in your waterline, difficult to discern their cause. The barren landscape makes you want to vomit, a stark contrast from the grassy green pastures of your home. And you consider running, your father’s warning echoing in your ears, just taking off in the direction of the sun, abandoning your suitcase. You won’t survive if you do, with no money or precious jewellery on your person, knowing that you would collapse under the scorching sun. But perhaps that end would be better than whatever life waits for you with your husband.

Leon Kennedy.

The man- your husband, that was supposed to pick you up. Your grip tightens on your lap. Maybe he has forgotten, owing to his graying years, his memory not the way it used to be. You’ve conjured up an image of him, someone old and graying, hair missing from his head but his eyes still full with his youthful lust, scouring his prize up and down like a hungry dog. It makes you retch, panic bubbling in the pits of your stomach. That has to be it. Someone who is too old to be on horseback. Why else would he not be present at the church? To whisk you away himself? To have you as soon as he could?

But its fine, you soothe yourself, you’ll be fine. You’ll keep your head down and be a good wife, no delusions of romance set in your mind. What use was it anyway? Love never saved those Greek heroes, you would be a fool to think it could save you. Maybe if you play up the role of a perfect little wife, swollen with his children, he may allow you some breathing room, some books if he is generous. But its okay, you’ll steel yourself and survive, you’ll leave no room for error. You’ll be his most prized possession.

The sound of crunching gravel makes you snap your head up, the sun piercing in your eyes through your tears. You turn your head to see a horse pulled carriage come to a stop. The man commandeering the vessel hops off from the seat, dust clouding around his pristine shoes. He is sharply dressed, you notice, clad in his black suit. The hat hides his face from you, holding it down with his left hand on his head as he walks over, the shimmer of gold catching your eye. You feel your heart hammer in your chest. The wooden floorboards creek as the man steps up on the platform, taking off his hat when he does and straightening up to his height.

Your breath catches in your throat. He is beautiful, glittering in the afternoon sun, his sun bleached hair falling perfectly across his face. He sports a small stubble, face sculpted like a devoted art piece, cool blue eyes stark against the bronze of his skin, wrinkles decorating the corner of his eyes. His suit is pristine, the white of his inner shirt nearly blinding, hiding a well muscled torso from your view, arms bulging against his jacket. He holds his hat against his chest, standing with his hips thrown out, one thigh straddled with a leather holster holding an ivory black revolver. He regards you calmly, eyes stuck to your form before flitting to your suitcase.

You look away, tearing your eyes away from his enraptured form. You feel yourself already failing your promise to be the perfect wife, enamoured by a strange man when a husband awaits for you. So you sit prim and proper, back straightened like you had been taught, ignoring how your heart leapt with every single step he took.

You hope he saves you, takes you roughly by the arm and force you on his carriage, never to be heard from again. After all isn’t that what angels do?

You hold your breath when he comes to stand near you. But still you don’t dare to look at him, hurriedly tugging your hair behind your ear. It’s the way he says your name that freezes you, fingers still against your hair. You’ve never heard it like that before, almost in disbelief, convinced that you heard him wrong. It sounds...sweet, like it means something in the low baritone of his silky voice.

You turn to look at him, the pink of his lips catching your eyes before you avert your eyes, instead focusing on the golden band wrapped around your finger. You nod, spine stiff.

Wordlessly, he picks up the suitcase and shuffles to the side, gesturing towards the carriage with his hat. A world of confusion explodes in your mind, limbs arrested as you struggle to decide what to do. He can’t be him just because he knows your name. Maybe your husband sent someone else in his place, his ranch hand perhaps. You purse your lips, palms slick with sweat as you heave yourself up and begin to walk with shaking steps towards the carriage.

You fix your hat atop your head before stepping into the sun, hiding your hands from the harsh rays should they taint you. You admire the stallion, graceful in his poise, its brown coat gleaming under the afternoon sun, walking around it and reissuing the urge to trace his coat against your fingertips. He looks well loved, well taken care of. You’re too busy staring at the brilliant creature that you don’t notice the man stowing your luggage in the back, hat back on and taking in your dazed form.

He approaches you like how a person would approach an easily startled animal, slowly and silently. He watches as you stiffen up at his presence, holding out his hand to you to help you up. You take it, your soft hand a contrast against his roughed skin, slotting perfectly in his palm. He hold you steady as you climb up, sitting demurely in your seat and wait as he rounds up and joins you. And with a click of his tongue and a tug of the reigns, the two of you begin to move.

This is it, a ball forms in your throat, my last moments of freedom. You close your eyes, feeling the wind fan against your cheeks, savouring the dust that catches in your eyelashes. You blink, watching as the landscape remains unchanged, jostling in your seat against the rough landscape of the road. The man’s presence is burning against you, the cloth of his suit brushing next to the sleeve of your dress. Your eyes flit to his tan hands, fixating on the ring on his left hand. You glance down, admiring how similar it looks to the one you are wearing, yours just a bit thinner than his.

You dare to look up at him, focusing on his side profile. Freckles dot his sun kissed skin, his hair long and caressing his high cheekbones. His eyes are what take you, so blue that it makes you want to drown into them, cool contrasting the suffocating heat. He turns his head and locks gazes with you, heart stuttering in your chest.

“Who are you?” You blurt, unable to stop yourself.

He releases the reigns from his hand closest to you, tipping the brim of his hat, “Leon Kennedy.”

You blink, your heart stuttering. “I… I thought you’d be older.”

He smiles faintly, his gaze turning toward the dusty horizon. “You’re not the first to think that.” There’s a pause. “I suppose I expected…different too.”

If the shock is evident on your face, he doesn’t acknowledge it. But you can feel it in your bones, flooding your whole being. This man is your husband and he is so far beyond from how you imagined him. Your insides twist, forcing you to look away, heat burning your ears.

At least he isn’t hideous to look at. But you don’t let it sway you, knowing that sometimes the prettiest faces hide the ugliest facades, stomach lurching at the thought of various women that he must hide under his arms. And suddenly you find yourself praying that some kindness falls your way.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Leon addresses you softly.

All you can do is meekly shrug your shoulders, mumbling out a “It’s alright.”

The rest of the ride is silent, the sun moving down as the hours pass by, now turning the sky into a deep shade of orange, wisps of cool air around you. Fences start to come in view, the outline of a house appearing in the distance.

Leon pulls the reigns, bringing carriage to a stop, pulling up to grand looking house, clean and proper, the walls a deep shade of brown, looking heavenly against the backdrop of the sky. Your mind is abuzz, throat dry, hoping and pleading that the sun does not leave . You’re frozen in your seat, curious looking laborers gazing at you, suddenly feeling at display.

The carriage jostles as Leon steps off, immediately at your side, looking at you earnestly, more kindly than what you’re used to. He hold out his hand to you and it takes you a few moments before your brain spurs into action, your hand once again enveloped by his. You stare at how your golden ring clicks against his, cool to touch and shining together. He helps you down and you stand like a good wife, waiting as he disappears to grab your luggage, waving away the ranch hand who comes up to offer.

Leon comes to stand next to you, watching you as you watch the house. He clears his throat, your eyes finding his, jutting out his elbow to you. You gulp, slide your hand in the nook of his arm, fingers splayed against his strong bicep, his eyes searching for something in your face before he leads you inside.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. The material of the dress agitates your skin, nervousness grabbing a strong of you. Your mothers words come back to haunt you, remembering what she had said when she laid out the corset and dress on your bed. I...chose this so that it’ll be easier for him, men tend to get...impatient.

You see nothing, smell nothing and feel nothing, eyes rigidly on the floor as you feel yourself slip away like with practiced ease when your father’s loud voice could be heard echoing in the walls, the soothing sensation of paper under your fingers enough to satiate your nerves.

When you blink, you stand in a decent sized room, a four poster bed with cloth draped over it on one side of the room. The colours of the curtains are a soft, pastel blue. There is a  dresser, the most beautiful and intricate designs decorating its surface, its size more than sufficient for you to stow away your belongings.

There is a vanity too, grand and delicate looking, a row of expensive looking perfume vials sitting atop the desk, a silver hair brush and a humble selection of make up. Leon sets your suitcase down without a noise, standing at the doorway, hat now gone as he watches you glide around the room admiring the paintings decorating the walls.

A breath hitches in your throat when you finally approach your bed side, eyes widening at the bookshelf tucked away in the corner with a cushioned chair next to it. You trace your fingers against the spine of the books, gasping and pushing your hair behind your ears to get a better look when you spot the book of Greek fables. You clutch it to your chest, tears once again collecting in your eyes as you twist around to look at Leon.

He offers you a small smile, nothing but fondness and gentleness behind it. He grasps the doorknob, beginning to close it behind him. “This is your room. I hope everything is to your liking.”

He glances at you, a flicker of concern crossing his eyes. “If there’s anything you need… anything at all…”

You stiffen at the gentleness in his voice, uncertain of his meaning. “No please, this all is more than enough,” you murmur.

His notices the tear that escapes your waterline. “Rest. You must have had quite the journey to come here.”

And so you dare. “Mr. Kennedy," You call out, making him stop in his tracks, “I...Are we to not...” You lose the strength, letting out a shaky breath as he patiently waits for you to finish your sentence, “We are husband and wife, are we not?” And you hope he understands, mortified at even thinking to speak on the subject with him. 

His expression softens, looking at you tenderly, understanding dawning on his face. “Yes, we are. But that is not something you need to worry about. I will never force you to do anything that you do not wish to do.” His smile returns, reassuring you. “And it’s Leon. Only Leon.” 

The door shuts and with it you crumble to the floor, pressing the book closer to your chest, the rug soft under your fingers. And you can’t tell if these tears are of despair.

Or if they’re of relief.

[cappulcino]

Seven Days Til Fall (Part 6)

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 – Part 6 – Part 7

Read on AO3 (you do need to be logged in, though)

Words: 5,349

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader

Summary: You're an angel sent on a divine mission to retrieve a powerful relic that has been stolen from Heaven. The orders are clear: gain an audience with the Devil, make deals with them if necessary, anything to return that object to the Silver City. But Hell is not quite what you expected, and neither is Lucifer.

Trigger warnings: None in this chapter (let me know if you think I should add some)

A/N: Thank you for your patience. This past month has been very busy, and you have all been so kind. Hope the wait will be worth it.

The first thing you felt on that sixth morning was the cold. But it wasn't the kind of cold you had experienced in certain regions of Hell –which was rather more metaphysical for beings like you anyway– nor did it seem to be the kind of cold Arakiel had reported feeling on the top of the highest mountains of Earth.

So you were neither in Hell nor on Earth. But wherever you were did not quite look like Heaven either because the cold coursing through your body, creeping through the stone floor beneath you and numbing your skin, felt harsh, physical, and profoundly evil.

You shifted, feeling a dull ache in your head and neck that made you wince as you tried to open your eyes, only to realise they had been covered. The realisation made you slightly panic. Heaven had kept you blind for too long –no more. And so, unable to reach for the blindfold with your hands as they had been shackled, you squirmed, moving erratically like a beast until the cloth fell and you could finally take in your surroundings.

You had expected the usual blinding Light, full of your Creator's love –if that was still the word for it. But instead, you found out you had been put in a dimly lit cell where God's Light never shone. You were not on Earth and yet, it seemed your only light source was a weak moonbeam coming through a loophole in the wall and a couple of stars. So where were you? Purgatory? A demimonde?

You shifted again, trying to sit in a more comfortable position –if there was any. It hurt. Your wings were crumpled awkwardly beneath you and all your muscles felt heavy as if weighed down by something you couldn't name.

In front of you, there was no door or bars –just an open archway and a faint shimmering indicating an invisible barrier.

"Hello?" you tried, hoping to catch a guardian's attention or perhaps to hear from another prisoner. "Anybody here?"

Your question was answered only by the echo of your own voice resonating unpleasantly in your ears, amplifying the pulsing headache behind your eyes.

Slowly, you pushed yourself to your feet, leaning heavily against the wall for balance. Your legs quivered under you, but you refused to let them give way. You were tired of being forced to your knees, literally and figuratively.

"Hello?" you called out again, louder this time. "Anyone? Can somebody please answer me?"

Despite the pain, you kept on blabbering, hoping to get a reply. But the air in this cell felt thin and distant, and you soon found yourself out of breath.

Thankfully, you heard a door unlocking in the distance then, as well as quiet footsteps. Finally somebody was coming.

An angel you vaguely remembered as Nanahel appeared in the doorway holding a small silver tray with bread and wine on it. She paused just before the invisible forcefield that held you captive for a moment, taking in your battered form.

"Peace be upon you, Nanahel," you offered weakly.

Nanahel seemed to appreciate that you remembered her name –she was low-ranking after all, and you had only met her a few times– but didn't answer your greeting. The lack of reply made you clench your jaw. Nanahel was only a mere Principality, she was supposed to greet you back, and with reverence, too. But her indifference made you suddenly wonder if you were even a Dominion still.

Eventually, Nanahel stepped closer and stopped right in front of you. Balancing the tray in her left hand, she broke a piece of bread with her right hand and held it out, waiting for you to open your mouth. But you were most definitely not going to take food from the same hand that had betrayed you –not that Nanahel was personally responsible, bless her, but she was on their side– and so you turned away.

"Eat," she said, more as a request than an order at first.

"I feel no hunger and do not need the food."

"You do here. Eat." Her tone was a bit firmer this time, but when her instance was met by yet another refusal, it outright became commanding. "Listen, you have no choice. You must eat and I shall stay here until you have eaten the bread and drunk the wine."

"Are they trying to poison me?"

"What?"

"You seem so adamant to have me eat this meagre pittance. I'm simply wondering if the Divine Council wants me dead."

Nanahel didn't answer that, and you wondered whether she didn't because she didn't want to indulge you or because she didn't dare tell you that Michael and his peers did, in fact, want to get rid of you. Either way, you gave in.

"Fine. But can I at least have the dignity to eat with my own hands?"

The Principality hesitated. "Are you going to attack me?"

"Do I look in a position to attack you right now, Nanahel?"

"Do you promise to eat everything if I let you feed yourself?"

"I swear."

Swearing was not the most welcome terminology in the Silver City, of course. But it served your purpose and convinced Nanahel, who put the tray down and approached you with caution.

You slightly pushed yourself off the wall to give her better access to your chains and thanked her weakly when you heard the keys jangling and felt the tension around your wrists easing. And as Nanahel freed you, you realised she had a scent. Angels weren't supposed to smell of anything as they weren't earthly creatures, but Nanahel did –and this cell did– and though you supposed mortals would describe that fragrance as an odour of sanctity, you found yourself hating it.

Without a word, Nanahel then picked up the tray and jerked it in your direction, urging you to eat and drink what was on it once more. You complied in equal silence, looking her right in the eye as you took the bread with your left hand. That made her flinch and gasp slightly.

"Won't you at least eat properly?"

No. You were done following all those ludicrous rules blindly and therefore decided to keep eating with your left hand without ever breaking eye contact with the Principality. Similarly, you took the wine with your left hand and guzzled it carelessly, even letting it dribble on your white robes.

Now even more tense than when she had first arrived, Nanahel didn't waste a second to restrain you again as soon as you were finished. And as she did so, she spoke in a clipped voice.

"I'll return after Lauds to relay today's sermon and pray with you. And I'll do so for every following Mass until the trial is over."

Your heart dropped to your stomach and every ounce of defiance left your body, suddenly replaced by a profound dread.

"What did you say?"

"I said I would check on you until the trial is over."

"Whose trial?"

"Yours, silly."

You gasped as you remembered Michael's words from last night when he had said the Divine Council would "discuss your case". Definitely no promotion then.

"But I'm not there!"

"Nor do you need to be. The Council's decision will be based on facts, not sentiment."

"'Facts'? Will the fact that Heaven is inhabited by a horde of hypocrites be taken into account?" You spat, lashing out as tears started to prickle your eyes.

Nanahel recoiled a bit, visibly shocked and somewhat disgusted by your attitude.

"May Our Lord have mercy on your soul," she mumbled rather grudgingly as she turned to leave.

"No, Nanahel, wait–"

"I'll pray for you."

"I don't want you to pray! Nanahel, come back! Nanahel!"

Pushed by the chaos inside your head, you tried to run after her. But the restraints on your wrists pulled you back and, with your legs still weak and your crumpled wings destabilising you, you lost your balance and fell to your knees, right in the pale, silvery glow coming through the tiny window of your cell.

Panting, your chest heaving, you turned to that opening onto that unknown, hostile world. And right up there, in the navy sky, you found a bright dot which you quickly realised was what humans called the morning star.

The Morningstar. The Lightbringer. Lucifer.

You burst into tears then, thinking about the ruler of Hell and the events of the previous day and the day before that, too. 

There were so many more things you wished you had said and done with Lucifer. Lucifer who had opened your eyes to your condition as an angel in the Silver City. Lucifer who had taught you so many things in so very few, well-chosen words, trying to show you a path beyond the rigidity of Heaven's expectations. Lucifer who had praised you, had made you laugh, had touched your wings. Lucifer… who had almost kissed you.

Instead, you had walked away. You had been so focused on the promises of Heaven, the mission the Divine Council had given you –and, let's be honest, a selfish need to save yourself caused by the fear Michael had instilled in you– that you ignored something far more real, more pressing.

The Morningstar has cried for you –or because of you. They had allowed themself to be vulnerable, and you had rejected them. And now, in the cold and solitude of your cell, you realised the ache in your chest wasn't so much from doubt or the heavy burdens of the Silver City –it was something else entirely, something you hadn't yet allowed yourself to name.

Tears kept welling in your eyes and rolling down your face as you realised what you had lost forever. Because it was evident, you would never see Lucifer nor hear their voice, full of wit and wisdom, or feel the warmth of their fingers on your wings ever again.

The Lightbringer would come to Heaven someday, you knew that –provided the Council respected its part of the deal– but you knew you would never have the right to see them, nor could you be certain they would even want to see you by then.

Choking on your sobs, you turned back to the loophole in your cell, to the dim light of the morning star shining faintly through the gloom.

"I'm sorry, Lucifer," you wailed shakily. "I'm so sorry."

"Your Majesty."

Lucifer was sitting on their throne, barely conscious of the chaos of their realm as Mazikeen approached. They had been like this for hours now, and she had offered everything she could think of to get back the ruler she still had not even a week ago: demon battles, torture, an impromptu Dionysian gathering, even sex. All to no avail.

Lucifer's mind was elsewhere, detached, almost adrift. They kept staring blankly at the flames dancing in the pit in the middle of their throne room, their thoughts circling around something –or rather, someone– now far beyond their reach. An angel. Their angel.

"Your Majesty," Mazikeen tried again.

"What?" Lucifer snapped, their fingers tightening around the armrest of the throne, making the polished surface groan under the pressure.

Mazikeen sighed, despair taking over her features. This was not the Lightbringer she knew, the one who commanded with absolute authority, who could turn any situation in their favour. She had seen Lucifer in pain before –there had been a thousand betrayals, a thousand wars– but this was different. This was personal, deep, and she swore to herself that if she ever saw you again, she would slit your throat.

"Please," Mazikeen said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "You cannot sit here forever."

Lucifer remained silent as if refusing to acknowledge Mazikeen's pleas. They kept their gaze unfocused, lost in the orange fire before them, their chin resting in one hand while the fingers of their other hand tapped furiously on the armrest, proof of their inner turmoil.

Seeing that neither patience nor enticement would work, Mazikeen closed the distance between her and the throne in quick, powerful strides and knelt before Lucifer.

"My Lord!" her voice broke through again, sharper this time. She had never needed to shout before. "You have to pull Yourself together. If the demons sense vulnerability, this realm will fall apart!"

Lucifer sighed heavily. "It is Hell, Mazikeen. Everything and everyone here is constantly falling apart."

"We both know that is not true. This is not who You are."

Slowly, Lucifer straightened up and tilted their head, finally looking down at Mazikeen. Just as slowly, they reached to cup her cheek –the melted side of her face–, grazing it gently with their fingers, which made the she-demon's eyes shine with hope.

Then Lucifer opened their mouth, trying to come up with something to reassure or even compliment her. Their "good, faithful Mazikeen" as you had described her yesterday. But nothing came out, their nice words had seemingly all been used up on someone else. They closed their mouth and let go of Mazikeen's face before standing up and putting some distance between them again.

After a few long breaths, Lucifer finally spoke.

"Well, what is it you came to tell Us?"

Disappointed, Mazikeen sighed and rose to her feet, gripping her swords like a lifeline.

"The generals demand action. Now that Your deal with Heaven is closed and You received the authorisation to go there."

"Of course, they do. But We have already stated multiple times We would not use Our visitation rights until the time is suitable, have We not?"

"You have. But if I may… There is a risk that if You keep postponing Your visit to the Silver City, endlessly waiting for 'the right time', You will miss out on many opportunities."

Lucifer's back and wings tensed but they didn't turn around.

"Are you implying that We procrastinate confronting Our brother, Mazikeen?"

"No. I am merely suggesting You use this… renewed hate towards angels to formulate a plan, go back to Your Father's realm, and take back what is rightfully Yours."

Lucifer huffed. "There is no  'renewed hate towards–' Wait." They cut themself off and finally spun to face Mazikeen again, bringing a hand to their heart as if to contain its erratic beating. "What did you say?"

Mazikeen frowned. "Uh… To formulate a plan, go back to–"

"No, after that."

"And take back what is rightfully Yours."

Lucifer's wings suddenly unfurled, assuming a dominating stance, and their eyes darkened. It seemed something had clicked in their mind, and they were burning with ambition again.

"Ours."

"Let the defendant in."

After an eternity in your cell, Nanahel had eventually come accompanied by two Thrones, both clad in shining armour with their faces obscured by helmets. They had covered your eyes –surely so you wouldn't know the way from your cell back to the main areas of Heaven– and were now ushering you inside the Council chamber as its large doors opened without a sound. Only then did they let you see your surroundings.

The Divine Council sat in a semicircle, their thrones imposing and gleaming with an unnatural light. At the centre, on the highest throne, sat the Metatron, the Voice of God, his eyes cold and unreadable. His mere presence was enough to make you shiver and look away.

At the Metatron's side, you noticed Michael sitting with his sword resting against his knee, Gabriel with his usual smug smile, and the rest of the Archangels gazing right into your soul, their eyes hard as stone.

So you then looked at the assembly, millions of angels gathered to attend your trial –or rather, public humiliation. Most of them looked at you with an unforgiving expression or even hate. But as you scanned the crowd, you found some confused frowns, like Muriel's, and very few compassionate eyes, like Camael's and Arakiel's.

Suddenly, a herald angel stood to your right, unrolled a scroll and spoke in a flat, formal tone.

"Angel of the Fourth Choir, Dominion of the Silver City, you stand before the Divine Council today, accused of gross insubordination, consorting with the Fallen, and expressing thoughts contrary to the will and nature of the Almighty. You are charged with treason against the Divine Order."

With your heart pounding in your chest, you opened your mouth to plead innocent, but Gabriel raised a hand to stop you.

"Don't bother answering that."

"Indeed," Uriel added. "The evidence speaks for itself."

"Evidence?" you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What evidence?" This was all going way too fast, and you felt dizzy.

Michael nodded in the herald's direction and the latter spoke again.

"The words you have spoken in private, the thoughts you believed hidden from the Almighty, have been heard and recorded. The walls of Heaven are not deaf, Dominion."

"I– No! I have never spoken against–" You were suddenly cut off by your own voice resonating through the room.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned.

Then Camael's.

There is this look on your face… I think it's doubt.

Your voice again.

How is that a good thing?

His Great, blasted Plan.

Your conversation with Gabriel from two nights past.

You were there. You sang, too. –No!

And finally, your desperate outburst in your cell this morning.

Will the fact that Heaven is inhabited by a horde of hypocrites be taken into account?

I'm sorry, Lucifer.

Your stomach twisted as Michael spoke. "The Council has reviewed everything you have said in recent days, and it is clear that your heart has strayed far from the Light. The celestial spheres have borne witness to your disobedience, your doubt, your… affections for the Morningstar."

You turned back to the crowd and noticed myriads of angels looking shocked or repulsed by your words, exchanging whispers of indignation.

"Do you deny these thoughts, Dominion? Do you deny consorting with Lucifer? Do you deny that your actions have endangered the stability of Heaven itself?"

"I…"

Your voice faltered. You thought the Archangel's words to be exaggerated, but you didn't know how to defend yourself, nor if there was any point in trying.

"I sought understanding, Your Grace," you eventually managed to say, your voice trembling. "Is that a crime? To seek the truth?"

"It is a crime to seek what lies outside of God's Light," Raphael spoke.

"Therefore the Divine Council has judged your case," Azrael added. "And our sentence is irrevocable."

At that point, the Metatron stood up and revealed the decision long made in your absence.

"For your insubordination and questioning of Our Lord's ways, this Court has decided… that should you accept to ask for forgiveness, you may be saved from disgrace. Atone for your sins, submit to Heaven's judgement, and you will stay in the Silver City, only demoted from your rank."

You felt the blood drain from your face and the dizziness made you sway a little. A demotion. A lifetime of servitude, chained by the very system that had already shackled your wrists and bound your mind. Such was the definition of God's mercy.

"Well?" The Metatron was waiting for your answer which, to any respectable angel, should be more than evident.

The very thought of what you were about to say made your whole body quiver, but you mustered every last ounce of courage you could find in your heart and finally replied.

"No."

Loud gasps resonated through the chamber and the Archangels of the Divine Council exclaimed some "Have you lost your mind?" and "Wait. What?" You glanced behind you once more and found Camael's purple eyes in the distance. They were frantically shaking their head as if urging you to reconsider.

The Metatron furrowed his white eyebrows. He then raised a hand to silence the clamour, and asked, "Come again?"

"I said no, Your Highness."

The Divine Council had made its decision, you had made yours. If refusing the Council's offer meant to spend the rest of your miserable, lonely existence in that cell, then in that cell you would stay. But you wouldn't obey, much less serve, any of those people any more.

Yet, the Metatron decided to insist for the third time. "Are you quite certain, little angel? You know forgiveness is always given to those who ask for it."

Yes, that was what you used to believe –what they had made you believe. But that was then and you had changed much this past week. You thought about the dead mortals in the Woods of Suicides, about Lucifer and the angels in this room who once sang as they fell, and you knew you were doing the right thing for yourself.

"Just say you're sorry!" Gabriel almost shouted.

You looked at him, then at Michael, and back at the Metatron.

"Never."

Your answer created yet another uproar behind you. You heard some voices calling you a traitor, devil worshipper, while others simply booed.

The Archangels exchanged nods, and then Michael spoke.

"Hence, you give us no choice. There is no place for you here, nor anywhere else in this Holy Kingdom. Usually, we would decide to cast criminals like you down to Hell. But given your… ties with my sibling, I am afraid this becomes no suitable punishment."

He was right. You would rejoice and maybe even sing about your own Fall.

"Therefore, here is your final sentence," the Metatron announced, always in charge of giving the verdict. "You have played with fire, flirted with it. And, inevitably, you shall get burnt. Angel of the Fourth Choir, Dominion of the Silver City, this Court sentences you… to death by Hellfire."

Hellfire. A punishment reserved only for the most unforgivable, those whose souls were considered too dangerous, too corrupted to exist even in Hell.

You had not expected that and, for a moment, you couldn't move or breathe. A cold sweat ran across your brow, and your wings, still battered and weak, twitched instinctively.

"To death!" the assembly intoned.

And then the same Thrones that had retrieved you from your cell seized you by the elbows and dragged you out of the room and towards a vast courtyard at the centre of the Silver City.

By the time you got there, the courtyard, which had once held parties, important Holy Masses, and so many more joyful events, had been transformed into a stage for your public execution.

Angels of all kinds were now gathering around a massive column of Hellfire that had been summoned from the depths of the Abyss. It crackled with an unnatural intensity, even darker and more sinister than anything you had seen in Hell. Or perhaps was it the sharp contrast with Heaven's natural pristine glow that made it so terrifying.

Your legs nearly gave way beneath you as you saw it, and for a moment, despite how confident you felt in your rebellion, the hopelessness threatened to overwhelm you. No being, mortal or divine, had ever survived the flames of Hellfire, save for Lucifer and a few selected demons. This was the end.

The two Thrones threw you to your knees before the fire, and you could feel the heat emanating from it, licking at your skin, searing your feathers even from a distance. The sensation was suffocating, and, in your head, you found yourself repeating the same name over and over again.

Lucifer. Lucifer. Lucifer. Lucifer. Lucifer. Lucifer. Lucifer.

You repeated the Morningstar's name so many times that you were certain it had actually begun to leave your mouth, and it even started losing its meaning. Yet, to you, it now meant everything.

Above you, the Metatron's voice rang out, proclaiming your sins for all to hear.

"This angel, who once belonged to the Holy Orders, has chosen the path of defiance and turned away from the Light. For this former Dominion's transgressions and loyalty to the Fallen, let Justice be done."

You felt hands bind your wings, painfully stretching them back so you wouldn't have the reflex to fly away, but your gaze remained fixed on the inferno facing you. Then the Thrones violently forced you back on your feet.

Lucifer. Lucifer. Lucifer.

"March."

Of course, you had no wish to die. For immortal beings like you, there was no afterlife, only oblivion. Once your body entered these flames, your very essence would combust, and you would be no more –in fact, the whole of Heaven would act as if you had never existed.

Yet, you took a step forward. And another. And another. Your vision narrowed, and the cries and chants around you became muffled, your ears solely vibrating with the thumping of your heart.

Lucifer.

The fire flared, almost beckoning. You kept walking, closed your eyes, and finally let yourself be swallowed by the flames.

You waited for Death's embrace and indeed felt strong arms closing around your waist. But then the intense heat vanished as a new kind of warmth engulfed you, familiar, soothing, safe.

You opened your eyes and first noticed the black, leathery cocoon enveloping you. And then, ever so slowly, your heart soaring with hope, you tilted your head back.

"Lucifer…"

"Hello, little dove," Lucifer whispered with a soft smile as Hellfire's glow made a single tear twinkle on their cheek.

"How did You…" Your voice trailed because you couldn't comprehend everything that had just happened.

"Hellfire obeys Us alone, and We have long since commanded it not to harm you."

The flames recoiled further, shrinking away from Lucifer as if in reverence to their true master, bowing to Lucifer’s will, and retreating into the Abyss from which they came.

As they did so, Lucifer gently let go of you, making sure you could stand on your feet before they turned to the million pairs of angelic eyes glued to them.

"Get Them out of here!" someone shouted in the audience.

"You are not welcome here!" another angel added.

"Peace be upon You, my dear sibling," Michael said as calmly as he could, though he was boiling inside, approaching with his sword clutched in hand.

"Hmm. If only, Michael," Lucifer retorted. "We note you forgot to mention our deal to the rest of your kind."

Michael said nothing, his jaw clenching visibly while Lucifer surveyed the assembly at an unhurried pace, the faintest smirk on their lips. They then stopped, retrieved the contract they had brought with them, and quoted it.

"'In consideration of the retrieval of the Cup of Eternal Grace,' et cetera, et cetera, 'the Divine Council does hereby agree to grant Lucifer Morningstar one Visitation to Heaven.' We believe this makes Us most welcome here. At least for the next… fifty-seven minutes. Does it not, brother?"

Michael's fist tightened around the hilt of his sword while the Metatron stepped forward, attempting to maintain his authority before the angels present here began to protest.

"Still, You have no jurisdiction here, Lucifer. This is Heaven's justice."

Lucifer turned to him and looked him up and down with unabashed disdain.

"Precisely," they admitted. "Hellfire belongs to Us and it will not burn a single feather of that angel's wings. So how do you wish to proceed?"

"How do You mean?"

"Well, you want to kill the Dominion, but We are telling you Hellfire will not take part in this so-called heavenly justice. Therefore, how do you wish to carry out the sentence?"

Silence had fallen over the Silver City and you observed this surreal interaction with a strange mixture of relief and confusion.

And then it hit you, and you understood what Lucifer was doing. They had found a loophole. The decision to sentence you to death by Hellfire was not only an act of humiliation but also a way for the leaders of the Silver City to get rid of you without getting their hands dirty. Because no matter how much Heaven seemed to bend the rules, God's Law still prevailed, and "Thou shall not kill". So by making you walk into Hellfire yourself, Heaven's conscience remained clean while you died, basically committing one last sin: suicide. But take Hellfire away, and the perfect murder could be no more.

"That sword of yours," Lucifer then mused, taking Michael's wrist to lift the weapon before running their index down the blade, "could be…" They brought their finger to their lips and licked off the blood they had drawn. "Adequate. But everybody here knows you will not use it."

"I have a sudden feeling I might," Michael growled.

"Enough!" The Metatron interjected, putting an end to these childish threats. Then he turned to Lucifer. "I shall have a word with You. Now."

It had been almost an hour since the whole commotion in the courtyard after your miraculous escape from death, and you were back in your cell, wondering if the Morningstar would manage to find a way out for you before their visitation rights expired.

Finally, you felt them approach, so you lifted your head and noticed they still sported the same soft smile as earlier. They were somewhat happy, you realised. Happy to see you. Behind them, the Metatron stood in the shadow, his eyes skewering you.

"How did You know?" you asked softly as Lucifer stopped a mere foot away from you. You had spent most of the past hour trying to figure out how they had managed to appear just in time to save you.

"We did not –not for certain. But We had a presentiment something would happen to you. We saw the fear in your eyes yesterday and the last flicker of hope born out of Our brother's empty promises. We have been there, We recognised the signs."

"But I thought… This is the last time You will ever be allowed in the Silver City. I thought You would come when the time was right, when You had a true reason, something important."

"Yes. And We did."

Your heart skipped a beat when Lucifer said that, and even more so when you noticed their eyes flickering to your lips before they promptly blinked and looked away.

"So… What are they going to do with me?" you asked after a short, uncomfortable silence. "Are they going to… send me to an isolated planet on the other side of the cosmos?"

That made Lucifer chuckle briefly, but their smile quickly faded.

"No."

Another silence.

"Am I going to fall?"

Lucifer nodded, and you felt a disagreeable contrast between your heart warming up and your blood turning cold.

"Will it be painful?"

"Extremely." Lucifer saw no point in trying to make you hope otherwise. "And lonely."

"But You will be there, on the other side."

"Always."

"Lightbringer, it is time to leave. The hour is coming to an end," the Metatron finally spoke from outside the cell.

"Yes," Lucifer replied. "No need to chase Us away this time. We will see Ourself out." Then they brought their fingers up to graze your cheek. "You have a few hours to prepare; it will happen when God puts an end to this day. We will be waiting."

Lucifer's touch lingered for a moment as if they were wishing you good luck, and then they left.

Once Lucifer had gone, you were left alone in the dim light of your cell, trying to make sense of everything that had happened today. A trial, a sentence, the blistering heat of Hellfire, and now, the promise of an eternity in Hell. It felt surreal, as though you were being swept along by forces beyond your control, moving too fast for your mind to fully comprehend.

A week ago, Lucifer and their subjects were your sworn enemies, you knew nothing about Hell, largely misunderstood it, and, above all, hated it. And tonight, despite the growing anxiety, you found yourself longing for it all.

With your lips parting in a small smile, you sat down on the cold stone floor and turned to the narrow window to your left. The air was chilly and smelled like rain, and you suddenly remembered what day tomorrow was.

Tomorrow was autumn. Fall. Your Fall.

And there was evening, and there was morning –the sixth day.

[wrightingdungeon]

Happy Endings

I felt bad leaving Alex all fucked up like that, but this is the Happy End so yay

Fluff, Angst, tears, and fears all lay ahead

"Dear Diary"

2. "The Past Reborn"

Alex was a mess. If he wasn't lying at your bedside, he was curled up in his own bed, unable to function. He didn't know what to do—he felt numb, he felt scared. It had been weeks, and you still hadn't woken up. Your burns and other injuries weren't serious enough to send you to the city, but Harvey hadn't left the clinic, dedicating all his time to caring for you. The sight of you lying motionless on the hospital bed, bandages wrapped around your wounds, was etched into Alex's mind, fueling his fears and anxieties.

Haley stepped up and cared for Alex the way you and his grandparents would have wanted. She made sure he was clean and fed, pulled him out of bed, and made him walk around. She knew that physical movement, no matter how small, was important for his mental health. "Alex, they are going to be fine," she said as she brushed his hair, her voice calm and soothing.

"How do you know..." he replied dully, his voice reduced to a whisper for a while now. He avoided looking at his reflection, feeling a profound sense of hopelessness. "Harvey has them, you know how good he is," she said, looking into the mirror and styling his hair. She paused, ensuring her words would sink in. "He's the best in town. He's been taking care of them day and night."

"But what if..." Alex started, his voice cracking as he began to sniffle, his mind stuck on all the what-ifs that ran wild through his head. He couldn't shake the thoughts of losing you, the fear of facing a future without you. "What if they walk out of the clinic today, Alex!" Haley huffed, moving to kneel in front of her best friend. "What about that? They could walk out just fine. Harvey said they would be okay, it just takes time, baby," she said, rubbing his face and flicking away the tears.

Alex looked at her, his eyes red and puffy from crying, searching for any glimmer of hope. "O-Ok..." he sobbed as he pulled Haley into a hug, feeling lucky to have her as a friend. He clung to her, drawing strength from her unwavering support. "Thank you, Haley," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Haley held him tightly, her own heart aching for both Alex and you. "We'll get through this together, Alex. Just one day at a time," she said softly. She knew it would be a long road to recovery, but she was determined to be there every step of the way, for both Alex and you.

Sitting at your head, he carefully brushed your hair out of your face. “Hey babe… You are looking better…” He said, trying not to cry as he talked to you. “I… I think I need to apologize to Sam, huh?” He asked, a small, weak laugh escaping his lips. “He was the one who tried to kick the bomb away…” He said dully as tears fell down his cheeks. Laying down on the bed, he looked up at your sleeping face. “You're gonna be okay, Farmer…” He said, kissing your hand and avoiding the IV lines. “I’ll be here making sure you’re okay…”

Alex stood in front of Sam’s house, frozen in fear and guilt. He had attacked Sam and hadn't seen him since that day. Knocking on the front door, he bit his lip, wondering if he should just go. The door opened a moment later, and Kent stared at Alex. ‘Shit,’ Alex thought, having preferred Jodi answer the door. “Alex,” Kent said, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Come in,” Kent said, motioning for him to come in. Walking into the home, Alex breathed in deeply, trying to calm his heart from beating out of his chest. “Sir…. I wanted to say I'm sorry…” He said, looking up at Kent fully expecting to be decked back. “Don't,” Kent said bluntly, placing his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I have explained to Sam that explosives are not toys over and over; he knows how dangerous they are,” Kent said, staring into Alex’s eyes. “He failed in placing the bomb so close to a ladder, thinking no one would come into the mines with them.” He said, his tone one of a soldier mid-war. “I am sorry Farmer had to take that failure.” He said, releasing Alex’s shoulder.

Kent sighed, his expression softening slightly as he continued, “But Sam has to learn from his mistakes. It's a harsh lesson, but it’s necessary.” He paused, glancing towards the door where Sam’s room was. “He’s been beating himself up over it too,” Kent said his face reflecting a worried father under the soldier facade. “Sam, get in here!” Kent called. A moment later, Sam appeared, still lightly wrapped in bandages himself. “Yeah, da-” His eyes fell on Alex before dropping to the ground, looking like a hurt puppy. “Hey, Alex…” he said softly.

“Get over here,” Kent said, watching his son. Sam dragged his feet moving in front of Alex, holding one of his arms for comfort, his eyes having trouble meeting Alex’s gaze. “Sam… I’m sorry,” Alex said softly, rubbing the back of his head. “What? No, I’m sorry, dude!” Sam said, looking at Alex in surprise.

“It was an accident, Sam… You got hurt trying to stop it…” Alex said, motioning to his still-hurt leg, the limp not gone yet. “I set the bomb off as well!” Sam said, tears welling up in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. “I hurt Farmer, Alex. It’s my fault…” He sobbed, his hands coming up to his face.

“Sam…” Alex whispered before gently grabbing him and pulling him into a hug, his own tears rolling down his cheeks. Alex clung to Sam, their tears raining down onto the rug as they both trembled with the weight of their emotions.

“It’s not your fault, Sam,” Alex murmured, his voice choked with emotion. “I didn't want to sell them to you guys, I should have said no, I didn't want you guys getting hurt either,” he admitted, holding Sam tightly as he cried. “Alex…” Sam sniffled as he wrapped his arms around him. The pair cried into each other, both giving apologies and reasons why they themselves were at fault. The dam broke and all the feelings and emotions flooded out. 

Once the two pulled apart, they couldn't help but laugh at each other, both eyes red and puffy, their noses a mess. “Thank you, Sam…” Alex said, hugging him tight again. “Thank you for trying.” He said, carefully squeezing him. “Thank you for not killing me.” Sam laughed as he held his friend back.

“I thought I’d lost you all for good,” Alex whispered, his voice trembling. “I was so scared,” Alex said softly.  “Me too,” Sam replied, his voice breaking. “Farmer will be okay,” Alex whispered softly trying to reassure both himself and Sam. Sam nodded, sniffling as he buried his face in Alex’s shoulder.

Kent watched the scene unfold, a mixture of sadness and pride in his eyes. “You boys are stronger than you think,” he said quietly, stepping forward and placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “We’ll get through this.”

It had been another few weeks, but Alex was starting to bounce back to himself. Eating and kind of working out again, he thought he would need to get back into shape so he could carry you around if needed. A quick knocking at the front door rang through the house. “One moment!” He heard Evelyn call out. Walking out of his room, he looked down the hall at the front door. The door opened to Maru, she had a wide smile on her face and was practically hopping up and down with excitement. “Oh hello dear, do you need something?” Evelyn asked sweetly as she stepped to the side to allow her inside. Maru shook her head no in response. “No, Ma’am, Farmer’s awake!” She cried out happily.

“Farmer…” Alex said, a smile splitting his face in two. He yelled an apology back to Maru and Evelyn as he almost ran them both over in his haste to get out of the house. His heart pounded with a mix of relief and exhilaration. He sprinted down the familiar path, Dusty's barks cheering him on, his mind racing with thoughts of seeing You again, awake and hopefully well. The weeks of worry and anticipation had weighed heavily on him, but now, with each step, he felt lighter, as if the burden was lifting. He couldn’t wait to see your face, to hear your voice, and to be reassured that everything would be alright.

As Alex rounded the final corner, the clinic came into view. He didn't feel his feet hitting the ground as he ran, barreling into Harvey's clinic nearly out of breath but fueled by pure adrenaline, making the older man jump out of his chair. “Sorry, Doc” he said softly, slowing down as he made his way back to you, his chest heaving slightly.

Pushing the curtain to the side, his eyes landed on yours, weakly open but open, a small smile on your face as you noticed him. “Alex…” Your voice was a bit hoarse, but it was your voice. You lifted a hand towards him, it shaking with the movement. Sitting on your bedside, he took your hand, kissing the palm. “Hi, babe…” he said into your palm before gently leaning down, hover-hugging you, not wanting to hurt you. “Harvey told me what happened.” You said as your hands felt Alex’s back, a small sob leaving your lips. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

He looked down at you like you were insane. “What are you apologizing for?” He chuckled as he wiped a tear of his that threatened to fall on you. “For worrying you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I know how scared you must have been.” Alex shook his head, his eyes glistening. “Hey, don’t even think about that. I’m just glad you’re okay. That’s all that matters.” He squeezed your hand gently, his touch warm and reassuring

“I… I…” You began, tears streaming down your cheeks, your body trembling with emotion. “I must have worried you so much.” Your trembling hands reached out, cupping his cheeks tenderly, feeling the warmth of his skin against your fingertips. “Farmer…” Your name escaped his lips in a choked whisper, reflecting the pain he felt seeing you in distress. Leaning in closer, he pressed his lips gently against yours, a silent reassurance in his touch.

“You're okay, that's all that matters to me,” he murmured softly, his eyes locked with yours, conveying his deep concern and affection. “You’re okay,” he repeated, his voice filled with sincerity as he tried to reassure himself as much as you. Brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, he pressed a tender kiss against it. “We are okay,” he affirmed, his smile offering solace amidst the turmoil of emotions. “We are okay,” you echoed, a faint smile gracing your lips, finding comfort in his words and presence.

He stood behind you, delicately brushing your hair, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he observed your reflection in the mirror. “There we go, almost perfect,” he murmured, his voice soft and tender as he leaned down to plant a kiss on the crown of your head. Catching Alex's eye, you looked up at him questioningly, sensing a hint of secrecy in his demeanor. “What do you mean almost, sir?” you teased, “It's just one thing…” You felt a slight weight being placed on your chest, causing you to turn back towards the mirror.

A gasp escaped your lips, and your eyes widened in surprise, as Alex beheld you, with the utmost care, adorning you with a mermaid pendant. “There, I think you look perfect now,” Alex said, a shy smile gracing his features as he looked down at you. Overwhelmed with emotion, you couldn't help but respond, “Oh, Alex, yes it is,” turning back to embrace him tightly. 

Time marched on, and you did heal, the scars left on your body a vivid reminder of how close you had come to death. That drove you two closer though, the reminder of how fleeting life is and that you never know what will happen, the reminder you should hold your loved ones close to yourself.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

12 - The Cost of Our Sins

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 10.2k

Warnings: Angst/hurt comfort, slow burn, traumatic and disturbing imagery, gore, physical abuse, confinement and restraints, reference/allusions to rape, trauma response, torture, suicidal ideation, past character death

Notes: I am so sorry for..well...pretty much everything, cus the horror show does not end at the last chapter strap in because part 3 starts now. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

Numb is all you felt, a radiating sensation of death that sat through your body still on it’s side. Your eyes could not open, as you felt the pooling of blood in your stomach. The warmth soaked feeling where a son once lay inside you. You had looked into Robb’s eyes as yours faded with him. You had gone together, and now you lay there with the seconds of an awoken mind. Eyes fluttering open was not that of the scene you died, but something worse.

It was fire. Blood and fire all around as you barley could open your eyes long enough to see what your sins had cost you. Was it the Seven, the Old Gods, or the fire god your father had found in that sought to punish you? You lay looking through bars that caged you at the hell before you, it was your punishment for all crimes you had found in. 

The world before this ended you and Robb Stark together and somewhere in this hell your gods decided that you could not reunite until you were given fair just sentence for your sins. Push through this, you thought, let the gods do with you as they wish and they will allow you to return in the veil to him, to him and your son. 

Chanting that in your ears sounded like they were moving underwater, you felt too heavy to lift your head to look. Your body burned and bled still and your muscles could not move but that of your eyes to the blur around you. The chanting grew louder and louder as a group rounded a corner of wherever you were brought too, and it was your husband that they called too. A chanting of King in the North, over and over as you watched his own punishment. The gods were far more cruel then you ever imagined as you watched what they forced you to atone in.

It was Robb, but propped up against something, the black outfit was the very one you recalled your living self, lovingly dressing him in. And the shine in his bright blue eyes as they looked over you with as much love as you had in your heart. But it was soaked in blood as you lay, and not the face of your husband. 

Instead, the sight of The Young Wolf was that as you were The Silent Stag. His head bloodied, but like it had formed into that of a giant direwolf, like he turned into his very companion in Grey Wind as it looked propped on his body. The gods, forcing him to live what he was called and you as your own as you lay in a choking cry unable to find the strength to speak or cry to him through the blood in your mouth. 

His sight was mocked by the demonic creatures you could barley see around him, before the water in your eyes blurred him, before the fading came once more. You accepted the horror that he did not deserve. This was for your sins. 

Let the gods do this, and once more you would wake. In the realms beyond the living, Robb at your side with an arm around you, as you held your son, little Ned. You promised to always be together. 

The gods would punish you, and allow you to be together once more. You and Robb just had to endure this horror, and you would finally be together again. 

That was all you had to do to get back to him. 

Skies were dim as you ventured further into the lands, leaving a drab feeling blanketing over the land that fit the state of mind you lived in. According to the rumblings in the men, you had been in and out of conciseness for almost a fortnight, leaving you to assume that the last of the summer sun had died out and only the dim of autumn remained. Not that you missed the sun, the last time it shined in any way that you could appreciate was so far off you bared not thinking about it. 

Watching the men around you act like normal had made you angry in those first few days you woke up, but now it was all meaningless to try and keep that energy up, you had none left in you really. The small cage off in the distance was your home for a bit, mostly a place you were tossed to wait and see if you would ever wake up, but then once you had? They kept you shoved in there just to keep you from lashing out. 

The first day one of the men had approached you to give you water, only to slide his hand into the bars as your hands were tightly bound. He still wore an ugly dressing over the mark where you bit him, your mouth still stained somewhat with blood from how hard you dug your teeth in. After that, multiple men had to drag you out and hold you down so they could gag you which had stayed on you for the most part, including now. 

But you were too exhausted to fight, your face and skin were constantly flush and hot with sweat as your head grew more fuzzy and dizzy each day. Once it was determined you were indeed alive and not going to bleed out, apparently some kind of infection set in just to make you more pathetic. Currently as camp was made for the night you were granted some freedom. 

The men assigned to watch you noting that you were mostly docile, leaning your head against the iron bars with a distant and dispondant look, to weak to even roll your eyes at their comments. You had been allowed to be let out, and brought to a tree where you now sat tied up against. What a sight you must have been, flush and sweaty, covered in grime to the point it matted in your hair, and still wearing the very dress you had been that night, still soaked in dried blood. 

It was a living nightmare, your dreams flashing in a repeating horror with the strings of music that would forever haunt you, only to awake to the men all finding it in their cold hearts, to sing it outloud. You wondered if they even knew other songs, or if it was just all a sick game to torment you as they dragged you with them. If one more of them sung that Lannister song, you were going to find a way to free your hands just to cut off your own ears. 

Perhaps it was the fever in your head, but you had no sense of what to feel anymore. It was so twisted all wrong, and you had not the heart to find it’s truth in front of all these people. Not them, not after what they’ve done. 

Your eyes flickered up in a painful glare as footsteps approached, and the figure kneeling in front of you raised an eyebrow at your state. “Now, my lady, if I take this off are you going to behave, or will you need a refresher?” His hand pointing to your eye. Right, that must be just adding to your state, likely bruised by this point when he had hit you hard across the face after you kicked away the food he brought you. 

You wanted nothing from Roose Bolton, but he insisted on finding ways to keep you alive. A true mockery that felt now. Your stomach burned where the slices refused to heal or fade. You looked off to the side dejectedly, and he took that was an answer. 

Pulling the fabric down from between your teeth you bit your tongue and continued to not look in his direction. “It’s been almost a fortnight since you’ve eaten, and days since you’ve had any water. If I’m going to keep you alive, we’re going to have to fix that problem.” 

“Then don’t keep me alive. Wouldn’t be the first time.” You barley recognized your voice, it was hoarse and so rough that your throat screamed at you to douse it in water and smooth it down with honey to ease the pain. Tearing your eyes back up to him as your head lulled to rest back against the bark you raised your eyebrows at him in challenge. 

His ability to keep calm in any situation no longer was a point of impressive resolve, but an angering fester in your stomach at his lack of humanity. “It was not a matter of personal affairs, just politics, my lady.” 

Your breath cracked out a single laugh that almost made you cough. “Where is the utility in keeping me alive, when you sure tried your best to do the opposite?” You couldn’t ignore the burning inside of you, it was as if you’d pull your dress up and see a blackness toxifying around what was left. 

“This is neither the time nor place to discuss such matters. Not in your fragile state.” Huffing another cracked laughter you asked him what he even wanted. “Right now I want to ensure I can get myself, my men, and even you into the Dreadfort in one piece. When we arrive I will have our maester treat you, then we can speak more.” 

You felt dizzy even just sitting up against a tree like this, the air was obviously getting colder judging by the state of dress going around but you neither were covered in anyway to help, nor did you really feel it. It was as if you were in the dark swampiness of the Crannogmen lands but instead of a misty air it was humid and sweltering like a Dornish sun. All you could muster was a huff. 

Leaning forward with a skin of something, he opened the cap and took a sip before holding it up with an expectant look. “It will be far easier to get us past the Ironborn if I have you on a horse instead of dragging you around in a cage. But I need to know you will cooperate if I do. I’ll even keep let you stay ungagged.”  

Leaning forward with the skin once more before he was uncomfortably close to your face, “I wouldn’t test me further, my lady. The only thing keeping these men from raping you every night is my order, and I’m quite sure in this state you wouldn’t survive as many as have talked about it. So either it’s me, or I leave you now to the mercy of my men.”

There was no place in arguing, you had nothing to fight back with. Jaw clenched as you fought back the angry pounding in your heart, you nodded. Roose seemingly satisfied enough that he gently placed the skin to your mouth. The water down your throat felt so soothing that it made your insides wish to cry, but you had no energy for it. So you let him give you the water, and come morning maybe you would feel less like a floating bundle of delusions. 

He left you alone after that, but just as he said none came over to you. You think there were groups that had their eyes on you, but it was difficult to see. In the dark, the blurriness of your vision only let you see what was in front of your face and everything else was blurs of shapes and fire. 

Late into the night, you fell asleep once more. The only thing which came to you, was the sight of Roose plunging the knife he struck you with into the chest of Robb and the strings of music that had played only seconds before it all. That’s all you saw anymore, and you couldn’t remember if you ever dreamed in any way before that night, all you saw and heard was those two things again and again. 

One man, dark eyes with a creeping look that would once have made you on edge was the one who fetched you come morning. He spoke some, expected nothing in return. Pointing a knife at your unresponsive face as he threw out, “You run or hit me, and I’ll knock that pretty face around enough to leave a mark that’ll stay ugly. Got it?” Merely untying you did nothing, since your hands were still bound tight enough to keep you from struggling them from behind. 

Yanking you up to your feet he walked you though the camp to where the horses were stood ready to go. Another man next to what seemed to be his, smirked as he nodded to you like a silent object. “Know it’s been a rough few years when even this one looks good ‘nuff to make a man jealous.” 

Knocking him in the arm, he moved with him to hoist you up onto the horse, your vision spinning drastically at the movement with no way to steady yourself. The first dark eyed man, Locke, climbed up behind you, taking your bound hands into his grip and yanking you back to hiss in your ear. “Be smart now, lass. There’s nothing round us but Ironborn and best bet no one’s gonna protect your honour once you’re alone with them. You gonna be a smart girl?” Nodding with a clenched jaw, he hummed satisfied. 

Shoving you off of him before the rest of the men all begun to take off. They’d have to take the day to sneak past the bordered scouts and by then, if they pushed hard they could make it to the Dreadfort by next daybreak. You couldn’t possibly wonder what awaited you there, but at the minimum, threat of death was far from any worry in your mind. 

Waking up for good had felt like a new kind of death, a confusion that tore you up and threatened to swallow you whole. Making no sense at first, you had died you knew it. Or, you thought you did. Not a thing had felt like the way you were fading and yet you were here now. You dared not think of the memory of fire and chanting you were so sure as a deathly torment of the gods. If you thought of that, you might bringing up the only thing in your stomach, of water and bile and you refused to look at yourself in anyway. The red staining your dress was there until the mercy of new clothes might be granted if ever. 

You had no right to be here, you had promised him. You and Robb promised the other that it would be until your last day, together. Not one without the other, you found your fate dying beside him but yet you were alive and the memories of him would paint before your mind like cries in the night. 

Something was quite wrong inside you, but you felt like there wasn’t enough awareness in you to see what it was or what was missing. All you knew is that you were trapped in this memory of that night, and you couldn’t see a single thing in the world around you except that and here. 

If there was a world and people that existed besides this nightmare, you could not find them. 

“So you admit you murdered Qhorin Halfhand?” 

Standing in the main hall before three men, having found nothing right when Jon awoke. Lord Commander Mormont as Sam said, dead. Murdered in a mutiny, and leaving him to hope that he learned enough from the Old Bear to get through to the rest. 

Jon saw nothing but conflict in his actions, and as he stood there now it was clear that it didn’t matter what they thought of him, it mattered that he make them understand what no one else seemed to truly get. Neither side got it, it seemed. “I didn’t murder him.” 

Ser Alliser Thorne looked him down with the same contempt he always had, and if he had his way without question he would’ve ended Jon then and there the second he rode through the gates. “No? You put your sword through a brother of the Night’s Watch. What do you call that?” 

“He wanted me to kill him.” 

Lord Janos Slynt sat to the left, leaning partially across the table with the same puffy and slime filled smugness he always held. Full of respect for none but his own reputation, and yet he was here down in the icy ends of the world like the rest of them. “The bastard son of a traitor. What would you expect?” 

The man was lucky Jon wasn’t as young and brash as he was in his first months here. He tried putting a knife through Ser Alliser in a rage for a similar comment once upon a time. Instead, he kept his composure and attention on the later man and Maester Aemon listening intently to his right. “The Halfhand believed our only chance to stop Mance was to get a man inside his army.” 

Ser Alliser interrupting with a gritted roughness that Jon could sympathize with. “Don’t talk about the Halfhand as if you knew him. He was my brother.”

They were all brothers now, even you, Jon thought. Ser Alliser certainly wasn’t a fan of Jon, nor he in return but he knew losing a brother wasn’t easy and it certainly didn’t make Jon feel like he was doing the right thing when he killed him. He agreed with the man himself to do it, and he agreed with why, but he still put his sword through the Halfhand. His first true kill and that would forever be a bloodstain on his hands. “Then you’d know he’d do anything to defend the Wall. The free folk would have boiled him alive, but letting me kill him-”

Slynt had the gall to laugh, like there was anything in Jon’s entire existence anymore that even could give the slightest bit of amusement. “The free folk? Listen to him, he even talks like a wildling now.” 

The rage for a minute spilled out of his mouth as Jon raised his voice to him, “Aye, I talk like a wildling. I ate with the wildlings, I climbed the wall with the wildlings, I-” There was that wave again. One that made him feel uncomfortable and bordering on a guilty kind of dirty that he couldn’t scrub away no matter how hard. It was there and they would all only see one thing, but it didn’t feel anything the way they were going to. 

Then Jon thought of you, and it just made it all the worse. But he had to be honest in some regards, he wasn’t going to get through to these men by lying. He had to just say it the only way any would care or believe him with. “I laid with a wildling girl.” 

“You admit to breaking your vows, then?” 

If that’s what they were going to focus on, what would it even take to convince them to take him seriously on anything else. He did break his vows, but not willingly, and not with the only person who deserved to have them broken for. 

Janos Slynt continued his petty tirade that Jon was growing increasingly annoyed with. “The law is law, the boy must die.” And what law did you break to get here, my lord? What had you done to find yourself from City Watch Commander to the Night’s Watch, what mercy were you shown to not die for your crimes, Jon thought. 

Maester Aemon however, seemed to care not for where they saw fit to debate Jon on. “If we beheaded every ranger who lay with a girl, the Wall would be manned by headless men.” 

Ser Alliser trying to argue, “There’s a difference between sneaking off to the Mole’s Town brothel and sleeping with the enemy.” Somehow Jon knew that telling him the only alternative was death, wouldn’t exactly give him any more leniency, but he like Aemon, had no time for this. 

“Aye, there is a difference. Sneaking out to a brothel doesn’t give you detailed information about their enemy plans and numbers. And while we sit here debating which rules I broke, Mance Rayder marches on the wall with an army of a hundred thousand.” 

They tried to protest that was impossible, but he’d seen it. He had walked through that camp and felt nothing but a building dread for what was to come of any of this. “He’s united the Thenns, the Hornfoots, the Ice-River Clans. He has giants fighting for him.” 

The degree to which Jon was getting fed up with Janos Slynt was immeasurable. The man laughed while looking at the other two who didn’t find anything funny about it. “Giants?” 

Jaw tight, he looked to the waste of air with a barley held back lack of respect on his face. “Have you ever been beyond the Wall, ser?” 

There was that huff of pride in his face once more. “I commanded the City Watch of King’s Landing, boy.” 

“And now you’re here. You must not have been very good at your job.” Jon would have no way of knowing it, but another voice with serious eyes and a dismissive snark echoed in Janos Slynt’s ears. 

The voice of a woman who he had no reasonable way of knowing meant a single thing to dark curly haired man in front of them. The girl had spent many of her days on the council questioning his capabilities, and insulting him all the same as this one. But Jon ignored his outrage as she always would.

“There’s a band of wildlings south of the Wall already led by Tormund Giantsbane. I killed their warg and three others, they shot me full of arrows. Their orders are to attack Castle Black from the south while Mance hits it from the north. Their signal for the attack will be a bonfire, Mance said it would be the greatest fire the North has ever seen. That’s the truth. All the truth.” 

They didn’t execute him, or at least not that day Jon thought to himself. As he slept that night though, he still saw you dying on the floor in your own blood. Sam had tried asking him about the girl, about Ygritte. Especially since he now had Gilly in his life but Jon knew there was no comparing. From what he could tell, Gilly had more of a strange sheltered life then any of them, and she was nothing like the aggressive and hypocritical anger of the wildling girl Jon had travelled with. 

But he didn’t want to talk about Ygritte, he didn’t want to talk about having to send his only protection in Ghost away just to save his cover from that of death. Didn’t want to talk about what he was forced to do and how he tricked himself into thinking it was all fine just to cope with it. 

Only a few times did Sam try to gently bring up the other, but Jon shot it down every single time. He already felt pain and anger about it, about Robb. Jon certainly didn’t want to talk about you. Not now. Maybe not ever. 

Jon had a job to do, and he was haunted enough in his dreams of your death to have Sam try and comfort him about it. Besides, he didn’t even have Ghost now. He hadn’t seen him since sending him off and all he could remember in his waking hours, was the two of you sitting in front of the Weirwood. Ghost still tiny curled up in your lap as you sat in his arms. 

He was losing everything it seemed, but he’d be damned if he lost this place, the only thing that served from the gods to provide Jon with any kind of purpose. In this coming war, or the one foreboding against them in the distant colds of the far North. 

The Dreadfort was a befitting name you supposed. It stood tall in what looked like the middle of nowhere, cleared land all around the high walls, that build up on the inside to the highest fort in the dead centre with edges at the top looking like sharp, imposing teeth. As your eyes drifted along it, a woozy feeling came over you from the last push to get into the lands past the remaining Ironborn. Gates opening, the court was as drab and deary as the rest of it and yet the people all scattered around were normal. 

Roose Bolton climbed from his horse first to greet a figure awaiting in the distance, and introducing his new wife. Walda was a bit younger then you, and certainly held more life in her eyes and face then you did. A brightness as she was brought into the castle where you were pulled off the front of the horse by two men. 

Turning from the other man, Roose looked to them with orders, “Put her in a cell, and have Maester Wolkan look her over.” You hardly had a chance to see or hear anything else as you were dragged into a deeper part of the structure. The cells in your vision were along a single wall and quite small as the only light was a small set of torches lit along wall corners. 

None said a word to you, but you went willingly as they opened the doors. Cutting your hands free behind your back before tossing you in and closing behind you. The echos of their feet fading off until it was the flickering of the flames left alone with you. 

Wincing as you dragged yourself up with palms braced on the ragged ground before finding a resting spot against the wall and side of the cell. Resting your head along the bars you couldn’t figure out what it was you were feeling. Your body held an ache all over where some places burned like a festering would alight. 

Eyes barley focusing on the wall beyond your cell, they wanted to let tears fall freely but you simply had nothing left in you. The shock of waking up had passed by this point, and now all that was left was the murky depths left behind and only one thing at a time could come to the surface for air. You could still hear the strings playing, the hall filling with music that had you, nor anyone, suspect a thing until it was already over. 

You hardly thought any other music existed, it looped in your mind as did the damning stop of it as the instruments blurred to weapons. Perhaps it was your doom to sit reliving such a moment and yet you found nothing in you to say Roose Bolton took you just to let you rot. 

He had tried to kill you, and you had even lay there beside Robb thinking he had succeeded until..the wall torch fire before you flashed to another fire, and that turned to yells and chanting and in a split second you flew a hand to to grasp tightly at one of the bars as your lungs gave out. You told yourself not to think about it, you said you would never look back to that sight-

A door opening had you slam your eyes shut, breathing so harshly out that you felt the dizziness spin around you. Your hand still gripped the bar so tightly though that it strained your hand into a cramp as you willed your panic to swallow. “My lady,” 

Slowly you opened them, trying to stay still as you glanced up and to the side where a man you didn’t recognize stood. Two guards behind him, but you did note the chains across his robes before sighing and turning away. 

The guards entered behind him to stand at attention as he came towards you. “My lady, I am Maester Wolkan, I am here to see how your health is faring.” He knelt down in front of you as you huffed out a painful spit of air as it trying to fake a laugh. “I understand you have been through a lot, if you would allow me?” 

Rolling your head to the side so he could see your still discoloured eye, he tilted your head back and forth to see the other cuts along you. “How long have you had this fever?” You didn’t answer, you didn’t even know. It had been days since you woken up, and it’s felt both like years of pain have passed through you and only seconds since losing everything of your life. 

Wolkan lightly soaked a cloth in a small basin of water before dabbing it across your forehead, the coolness of it making you hiss towards the feeling against your burning skin. Taking it upon himself, he washed away some of the blood and grime on your face as the water left a cool sheen on it.

“Can you stand on your own?” Your eyes narrowed in confusion before remembering he was there to look at your wounds, when truthfully you didn’t see the point. Nodding, you hissed in lifting yourself up, letting him look over your arm, pulling apart the torn fabric near your shoulder to look at the deep unhealed scar inside of it. “Any pain or difficulties moving this arm at all?” 

You shook your head no, passing your notice, that it made him pause, looking at you almost puzzled for just a moment. He must have been told some of the wounds, as gently asked you, “I will have to undo the laces against your back to check the one there.” You didn’t react, just looked to the nothing on the dark walls as he looked where you pushed away the memory of an arrow. Not the one which hit you, no, the ones that-

“This might seem a droll indecent, but I was informed you had received a significant injury on your stomach and I will need to take a look at it.” You were stuck at the arrows, not thinking of anything else after reliving the seconds as they hit him, and your eyes finding a watering that luckily was hard to see in this light. 

The man had to gently pull up the skirt of your dress, trying carefully not to peel it on the sensitive skin as he revealed what you had no bravery to look at. But by not looking at it, you also missed the shocked, almost dreadfully fearful astonishment in Wolkan’s face. “My lady how did-” 

“Ask your lord, he will know better.” 

The finality in your tone ended that line of thought in his head, but his eyes were so focused on the wounds that you begun to shake from the lack of energy. Dropping it back down he gently grabbed your upper arms, “Here, you can sit once more.” 

It took some time for him to come to an assessment, packing up some of his things. “I fear you have an infection, my lady. The lack of food and water likely making it overstay it’s place for much longer, I will have simple water and broth sent down to you for the next while. As well as a potion that will help speed the process.” Glancing down to your stomach and then your dulled eyes he paused, “It is the-”

“I don’t want to to hear it, just send me what I need to take and I’ll take it. Now if we are finished Maester, I’d like to be left alone to rot in the quiet.” Watching you for a few significant moments, he respected your wish and made his way to leave. 

Normally he would inform you the degree which it would make you ill before getting better, but he had the feeling you had very little care on such a side effect. Such a state you were in, how bloodied and unwell you were as Lord Bolton dragged you across much of the North, and then was the wounds on her stomach..as far as Wolkan in all his knowledge could tell anyone, there shouldn’t have been a soul who could have survived that. 

It hadn’t healed, but it was as if it was to stay open and deep without having any impact on the skin around it. It was a gruesome, violent, jagged series of scars all connected together, and yet it was as if they existed separate of your body.

In the main hall, the Greyjoy in Ramsay Snow’s care looked as unwell and ragged as the lady in the cells, but subservient to the point it made many uncomfortable. “If Bran and Rickon are alive, the country will rally to their side now that Robb Stark is gone.” 

Theon pausing in his actions shaving the younger man, a horror in his eyes that was desperate to be pushed back down before it swallowed him whole. Ramsay with no genuinity in his sorrowful tone. “Oh that’s right, Reek. Robb Stark is dead.” 

Roose Bolton notably said nothing to stop his sons torment of Theon. Turning to Locke instead he gave the man an offer, “Find those boys and I’ll give you a thousand acres and a holdfast.”  

Locke asking on any ideas where to start, and the beginnings of a true mistake unknowingly spilling from Roose’s mouth in instruction. “Jon Snow is at Castle Black. Their bastard brother, he could be sheltering them, he may know where they are. Even if he doesn’t he’s half Stark himself which means he could prove to be a threat. Especially if he learns of our most recent prisoner,” Pausing as he looked to Ramsey with something that Theon couldn’t yet grasp, how could he? He didn’t know any of who else they were keeping here besides himself.

Looking back to Locke, Roose was specific with your name on his lips that way too quickly made Theon swallow harshly, “Make sure no mention of her presence here gets out. Jon Snow was close with the girl, and she is his brothers widow. If he isn’t hiding the boys, he may still learn that she’s being kept here. And I don’t care to have him bringing a fight to our doorstep to get her back.” 

His instructions included killing you, that much was made clear from Tywin Lannister but apparently you were a frustrating little fighter. It was a surprise to find later in the night, you were still alive. He had come up as the blood was all still fresh, knocked you with his foot onto your back and you were as dead as every other corpse in the hall. You and Robb both pale, blood had spilled out and stopped, and not a pulse to be felt as both your eyes sat wide, colourless, and defeated. There was no question about it.

Until later when he had returned. Ensuring the giant direwolf had been taken care of, walking back in before the Freys and his men could do whatever with the bodies they wished. But as he approached the King and Queen, and with no one in the hall to have done so, suddenly, your eyes had been closed. And you had the faintest of pulses he’d ever felt, but it was there. He was sure he watched you die himself, but now you sat in his dungeon as a plan begun to formulate in his mind. 

Time was difficult for you to gauge, but far longer had begun to pass then you realized, weeks and months that felt like seconds or years. In that time, Roose building the steps to a proper claim, and promised his bastard son, that if he could prove himself and retake Moat Cailin, then he would reconsider his position. Afterall, if you were alive anyways, you were of no use to Roose in the hands of his bastard, but in the hands of a legitimate heir? Perhaps the gods left you alive for a reason. 

Roose just had to make sure that the half Stark at Castle Black heard no word of you being alive. Too many people underestimated Robb Stark for too long, and the same mistake would not be made twice, not for his brother. Ramsay has his own way of things, but Roose Bolton did not want to be the one to underestimate Jon Snow.  

Gods, how much time had even passed? You felt in a daze that never ended, even worse then before. A servant for the Maester brought down a vile smelling potion which tasted even worse. Since you had kept nothing down. The broth and water seems to be your only diet to make having it come right back up less disgusting. 

You were dripping in sweat, your head running so hot you wondered if the fire of the torch would even burn you. Sometime in the hours, or days that had passed you would see things your mind told you to not believe. Some of it you knew, most of it felt like a life that was beyond understanding. 

Laying in bed, there was rain pouring out the high windows that blended with the river in the distance, the light of the moon dripping you in shades of blue matching his bright eyes as you lay bare on your side into the equally as bare chest of another. His hand drifting across your stomach so gently in touch as you nuzzled into their neck. The feeling of his curls dancing around your cheek before the strings begun.  

The begun and as they played you opened your eyes in the same position as his hand raised now soaked in blood. Looking to you his blue eyes were in a terrified horror before you could see them go out all the same. Only as you lay there on your side, feeling the blood rushing from your stomach like it was to never end, did the room twist and turn to a red.

Red tones and fire all around as a voice in a foreign accent spoke in your ear. Their red hair hanging low as she spoke and if you had the strength to turn you could see the tight red ruby choked around her neck as she spoke. “Your Great Wolf to stand with you and your children together.”

You wanted to turn and lash out, scream that he was dead and so was the child in your womb but all that happened was blood rushing now from your mouth too. Too much blood that you begun to choke on it as you turned to her the red ruby trailing up until a pair of eyes met yours. Eyes of blue that sat on the head of a wolf it did not belong with, only as the faint chanting begun did your eyes snap open.

Turning to the corner behind you did you violently cough up nothing but water and bitter bile that scraped at your throat. One hand pressed against the wall and the other braced on the floor as you brought up what was hardly even there. Your throat burned as your stomach did, the servant who was bringing it down for you to drink would tell you it is to cleanse your system of the rot and it only felt like it spread violently. 

No sense of night or day, you hardly even had enough resolve to pay attention to the schedule of the guards. The servant of the Maester seemed kind, but he was a young boy who didn’t know any better you suspected. No one else spoke to you, or much looked at you. 

As you heaved to catch your breathe in between the pressure on your chest as you spit up more bile, you wondered if it mattered anymore. If none of them knew who you were, it would not matter what happened to you you maybe life would be easier if you just died on them. 

It would be easier for you as well. But there was nothing for such a thing in the cell. Just dirt, and your own fluids that mixed horribly. If any were to find you now, they’d easily mistaken you for a filthy craven, and you felt like one. 

You barley heard the footstep over the heaves of your breathe until they were speaking to you right outside the bars. “Oh my word,” Gasping you flung yourself back, almost pressing up against the wall with fright. You barley could recognize the fellow kneeling down looking at you, but you think perhaps he was in the courtyard when greeting Roose. 

Hair dark to an almost black and laid flat across his forehead with eeiry pale blue eyes that were wide as they looked at you. You said nothing, untrusting of any face that looked at you in such a place. Looking you over, he sighed to himself. “I heard we had a guest, but such a shame to find you in a state such as this, my lady.” 

Straightening your back, you dragged your knees up to your chest, as you narrowed your eyes. He simply shrugged to himself before holding a hand out through the bars, seeing you not move an inch as he grimaced and pulled back even slower. “Not a woman for formalities, I can understand that. Especially in a state such as this,” whistling out he looked you over in a way you could only describe as making you feel even dirtier then you were. “Why they didn’t even bother offering you new clothes, you’re stuck in the same bloody ones as you arrived. That will not do, a lady should at least have a pretty dress to go with such a pretty face.” 

“What do you want?”

He reacted none to the bluntness, your voice scratched badly like claw marks scraped down your throat. “Well I would be remiss if I didn’t pay the late Queen in the North a visit.” You bit your tongue to the point it threatened to bleed, it was a mockery. Is that what you were supposed to see yourself as anymore, here thrown away in the dungeons to waste in the home of the very man who murdered your king? “Oh, I’m so sorry. Sensitive subject, I know.”

His voice was so exaggerated in his inauthenticity, you bought not a word and you thought you likely weren’t supposed to. “If you’ve come down here to mock me, fair not. Bolton’s men have seen fit to do that the entire journey, I am not with a lack of torment.” 

It felt so unnerving, his eyes. The way they lingered on you in ways you couldn’t immediately detect the intention of and a glint behind them that terrified you beyond what anything you’d see. But you were lucky, you were too faded inside to show it as he spoke once more. “You wound me, my lady. We’re in the North you see, we supported our King in the North and his Queen. But, I suppose if he’s good and dead that doesn’t really make you one anymore does it?” 

You didn’t care if you were a queen, you cared that you were Robb’s wife and now you broke your promise to stay together. You swore a vow in love and now you sat with his blood in your mouth and son dead from your womb. “Then again, you are still a Baratheon, does that make you a princess now? No, that doesn’t seem quite right either does it. A girl like you doesn’t scream princess.” 

Finding the strength to turn away from him, you looked at the nothing of the dark wall. Your name quiet on your lips. “That’s all I am I suppose.” 

“I seem to have you at a disadvantage, I know your name my lady but you don’t know mine do you? You’ve likely heard of me, most call me Ramsay, others call me Roose Bolton’s bastard son.” Your back chilled as you shivered, despite the sweat and the heat in your mind. So his family is all in on it, that was just what you needed to hear. 

Turning your head to face him as it leaned against the wall, you raised an eyebrow dully. “Did you want something, or can I die in peace?” 

He tsked as he stood up. “Now my lady, you can’t die. We haven’t spent nearly enough time together for me to be sick of you. I came to tell you, once you’re better, I can find you a nice room, a hot bath and we’ll see about any nice, pretty dresses we can get for you.” 

Clearly, he did not care if you bought into him. It didn’t matter if you left this cell or not, you couldn’t see past the blood and the fog in your head marred by the strings of music. He only took a few steps away before spinning back to you in a dramatic fashion. 

“How silly of me, I did come here with a present actually. You see, I have a little task I have to leave for, and I just couldn’t bear the thought if something happened to him and you didn’t get a chance to meet each other. My own servant, a very special boy I’ve whipped him up to be.” You narrowed your eyes as you felt your limbs weigh too much, you’d have passed out from exhaustion were he still not insisting on talking. 

“If he does a good job while we’re away, I may just start lending him to you once we get you back on your feet. I’m sure he will be the perfect company. Reek, come say hello.” If you had anything left to bring back up to the surface of the world, you would have. 

Instead you lost all breathe, head spinning as you found the appearance of this so called present. Much like you, marred in grime and dirt and sickly appearance to their skin that matched with the matted hair grown out. As if their entire existence was in a detrimental fear, you felt a weight in your throat that kept you from any words. 

Dark eyes that refused to look at a thing slowly drifted upwards until they met the agony of yours and your heart pounded until it flattened to nothing and left you woozy. There was a recognition in his eyes that you were to delusional and feverish to understand. 

Something that in Ramsay’s delight of torment, did not see. A pain of who he was looking at and what state they both had ended up in, alone in the world trapped within the confines of the family of flayers and torturers. “Now Reek, it’s not polite to stare. I’m sure the lady isn’t quite ready so soon after her husbands tragic death, besides not like you have the ability to do anything about it.” 

He shook and you narrowed your eyes in confusion with a tilt of your head, you felt the need to vomit once more as the potion swam through your stomach like it had for days now. Leaving you once more, Ramsay had to pull him away when he took half a second too long to part from your eyes. The dungeons fell quiet and dark once more and your mind only had enough time to feel even more confused until your stomach forced more burning up. 

“And Theon? I want him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why. Then I’ll take his head myself.” 

Collapsing to the ground with a cry of pain, you curled up with your knees back against your chest. The hurt and betrayal on his face that day, the way only you seemed to give him any peace as you both stood unified in what he commanded. But this was no longer such a day, such a time. 

The blue eyes you wanted to see were darker then those pale ones, and with an adoration you wanted to scream at. Robb didn’t want this for you, Theon. Neither of us did, you thought. You demanded justice at Robb’s side, but this was not justice. 

If what you were holding back cries of pain for was not justice, you couldn’t imagine what found it’s way into his terror to make Theon Greyjoy look as frail and petrified as you felt. 

He was fighting to call himself one or the other. Reek was screeching in his head that he would be punished for this, but Theon kept climbing the stairs anyways. It was quite late, and he was already under orders to bring you a meal but he was not given orders to speak to you. So why was he walking down and fighting to not do so?

Walk in, open the gate, sit the food down and return like Reek was ordered to do, but as he stood outside the cell door, it was like for a moment Theon screamed at him and sent Reek down past his consciousness. Voice stammering and weak did he mutter your name, he did it twice and maybe if he had to do it a third he would chicken out and leave. But you looked. 

Sat against the wall with your knees to your chest, arms wrapped around them and your head tucked in the middle, you rose up and it was clear as day the tears. Theon wasn’t sure he’s ever seen you cry. Very few would have and you were good at keeping it to yourself, but then again, Theon was good at many things Reek was not. 

Placing a small vial on the ground before moving to sit the tray beside you. He couldn’t even stammer out the words before you huffed out another tearful cry and kicked the tray from you. Sending him back in a jump. The way you looked up at him, who even were you on the inside? Did you not see yourself anymore as Theon saw Reek in his reflection? Had you even seen the state of yourself, eyes dulled to a weakness you’d never shown, eye still discoloured from where someone must have hit you and a flush to your skin that he knew came from having nothing in your system. 

What happened? How did it happen? How did Robb- 

He breathed out heavily as he snapped his head to attention. It poured out before he could stop himself from saying it. “I was wrong. I- I took Winterfell and I was wrong…” You said nothing. Your lips parted but closed once more with a heavy swallow. “I…” 

“Theon,” your voice was so quiet. Somewhere in his mind, he recalled the people called you the Silent Stag, always quiet you were but just as notable. But this quiet wasn’t that, this was a whisper that worried it was too loud even in the stone of a dungeon. “I..we didn’t- it’s my fault.” You inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut for the action before opening them with a calmer look that refused to look at him. 

“I didn’t know they’d do this..any of this..and we sent them. I’m sorry.” 

Both inside him struggled how to feel, Reek had nothing to accept an apology for and yet Theon knelt forward to the ground. Crouching he slowly opened the vial with a shaky breathe before holding it to you. He wanted to speak and you could see it but neither pushed until he whispered it out like a deathly vow being broken as you drunk the liquid. “I didn’t kill them. Bran and Rickon. I didn’t kill them, I lied.” 

Your lips fell open as neither of you looked anywhere but between your bodies on the floor. “Roose Bolton killed Robb. Shoved a knife in his heart, and a few times in me.” Likely you didn’t know why you showed him, or even told him, but Theon’s breathing quickened as you lifted the fabric. The skin underneath was utterly blood soaked in ways he’d only ever seen on those of the dead. But why were they on you if you were here? “If that isn’t vengeance..”

Theon wanted to stay and talk, but Reek heard the sounds of footsteps far in the distance and tore himself back. “I-” He didn’t look you in the eye, he couldn’t at this point. “I’ll come back.” 

Your voice was far away, your eyes had lulled shut back into a dream of stringed nightmares as you muttered, “Of course you will. He’ll order you too.” 

Your nails were bloody, but you think it was starting to carve properly. The nothing drawing in the wall that kept you occupied for most of the day now. It was silent for a while once you were better, guards came to bring you a meal and then it was back into the quiet. There was no outside world here, no wars once fought, no lives trying to find peace, nothing. Just the walls of your cell, and the carving you were scraping into the stone wall. 

No sense of time came to you, it could have been years and you would be none the wiser of anything. Another war could have come and passed, not an inkling would’ve found you. You only saw the guards and the dungeon. You only dreamt of the blood and the strings as you awoke everytime knowing you failed him. 

Every attempt to come out into your soul was hollow, something was missing and it was part of what made you human. You could only see the curls against blue eyes that looked to you desperate not to see you go. It broke your heart everytime you saw him. 

The horror in your heart was settled somewhat in those final seconds, you would go together as you promised. From this day until our last day. And yet his last day was not yours, and you lived on without him. Guilt and shame ate away at you for breaking your vow to always be together, wherever his soul sat with the gods now you wondered if Robb was ashamed of you. 

You lived on without him, and you lost his unborn son. There was nothing left of Robb Stark with you anymore and the only proof he ever was, was a scar running so jaggedly along your lower stomach that you could feel each time Roose stabbed it back inside you. Tracing it gently enough with your fingers. A terrible stroke of luck, or was it the gods forcing it onto you?

Because the longer you sat in that silence alone, the more you came up with ways to fix it. What reason were you to still be here, why were you still alive if your existence was less then a rats. It wouldn’t be easy in here, but you could do it if you were really desperate. You wanted to the more weeks passed into months as you were alone down here. Shut away from the world, a dead wife to the King in the North, sequestered down in a dingy cell in the Dreadfort. Captive of the family who did this to you, and nothing to do but think of how much Robb would hate what you’ve become. 

This shell was not the woman he fell in love with, and you weren’t entirely sure you could even get that woman back now. Maybe part of you really did die beside him, and what remains in your body now is just the base of grief and anger that will burn through you until you’ve had enough. 

The gods were cruel however. The day he came to see you, it was the understanding of why they bothered to keep you alive. A confident man, Roose Bolton walked up to your cell with the same collected look he has had since the day you met him. Glancing around the cell, he could see you made very little use of the space, as if always having to be positioned against the bars to see the opening of the main door.

“I assume by now you realize no one is coming for you.” Your eyes glared up at him in a silent contemptuous irritation. “The Seven Kingdoms all think you’re dead. Tragically killed at the side of your husband-”

“They know you’re the one who put a knife to him? Or have you let Walder Frey take all of the credit for that?” Roose raised an eyebrow at you, unexpected of the sharp and angry tone that came from an otherwise unwell prisoner. “Suppose it isn’t really you who the southerners care about anyways. You get to claim you killed an unarmed King, and his pregnant wife when you only did it because you had Tywin Lannister to hide behind the skirts of.” 

Stepping forward to you, he looked down with ease as you craned your neck up to find his own, the anger in your voice did not match your eyes. “It is encouraging see you have put your time down here to good use. I kill Robb Stark and yourself, and in return I am given the title Warden of the North until the son of Sansa and Tyrion Lannister comes of age to take over. Unfortunately, there has been a problem in his planning.” 

You twisted your face at the unpleasant imagery.

“Sansa has fled King’s Landing after the murder of King Joffery, and her imp husband is to go on trial.” A year ago you would have been thrilled at the news that your repulsive once cousin was dead, now though it was a non victory that felt hollow. The world indeed kept turning outside the walls and you were none the wiser of a single tinge of it. “Sansa’s son by Tyrion was intended to be the key to the North for the Lannisters as they have no other ties, now there is no child to inherit the North from me.” 

Biting your tongue, you exhaled harshly through your nose to will the angry beating of your heart down to something manageable. “Did you come here to gloat about your new title or did you just want to remind me of what you’ve done.” 

“My men are reclaiming what’s left of the Ironborn that stands in the road to Winterfell, and we will soon move there once my son has cleared the way. You will be coming with us. Willingly.” 

Your voice scratched as you huffed a laugh, “And do tell, my lord. Why would I ever go with you willingly?” You watched as he knelt in front of you, and the frustration in your voice did not match how you pressed yourself against the wall further. 

With every inch of your body you hated the quiet calm in his voice as he nodded to your attire. “Because if you do, I will make sure you are cleaned, properly fed, groom you up and dress you like a lady and not like that creature my son drags around. You won’t be able to leave the castle walls, or go anywhere outside without being under guard. But I won’t throw you back into a cell.” 

Not a thought came to you that imagined yourself like that anymore. Your life was drenched in blood and memories of pain that blurred out the rest in it’s grief. Would you feel more like a person to even just breathe fresh air? Was that worth playing along with the man who betrayed his people and murdered your king and child? 

Roose did not wait for any kind of response, moving towards the cell door when you asked, “Why? If I’m just a prisoner why bring me to Winterfell? No one even knows I’m alive, what would it matter if you keep me locked away in here?”

The blood inside you cooled to a freeze as you looked wide eyed with a hesitant fear that you know he caught onto. “If Ramsay is successful in retaking Moat Cailin, he will be granted a legitimate son and become a Bolton. The Lannisters won’t help me keep the North, but perhaps I don’t need them to. All the Stark men are dead, which means if Ramsay is a Bolton, he will be my firstborn son and heir. And he will be needing one of his own.” 

Roose didn’t elaborate but he didn’t need to. You almost begun to bite your tongue so hard on unknowing it could have bled. You felt sick as you had days ago, but this was an illness rooted in a fear and bloody memories of your last. “You truly think I would ever let him-” 

One eyebrow raised, his voice was patronizing as it was condescending. “Do you think you have any choice in the matter? Shall I reminder you how it is the world works?” 

You glared up with as much energy as you could summon, a sneer on your own face as you sharply bit back, “Do use small words, my lord. I’m not as bright as you.” 

You didn’t expect it to even effect him in the slightest. He rarely budged on anything, especially now when it is was he holds all the power. “You are a highborn lady, and if my son should succeed he will be a legitimate highborn to inherit my own lordship. You are also my prisoner, and I don’t think I need to remind you of my own stance on prisoner treatment. Ramsay doesn’t need your permission to use you to produce an heir.”

Do not show anything else you told yourself, do not let him see the fear in your heart. “I’m not a Northerner, Lord Bolton. I have no claim that could help you.” 

A lightness in his eyes was the most genuine you had seen in since that night and you felt even more ill thinking on it. “No, but you were the Queen that Robb Stark chose, you were the Queen every Northern chose, my lady. That is claim enough for what we require.” 

By the time you found any bravery left in your voice you called out to him before he could leave you alone in the darkness of the dungeon once more. “Did you ever believe in him? Or was it all just a lie the entire time? You served him for almost three years, was none of it ever true?” 

Roose sounded as if he was giving a simple order to a servant, no care for his monstrosity. “I believed in Robb Stark right up until I shoved my dagger covered in your blood into his chest. But loyalty does not buy me money or power, and Tywin Lannister simply had the better offer.” The dagger sat on his waist, blood for you to see and all. You’d felt many illnesses down here, but it was that which made you loose every sense left to you. 

The door closed and once more you were left in darkness. You weren’t sure when the tears had started, but this time you let them fall until your eyes dried out like sands in the Dornish summer. 

You should have died with Robb, and you truly were beginning to think it was necessary to find a way to go back to him, one way or another. He had told you once you in those days before your wedding that you belonged in Winterfell, but what was your belonging in such a place without the wolves to keep you company?

The gods granted you a chilling answer to that question when some time later, they sent Ramsay Bolton down to your cell in the middle of the night, a disturbing glint in his unsettling pale eyes trained only on you. 

[piratefishmama]

Beware the Thorns | Part 5

(a NSFW multi-part ficlet)

Steve felt… nothing.

Numb, like everything inside of him just… wasn’t there anymore, he… he wanted to end it? But… why? It made no sense… okay no… it made every bit of sense, Eddie was just… acting. Even the cut off, it was practically rehearsed, cold… only that last little bit to make it sound like this was something a normal person would be doing.

He had no say in this, even if Eddie asked him his thoughts, it was over… maybe he was a fool for falling so hard, for allowing himself to think if only for a moment that maybe they could be more… he fell in love with a prostitute.

How could he have been so goddamn foolish?

“…Steve?” Eddie tried, his voice unnaturally quiet, hesitant. How long had he been silent for, staring down at his lap, brows furrowed, troubled. He didn’t… feel anything, empty, a dark, empty void, a black hole sucking every bit of life out of his soul, “Stevie, c’mon, look at me” Eddie moved in a graceful sweep downward, he knelt in front of him, lightly calloused fingertips smoothed over the stubble he’d neglected to shave.

Was this his punishment?

He figured he deserved it, after all he wasn’t the best person on the planet, yes he did good things, he cared about the environment, he supported and built charities from the ground up, those were his own endeavours, the things he sought out after taking over after his father had passed, that was the direction he’d taken the business after he’d taken control, but he also hurt people to keep his business alive.

He’d killed to ensure its survival.

Several good things do not erase the bad, perhaps this was his inevitable punishment. Eddie was never his, not really… he knew deep down that that was a good thing, Eddie didn’t deserve to be put through what would inevitably be his life if they were really together, he was good… he was normal.

He no doubt had a normal family who had normal family dinners and talked about normal family things, he didn’t belong in that world, he could take random jaunts into it, dance through like the sweetest summer breeze, but he couldn’t stay there.

“Stevie… hey, sweetheart, look at me, c’mon now, come back to me” but why did it hurt so much? Why was the single feeling slowly seeping back into his empty shell just… pain, he knew Eddie wasn’t his, he knew he didn’t belong with him, that it was for the best, but all he could feel was pain.

“Why?” He shouldn’t ask, but that was the first word that came to him, whispered, breathed into the space between them, unable to look at those big, beautiful eyes, he kept his down, staring at his lap, trying so hard to ignore the soft circling of Eddie’s thumb on his cheek, why was he ending it if he cared enough to do this? Why was it so cold, cut, and dry if he was now trying to soothe him?

He didn’t need to soothe him, their ties were being cut, he could just… tell him it was over and that be that, walk out block his number and never see him again, Steve knew NOTHING of his life outside of those walls, didn’t know where he lived, who his family were, Eddie had revealed nothing about his personal life.

Why was he trying to bring him back now?

“Why?” Eddie parroted back at him, a question in his voice that Steve didn’t know whether was him confirming what he’d said, or simply the start of a long list of reasons why, like a jilted lover parroting your question back in irritation before going on a long, painful rant about all the times you’d let them down, irritated them and wronged them.

He waited for it… but when it didn’t come, he simply… accepted that maybe it was the first, Eddie’s hearing wasn’t the best in the world… “Why… what are the circumstances? Can… can I ask? Am I allowed to know?”

Technically, Eddie didn’t have to explain a damn thing, it was in the terms of their contract, he HAD the physical document locked away in a safe back home, the contracts were the only physical proof he kept. Steve had read it thoroughly for HIS OWN protection and signed it.

So no, Eddie didn’t have to explain anything, and Steve couldn’t demand he do so, he’d signed that right away long before either of them realised that feelings could very easily begin to develop.

Should he…?

Should he tell him? What would it do? Eddie had no doubts that this man was just… in shock, they’d been seeing each other for two years and suddenly he was calling quits without any warning or lead up. They’d had sex the night before AND spent the majority of the night after kissing… cuddling, not sleeping, his skin still felt that pleasant tingle from warm kisses and caresses from rough, calloused fingers.

Maybe explaining it would help… surely Steve didn’t want an employee with feelings right?

That was the reason he was hired to begin with! A boyfriend without the feelings usually associated with having a boyfriend, he wanted to be taken care of, wanted someone pretty on his arm to whisper sweet nothings to, someone to treat him well while he was home from work, but not expect everything from him in return.

Maybe explaining it would help them create a clean break, Steve didn’t want this, he didn’t want feelings, he didn’t want real.

“Yeah… yeah, you can ask” Eddie had never confessed to anyone before, honestly feelings weren’t commonplace for him, sex was easy, faking romance was easy, feeling real things, developing real feelings? Honestly there was a time he’d thought that damn near impossible for him.

It’d be… wrong… to keep them to himself now, right? For the first time in a LONG time… feelings, real feelings had him trying to soothe the man he was trying to break things off with, when normally he’d be out the door and down the hall by now, already halfway through dialling the number of his next big fish.

“Then why… did… did I do something?” That was safe right? Asking if he’d done something rather than if someone had come to him, told him something, surely that had to be the reason right? Someone had talked, told Eddie what Steve really was, who he was… what he did behind the scenes where very few eyes were around to watch.

“No Stevie, you didn’t do anything, it’s… fuck, as cliché as it is, an holy shit it’s cliché as fuck, it’s me… it’s not you, you’re… shit, m’not sappy okay, I’m not perfect, I’m fucking—I’m flawed as all hell an I know that. I’ve lost count of how many therapists I’ve had” okay no, that was an exaggeration, he’d had five, four as a child as he’d kept biting them, and one now because he was a male escort for rich men.

Of course, he’d never told her that for legal reasons allowing her plausible deniability if ever questioned, but he was pretty sure she was like, 60% onto him. Wheeler was good at her job.

“So… you’re cutting things off because you’re flawed?” Steve finally looked at him, but it wasn’t the expression of acceptance, it was… confusion, bafflement, okay he hadn’t explained it very well, he got that, he was never very good at explaining himself “Eddie, I don’t give a flying fuck whether you’re perfect or not, you’re perfect for ME!” Not the point, and he was already opening his mouth to object when Steve cut him off, continuing “you know, you’re the highlight of my day? That all I want, is for you to be here with me? I was happy coming home last night because I knew you’d be here, everytime you’re gone in the morning I die a little inside cause I know it was ME who told you I wanted you gone before I wake up, fuck, I regret that instruction SO much, I want to wake up with you here… I want to go to sleep with you here, I just… I want you to be here, all the time” he’d said too much, he’d said way too much.

Steve pulled back again, back into his own space, out of Eddie’s, Eddie wanted to cut things off for something as simple as insecurities, two years together, sort of, and he was happy to just, cut it off for something as miniscule as that.

He’d said too much, sure enough he’d leave, he’d realise feelings ran way deeper than they should do for what they really were to each other, and he’d go.

“…You don’t even know me, Steve…” Eddie’s voice was so quiet as he sat back on his own legs, hands slipping away from Steve’s jaw to his own lap “the man you want so much doesn’t even exist” he was a fabrication, a lie… a fantasy crafted to seem alluring to wealthy men who wanted nothing more than to have a pretty little thing on their arm.

He wasn’t a pretty little thing on ANYONES arm, he just… played that part from time to time.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t WANT to know you…” his voice sounded stronger now, not at all the soft whisper of pain from before… he wasn’t giving up on this, he couldn’t… “is that really all it is, you’re insecure about yourself so you’re cutting things off? Rather than just… talking to me about it?”

“Steve, you’re NOT my boyfriend, don’t get all this twisted, you’re my job, why the fuck would I talk to you about this shit?” Ouch, but fair, they weren’t pretending here, they’d stopped pretending the second Eddie had declared he was ending their contract. This wasn’t part of the fantasy anymore, this… this was Eddie, Eddie behind the mask of an escort. “But no, that isn’t it, you cut me off before I finished explaining.”

“Oh…” fuck. Okay… he hadn’t run off yet, hadn’t finalised cutting things off, maybe this was fine? “Sorry… go on…?” Eddie rolled his eyes, he rolled them hard, so hard Steve felt it in his very soul, which was no longer being sucked into a black hole, now in orbit around the singularity, it could easily slip in any moment, but for now he was safe from the black abyss.

Eddie took a deep breath, his heart thudding so loud in his ears he was sure Steve could probably hear it too. “Look, I have—I’m—fuck, okay, listen, it’s impossible for me to do my job and have feelings for a client—” Steve frowned, but Eddie didn’t give him a moment to speak “so… it would be in both our best interests, that the contract be terminated. You never wanted someone with feelings for you, which I totally get, you’re busy, you have a lot to deal with, it’s fine, I’m fine, you’ll find a sparkly new stringless escort easy, we’re a dime a dozen for great guys like you, so… I’m going” maybe he could hit up Hagan, Tommy was pretty simple, easy money and Eddie knew he definitely wouldn’t get feelings for him.

He could get over Steve in his own time and have a decent wage. Tabloids liked them together, Tommy talked a good game to them, made them think he was something special, they’d be thrilled for the freckled little fucker, it’d be easy.

Steve’s hand wrapped around his wrist as he stood to get the hell out of there, if he looked back, which he didn’t, he kept his eyes firmly on the door, he knew Steve would sway him easily, he knew one look into those big, beautiful hazel eyes, he’d cave, he’d fold like a house of cards verses a light breeze.

Steve was the weak link in his chainmail, the love he never thought he’d have. The love he couldn’t have.

“… Please… please don’t leave me, Eddie, you don’t—”

“I have to, Steve. I’m sorry. This is goodbye.” He pulled his hand away, cutting whatever Steve would have said short. Steve didn’t try to grab him again, the hidden thorns of that beautiful rose already dug so impossibly deep.

It didn't matter. Eddie was already gone.

Part 7

[hidden-snow]

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚢

Summary // After moving far from home to join the Sully family, you develop depression. Luckily, you have Jake and Neteyam to cheer you up.

Warnings // Mentions of suicidal thoughts, SH, and depression. This fic may not be suitable for certain readers. Read at your own risk.

Word count // 1,009

Part 1 of 2 // Neteyam

(Side note from author; if you ever need an ear to listen, feel free to pm me or send an ask in anonymous <3 If you have suicidal thoughts or thoughts of harming yourself, please contact 988 or the suicide hotline in your country)

How long had you been laying around, no motivation to participate in normal day life? How long had your expression lacked the emotions you used to have? How long had you been so… numb?

It felt like you’ve been stuck in the blank, dull pit of your own depression. Your life revolved around that pit and you felt like you were trapped, unable to climb your way out. Jake and his family had been quick to notice your lack of interest in anything, had seen the way you curled up on your mat, a pale blue blanket pulled up over your head to hide away from the world and its problems.

They’d done their best to help you through this severe episode of depression, talking to you and trying to comfort you in any way they could. At times, Ronal would visit to check in on your mental health. When she did visit, she always brought a tonic to drink in an attempt to cure your mental pain.

It never worked.

You were desperate to feel anything other than empty and soulless, taking to extreme measures to find any spark of emotion deep in your aching heart.

The first time you’d slid your knife across your wrist, you’d felt a sliver of pain, the first emotion you’d felt in days. Of course, it was addicting and intoxicating, helping you to feel something other than numb. It sent a thrill through your body, adrenaline pumping hard and fast in your veins. Your hand shook as you added another cut in your skin.

You could see the blood from your self-inflicted wounds, and it only served to prove to you that you were still alive and not a walking, breathing, eating corpse. You couldn’t stop. The sharp burn of the knife against your flesh, the scarlet red that stained your skin.

The only reason you stopped was because a hand wrapped around your wrist, forcing you to drop the knife. A hand with long, slightly scarred fingers. A hand that felt warm against your cold, clammy skin.

You look up to see Neteyam looming over you, his non-existent eyebrows creased upwards in a concerned look. His lips were pursed, as if he were holding back a flood of questions and comments, and you couldn’t help but avoid his gaze. You looked everywhere but at his eyes, afraid that if you looked, you’d only see disappointment. Or worse - disgust.

He didn’t say anything, though. He just grabbed your shoulders, pulling you into a soft hug against his chest, fingers stroking through your braided locks.

You hadn’t realized how desperately you needed this until he was doing it, whispering soothing words of comfort, of promises that only he could keep.

With that simple physical contact that he was giving you, you felt your guards crumble and fall, the floodgates of your heart finally bursting open.

You sobbed softly into his shoulder, the numbness of your soul withering away as you finally began to feel the pain and anguish that you’d promised yourself that you’d never let in.

He drew back, grabbing a cloth from nearby to dab at your eyes, swiping it under your nose to wipe away the snot that had come with your ugly sobbing. Then he cupped your face gently between his hands, his thumb stroking your red cheek.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, smiling softly at you, and you faintly saw the glimmer of tears in his own eyes.

“I see you. I see your pain and your sadness. I am here. You’ll never be alone, y/n.”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him, a hesitant, weak smile that reflected the weakness you felt within.

“Now, let us tend to your wounds.”

You watched silently as he wiped the blood from your wrists, cleaning your skin with gentle care. Everything about his touch was gentle and careful, cautious as to not cause you further harm or pain. 

What did you do to deserve such gentle love and care?

“What brought this on, might I ask?”

You clear your throat, looking back up into his face, but he’s too focused on your wrists. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to confide in a friend, would it?

“I miss home,” you murmur softly and he pauses, looking back up at you in surprise. You flinch back from his expression, knowing that this could only end up in two ways; pity or anger. You didn’t want to witness either of them.

“You could always go back home?” he offered instead, returning to your wounds. You let out a sigh, so deep that it reflected the pain in your chest brought on by your sorrow and depression.

“No. You know that. Mother was very firm about what she wanted to happen. She didn’t want… she did not want me to live in the same land that my father and brother were killed in.”

He didn’t respond to that, knowing that your words rang with a truth that all of the Sullys knew. Your mother had been insistent that Jake take you with him, practically pleading that he keep you close to his side. After all, you needed a father figure to guide you as you grew. Or at least, that’s what she argued when he tried to refuse her request.

Separated from your only living relative, living in a land foreign to your soul and blood, it was hard to readjust. It was hard to grieve for your father and brother when you could not be near to sit over their graves or to lay flowers beside the tangled tree roots that grew over their bodies.

He thinned his lips for a moment, finishing the bandages on your wrists. Then he straightened, pulling you back into another warm hug, holding you close in that safe warmth that belonged to him.

“Don’t worry, y/n. We will return soon. Everything will be alright. From now on, come to me before you think of hurting yourself again, alright? I will make things better for you. I promise.”

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

masterlist

previous chapter

chapter warnings: Joel has a panic attack, degrading language, descriptions of injuries, possessiveJoel!, unhinged!Joel.

You stared at the drain, watching the swirls of water and soap suds circle around its rim before disappearing down into darkness. You stood under the shower head and let the warm water cascade over your back. It was soothing, comforting. Until the water hit the throbbing and raw skin of your ass and your wrists.

You bit your lip and grimaced in pain. You had to endure it if you wanted to be clean, to wash away the physical evidence of the shame and degradation of what Joel forced upon you. Using a washcloth you gingerly wiped away the cum that had dried on your backside. You had not been brave enough to assess the damage in the mirror just yet, but when you grazed your fingertips over the area you had an idea of just how bad it was.

Your body felt so weak, so tired. When you were finished washing away Joel's cum you moved the washcloth down to your vulva. You whimpered as you carefully cleaned yourself, the minute tears at the entrance of your vagina stinging. Your walls ached.

When you were done you leaned your forehead against the tiled wall with your eyes closed. You were sure you could fall asleep standing where you were - and you probably would - if not for the shower gradually turning more and more cold. You turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower to dry yourself with a towel, mindful of the angry raised welts on the cheeks of your ass.

Instead of dressing into a new set of pyjamas, you slipped naked into your bed and under the blanket. You positioned yourself on your side so that nothing was touching your back, scared to aggravate your injuries. You pulled your pillow into your stomach and curled up like a ball around it and cried. Eventually you succumbed to the fatigue and fell into a heavy sleep.

••••••

The following morning you somehow managed to wake up on time, get dressed, eat an apple for breakfast, and then arrive for your teaching lesson five minutes early. You appeared fresh faced and energetic, but inwardly you felt as though you were close to dissociating, teetering between numbness and hysteria.

In the classroom you avoided sitting down. You stood for the whole lesson as you taught the children about the lifecycles of insects, utilising the chalkboard and the book Maude had found you at the library. And even though the cuffs of your blouse were rubbing against your hidden wrists and irritating the skin there, you tried hard to focus on the lesson and be present, to adopt the calm, nurturing persona that the children knew you by. It wouldn't be fair to them if you cracked now, if you showed them a chink in the amour, not when they trusted you and loved you as their caretaker and teacher. This job gave you a purpose and sense of stability and you were adamant not to let Joel ruin that for you now.

When it was time for lunch and the school bell rang in the corridor, the children all scrambled out of the classroom to go eat their lunches and play outside. As soon as you were alone in the room you let out a heavy sigh of relief, grateful for the opportunity to unmask.

You tried to sit down in the chair at your desk, gingerly positioning yourself on the edge, half off the seat. You hissed at the dull pain thrumming in the meat of your ass and gripped onto the desk for support. Fuck, you wouldn't be surprised if you were bleeding right now.

You hesitantly leaned forward to rest your elbows on the desk, then cradled your head in your hands. You sighed again and let the muscles in your body sag a little.

You were unable to fully relax as your mind began to project flashbacks of last night; images of Joel's face, the sensations of his body, the sounds of the whip cracking your flash, of his hips smacking against yours, all burned into your memory.

The depth of pain you felt, both physically and emotionally, was unprecedented in your relationship with Joel. Yes, he had always been rough, at times uncaring of your comfort, but the hurt he had inflicted upon you last night was the first time he had ever genuinely frightened you.

You were well aware that he could be ruthless, that he was capable of great cruelty - you'd heard the rumours of his past as an infamous raider. And although Joel never talked about his past you quickly surmised that he had committed some acts of unspeakable violence.

You had heard the snippets of gossip about his barbaric pragmatism as a patrolman, too. The ways he would execute raiders and kill infected without a sliver of hesitation, the sniper like precision of his marksmanship, his ability to kill someone with his bare hands.

His violent reputation was justified and had earned him the respect (and even a bit of fear) of every person in Jackson, including yours. Perhaps the foreboding mystique surrounding Joel added to the allure you felt for him. Maybe you were even drawn to the sense of danger he exuded.

But despite this attraction, you couldn't ever have imagined him directing an ounce of rage or hostility towards you. You had never witnessed the extent of his dark side first hand. Not until you were confronted with his icy glare in your bedroom and the subsequent punishment of his belt. The depraved rage you saw in his eyes last night was now seared into your very core. Your splintered heart was wounded and fearful.

Joel had never been overtly considerate or encouraging of your emotions. He never really asked you what you were feeling or what you wanted (unless he was fucking you in that moment). Early on in the relationship, or whatever it was that you and Joel shared, you had accepted that he was not as expressive or emotionally open as you wished. But you understood it was just who he was, either through natural temperament or from the years of struggle and survival in this world, or both.

There were times when Joel had been tender and affectionate, though, especially in the beginning. Sacred moments that you both dare not openly acknowledge. Like in the middle of the night when you were both snuggled under the sheets and he would pull you close to his chest, wrap you in his strong arms, and kiss the top of your head. The blissful pockets of physical affection were enough to placate you for a while, until your heart could no longer repress it's hunger for more. The yearning for unconditional love, a family of your own, someone to share your life with.

You didn't know if he ever loved you or truly cared about you. But if he had not, why was he so possessive?

You had discovered the jealous streak of his personality quite quickly. The subtle displays of displeasure - the flare of his nostrils, the hard set of his jaw, the flash of anger in his eyes, whenever a man even looked your way. You used to find it sort of endearing. It made you feel wanted.

In a public setting no one would guess that Joel would be stealthily watching you and taking note of who you were interacting with and your body language. No one seemed to realise that Joel was an expert at appearing nonchalant while observing and absorbing every thing in his surrounding environment, constantly vigilant. Protecting what was his.

If he saw a man, regardless of age, had struck up conversation with you at the Tipsy Bison or the cafeteria, Joel would be sure to chastise you later on. It didn't matter that you weren't interested in anyone but him. It didn't matter that you only politely responded in a way that indicated you weren't interested. That wasn't enough for Joel.

As you became more attached to Joel and more expressive with your affection, it seemed Joel became more aggressive with your body. What started as light dirty talk during sex progressed into an exercise of control and sacrifice, with Joel fucking you mercilessly and covering your body with hickies and bruises with an almost obsessive need to stake his claim.

He hated anyone being too close to you. He would have preferred you to be completely isolated from everyone else, focused only on tending to he and Ellie. He dislikes your dedication to your duties and your preoccupation with your friends, who he disapproved of. Joel criticised them for being too loud or opinionated, accusing them of being too promiscuous. You knew he genuinely considered a couple of them to be bad influences just because they talked about sex and dating.

But how could Joel be so jealous when he didn't want to make your relationship official? Was it just sex to him? Why did he want to control you so much yet refuse to publicly assert his ownership? His greed only reinforced the validity of that tiny niggling belief that had been buried inside your heart since the day you lost your family. The notion that you would always be alone. That you did not deserve to be happy. That you were worthless.

And what was worse....you still loved Joel. Despite the agony he had inflicted, you still fucking wanted him.

Maybe you were just fucking broken. Irretrievably broken.

The flurry of thoughts and questions circulating in your mind was making you feel dizzy. You groaned and dug your palms into your eye sockets. You willed yourself not to start crying again.

Fuck fuck fuck I feel like I'm going crazy.

Then a knock at the wooden classroom door suddenly shattered your thoughts. Your head snapped up, startled to find Oscar standing at the door. He was wearing jeans and a slightly tattered dark blue sweater, a hand clutching the strap of a satchel slung over one shoulder. His eyes peered at you behind his round spectacles with a curious concern, his thick eyebrows knitted together.

"Hey," he cooed. "Mind if I come in?"

"Hi," you nodded and cleared your throat. "Yes, ofcourse."

You winced slightly at the croakiness of your voice and hoped Oscar didn't notice how fragile you sounded. You looked away and smoothed your hands over your blouse before sitting up straighter in an attempt to appear more composed. Oscar approached your desk with cautious slow steps, one leg limping slightly, the soles of his boots thudding across the floor.

You braced your hands on the desk and rose up from your chair, your lips pursed with anticipation of the painful sting of your flesh. You saw him open his mouth but you spoke before he could.

"Why are you here? How can I help you?"

"Well," Oscar came to stand at the desk but stayed a few steps away from you, a clear attempt to respect your space. He swung his satchel off of his shoulder and plonked it ontop of your desk. "I found something for you, actually."

You looked at him with an eyebrow raised quizzically. He looked back and grinned, his brown eyes shining with warmth. Your eyes flickered down to the bag as Oscar flipped open the satchel and reached in. From it's confines he retrieved a hard cover book. You instantly recognised the tiny pictures of different insects decorating the spine of the book, and your mouth fell open in surprise.

"Oscar, is that--"

"Kids Bug Science Volume III," Oscar announced proudly with a chuckle, holding up the book with both hands for you to see the cover. It was the next installment of the insect series you had been using to teach with, a resource you hadn't thought you'd ever be lucky enough to find.

"Oh my gosh, no way!" You laughed, a hand shooting up to cover the large smile you were unable to hold back. Your eyes looked from the book to Oscar in wonderment. "Where did you find it?"

"Well, I was rummaging around the storeroom crawl space, trying to fix a wire, and I found a bunch of books up there." Oscar held the book out for you to take. "This was one of 'em."

You accepted the book and held it in your hands, your thumbs tracing over the cover. "I can't believe it,' you whispered.

"I'm sorry I couldn't wait until your next shift at the library," Oscar said, sounding slightly sheepish. "Got excited when I saw it and wanted to give it to you straight away."

You looked up from the book and met his gaze. There was a gentle expression in his beautiful brown eyes now, a mix of shy affection and sadness.

"Thank you," you said softly as you clutched the book to your chest. "Really. I appreciate this so much."

Oscar nodded once and looked down before adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"You're welcome." He collected his satchel and hitched it back over his shoulder. "I know it means alot to you. And for the kids."

You put the book down on your desk and chewed your bottom lip, unsure what to say next. You were worried that he could somehow detect what had happened with Joel, like there was some visible sign on your face that announced how much of a slut you were, how Joel made you cum so hard after abusing you, how disgusting you were to still have feelings for a man who degraded you. Your cheeks blushed involuntarily.

Suddenly the thought of Joel somehow seeing you right now, alone with Oscar in your classroom, pierced through your mind and filled your stomach with dread. You tried to swallow but your throat felt so dry. Oscar noticed the change in your expression and leaned in closer towards you immediately.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked, his tone soft but serious.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you replied in a small voice, avoiding his gaze. "I'm just a bit tired."

"You can tell me anything, like if something's bothering you," he said quietly. "Only if you want to, ofcourse. I'm here, if you would like to talk."

Oscar placed a tentative hand on your shoulder. The unexpected contact made you stiffen a little and your face turned up to look at him. He was looking down at you, his hooded brown eyes studying your face, both his orbs shifting between yours, as if searching for something. The tender concern in his expression made you feel like lunging into his arms to feel him hold you and comfort you.

"Okay," you whispered. "Thank you, Oscar."

You remained staring at one another with Oscar's warm hand on your shoulder, the silence between you feeling increasingly intimate as each second passed. You were sure Oscar felt it too; it was evident in the way his eyes bored into yours, how his mouth opened slightly and his tongue darted over his bottom lip.

Without warning a loud knock at the classroom door came crashing through the private bubble surrounding you and Oscar, making you both step back from one another with instinctive haste. It was one of your students, a little boy, who suddenly began to ramble loudly about one of the soccer balls deflating again.

"Whoa, slow down little man. I'll be there in a minute with the pump," you replied.

He nodded enthusiastically and then ran back outside to the yard. You and Oscar glanced back at each other and breathed a small laugh together, the tension relieved between you.

"I better go," he ran a hand through his curly black hair. "Sorry for interrupting your day."

"Why are you saying sorry?" You turned your body to face him and smiled. "Thank you. For thinking of me and coming by and to give me the book. It'll be so useful in my next few lessons."

Oscar returned your smile. "Anytime. Well then...I guess I'll see you at the library sometime?"

His thick eyebrows raised and there was a slight inquisitive lilt to his voice, as if he was wanting confirmation that he would actually see you again.

"Yeah, ofcourse. My next shift is in two days," you replied, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

He turned on his heel and you watched him walk back to the door, his limp slightly more prominent now because he stood taller, his posture more straight, prouder. When he disappeared through the threshold you looked down at the book and traced the cover with your fingertips. Although you had only spent a short time with Oscar, you had never known a man to be so considerate, so caring.

"Great," Oscar said, his eyes roaming over your face and hair for a brief moment, his own features unreadable to you. "I'll see ya then."

It was new. And it felt good.

It was only when he was gone that you realised you could still smell the faint cinnamon scent around you, the smell that you would eventually come to associate with Oscar.

After finishing at the school that afternoon you walked across the townships to visit Maude at her cottage. You sunk into the cushion of an armchair in her loungeroom while her housemate, another elderly lady, served you cups of tea. You spent an hour listening to them detail Maude's sickness and the type of medicine the doctor prescribed her, how her housemate tended to her day and night, and how caring Tommy and Maria had been. It was close to dinner time when you said goodbye and left to go home.

You tucked the science book into the crook of your arm as you strolled through the back streets toward your cottage, consciously avoiding the busier sections of the streets in order to reach home quicker.

You weren't in the mood to eat dinner in the mess hall this evening. You did not feel energetic enough to socialise with anyone or to continue masking the force of emotions plaguing your insides. You had no appetite, anyway. The girls would probably wonder where you were but that didn't matter. They knew you were more introverted, more content with retreating into your own world than socialising unnecessarily, especially at meal times.

You could visualise yourself curled up in bed under the comforting weight of your blanket with a favourite book in your hand. It was exactly what you needed.

When you arrived at your home you were surprised to see Ellie sitting on your porch, her legs crossed. She was tossing a pocketknife into the air and catching it in one hand with practiced ease. You always secretly enjoyed seeing her relaxed like this, so carefree and youthful. When her face was pulled into her large, charming smile and her eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Hey," you greeted her, trying your best to sound upbeat as you trudged up to the porch. "What're you doing on my property, kiddo?"

Her heart flooded with great affection for Ellie when you were reminded of just how soft she was inside. She could always make you laugh with some silly joke or her vulgar humour. You were always pleased to see her, except today was different. She reminded you too much of Joel.

"Hey!" Ellie grinned at you. She scrambled to stand up and jammed the knife back in her jeans pocket. "Wanted to know if you wanna get dinner together. I needa pick your brain about some comic ideas I got going on."

You pinched your eyes shut and sighed.

"Oh El," you murmured quietly. "I'm not really up for hanging out tonight, I'm sorry."

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat immediately after the words left your mouth. You should've known this was coming. The inevitable first time you would disappoint Ellie because you couldn't face being reminded of Joel.

"Oh," Ellie mumbled. "You okay? You look kinda pale."

You looked at her and mustered a weak smile.

"Yeah, I'm just super tired. Busy day at school."

Ellie puffed her cheeks and exhaled a breath of air then looked down. Her disappointment was evident.

Seeing Ellie look so dejected made you feel even worse. You knew she had struggled for so long - struggled to fit into the community, to adjust to life outside the QZ, to grow into a young woman without the guidance of a mother. You understood that she craved connection and acceptance more than she would ever willingly admit. Ellie had come to trust you and respect you enough to let her vulnerability occasionally peek through. You couldn't let her down like this, not when she wanted to share something or part of herself with you.

"'Kay," she kicked at some sawdust on your porch. "Maybe next time, I guess."

You sighed and reached out to grab her hand. Her eyes shifted up to meet yours.

"El," you squeezed her small hand gently. "I'd love to. Just let me put this book inside first."

Ellie's face instantly lit up.

"Cool." She glanced at the science book you were holding and scrunched her nose. "The fuck is bug science?"

******

As you walked side by side through the mess hall doors, you were attentively listening to Ellie describe the new character she had created for the comic book she was working on. It was only after collecting a meal tray from the serving counter that you noticed the group of rangers already seated across the hall.

Their loud conversation, which was occasionally punctuated with booming laughter, compelled you and Ellie to turn and look in their direction.

"Geez, who the fuck is being so loud?" She muttered in annoyance.

You spotted the five men sitting at a round table near the back of the hall, their broad shoulders and thick arms occupying the space with You recognised them as being the senior patrolmen of Jackson, including Troy, Tommy and Joel.

Joel.

When your eyes found Joel you saw he was already watching you and Ellie, chewing the inside of his cheek, the expression in his eyes unreadable. He was the only one of them not talking or joking as he absentmindedly poked at his food with a fork.

"Ugh, nevermind, it's just Joel and his girlfriends." Ellie said with a roll of her eyes. She jerked her head towards a free table nearby. "Come on, let's sit."

Your pulse began to race and your cheeks flushed. You gripped your fingers around the dinner tray tightly and quickly lowered your gaze in submissive humility, the depressing mixture of shame and fear once again engulfing you whole. You wanted so badly to run away and hide. But you knew you couldn't. You felt frozen, like a deer in the headlights. You shouldn't have given into Ellie so easily, you should've just run inside the house and--

When you didn't move, Ellie bumped your hip with hers playfully. "Hey, hurry up, before someone steals our table."

You suppressed the panic induced bile rising in your throat and followed Ellie to a table, the cutlery on your tray clanking from the jittery shaking of your hands.

••••••

Goddamn, you look pretty today.

Joel watched you take a seat at one of the tables with careful deliberation. You were positioned sideways from his line of vision, your face obscured by a section of hair that had fallen loose from the purple ribbon you had tied around it. He could see how your body tensed up, your back stiff, as if bracing for pain.

A sense of pride then bloomed in his chest and he wished he could see your face clearly. The memory of you positioned on your knees below him, your wrists bound, your whipped ass jiggling as he assaulted you, flashed through his mind. It made Joel's cock twitch in his jeans.

Well, you must be in pain, after what he did to you last night.

Fuck, he wanted to have you again, right now.

Troy leaned forward into the table and clicked his fingers quickly to get the attention of the other men. Joel and the others looked at Troy.

"Hey," he hissed, "see that pretty little mouse with Joel's daughter, over there?"

Troy nodded his head toward where you sat with Ellie. The other rangers, including Joel, shifted their gaze over to you. You toyed with your fork, your head nodding at something Ellie was saying. You were totally oblivious to their stares.

"Estrada was eatin' with her the other day." Troy murmured slyly. "Ya think he might be screwin' her?"

Always so innocent.

The lewd question caught Joel off guard, making his breath catch in his throat. Hearing someone talk about you in such a crude way provoked a boiling rage to course through his veins. He clenched his jaw and flexed his fist under the table discreetly. He was ready to punch Troy in his stupid fucking face.

A few of them sniggered before they all turned their attention back to their trays of food.

"Estrada?" One of the patrolmen, Harry, scoffed. "I thought he was gay."

"He ain't gay," Tommy interjected, rolling his eyes. "Fuck sake, man."

"Since when does Estrada get pussy like that?" Harry grumbled.

Joel listened closely to what was being said while stabbing his food with his fork, feigning disinterest. The muscle in his jaw ticked. Tommy glanced at him.

"Since he stopped workin' patrol, I guess. He must have more time to waste chasin' tail now," another of them guffawed.

"Hey now, enough of that talk," Tommy ordered firmly. "They just work together, is all. So give it a rest."

Troy held up his hands in front of him in a pose of surrender. "Alright, alright, el capitan, just shootin' the shit is all."

Joel couldn't take it anymore. He dropped his fork down onto the tray with a clang, then pushed his chair away from the table and stood up unceremoniously.

"Hey, where you--" Tommy began.

He stalked out of the mess hall without another word, shoving the door open and stepping out into the starry night. Joel shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and trudged down the street away from the mess hall. His senses felt heightened, as if he were close to imploding, as the fury seethed throughout his body.

"Finished," Joel grunted.

He fucking hated anyone talking about you like they did. Like you were some piece of meat. Like you could ever belong to anyone but him. It pissed Joel off so much that he had to leave; he couldn't trust himself not to beat the shit out of Troy or Harry or any of the others. Tommy would kill him. Joel stormed on towards his house with his chest heaving from impotent rage.

Fuck what anyone else thought. You were his. He knew it, and you knew it. He had made sure of that. That's all that mattered.

And he was giving you time to come back to him on your own accord, to get over this little phase of insolence. You would learn your lesson and realise where your rightful place was. You would come crawling back to him - willingly.

Wouldn't you?

You couldn't just leave. No fucking way.

Yes. Ofcourse. You needed him. Just as you needed Ellie and she needed you.

He was almost home when Joel became aware that his heart was pounding and his breathing was becoming more rapid. His throat felt dry and his chest felt constricted. He managed to make it to his house in time to lurch against his front door and let his weight stabilise against it. His eyes screwed shut and he pressed his forehead against the wood. He inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled, then repeated the step, all the while waiting for the panic to dissipate. He was grateful for the dark of the night, the privacy it allowed.

After a few minutes Joel was able to regulate his breathing and calm down. The tightness in his chest loosened. He calmly unlocked the door and ambled inside the living room. He had already decided he was getting drunk tonight. And he would be paying you another visit.

taglist - @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed

[aris-ink]

some horror smut with seokjin pls 😭 ppl barely ever write about him

tysm to my 🐋 angel for providing inspiration and supporting me... thank you to @baalsgurl1913 for reading through this and guiding me with her love. and thank you to @yoongsisbae for helping me choose the right direction <3 I am... so sorry for what I am subjecting y'all to lmao

pairing: jin x reader

genre: romance, ghost!au

warnings: mentions of blood and violence (not towards the reader), multiple deaths (+ major character death), implied murder, cheating (not by jin), supernatural elements (hauntings, afterlife), mentions of medication, manipulation and obsession, implied mental and physical torture (agsffhsgsh rip minho), angst, rough sex, dirty talk, praise, mentions of spanking, choking, creampie

"Does it help?"

So cold. His hand felt so cold as it brushed through your hair.

"Does it help you move on? To feel like you've buried me?"

Unable to turn around and look at him - or whatever that thing was - you pulled your knees up to your chest and hid your face in them.

"I did," you whispered. To convince him or yourself, you weren't sure. "I did bury you."

Like a little girl, you gently rocked yourself back and forth on your bed, the chill of the dark room so severe it was making your fingers numb.

"Did you?" He hummed into your ear. "I'm right here."

You could barely hold yourself together, your heart sinking so low you feared he could snatch it from under the ground and keep it there with him forever to rot.

"I promised I'd never leave you, didn't I?"

Despite the fear weighing on your chest, your eyes opened slowly. You woke up in the warmth of your sheets, your vision blurry with tears. Seeking comfort, or at least a confirmation you weren't alone, you turned towards your boyfriend and pressed yourself into his back. You tried to swallow down the lump in your throat, the grief and the guilt of trying to move on. It didn't help. The bitter mixture only seemed to upset your stomach. With a sigh, you sat up and blinked, wiping at your eyes. Outside the window dusk was slowly fading. You reached for your phone, then planted your feet on the wooden floor.

6 am. Looked like you'd have an early start.

*

Grief was... loud. It demanded to be heard. He was sure even the dead could not rest in peace with how you tossed and whimpered in your sleep. He certainly couldn't. But the bastard lying beside you remained oblivious to your suffering. Pathetic, really. Jin couldn't believe this was the man you chose to replace him with. The man who got to see your pretty smile, go to sleep and wake up by your side - when he didn't deserve any of it at all.

He would have felt that way about anyone who went near you, of course, but there was no denying the fact that he held a special kind of contempt for Minho. All those late nights out, the perfume he smelled of when he came home. Surely you weren't that blind? Surely you could see that he wasn't faithful? Always drifting off somewhere, even as you spoke to him. Jin wished he could grab him and break every bone in his body, slowly, make him pay for every sin he's ever committed. The sin of being with you, touching you. The sin of hurting you.

But all he could do was kneel by your bed and run his fingertips down your cheek. He tried to catch the tears that fell, wipe them away like he used to when he was alive. It didn't do much besides inducing a little shiver, making you pull the blankets tighter around your body.

*

A few months have passed since the car accident, yet he continued to appear in your dreams. It felt like any attempts you made at trying to find peace were being torn apart by his shadow, leaving you lethargic and confused... making you pay less attention to your new relationship. During the day, you questioned your sanity and wondered if you should see a doctor.

During the nights, however, in that cold, little dreamland of yours he haunted, you tried to find the answers to questions you wouldn't dare to ask out loud.

"Why are you still here?"

You still couldn't face him, but you felt his presence, a ghostly touch travelling down your sides. The nightmares themselves were distressing enough, but there was something else gnawing at you, a possibility that made you ache.

"Are you stuck? Is there no light there?"

You could feel Jin's arms wrapping around you from behind. Such a chilly, foreign experience, disturbing you in ways you couldn't even understand; everything seemed too realistic.

"There is," he murmured, his voice sounding amused. "And I went right into it."

You swallowed, staring at the wall ahead of you.

"Oh."

You couldn't tell if you felt relieved or disappointed. You chewed on your bottom lip.

"So, you're not real then," you whispered, as if to yourself. "Just my imagination."

"Oh no," Jin protested. "I'm very real, baby."

Your brows furrowed, your heart skipping a beat. You haven't heard him call you that in so long it made you want to curl yourself up to him. Real or not.

"But you said you followed the light."

"Mm, that I did," his lips grazed your shoulder, a hint of ice with velvet, followed by a soft whisper. "You're my light."

A dam inside you cracked, the turbulent waters behind it about to shatter it altogether, along with your willpower and common sense. You missed him so much. You wished you could hide in his arms and stay like that forever, even if they felt so cold. You'd give up the sun and live in eternal winter if it meant that things could go back to the way they were.

But they couldn't. And that wouldn't be living at all.

*

"Ah, don't forget your pills."

You smiled at Minho and grabbed the small, plastic bottle from him. It's been only two weeks since you saw a psychiatrist, but the quality of your life has improved immensely.

And also, it didn't.

While you no longer feared going to bed, closing your eyes was still a struggle. You didn't need to dream to see Jin's face behind your eyelids.

There was an uncomfortable, odd sense of guilt stirring inside you, like you've done something wrong. Like you've shut him out and left him all alone there in the void. And yet that was all the more reason for you to keep taking your medication and trying to move on. Jin was gone; there was no changing that. Sticking to rationality made it easier for you to ignore these feelings, to tell yourself that you didn't feel unusually cold when you entered your bedroom.

You glanced up at Minho when he got up from the table, grabbing his coat.

"Are you going somewhere?"

He smiled at you as he worked on fixing his tie.

"Just work stuff."

You put down your fork, your appetite suddenly gone. Work stuff, at nine pm. On a Saturday night. Again.

"Don't wait up, honey."

You didn't have the mental strength to deal with this and your inner turmoil. Instead of speaking up, you tried to force a smile when he bent down to press his lips to yours. An inch separated you, your eyes fluttering shut.

And then - a sudden crash that made you jump in your seat.

Frowning, Minho straightened up, looking behind you.

"What the hell?"

Your heart thudded in your ears. The fright that pulsed through you spread all the way to your fingertips, making your hands feel weak. You turned your head towards the source of the sound, blood draining from your face.

The frame that held the first picture you took with Jin was lying on the floor, shattered, glass broken into pieces. You hid it inside the cabinet right above the spot, yet now it was wide open, gaping.

Even though your knees felt like cotton, you stood up and rushed towards it automatically. You collapsed onto the floor, barely registering Minho calling out your name. With trembling fingers, you began to pick up the pieces in a hurry, not even fazed when you felt two warm hands curling around your arms.

"Are you crazy?" Minho snapped, pulling you away from the mess.

You struggled out of his grasp, your elbow knocking into his chest roughly. You scrambled back to the broken frame, blinking through the tears. It was so hard to see.

"It's- it's broken," you stammered. "Broken. I need to clean it up."

Minho crouched down next to you, gripping your wrists.

"You're hurting yourself!" He hissed. "Look."

He shook both of your hands. Dazed, you glanced down, brows scrunching when you noted the blood dripping from your fingers.

"But-"

Minho stared at you, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, like for the first time he was really seeing you. Like for the first time something akin to guilt stirred in his stomach. Keeping your wrists in a tight grip, he wrapped an arm around your waist, gently pulling you up with him.

"Come on, honey. I''ll clean it up in a sec. Hold on."

He guided you to sit back down on your chair. You could still feel your heart ramming against your chest, frighteningly heavy with the weight of stress. Minho left your side to step up to the cabinets, rummaging through them in search of a first aid kit.

Numbly, you observed him uncap a bottle of antiseptic. Only when it came into contact with your skin did you feel the sting of the cuts, a sizzling sensation that made your fingers twitch. He bandaged them up one by one, seven in total, wincing as he cleaned up the blood.

Silently, as he promised, he went to clean up the mess on the floor as well, ensuring to sweep the area thoroughly. With a brief glance at the picture, then back at you, he set it down on the counter carefully. You felt like you were outside of your body, barely there, unable to speak up and tell him to not throw the picture away. He seemed to know that himself, though.

He picked up your bottle of sleeping pills and placed it on the table beside you.

"I'm late now, but I still have to go. Get some rest okay? You can text me if you feel unwell."

You blinked up at him, unsure if you were grateful to be left alone now or if you wanted to beg him not to walk out the door. Still, you couldn't even nod when he leaned down to kiss your forehead. With your hands on your knees, you listened to him leave and lock the door.

Your eyes flickered from the counter where the picture was, then to your pills. Unable to help yourself, you left the bottle behind and went straight to bed. Waiting for the adrenaline to flow off you and the exhaustion to do its job. You couldn't force yourself to swallow the medication tonight, an uneasy feeling intensifying in your chest.

*

This just wouldn't do.

How much more could he take? He stood by your bed and watched your eyes fall closed, fuming. He caught your attention, and that fucker's too, but Minho was probably too stupid to think much of what happened. Even if a frame did fly out of your kitchen cabinet on its own.

The two weeks he spent without being able to contact you were agony. Time didn't seem to exist on the other side. For the living - for you - it flowed like a river. For Jin it was a bottomless ocean and he felt like he was drowning without you. He couldn't stand the fact that you just tried to toss him away and move on with your life as if he ceased to exist. It was clear you still loved him. Why were you so unwilling to believe that he was right by your side? Did you really think something as trivial as death would ever take him away from you?

All the anger inside of him simmered, so powerful it felt like an explosion when he watched you sit in the kitchen with that pathetic excuse of a human being.

Until it overflowed.

He was almost as surprised as you were when the cabinet flew open. He hasn't been able to touch anything on this side of life.

Now, as he stood over your bed, he contemplated what he could do with that newfound power. There were so many possibilities.

With a hum, he brushed your cheek softly. Decisions, decisions.

*

This dream was different from the others. You were still in your bed, but this time Jin didn't sit behind you. You could see his silhouette in the corner of your room, blending in with the shadows. You shivered, relief settling over you for some reason, despite how disturbing the atmosphere felt. At least he was there.

You didn't know what to say. You had a feeling he was angry at you for leaving him behind. Why else would he stand so far away?

"Missed me, baby?"

His voice sounded soft. You hid your face in your hands, confused, unable to tell if the spectre before you was a figment of your imagination, a cry from the grief you tried to escape, or something more sinister. Something more real.

But whatever it was, it was still Jin, in some way. Wasn't it?

When you heard light footsteps approaching your bed, you stiffened, still lacking the courage to look up. For so many reasons. Would he look dead? Would he look normal? Either way seeing him again would break your heart.

You felt him kneel down on the creaky floorboards, slowly taking your hand in his. A chill spread through you, your eyes shut tightly.

"What have you done?" He whispered, pressing a kiss to each bandaged finger. A feather light touch.

"No more suffering, baby. Promise me... Just let go. I'm right here."

*

The next night you drifted off in your armchair for what seemed like a few minutes. You awoke with a sigh, getting up to stretch in the dark and make your way towards your bedroom.

Minho must have still been out somewhere. You tried to ignore that thought.

Strong arms wrapped around you, halting your steps. You froze, the soothing warmth and smell of a cologne that was so familiar to you making your heart thud. You whirled around in shock, for the first time letting yourself look at him. Your hands grasped at his shoulders. He felt so much warmer than usually. Dark, soft hair framing his handsome face, his eyes burning into yours. Wearing the same leather jacket you've seen him in on your last day together.

Was this another dream? It had to be.

"Baby," he muttered lowly, his hands coming to rest on your waist.

The sudden proximity after such a long time of being apart made your stomach swirl. It was strange how solid his hold was on you.

He took a moment to stare into your eyes, the pretty eyes he missed so much, glistening and bright. You were so confused, your chest constricting with pain and love all at once. You opened your mouth to speak, but words failed you. This had to be a dream, right? But why did he feel this warm? His eyes seemed so dark. So much darker than they ever were before. His lips knocked into yours, not allowing you to voice your perplexity and your doubts, or focus on your thoughts at all.

Such hunger. He didn't think the dead could feel hunger, or much of anything, but he was wrong. His soul endured starvation in this ruthless void, starvation for your love, your touch, you. It turned into a dark desperation that dripped and dripped onto you like fire, from his tongue brushing your lower lip, from the fingertips dancing across your ribs.

He groaned, a low, raspy sound that made your thighs clench.

Not for long.

He pried them apart and settled himself between them, his lips pressing soft, wet kisses into your neck.

"Fuck," he sighed, fumbling with the zipper of your jeans, his hands shaking. "I missed you."

You wanted to let him push you into the nearest wall so willingly, you would have any other time. But this still felt so odd. So real.

For a moment, you lost your breath, and the only thing you could focus on was the way he slid your jeans halfway down your thighs, not even bothered to undress you or himself properly.

"Missed you," he repeated in a whisper.

When you heard him unbuckling his belt your pussy clenched around nothing, leaking through your panties. There was a soft grunt as his trousers pooled around his ankles, one hand hooking your leg around his waist.

"Missed you too," you gasped, your head tilting back when you felt a sharp tug and heard the cotton material of your underwear being ripped in half.

"I know, baby."

The tip of his cock brushed through your slick folds, the slight pressure of the hard, thick length causing a shiver to erupt down your spine. Jin hissed, squeezing your thighs as he spread you open.

"Missed me here too?"

He emphasized the question with a teasing thrust, rubbing against you. Very fleetingly, the thought of Minho tickled the back of your mind, like a butterfly. You weren't a cheater. But... this wasn't real, was it? Even if it was, you weren't sure if you were able to overcome the shock of it, the need and the yearning burning inside you.

As if sensing your hesitation, Jin rolled his hips, entering you harshly and knocking all air out of your lungs. You felt so full of him, pulsing hotly around his cock.

"Don't think about him," he seethed. "Don't think about anything. Only me."

He didn't make that task very difficult. All your thoughts turned to ashes when he gripped your throat with his hand and started to fuck you, slamming you into the wall behind you with every aggressive snap of his hips. Like he wanted to take all of his frustration and love out on your body, make you suffer from pleasure.

"You're only mine," he groaned into your ear. "Your heart is mine. This pussy is mine. I should beat your ass raw for fucking forgetting that."

Your knees quivered, a whine tearing out of your throat. He tightened his hand around it, cutting the sound off.

"Say you're sorry."

You clenched around him. Somehow, the aggression only made your head spin more, because if he didn't feel real before, he definitely did now.

"Say you're sorry," he demanded sternly, "you little fucking brat, s-shit."

"Sorry!" You breathed, barely audible with how hard he was choking you, your eyes stinging and pussy fluttering. "Sorry."

Jin grunted and let go of your neck, burying his hand in your hair instead. You felt lightheaded, barely able to catch the air he allowed back into your lungs, panting with how close you were.

"Good girl," he whispered, strained, a moan following the praise. "Fuck, missed you so much, not g-gonna last, shit-"

You weren't going to, either, but he busied himself with pulling on your hair and slipping his other hand in between you. He pressed his finger into your clit to rub it roughly, causing even more slick to flow out of you, making his thrusts sloppier.

"So wet. So pretty. I love you so much, ah, fuck."

His breathing sounded just as harsh as his thrusts in your ear, growing desperate, louder than your own cries.

"Haven't been fucked how you deserve to be in so long, my love," he mumbled, plump lips brushing against your skin. "Come for me, please. Come on, doll. Need to feel you," he groaned. "Shit! Come on. I'll fill you up so, so good."

You couldn't help the sudden, violent snap in your stomach that made you shake and cream his cock. Jin threw his head back, revealing his attractive, tanned neck, his adam's apple bobbing. His groans were carnal, filthy, his cock twitching inside of you, filling you up with a rush of his cum. If possible, you felt even fuller, your chest glowing and your cunt sticky from his orgasm. With a hiss, he rested his forehead on your shoulder, his embrace tighter around you, keeping your knees from giving out.

You floated in his arms, barely registering the fact that he picked you up and carried you towards the bed you used to share, his own knees feeling weak.

So he was able touch you. So he was able to love you. He watched you fall asleep, hope blooming in his chest only to wither away into disappointment. So what? In the end, what did that matter? You couldn't have a life together, grow old, have children. He would never be able to take you out to an expensive restaurant or buy you a gift, and who knew how long this would last? Could he only touch you when he was angry, overwhelmed, empty?

This just wouldn't do.

*

It took a mere few days for the opportunity to arise.

It was so hard to tell what was happening around you. Your eyes blinked open to a bright light blinding you. You had no idea where you were. Was this another dream, again? You squinted, trying to cover your face. The light felt warm and safe, calling to you, like it wanted to pull you into its pearly embrace.

Instead, a darker embrace enveloped you.

"Don't go," a sweet murmur. "Not yet, baby. Stay with me."

You lifted your eyes towards the light, still squinting, although it seemed to be fading in its intensity little by little. For some reason you felt like you were running out of time.

Something was wrong.

"Stay with me," Jin repeated quietly. "You know there is no me without you. Don't go where I can't follow."

You hesitated. Weren't you on your way to see your mother with Minho? An image flashed through your head, leather seats and the low hum of music on the radio.

No, you were definitely in a car. So where the hell were you now? The last thing you remembered was the same bright light that was dimming in front of you now. You turned your head to the side, coming face to face with Jin.

The puzzle pieces clicked into place and you looked towards the enchanting source of illumination again. It was dwindling, though its call still felt just as enticing and loud, urging you to follow.

You turned your head back towards Jin.

"Did we... crash? Am I dead?"

A hint of sorrow glimmered in his eyes. He nodded meekly, his arms tightening around you, strong and secure.

"Stay with me," he pleaded, leaning in, his lips a breath away from yours. "I'll take care of you," he murmured.

His hand slid down your side, moving to your hip. Your breath caught in your throat.

"But... but-"

You tried to take a peek at the light in front of you, but he lifted his hand and placed it on your cheek, unwilling to let you look away from him.

Something felt so wrong; like your only chance for real, heavenly peace was slipping through your fingers. Like this wasn't where you were supposed to be, even if you ached to be with him.

"Jin..."

He shushed you, pressing a warm, affectionate kiss into your lips, his thumb brushing away your tears.

"We'll be together. Forever. I won't let you go again."

You sniffled, the space around you growing dark as night, his lips still inches from yours when he spoke again.

"You're okay, baby. I promise."

His grip on your face softened. You nodded, wiping at your eyes. He smiled at you, something you haven't seen in so long. It made your heart flip, for so many reasons.

"Good girl," he praised, stroking the top of your head affectionately. He ignored the trembling of your body, only pressing you closer to himself, trying to soothe your anxiety and pain away.

Even if he was the one who caused it.

He placed a gentle kiss on the shell of your ear. You promised to always be his.

Promises were made to be kept.

*

In a small, well lit room, Minho sat in a bed, eyeing the two figures in white lab coats standing before him suspiciously.

"I don't want to talk to you," he grumbled. "You're just here to treat me like one of your crazy patients."

The tall, dark haired man with glasses took a seat in the chair at the foot of the bed, crossing his legs.

"I don't consider any of my patients crazy," he answered calmly. "It's important to remain open minded and find a solution if a problem arises. I'm only here to listen and help you feel safe. I promise."

Minho narrowed his eyes, his gaze flicking from the elderly nurse who still stood by his side to the doctor.

The psychiatrist gave him a kind, dimpled smile.

"My name is Kim Namjoon. How about we start with that?"

"I don't care about your name," Minho huffed. "You have no idea what happened to me. You would never believe it either."

A pen clicked, its tip pressing into a notebook resting on the man's lap.

"Why don't you try me?" He coaxed gently. "Let's start at the beginning. As you're aware, the security footage shows your car swerving violently to the right. The doctor said you were trying to avoid hitting someone."

"I- I was."

Namjoon raised his eyebrows.

"But the roads were empty."

Minho flushed.

"Your tests also came back negative for any signs of drugs or alcohol in your system," Namjoon continued. "Have you been under a lot of stress lately?"

"I wasn't hallucinating because I was stressed," Minho snapped. "I saw someone!"

"Who did you see?"

Heaving a sigh, Minho glanced up at the nurse, who gave him an encouraging smile, as if to say: it's okay. He fiddled with the cool sheets covering him.

"My girlfriend's ex. He... died seven months ago."

"Ah," Namjoon said softly, steering his focus onto you, as if the revelation of seeing a ghost didn't faze him. "I'm sorry for your loss, Minho."

Another sigh, heavier, glassy eyes burning into the doctor helplessly.

"It was his fault!" Minho stressed. "He killed her and now he's going to kill me."

After a moment of soft scratching of pen against paper, Namjoon leaned forward, tilting his head to the side.

"What makes you think that?"

Minho hesitated.

"I... saw him in the hospital room as well. It was like a dream," he sniffed. "But I couldn't move."

Namjoon hummed, waiting.

"...He... said something to me."

Straightening up, Namjoon grabbed his pen again and pressed it into the white page.

"What was it?"

Minho pursed his lips, sighed once more. Cringed at his own words.

"He... he said," he gulped, "that- that I'm already ugly but he's going to fuck me up so bad my own mother won't recognize me."

Silence.

The nurse coughed into her hand.

Namjoon just hummed again, trying to hold back, trying so hard not to laugh, but a snort escaped him anyway, his lips curling into a smile while he wrote the words down.

"Jin really enjoyed fucking with you, huh?"

Minho frowned, his face flooding with heat, his hands curling into fists.

"Do you think this is funny?! How dare you sit here and-" he paused abruptly, the rest of his outburst forming into a big knot in his throat.

How did the psychiatrist know Jin's name?

Namjoon set his notebook and pen down, looking up at Minho.

"Don't worry," he murmured. "I promise he's not going to hurt you."

Minho leaned back into the bedframe, trying to sink into it as the man stood up. His aura did not seem so gentle anymore, but rather intimidating as he stalked over to him, disturbingly so.

His head momentarily snapped up to the nurse. She gave him a grin so crooked and strange it made his heart sink.

"Where the hell am I?" He whispered. "I thought this was a mental hospital."

"It was," Namjoon nodded, taking a seat beside him. "Many years ago."

As soon as he was closer, Minho froze, unable to move. A horrible thought occurred to him.

"Did I die?"

Namjoon tsked.

"Of course not. How would that be any fun?"

His hand reached out towards Minho, unusually cold knuckles brushing his cheek, making him flinch.

"I wouldn't be able to hurt you much if we were both dead, would I?"

The room seemed to darken somehow, its shape distorting with dim, sickly green flashes and black shadows. The logical part of him wanted to ask if he was drugged, but deep down, he knew the truth was much worse. His hands trembled violently, a cold, dark feeling spreading through his veins, rendering him weak. He was starting to grow dizzy.

"What did I do to deserve this?" He mumbled hoarsely through dry, shaking lips.

Namjoon bent over to the chair and grabbed his notebook, flipping through the pages. His image was becoming blurry, his voice an odd echo.

"Oh, let me see. Jin noted it all down here."

He settled on a random page.

"You're a liar," he listed, "you always forget your mum's birthday... Oh my, you're a republican as well."

Minho blinked, trying to keep himself afloat, too terrified of what he would wake up to if he fainted.

Namjoon's dark, amused eyes turned towards him, his deep voice eerily calm.

"What do you think you did wrong? Hm? You took his girlfriend, and then you cheated on her as well. Repeatedly. That's not nice, Minho."

He patted his shoulder.

"Sleep well, my friend. I've been so very bored, and I want to have fun with you. I'll see you when you wake up."

Minho shook his head, like he could protest against the workings of his own body, of what was happening around him. But there was only so much distress his pounding heart could handle before it gave out altogether. White as a sheet, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, he fainted.

The last thing he saw before the darkness took him into her arms, like a mother cradling her child, was Namjoon's chilly smile.

Reported missing two days after the accident, his case remained unsolved.

💌 taglist: @wonyuknow @imnotlauriane @bucketofhiros @baalsgurl1913 @silv3rswirls @osakis-gf @iceprincessviviane

[ashleyh713fanfics]

Dazai X Odasaku's Sister Ch17 and Ch18

Double Upload:

Chapter 17: Here To Save The Princess"

Chapter 18: Friends With A Freak Like You"

Summary: Dazai, Chuuya, and Odasaku's little sister find themselves in the worst possible situation, kidnapped by a group out to take down the infamous port mafia. They get the idea to use Dazai's girlfriend for leverage to make him squirm but perhaps that wasn't the the smartest option after all.

Warnings: pm!sixteen year old dazai, pm!sixteen year old chuuya, forced kiss, death, murder, suicide mentions, violence, manipulation on both sides, odasaku death mentions, dazai being a simp and a clingy baby boy, poor chuuya is lost, confused and tormented from all angles for most of this. chuuya is a meanie but it's for a purpose.

(This is chapter seventeen and eighteen of my fanfic "Timeless" which is now on A03. I'll link the master list below so you can get the full story. Asagao's ability is to stop time for up to six seconds.)e

Master List Here

A03 Here

Work Count: 15k total

Chapter 17:

Well this day was getting worse and worse. 

And that was because the ginger mafioso was probably in the worst position he could possibly be in at the moment. Sure, he was no stranger to attempted kidnappings and blackmail but this was something else entirely. 

There were a few things that Chuuya took note of the moment he woke up. The first was the pounding headache in the back of his temple from where that mafia bastard struck him upside the head, the second was the fact that his hands were cuffed and useless hanging above him because of the annoying ability suppressors he’d been forced to put on and the third was dingy disgusting cell he found himself in, the area clearly underground and out of sight. 

But all of that didn’t compare to the numb feeling of his muscles, the boy unable to move even an inch of his limbs in order to curse to himself internally. Shit, they drugged him also, didn’t they? That’s why he couldn’t feel anything right now, why his head was still swimming with groggy resolve.

Well that was a smart move on his captives part though, considering that even without his gravity manipulation Chuuya was still a force of physical strength. Seemed like they accounted for that as well. These idiots must’ve been planning this for a while then. 

But that just meant that getting out of here was going to be more of a pain in the ass than he first thought it would be. Just great. Of course it wasn’t gonna be easy. When is it ever? 

First things first, he had to find Dazai and get out of here. 

Suppressing another groan, his ears then perked up in order to glance to his left and find Dazai’s girlfriend in the same exact position, her head lulling with a moan of pain in order to push against her now restrained hands with confusion. 

And almost immediately, Chuuya felt his heart sink into his chest. Damn it, that’s right. This girl had gotten stuck in the crossfire as well, taken as leverage for the executive to squirm. No, this was bad. She was probably so scared right now. 

Listening to her slowly grow lucid, the boy then watched her start to blink back to reality before turning her head with a soft breathy whisper. “C-Chuuya..?” 

If he had use of his muscles he would’ve nodded, but because he didn’t Chuuya settled for a vocal response, coaxing her as gently as possible. “Hey yeah, it’s me. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay, alright? I’m gonna get you out of here I promise. Nothings gonna happen to you, okay?” 

And he meant that, because even if that selfish mackerel didn’t protect her, he knew he had to. She didn’t belong here after all, this poor girl just got dragged into the darkness without a word. That meant it was his responsibility to pull her back into the light before it was too late. 

It didn’t matter if he couldn't’ move his limbs right now, he’d find a way. He’d get her out of here even if it was the last thing he did. 

Yet just as he thought that, the basement door seemed to swing open revealing a kid around their age, his eyes hungry and wild as he glanced at the ginger haired boy with intent. Wait, he knew this guy, Chuuya had seen him in the hallways of the port once or twice.

Ah shit, what was his name again? He couldn’t even remember. 

 He was a low level errant dog for the organization and now a part of the mafioso’s that had stepped out of line. What a stupid idiot, didn’t he know he’d hang for this kind of betrayal? 

The kid didn’t bat an eye though, simply stopping in front of his chained colleague before crossing his arms with amusement. “The great gravity manipulator, oh how hard he falls. Looks like Mori put his trust in the wrong people after all.” 

Chuuya only scoffed in response, not feeling very intimated. “Jealous bastard, looks like the boss was right, demoting you to an insignificant little nobody. Screwing him over, you just signed your own death wish.”

Humming back in response, the captive then leaned down to Chuuya’s eye level before ramming his fists into the boy’s stomach, causing him to gasp out in surprise as the kid laughed at his misery. “No, I don't think I did, considering I just got my hands on two of the most powerful and valuable pieces the port mafia has to offer.” 

The kid then clawed his fingers into Chuuya’s scalp in order to make the ginger look straight at him. “You see, once I get you and Dazai to spill Mori’s dirty little secrets and follow me instead, I’ll have more than just my freedom, I’ll have the world and not even Mori will be able to stand in our way.” 

Follow him instead? What a stupid idiot. This guy didn’t just want to break free from his lowly position, he wanted to succeed the boss as the leader of the port mafia. Such naive thinking, he really was a kid, wanting more than what was physically possible. 

So much so, Chuuya only laughed at his pathetic attempts. “Yeah? And you do know that Dazai doesn’t follow rules very well, right? Not even the boss can tie him down so good luck trying to get me and him to do jack shit.” 

And he hoped that would be enough to make this pathetic whiny kid rethink his plans but it only caused his shit eating grin to grow tenfold before letting go of Chuuya’s scalp in order to hook his fingers around the restraints holding his hands together. “Oh, but don’t you see that it’s already been proven? We have a secret weapon, after all. One that even got the fearsome Nakahara Chuuya to disarm himself willingly.”

Feeling his eyes hollow at the implication of the kid’s words, he then watched his captor slowly step away in order to turn towards the shaking and clearly fearful girl to his left. “Such power you have, a pretty little thing like you. I almost feel bad that you got caught up in all of this.” 

He then leaned down towards her in order to tap her cheek with his finger condescendingly as she tried to lean away. “I mean, my men wanted to drug you as well but that’s not the way to treat a lady, now is it? You should be thanking me for being so gentle.” 

Chuuya wanted to be sick though, watching this slimy worm touch her like that. He didn’t care if this guy was the same age as them, she was too nice of a person to be treated that awfully. And saying that she should be thanking him for his abuse? 

Fuck that, this kid was dead.  “Don’t you fucking dare, you bastard! Get away from her!” 

But with no use of his body, the ginger found it difficult to act on his threat, and his captor knew that as well, using the opportunity to roughly latch onto her cheeks and force her to look up at him with cocky resolve. 

Then, she spoke, her voice laced with so much confusion and terror that he made Chuuya’s heart break right in half.  “I-I don’t understand..what’s going on..?” 

The traitor then twisted his lips upwards before pouting them out in the most degrading way possible to make her seem stupid. “Aww poor baby, let me explain it to you in simple terms. Your boyfriend has a lot of enemies and since they can’t get to him, you're the next best thing.”

Her response was barely a whisper. “W-What..?” 

Turning his head to the side in a mocking manner, the kid then dug his nails into her cheeks a little rougher, feeling her head jerk at the sudden pain before leaning closer until she could feel his breath on her face. “Still too complex for you? I’ll dumb it down some more. We are using you to hurt him, doll.” 

He then watched her lips push together for a millisecond, almost like she was trying to hold some sort of response before finally releasing them. “H-Hurt, why me?” 

And because her display was just absolutely pathetic, the traitor let go of his hold in order to slimy run his finger across the reddened spots on her skin with a condescending hum. “Because you are the demon prodigy’s precious girlfriend, that’s why. Your sweet innocent little demeanor is just begging to be corrupted for anyone’s personal gain. What an idiot Dazai is, attaching himself to such a scared little rabbit, cocky that he’ll protect you even though he’s already failed so miserably.” 

He wondered why a man like Dazai would ever pick someone as weak as her to be his beloved treasure. Because from the looks of it, the girl was nothing special. Hell, he had even heard that she had even ran straight into the line of fire the moment she found out the guy was kidnapped. 

It was almost as if the idiot wanted to get taken hostage by acting so foolishly

What a stupid response, she didn’t stand a chance in this world, did she? 

Chuckling to himself, the kid then reached his other hand into his pocket, pulling out a switchblade and holding the knife close to her throat with psychotic glee. “I wonder what kind of expression he’ll make if I bring him a finger or an earlobe of his precious little lover? Surely he’ll be more complacent in my plans to take down Mori then, don’t you think, doll?” 

Once again, her head jerked against his hand, causing the traitor to laugh in order to push the side of his blade even closer to her neck, leaving a thin line of blood in its place and compelling her to still. 

And a second later she did, Asagao no longer fighting his hold for fear of getting her throat cut open completely. Huh, she could take orders well. What a good little doll she was. 

Yet that’s when he heard her voice again, the tone slightly more confident from her previous remarks, almost like she couldn’t help the change. “B-But hypothetically what if that Mori guy finds out about all of this? If he sees that Osamu is getting blackmailed then he won’t give him any more secrets, right?”

Her question was strangely intelligent, more so than any of the other pathetic responses she had been giving. 

So much so, the kid decided to mock her for it. “What a surprisingly diligent question for a stupid little civilian. Yes, that’s true but Mori will never find out about this conversation today so he’ll be none the wiser.” 

Shrugging his shoulders carelessly, the boy hummed. “The only ones that know about my plan are you, Chuuya and Dazai and by the end of today all of you will either be disposed of or on my side so it doesn’t matter. Nothing is getting out today. I’ve made sure of it.” 

Asagao then took in his words for a moment before replying shortly. “And what if that doesn't work? What if taking me doesn’t change anything and Osamu still doesn’t listen like Chuuya says he won’t?” 

The kid only turned his head though, like the answer was simple. “Then we’ll just kill you.” 

And that seemed to be enough for Chuuya, the boy shouting from across the room in order to break his threat immediately. “Like hell! Don’t listen to him, Asa. I won’t let anyone lay a hand on you.” 

The traitor only snorted in reply though, glancing back towards the pathetically bound ginger haired boy next to him. “Says the boy that’s completely incapacitated. Face it, Chuuya. You can’t do shit. Here, I’ll show you.” 

Leaning back down towards Asa’s eye level, the kid then reached forward in order to wrap his fingers around the large circular framed glasses that hid her expression. “Come on, doll. Let’s see those pretty tears I know you’re hiding, hmm?”

He then slowly pulled off the metal objects, a shit eating grin on his face as he waited with bated breath to see just how distraught and terrified his little hostage was. Based on her body language and response thus far it was sure to be a sight. 

Asagao immediately protested as well, trying to shift her head away with a pathetic whimper. “N-No..don’t..” 

And from the angle he was at and the drugs in his system, the ginger couldn’t see Asagao’s face, unable to turn his head in any capacity except for his wild and anxious eyes.

But even still, he could see enough as the gross bastard's fingers finally fully pulled off her glasses with a victorious chuckle despite his own threats. “I said don’t touch..!’

Yet that’s when Chuuya watched the traitor’s smile quickly fizzle away and physically flinch, reeling backwards a couple steps with wide eyes, like he was gazing at some kind of ghost or demon. “W-What the hell..” 

It was so surprising then that the kid tripped over his own feet, falling straight on his ass in order to stare hollowly at the girl before him. But what the hell was this guy seeing that was so scary? Nothing about Asagao had been scary to Chuuya. 

What could’ve possibly gained such a reaction?

But for the traitor, he couldn’t seem to look away, locked onto the hollow and dead eyes staring right through his soul, void of life, void of care. They swallowed him whole without a second thought, leaving him to drown in her own scrutiny. 

He had never seen that kind of look from anyone before. She wasn’t crying or scared at all. In fact, her eyes held no reaction whatsoever to his rough treatment, almost like it didn’t shake her in any kind of way, like nothing could shake her in any kind of way. 

Finally gaining the courage to crawl closer, the kid then reached out a shaky hand in order to pull her face closer with quiet inspection. “What an ugly beast you turned out to be. No wonder why Dazai chose you, only a demon could love a face like that.”  

His words were cruel, causing Chuuya to yell out another obscenity but the traitor hardly cared, watching as his insults did nothing to the hollow expression in her eyes, the words simply fizzling away the minute they reached her ears. 

This girl, was she even human?

Feeling a chill creep up his spine from the reaction, the kid then quickly pushed his hand up in order to cover her haunted iris’ and shove her head into the prison wall behind him with an anxious yet amused chuckle of insanity. 

What was he getting so worked up about? She was just a defenseless princess, helpless at his mercy. So what if she had scary eyes, it didn’t change the fact that he had the upper hand here, and he needed to prove that.

Because of that, the traitor sought for his power back, glancing down towards her quivering lips in order to lean closer to her ear with a breathy whisper of depravity. “But when I do this you aren’t so bad. Perhaps I should see what the executive sees in you, hmm? My, how furious he’ll be to learn that I tasted his lover like this.”

Then before Asa could speak, the kid forced his lips onto hers, shoving her further into the prison wall as Chuuya’s eyes grew livid with complete and absolute rage. That shitty traitorous bastard, just what was he doing?!

His voice bounced off the wall in an instant, forcing his body to move through the drugs to no avail as the tone turned hoarse and yet lethally dangerous. “Stop it, you bastard!! You’re so fucking dead, you hear me?! I’m gonna kill you!!” 

The traitor didn’t listen though, his palm pushing further into her blinded eyes in order to press his body closer to hers and lay claim to the one thing the demon prodigy had taken for his own. 

That’s right. He’d soil her lips, corrupt her with his touch, control her consent and then that executive would regret ever denying his orders. 

Finally pulling back a second later, he then licked his lips in a disgusting manner before removing his hands from her eyes in order to forcibly pull the bow from her hair as the wild auburn strands cascaded across her face in order to cover her expression. 

Then he playfully spun her glasses around on his fingers in order to slip them back into his pocket with a smirk. “Now that’s taken care of, I’m gonna go pay your boyfriend a visit and show him these. You better pray that he cares enough to keep you alive, doll. Or else things won’t be ending well for you.” 

Laughing to himself, the traitor then turned around in order to ascend the steps behind him and slam the door loudly before Chuuya immediately turned towards the silent girl to his left in order to shake his head with invisible pain. 

He wanted to speak to her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright but things were looking grim. He was sure that Dazai wouldn’t care about her life which meant that if he didn’t get out of here soon, things would be over for her. 

Shit, he didn’t want any of this to happen, especially to her. She was so sweet and kind to him back in that cafe, she didn’t deserve to deal with Dazai’s bullshit and now look at what happened. 

She was utterly destroyed because of the selfish desires of a demon.

------- 

Strolling melodically through the abandoned building that was now his makeshift compound, the traitor threw open the double doors in front of him in order to come face to face with the demon prodigy himself.

He looked absolutely unbothered, chained to a metal chair in the very center of the room with nothing else around it. And even though he was just as helpless as Asagao and Chuuya, it certainly didn’t feel like it. 

That was the problem with Dazai, he always seemed to have the upper hand, when in fact it was the kid that held all the power. “Ready to talk yet, executive?” 

Dazai only lifted his head absentmindedly though, absolutely calm and collected. “Nah, I don’t think I wanna..sorry..” 

He wasn’t sorry though, that much was evident from the cocky ass grin on his face. Well, then let’s see how he reacts to this. “Then maybe this will change your mind.” 

Throwing the circular glasses onto the floor in front of him, the kid then watched as Dazai’s smile slowly fell in order to stare at the ominous objects in a tense silence. 

Yes, this was it. He knew that girl was his weak point. Now he could control the great demon in whatever way he wanted. Mori was a goner. 

Yet that’s when the mafioso simply snorted at the glasses in order to laugh rather hysterically under his breath, almost like he had just seen the funniest thing known to man. 

Already growing furious from his reaction, the traitor shouted back. “What are you laughing about? Don’t you get it? I have your girl! She’s chained up and at my mercy right now along with your orange haired partner!” 

Once again though, the demon laughed even harder. “At your mercy? You really think that, huh? You and Chuuya are the same kind of stupid it seems..” 

Almost immediately, the kid felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment for his lackluster reaction. Why was he acting like that? Didn’t he understand the situation he was in at all? “S-Stupid!? I’m serious, I’ll hurt her if you don’t comply with my demands!” 

Finally getting his unruly giggles under control, the executive then narrowed his unbandaged eye in cold resolve at the traitor before simply shrugging his shoulders. “Okay, go ahead and try it.” 

Okay ahead and try it? That’s all he had to say? What the hell, what a horribly lukewarm response. This was Dazai’s girlfriend he was talking about. He should’ve been spiraling in a blind rage or begging for her release, right? 

So why was he instead coaxing him to go through with his threat? Was Chuuya right, did he truly not care about the bound auburn haired civilian he had been hanging off of all day? 

Feeling at a loss with the boy, his captor couldn’t help but stutter. “W-What? What does that mean? You really don’t care about her? That innocent stupid girl, you’ll really let her die like that?”  

The air was silent then, watching as Dazai simply took in his words before his lips curved upwards into a wince of a smile almost like he couldn’t help it. “As if she’d allow someone like you to pull the trigger.”

And there was a surprising amount of emotions behind that smile, ones that the traitor noticed but couldn’t decipher whatsoever. They felt bitter, like an unruly regret mixed with jealousy and yet soft like a hidden promise all at the same time. 

So much so, the look caused the kid to finally lose his temper and point a finger at the clearly calm mafioso. “Enough! I’ll bring the girl in here myself and then you’ll see just how serious I am. Let’s see how defiant you are when I force you to watch her bleed firsthand.” 

And he hoped that would be enough to make him crack, to shatter the carefully crafted expression that was painted on his face. He had to react to that, right? Anyone would falter when face to face with their crying and screaming lover. 

Yet that’s when Dazai simply hummed under his breath in order to turn his head towards the side with precise precision. “Oh, I wouldn’t suggest that if I were you..” 

Finally, now they were getting somewhere. At last Dazai was threatening him now. That showed that he cared in some kind of capacity. 

Twisting his lips into a lethal smirk, the traitor then leaned forward into the mafioso’s face, knowing he got under his skin. “Why, because you’ll make me regret it?” 

Although the demon then narrowed his eyes in response before pushing his lips together a sing-song tone, kicking his bound feet absentmindedly under the chair. “Wronggg, it's not me you have to worry about.” 

The response mocked him in the worst possible way, causing the kid’s anger to spike even more. What the hell did that mean? What could be more fearsome than the demon prodigy? Surely nothing. 

Shaking his head absentmindedly, the kid then brushed the comment off before turning around in order to speak as he left. “If you’re talking about Chuuya, he's been incapacitated along with the girl. No one is going to save her.” 

Yet the moment he disappeared, Dazai lifted his head up to the ceiling, a cruel and waiting smile upon his lips as he thought about the utter destruction that would be on that guy’s face when he found out the truth.  

Of course he wasn’t talking about Chuuya. 

“You're speaking as if she needs saving.” 

------

Chuuya’s sad pitiful eyes continued to stare at Asagao in pure silence as her head continued to lull down towards the ground just like how that bastard left her. 

He concluded that she must’ve been in some kind of shock, being forcibly kissed like that, it definitely hurt her immensely, so much so that he cursed Dazai’s name by the second. 

Yet that’s when he heard a pathetic little sniffle sound from her lips, causing Chuuya’s eyes to ring his alarm in order to force his groggy and sluggish head to turn even a millimeter closer to her direction. 

No, he couldn’t just sit here, he had to help her somehow. “H-Hey, it’s okay, don’t cry. You gotta keep your head up, yeah? You’re gonna get out of here I promise, then I’ll make that sorry bastard pay for touching you. I promise.” 

Even still, it didn’t stop her shaky breaths. In fact, his words just seemed to make everything worse, the girl crying a little bit louder than before, much to Chuuya’s panic. “S-Shit, no no it’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m not good at this, I’ve never had to console anyone before. Just tell me what to say, alright? Tell me whatever you need and I’ll do it. Anything, just stop cryin like that, please..” 

A second later he heard her speak, just barely above a whisper. “A-Anything?” 

Forcing his head to nod back immediately, Chuuya shouted. “Yes! I swear, you just gotta say it.” 

And he meant that with his entire heart. Anything to make her wipe that utterly hopeless aura that was around her. Anything to stop the corruption that was so clearly taking place. Hell, if she asked him to cut off his own arm he probably would’ve done it right then and there. 

Anything to bring that stupid goofy smile back onto her face. 

The air was silent then, Chuuya waiting with baited breath for her next words only to be caught off guard completely. “T-Then..can I call you Chu Chu..?” 

And to be honest, the arm decapitation example he just used seemed a lot more bearable than her actual request. She had to be kidding, right? Out of everything she could’ve possibly said, it had to be that. “H-Huh?” 

She must have sensed his displeasure though, the girl’s voice immediately shrinking back into herself as he watched her shake her head dismissively. “S-Sorry, it’s dumb. Forget it.” 

It was dumb, the stupidest thing in the entire world but although he recognized that, her sad and depressing response was enough to get him to speak without thinking. “N-No no it’s okay. You can, you can call me that.” 

But once it was said, it couldn’t be taken back, Chuuya watching Asa’s head perk up just slightly in hopeful resolve. “R-Really? You promise you won’t take it back?”

Ah hell, she really wanted this didn’t she? Was this seriously the only way she’d stop being so depressed and keep going? Because of that, Chuuya felt his throat sound in groaning defeat. 

What’s the worst that could happen, right? He wasn’t even sure if this girl was going to make it out of here alive tonight. If this is all he could do for her then so be it. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, the mafioso then opened them before replying begrudgingly. “Yeah yeah, I promise. You gotta stop crying though.”

Yet, the moment those words left his lips, Chuuya then watched as her sad and quiet sniffles seemed to evaporate into the air, almost like they never existed in the first place. “Okay!” 

Wait what? 

Feeling immediately whiplashed with confusion, the boy tried to process the reaction to no avail. Hold on, there was that feeling again, the one that gave him an unpleasant sense of deja vu. 

The one he always felt when talking to Dazai. “Huh?” 

Just then, the door slammed open again, shattering his suspicions and redirecting his attention to a group of about a dozen men as they surrounded both him and Asagao wordlessly. “H-Hey, what the hell are you doing?!” 

The men simply didn’t answer, their hands unhooking the long chains from both of their restraints before both of them were pulled up and roughly shoved towards the door. 

And soon enough the two found themselves in a large room, surrounded by other port mafia traitors as Chuuya furiously found the tied bandaged bastard in the very center, still being bound by a chair. 

There that stupid mackerel was, and if he didn’t die today then Chuuya promised that he’d be dead in another way for leaving his poor sacred girlfriend all alone tonight. 

A loud snap was overheard then, causing the men to immediately shove both the gravity manipulator and Dazai’s girlfriend on their knees before the soft click of a gun was pressed to their temples in silent wait. 

Feeling his breath sharply gasp at the sight, Chuuya immediately called out to the seemingly calm mafioso. “You better get her out of this or so help me, Dazai!” 

Dazai then pretended to think for a second before shaking his head once, enraging his partner even more. “Mmm no, I don’t think I will.” 

Gasping at the complete disregard for his own girlfriend’s safety, the boy felt like he was going to be sick with fury. After the utter hell Asagao had gone through tonight because of Dazai's own reckless actions, he still wasn’t going to save her? 

And though he should’ve expected the behavior, that didn’t make it any less awful. He thought that just maybe, there was a sliver of a chance that things were going to be different this time, that the demon would be able to see the utter helplessness in her eyes and finally give a shit for once. 

But here he was just like all the times before, destroying anything that didn’t bring him value, killing this girl with his own words right in front of her eyes. It was cruel, he was so cruel for this. 

So much so, Chuuya couldn’t take it anymore. “W-What?! You piece of shit, take that back! She’s your girlfriend and you put her in danger! Take responsibility for something in your damn life for once, will you?!” 

His yelling did nothing to shake him though, Dazai simply turning his head with absolute disinterest before the traitorous kid cut him off, sick of the melodrama that was happening around him. “That’s enough out of you. Now, Dazai. What do you say? Will you choose my offer or will you watch your precious little girlfriend die in front of your eyes? Which will it be?” 

Then as if to prove his threat, his captor snapped his fingers once more as the safety disappeared from the gun holding Asagao hostage before she seemingly shuttered. 

Poor girl, she couldn’t even look up at them to see Dazai’s betrayal. Oh how those words must’ve hurt her deeply to not even have the strength to lift her sorry head. 

Yet that’s when Dazai’s words turned into something different, something more condescending than before. “I choose the third option.” 

Feeling himself pause, the kid frowned. “Third option? But there is no third option..” 

His response only seemed to spark amusement though, coating Dazai’s entire face in order for him to narrow his eyes once more in a mocking reply. “Not that you know of, but it’s always been there. Isn’t that right, my loyal hound?” 

Chuuya only groaned in response though. Now was not the time for that stupid degrading nickname. He didn’t even know what the hell he was talking about. “Dazai, I told you to stop calling me that!” 

Dazai then closed his eyes, a calculating smile appearing on his lips before opening them with pure sick delight, almost like he had been waiting a long time to say his next words.

And when he did, everyone in the room could feel the power they held. “Oh Chuuya, this time I wasn’t talking about you.” 

Then the demon prodigy shifted his gaze from his idiot partner to the quiet and pensive girl beside him in order to speak his command loudly. “Sic ’em’.” 

Almost instantly, the air around the entire space dropped, shifting like a curse before hearing the seemingly docile and traumatized civilian’s lips start to sound in a sick twisted giggle, almost like she couldn’t hold in her excitement anymore. 

Then everyone watched as the beast from hell itself lifted her up head with a bloodthirsty and terrifying grin, shaking the very foundations of the room. “Finally! I’ve been waiting all day to play around with you. Let’s hope you make it worth my while.” 

Chuuya then blinked in utter shock before somehow finding that the situation had changed in an instant, watching as Asagao seemingly switched places with the man holding her at gunpoint. 

No, now she was on top of him, pressing her foot into his back, his stolen gun hovering above the back of his head as the man was cuffed and chained with the restraints that she had been in a millisecond before. 

Hold on, what was going on?! Had Chuuya just imagined that? He thought for sure that she was one being held captive. How did things change around so quickly? He didn’t even see her move at all. Did she move at all? 

And most importantly why was she holding that gun like a trained professional? 

She was just a civilian, right?

The men around her seemed to be unable to process the scene as well, their weapons immediately drawn in order for Asa’s excitement to spiral tenfold at the smell of a fight. “Well then, who’s first?”

Gritting his teeth, the leader of the group then pointed his finger out to the crazed woman before shouting roughly. “Get her!” 

Then all at once, every single thug raced towards her all at once, causing Asagao’s fingers to shake with that all too familiar adrenaline she loved to drown herself in. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this...” 

And Chuuya could feel the shift immediately, the lingering and lethal aura around her entire body as she practically shivered with growing anticipation for the oncoming threat. 

Almost like she was daring them to live up the challenge of pleasing her insatiable appetite.

Yet before they could reach her, the girl seemingly disappeared from beside the ginger haired boy, the thugs gasping in order to feel a hand on their shoulder, tapping them condescending from behind. “Looking for someone?” 

The armed man then turned around only for their gun to point at the intruder before finding absolutely no one there. Hold on, they could’ve sworn they heard a voice. 

Blinking once again, Chuuya then found a flash of turquoise, the fluffy princess skirt swaying in silent wait as she stood in front of him with her back turned and arms outstretched. “Come on, give me a real fight! Show me what you got!” 

She was taunting them, mocking them to attack her to which they complied, the men quickly turning back around in order to give her what she asked for, much to her very obvious excitement. 

Yet the moment one of them swung their arms across, Asagao was gone, appearing by his side in order to dodge his measly hit like it meant absolutely nothing to her.

And try as they may, none of the lowly thugs could even touch her, the girl moving too fast in and out of reality for them to even comprehend where she was before hitting thin air instead. 

It was like she was doing it on purpose also, purposely slipping just out of reach in order to toy with the newest pieces she had acquired for her sick little game. 

Yet with each miss the men seemed to grow more and more furious, their senses heightened before finally landing a powerful and painful blow to her stomach. Finally, now she would be sorry and pay for her games. 

Although that’s when they heard Asagao simply laugh, holding the pained area with even more unriddled adrenaline and sick delight. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Ah, you’re making me wanna show off now!” 

Chuuya then watched in stunned horror as the men around him suddenly started screaming as bleeding bullet wounds appeared like some sort of sick curse, shooting through their arms, legs and other non fatal patches of skin in order for them to crumble with breathless panic. 

What the hell was going on? What kind of ability was this? Was this seriously Asagao? No, it couldn’t be. He couldn’t believe it. This was like an invisible bloodbath, the bullets in the girl's gun causing mass casualty in a mere second.  

Then his thoughts were brought back in order to see the man next to him seemingly clutch onto his chest in agony as the arm holding the gun to the ginger's head snapped unnaturally in the wrong direction, causing him to drop the weapon in an instant. 

Not knowing what to say, Chuuya then wordlessly stared as Asagao appeared beside him, her face unseen and body moving behind him as the boy couldn’t help but question absolutely everything. 

A million thoughts ran through his mind but only one seemed to break through the silence, causing his lips to waver with uncertainty. “H-How?” 

He needed to know, more than anything else. How did she do this? How had she managed to take down so many enemies in the span of seconds. It had to be an ability of some kind. But what was it?  

Yet that’s when he felt her fingers brush against the restraints behind his back, touching the skin silently before Chuuya gasped at the world around him. 

Suddenly, everything was still, like someone had just hit pause on the entire fight. 

The thugs that had been running towards them seemed petrified in place, their arms outstretched like statues or strange stagnant art pieces. Hold on, was this her ability? Was this how she was able to move so quickly and hurt all those people with ease? 

Feeling her fingers fiddle with the cuffs behind him, Chuuya then sharply drew in a breath before the metal restraints fell towards the ground and the world to reanimate with just as much noise and shouting as it had been a few seconds before. 

Suddenly things started to make more sense. Her ability stopped time, didn’t it? He had gotten it wrong, she wasn’t moving too fast for him to comprehend, she was simply taking advantage of the suspended moments in order to seem invisible. 

The very thought made Chuuya shiver unexpectedly. What a scary power that was, being able to manipulate the world around her while everyone else stood clueless. And was this just showing off? The thought was absolutely terrifying to think about, how she could bring down such a large group of men without a single touch. 

Just who in the hell was this woman?

Dazai on the other hand just stared wordlessly at the carnage, the screams and shouts of pain deaf inside his ears as he watched Odasaku’s sister take down one measly thug after another. 

He knew she was powerful but this was the first time he had seen the extent of her ability up close. When they spared together she was fast sure, but she was never this fast, the girl always opting to hold back in order not to seriously injure him on accident.

But right now there were no boundaries, her opponents didn’t have the same mercy that he was given, and now he was seeing her for the very first time, in all her hellhound glory. 

The meticulous shots, the absolute carnage she could conjure from seemingly nothing, it was all on display right before his very eyes. 

And he loved every minute of it. 

Sure, to most the scene would’ve been alarming, sending even the most daring people away immediately. But not Dazai. To him the blood and the gruesome sight only enhanced a part of her that he found absolutely enthralling. 

Blinking once in pride, Dazai then paused in order find Asagao standing in front of him, someone else’s blood on her turquoise princess dress, a stolen loaded gun hanging by her side and an unruly mane of red fiery auburn falling around her face as she stared at him with that very familiar dead hollow gaze that captured him time and time again. 

The sight caused a breath to lodge in his throat without permission. 

God, she was so different than anything he had ever seen before, commanding his attention and drawing him in without a single word. 

Sure, she had always been pretty. He wasn’t blind. For someone as experienced as he was with intimacy even Dazai could decipher when someone was pleasing to the eye. 

It was never about that though. His relationships were merely an indifference of appearance, an uneven scale to what they could offer him. Beauty was a shallow thing, doing nothing for the boy rather than one night of indulgence before he quickly got bored. 

He just never cared about appearance in the kind of way that other normal boys did. It simply wasn’t a factor in the equation for him. 

Personal gain was what mattered most which meant that the boy had no desire in things that wouldn’t end with that result. 

He never sought after giving gifts or special treatment with frivolous promises that he knew he couldn’t ever keep.

Which was why it was so strange that he had changed his self made rule the day he walked by that hauntingly alluring teal and turquoise dress hanging in the window by the port mafia base. 

It was almost like he couldn’t help it, his eyes immediately drawn to the fabric and losing himself in the color that he knew so well. 

And he tried to ignore it, by god did he try, but it seemed that whenever he tried to leave he always seemed to find himself back at that store window. 

Not only that, wandering thoughts haunted him wherever he went, imagining how the brightly colored hue would look against her skin and fitted around her curves over and over like on repeat.

Then before he could even comprehend what he was doing, the item was in between his fingers inside a frilly pink bag, clashing against his broody and black style almost immediately. 

She didn’t seem to mind his moment of weakness though. On the contrary, Asagao was overjoyed by the dress, spinning around with it against her chest in a happy little circle when she received it. 

But when she asked him why he had done such a thing, even he couldn’t give himself an answer. 

Those thoughts kept him occupied most of the day, his eyes staring at her with silent conjecture while sitting in that cafe. 

At the time, he just didn’t understand what coaxed him into doing such a thing, into breaking the very clearly placed rules that he had set for himself. 

Yes she looked good when she first tried it on, fitting the idealistic clean and expected air of normality. Not a hair was out of place, each wrinkle carefully pressed and tuned to orderly demure. 

But staring at her right now, Dazai realized that it was so much more than that. 

Because what he was looking at now couldn’t be described, not in anything that Dazai could perceive in his own fucked up mind but there were words, fractured syllables and sentences that still broke through the silence.

A rarity, a one of a kind wonder, a gem of absolute unique brilliance. It wasn’t something that just anyone could understand the value of. 

Suddenly, everything started to make sense, his lips falling open with careful realization.

That put together version of her was nice but this was the version that made everything inside him flatter and malfunction. 

Everything about her now was wild, unkempt and messy, insanity mixing with sensibility, and Dazai couldn’t get enough of it. 

She was absolutely radiant, the blood on her dress and the cold lifeless look in her eyes causing him to sharply breathe in a light headed air. 

Those foolish idiots that overlooked her all those years just didn’t get it. They took one look at her and claimed her as unfinished. They only saw and labeled her as unworthy, as a faulty result.. 

But in this moment, Dazai only saw perfection. 

And he was damn glad that he had broken those rules and bought her that dress. 

So much so, his dazed expression couldn’t help but soften at the sight, his lips speaking out without permission. “Stunning..”

Almost instantly though, the boy seemed to catch himself, screwing his lips shut with embarrassment before feeling slightly more self continuous then before. What was that, why did that slip out so suddenly?

He didn’t mean for that to happen.

Yet that’s when Asagao simply smiled, her lips mimicking his gentle expression before reaching her hand out of him. “There you are, Osamu. I missed you.”

Feeling his heart tumble inside his chest at her words, Dazai then watched her use her ability to disappear before he felt the chains around his arms and chest start to loosen all at once. “Now sit still, I’m here to save the princess.”

A second later, he felt movement return to his muscles before he rubbed the marks on his wrists silently. Sure, he could’ve gotten out of this way sooner but having Asagao help him was so much better than him doing it himself. 

So, instead he acted dumb and let her be his knight in shining armor. 

Then once he was standing Asa gave him a sideways glance in order to hear about a dozen more men enter the large empty space before sliding the stolen pistol she had acquired into his palm. “Here. Now let’s have some fun. What do you say?”

And both Asagao and Dazai knew the lure of such a thing was far too appealing to be ignored, the demon prodigy simply smiling with acknowledgment in order to take the weapon gladly. 

Before finally turning back to her with a look filled with lingering adrenaline and absolute adoration. 

“You know I could never resist such a tempting offer. Especially from you, love.”

-------

Forcing his tired and woozy legs to function onto his knees, Chuuya huffed out a struggling breath from the other side of the room in order to join the fight now that he had his ability back. 

Before snapping his head back up at the sound of gunfire once more. 

But this time what he found wasn’t just Asagao but rather Dazai as well, working in tandem just like he had witnessed back at the karaoke bar earlier today, their steps concise and hypervigilant as they raised their fists and weapons towards the group of traitors. 

And though he hated even thinking about it, Chuuya couldn’t help but be awed at the sight just like he was during their silly little performances. There was just something about it, the way they both narrowly avoided their hits by a mere millisecond, predicting and adapting in real time before his very eyes. 

Hell, even Chuuya knew he was never this in tune with his own partner. It was almost as if the two rehearsed this shit or something considering it was so flawless. 

Grumbling at the implication, the ginger then activated his ability in order for the rest of the men around them to seemingly collapse under the suffocating weight of their own gravity, rendering the threat gone before those two freaks could finish picking them off. 

Dazai then perked his head up before whistling back loudly to the fuming dog. “Finally you do something useful. I was starting to think you were just gonna make us do all the work.” 

Rolling his eyes, the boy grumbled back. Did he not just see that he had been drugged, chained and beaten up until now? “Shut up, you damn mackerel. This was all your fault in the first place.”

The executive then opened his mouth to speak again only for the so-called “leader” of the traitors to do so for him, his eyes howling at the absolute desecration and bloody carnage around him before speaking distantly. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

His men, his following, they were all gone except for him. And it was all because of that woman, the one that he had foolishly painted as an innocent civilian. 

Dazai then lifted his hand up casually, stepping around one of the unconscious bodies with ease. “I can answer that question. You see, I knew from the extent of our scheduled meeting that you had plans for an uprising against the port mafia, so I decided to have a little fun with it.” 

The words were lost in his ears though. “A little fun..?” 

Nodding once, the demon then extended his hand out to the blood covered female beside him before smiling maliciously. “But I knew that you’d never be dumb enough to target me directly. Enemies find weakness after all, and nothing is more weak than that of a defenseless lover, right?” 

Asagao then smirked before putting her wrists together to mimic the chains that were once around her. “Tell me, was I a good enough target for you to kidnap?” 

And although the traitor was certainly taken back by their words, Chuuya was the one that felt his mouth drop open with a brain numbing malfunction. No, it couldn’t be. 

He had criticized Dazai all day for putting his girlfriend in danger, for flaunting her in public and in the eyes of enemies without a care in the world. But all of that dismissal, it was on purpose, it was to make her the target all along. 

Everything began to make sense now. Their place in front of that large bay window overlooked the crowded streets, the way Dazai clung to her like a desperate lover and showed extreme pda for everyone to see. 

It was because he knew that these guys were watching, and the two of them were just giving them the show they wanted to see. 

What shady little freaks. They knew that they would end up here all along, didn’t they? All this time, the two of them had planned all of this to take down the port mafia traitors without them knowing. 

 That bastard's reaction, the one that Chuuya had been fuming over, it wasn’t based on disinterest. It was based on calculation. 

That’s why he didn’t jump at the chance to save her. Chuuya thought he was just being cruel but perhaps that wasn’t the case at all. Perhaps he had counted on her from the very start. 

 Could it really all have been an act all this time? The cruelty, the discard, was it all lies or just an over exaggerated version of the truth? 

The ginger didn’t know the answer but what he did know was that by trusting Asagao to go this far, Dazai was already far out of his usual character.  Suggesting that perhaps the affection for this girl ran deeper than even Dazai seemed to realize. 

The kid then stuttered back, unable to grasp onto the slipping power that he once had by the second before countering.  “I-I doesn’t matter. No one will believe that I turned into a traitor. My men are loyal to me. Even if you kill me you have no proof of what happened here today.” 

Yeah, that’s right. His friends had been sworn to secrecy. Even torture wouldn’t reveal his true intentions to cause harm to the port mafia. 

Yet that's when Asagao simply turned her head in question. “Oh, you mean proof like this?” 

Lifting her hand up, the girl then ran a couple fingers across the wild auburn strands before pulling out a small tiny bobby pin in order to push the button of the side as a very familiar voice filled the air. 

His voice. 

“You see, once I get you and Dazai to spill Mori’s dirty little secrets and follow me instead, I’ll have more than just my freedom, I’ll have the world and not even Mori will be able to stand in our way.” 

And just like that, his entire regime crumbled before his very eyes, the hands by his side turning so white from rage that he couldn’t slow it. This bitch, she was recording him this whole time, coaxing him into revealing his plan. 

It was over, everything was over. It didn’t matter if he got away today, he was a dead man either way. “Y-You..what..” 

Asagao then turned her head to the side, her lips protruding in a mocking fashion before reveling in his downfall. “Aww poor baby, still too complex? Let me dumb it down for you some more. You’ve been played, doll.” 

Those words, they were the same ones he had taunted her with and yet now they slapped right back into his face, making his entire body redden with embarrassment. How dare she treat him like an idiot and condescend him like that. 

He was supposed to be the one with the power. Not her. 

Dazai then laughed cynically at the dumbfounded face of his enemy before wrapping his bandaged arms around Asa’s waist in order to speak plainly. “All of you are so stupid, undermining her like nothing when my girl is way more capable than any of you will ever be.” 

The way he spoke those words, they were so prideful and laced with admiration, two things that no one in the room thought a demon was capable of except the girl beside him. 

And the second he said it, Asagao felt her eyes widen a fraction of an inch before a flustered blush crept into her cheeks without permission

His girl. 

He just called her his girl . 

 Osamu had never done that before. 

Yet that seems to be the last straw for the faltering villain, Dazai’s words causing the kid to scream with fury, his hand reaching outwards as red lethal strings started to seep from his fingertips in order to face the unbothered girl across from him. 

How dare Dazai’s girlfriend make him look like a fool. She was going to regret that more than anything. “Y-You deceiving bitch! You ruined everything! I’m gonna kill you!” 

Chuuya’s eyes immediately widened anxiety, the red glow of his ability threatening to seep out before he watched Dazai simply step in front of her the girl, shielding her from the hit as the bandaged boy’s ability nullified the attack the second it threatened to touch him.

 Faltering a single step back, the kid then physically flitch as Asagao’s smile dropped at the attempt on Osamu before his blood run cold.  The traitor then felt his ribs crying in pain as both his legs snapped without warning, bringing him down to his knees before crumbling towards the cement floor with a scream filled with so much agony and ear shattering torture. “F-Fuck, you broke my legs?!”

Snapping his head up in fury, the kid then froze as Asagao’s hollow and lifeless stare met his shaky one, her finger cocking the pistol in her hands in silent wait. 

  She then turned her gun slightly before speaking. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, I can do much worse. Wanna see?” 

Placing her finger immediately over the trigger, the traitor gasped in horror as she took the shot, his eyes squeezing shut with a pathetic little scream. 

This was it, it was over. No, he didn’t wanna die! Please no, anything but that. He was still a kid! 

Yet that’s when he heard the bullets from the chamber clatter onto the floor with a careful cling, like she had emptied them before pulling the trigger. But how?

 It must have been her ability that changed his fate at the last second. That was the only explanation. 

Narrowing her cold eyes, Asa then lowered her hand down, disarming herself with a hiss. “But, I refuse to go back to that, especially for someone as insignificant and ugly as you.” 

She spoke them like a mantra, like they weighed more than her life itself, so much so the kid felt his lips quiver out a breath of relief. 

The calm was short lived though, the kid watching as Asa’s nose then scrunched with disgust as her hand began to shake on the gun by her side. 

 It was almost as if she was holding herself back from breaking that promise, the emptiness in her eyes revealing only murder and destruction. 

 And Asagao, she could feel it. The adrenaline, the training she had been given as a child sounded in her head, begging her to finish the job as she has been conditioned to do. 

But even so, she withheld, the girl allowing a crazed chuckle to seep from her lips instead to release some of her insanity. “And you’re damn lucky I’m not an assassin anymore otherwise every single shot I just delivered would’ve been fatal. Let that sink in, will you? How easily I could’ve ended every single one of your lives with a snap of my fingers.” 

At the sound of her words, Chuuya’s gaze then shifted towards the multitude of unconscious and bleeding bodies around them, the warehouse looking more like a graveyard more than a building now. 

Was she serious? Every single shot, every place she hit was deliberate? That was absolutely crazy. 

Then again, it made sense. No one could blindly shoot and miss someone’s vitals every single time like that. Even a shitty wielder would’ve gotten lucky at least once. 

How absolutely terrifying, to know that this girl could’ve killed everyone in the room if she really wanted to. Hell, the fact that she held back honestly felt scarier than just getting the job done. 

Because now there was the lingering dread hanging in the air, signifying that they were one breath away from an absolute bloodbath. 

Sucking in a heavy breath, Asa then purposely stepped on his broken leg, causing her captor to cry out before smiling sweetly. “Now that you understand, I’m gonna explain it to you in simple terms, Kay? Don’t mess with my boyfriend again, or else you’re really gonna piss me off, and trust me. You don’t wanna do that.”

Almost immediately the kid nodded back, the pain of the pressure on his shattered bone creating black spots in his eyes.

Oh god, Dazai was right. He was the least scary thing in the room right now. That demon was nothing in comparison to the psychotic unpredictability of Asagao. 

That reaction seemed to be enough for her though, finally allowing the pressure to disperse before putting the pistol by her side. “Great, glad we could come to an understanding.”

Closing her eyes, Asa then turned around with a lazy shrug of her shoulders, speaking mostly to herself. “But don’t think you’re completely off the hook yet. I mean, I still have no idea what to do with you but you gotta pay for some things.”

She then paused for a moment before touching her bottom lip with a small pout of disappointment. “That was my first kiss too..”

Suddenly, all the air seemed to get pushed out of her lungs as Asagao felt a rough hand grab onto her forearm, pulling her backward and into a very familiar patch of black fabric. 

Widening her eyes, Dazai’s arms then pressed her face against his chest before swiping the gun by her side in order to immediately shoot the traitor without a second thought. 

Killing him instantly. 

And not only that, he kept on shooting, each bang erupting more final than the last as each bullet pierced the corpse of the boy over and over again. 

 It was only when the soft click resounded that his finger lifted from the trigger in order for Asa to finally pry herself away from his hold in order to look at the dead body silently. 

Shifting her gaze upward, Asa then paused, noticing the absolute murder in her boyfriend’s eyes, the iris’ still trained to the body like he was in some sort of dark loop. 

She had never seen that kind of look from him before in the year she had known him. Was this the true form of the infamous demon prodigy she had heard so much about? 

There was something else there as well. An anger, a wrath she couldn’t quite reach. So dead and yet so emotional at the same time, drowning silently in a torment unknown to her. 

This was the first time he’d killed in front of her and thought she wasn’t traumatized in any way, the girl was certainly surprised. 

Huh, that guy must’ve said something he really hated. 

Humming to herself in silent thought, Asa then crouched down beside the body before poking his chest with her finger absentmindedly. “Well, that solves that problem I guess.”

And now that the enemy was eradicated, Chuuya’s mind seemed to have more time to process whatever the hell just happened

Sure, seeing Dazai kill that guy was disturbing but it wasn’t anything new. Besides, that wasn’t what he focused on the most. That bastard had it coming anyways. 

But what did bother him was the absolute personality shift he had just seen from the seemingly sweet and innocent Asagao. 

No, there was something odd about all this, and it was more than just her ability or her animistic fighting style. 

Determined to get his answer, Chuuya then stomped up to the occupied girl, the back of her auburn hair appearing across his vision. “You two better tell me what the hell is going on right now! You’re telling me all of that shit was an act?!”

 Slowly standing up from the sound of his voice, Asagao only chuckled at his desperation, finding it absolutely hysterical.  “Come on, Chu Chu. It was all in good fun.”

Fun? Yeah right, she called getting drugged, chained and beaten fun? Maybe for a psychopath or something but certainly not for him. 

 Just then, his throat began to groan at the sound of that god awful nickname again. “Don’t call me that.” 

 Putting her hands on her hips, Asa only hummed. “But you said I could.”

And yes, that was true but he only said that in a desperate attempt to raise her spirits. Why in the hell would he ever let her continue that, especially after Dazai came up with such an annoying plan and dragged him into it. 

Grumbling all at once, the ginger frowned’ “Yeah well, I take it back.”

Although that’s when he heard her chuckle even more, the sound resounded through the space before finally turning around to face him.  “Oh silly Chu Chu, did you forget already?”

Yet nothing could’ve prepared him for what he found when she finally locked eyes with him fully for the very first time, a sick twisted grin present of her lips as she finished mockingly. 

Almost as if to say “ I won” in silent victory.  “You promised me that you wouldn’t, remember?”

Feeling all the blood drain from his face, Chuuya took in the words slowly before shivering at the cold dead look in her eyes. 

It was a look that was so sickeningly familiar, one he had only ever seen on only one other person in his entire life. 

A person he hated more than anyone else in the entire world. 

And now it was staring back at him, stunning him to complete silence. Hold on, wait. 

That didn’t mean..

Then all at once, the realization crashed into him without warning. The reason why Dazai kept her around, the reason why he was always filled with an unpleasant deja vu every time he was around her..

Shaking his dead in denial, Chuuya shoved the thought away, wanting anything then to believe that it’s true. No, anything but that. “Oh fuck no..”

Taking a shaky step backwards Asa then turned her head in confusion only for the ginger to point a shaky finger from Dazai to her and finally connect the dots.

No, it couldn’t be. Please let it be a lie. “There’s two of you..you’re like him..”

And the cocky grin from Asa gave him all the confirmation he needed to know. 

His worst nightmare had come true.

She wasn't a civilian, she was just as bad as Dazai. 

------

Chapter 18:

To say that Chuuya was unprepared for this night was a massive understatement. In fact, it was the biggest understatement of his entire life. 

Because staring him directly in the face was the sickest joke in the entire universe, one that the ginger didn’t think would have been possible until now. 

If there was one thing that was absolutely certain to him, it was that he hated Dazai. More than anything else on the planet, more than his entire body even allowed, he despised every single thing that even had the hint of him blended in. 

Everything associated made his skin crawl on command, like a fight or flight response he couldn’t control no matter how hard he tried.  

It was all that bastard’s fault for making him that way though. Poor boy had been mentally tortured, been stuck on the wrong side of his sick games and had been dragged through the rigger so many times that he had been conditioned to feel his skin crawl at the mere mention of the bandaged demon. 

But as much as Chuuya loathed him, there was a single solitary idea that made him feel the tiniest better. Sure, it wasn’t much but it still gave him some kind of delusional hope sometimes. 

And that was the fact that there was only one of him. 

Yes, the guy was messed up in the head but he was also unique, so much so that Chuuya found solace in the idea that there could be no else in the world that could match how evil and despicable he was.  

He had found hints, pieces of the demon, sure, but never a full copy of the devil and Chuuya truly believed that such a thing couldn’t have been possible. 

No one could match him in that kind of way, enough to bring the same kind of furious rage and disgust that always seemed to harbor inside of him whenever Dazai was mentioned. 

Yet all of that wishful thinking had been shattered tonight, the ginger staring fearfully at the bouncing and giddy auburn haired devil before him, staring directly into his soul as a familiar case of deja vu slammed into him without permission. 

Only then did he realize that he had been wrong this entire time. 

Almost instantly, he felt his throat forcibly close up without permission in order for his hands to turn numb as blinding white rage to course into him, taking over each one of his senses like a plague.

No, it couldn’t be. Her eyes, he had seen them a million times before, staring him right in the face, laughing at him, making fun of him, taunting him over and over again. Just like that bastard , just like the man he hated more than anything else..

This girl, this whole time she had given him that same feeling, the one that he thought was impossible to copy, the one that he wholeheartedly believed couldn’t be duplicated in any captivity. 

She was just like Dazai. 

It was so hard to believe, so hard to comprehend from the seemingly innocent civilian he had met only twice and if someone told him that before tonight he would’ve laughed at them. 

But all of this, every single thing that happened today was a set up, a fucking joke that he got dragged into without his consent. He had been played, manipulated without even knowing it by these two sick fucks. 

And that last sentence of hers, the cocky ass tone of her voice had sealed the deal like a slap in the face. 

She had pretended to be in distress just so he would agree to her stupid fucking nickname, even made him promise to keep it forever cause she knew he’d wanna take it back when he found out. 

What a manipulative little brat, and from the creepy way she was eying him, it was obvious that she knew that as well, a victorious shit eating grin still plastered on her lips as it felt like she was mocking him wordlessly. 

Okay, but seriously, what the fuck was up with her eyes? No sane person looked like that. They were so cold and empty, almost like they lacked a soul or any signs of life. 

They kinda freaked him out, and that was saying a lot because Chuuya had seen millions of fucked up things in his life. 

But the way she looked at him, it made his skin crawl in a new and unexplainable way. 

God damn it, she was a psychopath just like that bandaged wearing freak and he didn’t even see it.  “There’s two of you..you’re like him..”

Watching her take a step closer to him, Chuuya instinctively took one back, still unsure how to process the new information as Asa clapped her hands excitedly. “I know! Isn’t it great?” 

Then he watched Asa simply turn around before lifting her hands straight up in order to press them against Dazai’s palms with a happy squeak. “Ah! That was so much fun, Samu! Thanks for setting all this up. I’m all energized now!’ 

The bandaged boy then shifted his fingers around in order to clasp them around her hands and pull her closer with a mimicking smile of his own. “Anything for you, my darling. It was certainly a treat for me also, getting to see that big scary hellhound side of yours. Now if only those fingers of yours would wrap around my throat next. Then I'd truly be able to die happy!” 

Asa only laughed though, pulling one of her hands away in order to ruffle his messy brown locks with a shake of her head. “Oh Samu, you’re so silly. You know if I did that then it would be a very painful way to go.” 

Dazai shook his head in response, using his free hand to reach around to the back of her waist in order to pull her even closer with a hum of satisfaction. “Nothing could be painful when I have a beautiful woman like you next to me, love.”

Asa didn’t react though, the girl clearly comfortable in his possessive hold before tilting her head slightly to the side. “Oh by the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. Chuuya said that you were cheating on me at karaoke. What did you two talk about?” 

Waving the idea away, Dazai groaned at the memory. “Oh, it was nothing. I just asked her to commit double suicide with me.” 

His words only caused her to nod though, answering casually. “Ah, and how did it go?” 

Flopping his head dramatically on her shoulder, Dazai cried pathetically into the open space. “She turned me down. Alas! Another dead end, I had a good feeling about her too. Whatever will I do now, Asa-chan?” 

Asagao’s expression then softened before placing a hand on his fluffy hair in order to tousle it with reassurance. “It’s okay, Samu. You just gotta stay positive and keep trying. You never know, the next person you ask might say yes.” 

Pouting his lips, Osamu whined back. “But staying positive is hard..” 

The auburn haired girl then smiled to herself before shifting her hand to the back of his head in order to cradle in against her shoulder with a gentle hum. “Then I’ll just have to do it for you.” 

And sure, the bastard’s pickup lines were disgusting but his words seemed to unlock something within Chuuya, his numb and weightless fingers squeezing together until his knuckles turned white with a frantic shout. “Great? How could you say that it’s great? This is my worst fucking nightmare!”

Why in the hell was she so calm about this, couldn’t she read the room? She had knowingly screwed him over and she was still just smiling there with an idiot with those dead ass eyes.

In fact, it was strange. She sounded happy and her lips clearly reflected the same but her eyes still didn’t change, almost like they were unable to. But did that mean that her emotions were fake all this time, just like her acting tonight? 

Hell, he really didn’t know anything about this girl, did he? 

Was all this innocent and kind shit just an act also? Because from the way nothing reached her soulless eyes it currently seemed like it. 

And listening to her and Dazai’s sick conversation, it just made his realization even more real. The way they just talked dying and suicide like it was nothing. The way she casually brushed off the mackerel’s cheating habits and didn’t even flinch. 

What the hell was wrong with these two freaks?! 

The girl then dropped her hands, the smile falling from her lips in order for it to turn to Chuuya with confusion before she spoke calmly. “Sorry Chuuya but I don’t understand your reaction. You said that I could call you Ch Chu once I get your permission, right? I did ask you and you said yes. What’s so wrong with that?”

Didn’t understand his reaction? Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Now he knew that she was screwing with him. How could anyone not understand the shit she put him through tonight? 

Even Dazai was always self aware of the torture he implemented so he knew she was the same. “Are you serious!? What’s wrong is that I thought you were in distress and you took advantage of the situation like a shitty ass person!”

He didn’t even know why he was explaining this, it was obvious. Of course he’d be pissed over Asa purposely manipulating him while he was in a vulnerable state to get what she wanted. 

Yet he was taken back when Asagao’s brow twisted down in silent thought, almost like she hadn’t made that connection in her brain before turning back to Chuuya with a frown. “I did? But how else was I supposed to do it?”

Feeling himself pause, Chuuya’s eye began to twitch in response. This couldn’t be real, right? She was still messing with him, she had to be. 

Why in the hell was she speaking so innocently and asking such stupid questions when she was the one that came up with the plan to trick him? It was common sense to not turn to manipulation like she had. Did she really not understand that? 

Not believing a word out of her mouth, Chuuya scoffed. “Literally any other way! Is your brain broken or something? Normal people don’t turn to manipulation when they want something!” 

He then watched her soak in his response before putting a finger to her lips in silent thought, almost like his words were genuinely mind breaking ones that she hadn't had before this moment. 

And it looked so real, the way she contemplated the words with clear curiosity, so much so that even Chuuya questioned her act. 

If she was still faking then she was pretty damn good at it because right now it actually looked like she was struggling to understand what he was saying. 

After a moment, Asagao finally dropped her finger before nodding mostly to herself, almost like she was taking an invisible note. “Hmm I see. I guess I did it wrong then.”

Chuuya’s mouth then dropped open with disbelief. She was just figuring that out? No, this had to be an act, no one was that dumb. “You think?! That should be obvious. You seriously can’t be that dense, right?” 

Looking up to meet him again, Asagao, then reached a hand to the back of her neck before giving an awkward uncomfortable chuckle under her breath. “Ahh well..” 

Yet before she could finish, a pair of bandaged arms slung around her shoulder, causing her to stumble back in order for Dazai to rest his head on her shoulder casually.  “Now Chibi, don’t be rude. You’re her birthday present after all. Try to be a little less stupid, will you?”

And though the insult was not lost on him, the first part of his sentence stuck out more than the second, another warning bell flashing inside his mind.  “Excuse me? What the hell does that mean?”

Asagao then brightened up immediately, bouncing on her heels as she spoke. “Oh yeah! Samu set all this up so we could meet again. He knew how much I wanted to see you, so for my birthday..” 

Nodding once, Dazai finished plainly.“...I lent my dog out for a playdate.” 

Almost immediately, Chuuya grumbled at the stupid degrading name, his anger growing by the second. 

Asa didn’t see anything wrong with his statement though, her dead eyes staring straight through Chuuya’s soul with sick delight. “Yeah! And it was the best present ever! I figured out your relationship with Osamu the first time we met and ever since then I’ve been just itching to see his dog in action! And boy, did you not disappoint!”  

All at once, Asa’s fingers then slid up to his bandaged arms before gripping the gauzed wrist silently in order to give in a tiny squeeze. “Honestly, this whole day has been amazing. Getting to fight and screw over those traitors all in one night? Ah, you really know how to treat a girl, Osamu. I’ll tell you that.” 

Dazai simply responded by pushing the arms around her even tighter, his head still frozen on her shoulder before his lips dropped down into a darker expression, nuzzling himself further into her neck to hide the sight. 

Not everything had gone to plan after all. 

There was a miscalculation on Dazai’s part, one that he still wanted to skin someone alive for at this very moment. But the last thing he desired was to ruin her night with his lethal and twisted thoughts. Especially when she looked so happy right now. 

So instead, Dazai kept them to himself, his cold gaze shifting over to the mutilated body just a couple feet away from them as he counted the bullet holes in the traitor's skin. Not enough. He deserved a million more. 

Yet the pair were finally brought back from their two different realities when Chuuya lifted up a hand in their direction, his voice loud and angry for what they were implying. “Hold on a damn minute, I am not some kind of thing you can just lend out whenever the fuck you feel like it!” 

Dazai was thankful for his outburst though, giving him something else to focus on besides the deadly ideas in the back of his mind. Making fun of the slug always seemed to bring him back to earth, given that it was his favorite pastime. 

And right now was no expectation, the boy purposely saying the words that would infuriate him the most. “Oh but you are, I just don’t understand why anyone would want you. But my darling was adamant on seeing your short, stupid, ugly face again so who was I to argue?” 

Almost immediately, the dog did as intended, Chuuya’s face turning red with fury, as he took a challenging step closer to the couple with intent. Oh yeah, he was definitely snapping. Took a lot longer this time, perhaps that’s because he still didn’t know what to make of Asa yet. Stupid slug. 

Chuuya on the other head was livid, his entire body shaking with rage as that same disgusting feeling of hatred coursed through him like a curse. Just what the fuck was this guys problem, calling him ugly and short?! He’d make him eat those words, just you wait!

Yet that’s when Asagao simply stepped away from Dazai, her brow turning down in a disapproving frown for a way things were playing out.  “Aww come on, Samu. That’s not very nice..”

It sounded like she was scolding him and for a second Chuuya thought he saw her humanity. He had painted her as a copy of Dazai but perhaps that wasn’t the case. Maybe she had some good in her after all. 

Yet that’s when Asa simply pointed to the ginger before finishing plainly. “It’s not Chu Chu’s fault that he’s short.” 

And just like that, any good natured thing he had thought for her flew out the window. 

Short, she called him short. That’s it, that’s fucking it. 

God damn it, she was making fun of him also, wasn’t she? Calling him short, indirectly not pointing out the stupid or ugly comment on purpose so that it was implied as truth, what a shady horrible girl picking out his insecurities like that.  

Both of them were insufferable, the two feeding off one another’s energies and throwing it back in his face. Chuuya was sick of it. He didn’t want to hear it anymore. One Dazai was bad enough, but two? No, that’s where he drew the line. 

Shaking his head in order to quell his anger, Chuuya scoffed. “Unbelievable..” 

Then the boy turned around before leaving the scene as fast as possible. He may be stuck with that bastard but that didn’t mean he had to stick around just to be tortured by another sick twisted demon. 

Yet just before he reached his escape, he felt a hand tug on his sleeve, stopping him immediately. “Hey, wait a second..”

Grumbling immediately, Chuuya shook off the touch like poison, sharply turning around to find that Asagao had followed him to the exit. Oh you’ve got to be kidding me, hadn’t she done enough? Why couldn’t he get rid of her?  

Not saying anything for the fear of exploding, the boy then watched as her soulless stare cut through heart with a cold chill in order for her to smile in his direction. “I was just wondering if you’d wanna be friends with me?” 

Excuse me? 

No, he must’ve heard that wrong because there was so way this girl had just asked that. The very same girl that had manipulated him and made him look like an idiot was now asking to be his friend? Yeah right, what a joke. 

Feeling his eyes twitch once more, Chuuya gave an empty laugh. “Are you kidding me?” 

Asa only frowned though, that same confused and perplexing look on her face in order to tilt her head slightly. “No..I don’t think so..?” 

Her response only caused the ginger to laugh even harder though, his fingers running through his hair with an air of disbelief for what he was hearing. “You’re seriously asking me that after all of this...”

It was ridiculous, what she was asking from him was outrageous. Even Dazai never went this far in his mocking. Why couldn’t she see that? Or was she still playing some kind of trick on him even now? She wanted to watch him squirm, didn’t she? 

He then watched her fingers move towards the ends of her bloodied skirt with a nervous laugh to cover his bitter one. “Listen, Chuuya, I..uhh how do I put this.. I’m not great with things like this so you’re gonna have to be a bit more clear with what you’re saying.” 

The idea caused that fragile string of control to finally snap in the back of his head as the familiar hot blinding white covered his vision before turning back to the girl with a hiss. “You want me to be clear? Fine.”

Feeling the weight of his steps, Chuuya then stomped straight up to the haunting soulless eyes that had been hunting him all night before shouting back with so much unruly hate that it made his lips spit out the fiery words all at once. 

Every single feeling over the last year, every grievance towards people like Dazai shot out like a gunshot, the target misdirecting towards the girl the moment she showed the same disgusting traits he always hated. 

He was sick of being tortured, of being a dog, of being a puppet for someone else’s pleasure. The two of them had treated him like an idiot and he was sick of it, wanting nothing more than to scream his rejection for everything they stood for. 

And scream he did, his chest heaving with a bomb of absolute fury. “Why would I ever want to be friends with a freak like you?”

And he thought for sure that she would’ve just fired back like nothing, like she had done for this entire night, like Dazai usually did when he insulted him. Chuuya expected an equally degrading comment or response, something that would prove his words like nothing. 

But what he didn’t expect was for the seemingly confident and unhinged girl to physically flitch at his words, taking a step back as the ever permanent smile she always wore slipped from her lips. “O-Oh..” 

Wait, what kind of response was that? Why wasn’t she yelling at him back? 

But for Asa, it was physically impossible to do so, her words caught inside her throat as she felt herself choke on them all at once. Suddenly it was hard to see, to hear, to feel anything but the words Chuuya had given her. 

Freak. 

Suddenly, she was back as a child, hearing those very same insults and whispering all around her, telling her to disappear, telling her that she didn’t belong in their world. Of course, how could she have forgotten? That’s what everyone said, of course Chuuya was the same. 

Grimacing at the thought, Asa then looked up to the ginger haired boy only to find the previous adrenaline instantly sucked out of her body, leaving the harsh reality of her world and her eyes. 

This thing that the hellhound organization made her into, it forced her to see the ugliest parts of a human soul without her consent, forcing her to stare into the darkest and deepest pits of hell like some kind of cruel torture. 

Yes, she had used her full vision up until now without it bothering her, but that was because when she was fighting her brain could replace those images with something to her advantage. She used her defect to aid in figuring out her enemies moves, distracting herself from the true purpose of her monstrous ability. 

But it never did last, and the true curse always seemed to rear its ugly head the moment everything stilled, when the calm took over the chaos. 

In those moments, the world gave her nothing else to focus on but the physical actions and underlying emotions that laid beneath the surface. The ones she had tried hard to ignore but simply couldn’t anymore. 

And right now without her glasses, she was subjected to it all.

Her mind spiraled, focusing on every tiny thing that Chuuya had shown her. The angle of his frown, the cold and distant look in his haunting blue eyes, the veins popping from his skin, the closed off stance of his body, they flashed through her in an instant, like a camera flashing a million different photos in her face at the same time. 

It was overstimulating, overwhelming, and over amplified, leaving Asagao breathless and absolutely unprepared for the onslaught of damning information. 

She could see everything. His disappointment, his disgust, his hatred. Hatred for Dazai, hatred for her. 

Oh god, his hatred. It was so much, it was obvious. He hated her. Well of course he did, She was a freak, he called her a freak. She was a freak, obviously. Why else would people be saying that if it wasn’t the truth? 

And perhaps his rage wasn’t all directed towards her, somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that. Dazai played a part in it as well but none of that mattered when she couldn’t tell the difference anymore. 

She couldn’t see where the lines were divided and where the misdirection started or ended. 

No, all she could see was the invisible bullet of his own uncontrollable rage.

Feeling her breath start to cave in on itself, Asa gasped for air, struggling for the words. Ah, she was ruining it, she needed to say something, anything to get that ugly look from his face. She couldn’t take that look. It was tearing her apart by the second. 

Feeling her voice crack of her words, Asa then nodded her head absentmindedly as her hands fiddled around her body with no purpose. “Y-Yeah, no. That’s makes sense. Of course that’s what you’d say. That’s the most logical answer. Sorry, I just..got carried away..I guess..yeah..umm..” 

The piercing spectators of his eyes only brought her words to the standstill though, her senses overloaded with only his rejection and disgust, so much so that it started to consume her all at once, the words of her peers still slamming in the back of her head as a reminder of what she was. 

Freak. Scary. Annoying. Defect. Disgusting. Monster. 

Shaking her head to rid herself of the suffocating sight, she tried to look away, her hands frantically searching her pockets for something to quell the hurt. “A-Ah, sorry..I just...my glasses..I’ll put them back on…I know they’re here..sorry..let me just..” 

Yet the fabric on the inside of her pocket only bought her an empty reality. Shit shit shit, where were they? She didn’t want to see anymore. She didn’t want those horrible blue judgmental iris’ to haunt her anymore. 

Let her live in ignorance, let her never truly see just how much of a goddamn monster she really was. 

Because the more she looked, the more that positive view of the world started to become tainted, only seeing the absolute worst that life had to offer. How could she find the good when all she perceived right now was only bad? Chuuya’s face only showed the bad. 

And she couldn’t look away, she couldn't get it out of her head. Oh god, please stop! It hurts. I don’t want to see anymore. Someone please..

Chuuya watched in stunned silence though, the faltering and unraveling girl causing him to stare with concern before reaching a hand out with mutter. “Come on..stop playing around. You aren’t gonna fool me this time. Using the same old tricks again..” 

And truly, the boy wanted to believe it was a joke, simply because that’s what he had seen through the entire night. She played the victim and pretended to cry at least three times tonight so why would this be any different? 

Hell, the girl was probably doing this on purpose just to make him cave about her stupid friend question. But this time he was stronger than that. He wouldn’t fall for it again.  

His words only made her act even more erratic though, a choked laugh stuck inside her throat as she continued to search for something in her pockets. “S-Sorry...yeah of course you'd be bothered by this..I’ll fix it..I promise..I just have to..cover the ugly…just let me..” 

Feeling a warning bell ring in the back of his mind, Chuuya then dropped his smug ass attitude before taking a step forward with cautious confusion. This was an act, right? Just like the ones before. She was faking it, right? 

But if that was the case then why did it look like the girl was on the edge of a panic attack right now? Would she really take things that far for something so stupid. 

Reaching his hand out once more, Chuuya spoke. “Hey..” 

Yet before he could reach her, a pair of hands appeared out from behind Asagao in order to press his palms towards her eyes, covering the sight before forcing her to fall backwards into his chest with a soft mutter. “Now now Asa-chan. That’s enough. Give those pretty eyes of yours a rest.” 

And just like that, the noise inside her head and the vivid images fizzled away into nothing. Her prayers had been answered, she didn’t have to see anymore. 

Osamu had just saved her from an unspeakable destruction. 

Relaxing against his body in an instant, she let out a shaky breath. “O-Osam..” 

Dazai only cut her off though, pushing her head farther back in order to whisper in her ear gently. “Shh, I know. It’s okay, love.” 

Feeling her lips close into a tiny whimper, Asagao forced herself to stay silent. It didn’t matter if he didn’t go into detail, she knew exactly what Osamu was trying to say with just those small seemingly insignificant words. 

He knew. He understood what had just taken place. Maybe but not fully, in fact she doubted he completely grasped just how bad her eyes had dragged her away considering she only told him a vague explanation a year ago. 

But to some extent he figured out the self destruction that her conditioned mind had conjured up, he had realized the shackles that she was confined to and gave her the one thing she couldn’t give to herself. 

Then she felt a familiar cool metal object slide into her palm before gasping in recognition. Her glasses, he found them for her. Thank god. Now she could be normal again. 

Just then, her hidden face flashed with realization for her previous question.

 Perhaps he knew because they shared similar circumstances. If Osamu’s bandages were stripped unwillingly then he would’ve been the same. She had seen it firsthand after all, the very first time she tried to take away his security unknowingly. 

The physical crutches they relied on, both of them knew it too well, enough to wordlessly recognize the utter desolation that waited when they strayed from their comfort.  

And Asagao was thankful for it, for not having to voice such weak thoughts out loud. Osamu just understood, he always did, just like she always tried to do for him, he mirrored it tonight. 

Chuuya on the other hand was at a loss for words, his hand reeling back in confusion. “That was a joke, right? Either way, it still isn't’ gonna work. I’m still not going to agree to be friends with her.”

Because although he was slightly shaken up from the sight, Chuuya still couldn’t believe that her display was real. How could he? I mean, this was the same girl that just fooled an entire section of the port mafia just so that they could discredit her as weak, that tricked the ginger into staying around tonight by making him feel guilty about her birthday. 

Hell, this was the same girl that didn’t bat an eye when that traitorous bastard forcibly kissed her before going on a bloody rampage in order to torture the guy’s men one by one. 

So it didn’t make sense that a simple rejection of his friendship was enough to crumble the seemingly unbreakable auburn haired devil. That meant she had to be faking it again. Nothing else was logical except that. 

I mean, come on. She was the one that had screwed him over in the first place, her and that bandaged prick Dazai. He had a right to be pissed about it. It wasn’t the end of the world. 

She was a copy of Dazai after all, she should’ve been able to handle a couple of harsh words after single handedly disposing of an army, right?

Yet the ginger haired boy paused when his Dazai’s eyes darkened, something lethal in the corners of his vision as he glared back. “That’s fine, she doesn’t need you anyway.” 

And call him crazy but Chuuya felt a chill course through his spine at that. But he couldn’t be serious right? There was no way that Dazai Osamu, the least caring man in the universe, was being protective of this girl. It went against everything he ever knew about the boy. 

But the way his partner was staring at him right now was nothing short of murderous, just like a hundreds of times he saw it reflected in their enemies eyes. Could it be, did Dazai actually care about her, more than just an act? 

Although that's when Asagao reached her hand up before tapping the hands that were covering her eyes in order for Dazai to reluctantly let go only for her to quickly slap her glasses back on her face with a sigh. “Osamu, don’t blame him. It was my fault. I got carried away.” 

She then took a long silent breath before turning back to Chuuya with a sad smile. “Sorry about all of this. I promise I won’t bother you ever again.”

Then the girl simply bowed her head with respect before walking away from the two boys, stepping over the unconscious corpses as she walked in order to stay true to her promise. 

And fuck, he hated it but Chuuya felt really shitty for some damn reason. 

Which was ridiculous because he had no reason to. But the sad pathetic way she spoke to him caught him off guard, more than he would ever admit. 

Just what was that crazy girl doing to him?! Why was he feeling bad all of a sudden? He was just standing up for himself and calling her out on her lies. What was so wrong about that? 

But if that was the case, why did he now want to run back up to her and apologize? 

Damn it, this night was messing with him way too much. 

Turning around to watch her go, he then glanced to the side only to find that Dazai was doing the same thing, his unbandaged eye narrowed with silent thought as Chuuya spoke his thoughts. “I know why you’re with her now.” 

Although the executive didn’t move his gaze, simply staring forward with a hum. “Do tell.” 

Balling his hands to his sides, Chuuya answered roughly. “You’re trying to recruit her to the port mafia, just like you did with me when we met.” 

At first the boy didn’t know what kind of use Asagao could’ve provided to the selfish and self serving executive but after seeing her fight it could only be one thing. He wanted her power, he wanted her ability and Dazai was using this sham of a relationship to reel her into the mafia. 

Just like what he did to Chuuya all those years ago, he was manipulating her into seeing no other option but the port mafia so she’ll have no choice but to join. 

And yeah it was fucked up but the ginger couldn’t deny that Asagao would fit well in the place like that. In fact, he was sure she’d thrive in that kind of darkness if given the chance. Picking her to be his subordinate, it wasn’t a terrible move logically speaking. 

That didn’t make it right but Chuuya could understand it at least. 

His words seemed to stir something in Dazai though, the boy’s lips twitching with amusement and yet also disdain. “If she was anyone else then you’d be right. But the last place I will allow her to be is in the port mafia.” 

Widening his eyes in shock, the ginger frowned. What the hell did that mean? If she was anyone else? If he knew her potential then why hadn’t he jumped at the chance yet? What was holding him back from sinking his claws into her and never letting go? 

There was something he was missing here. “Why, because you don’t want her there?”

Dazai gave a low bitter laugh at that, knowing damn well that wasn’t the truth. In fact, if she hadn’t been given the safety net of being his best friend’s sister then Asagao would’ve been dragged into the mafia a year ago. He wasn’t that good of a man yet, after all. 

That's right, if she hadn't been connected to Odasaku then Dazai knew he would’ve only seen her ability first, her use to him just like Chuuya had accused him of. But lucky for Asagao, it wasn’t that simple. 

Testing the words on his tongue, Dazai decided to utter the truth, the words a binding contract of his promise to his only friend. “It’s not about what I want.” 

Chuuya could hardly understand though, the unfinished puzzle of information looking more confusing by the minute.

 Dazai had just implied that he did want Asagao by him in the mafia, but something was holding him back, but what could it be? Who had that kind of power to subdue the devil himself from such a tempting offering of power?

So much so, the boy couldn’t help to push further. “What the hell does that mean? That doesn’t sound like you at all. You've never been one to listen to someone else’s wants. You’re a selfish bastard who only thinks for himself.” 

Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, Dazai then took in his words silently, the meaning tossing around in his defective little head before finally closing his eyes with reality.

 If he truly was a changed man then he would’ve let Asagao go by now. He would’ve run away from her or hurt her so badly that she would never look his way again. But unfortunately for both of them that wasn’t the case. 

He couldn’t live without her anymore, not if he wanted to keep that desolate feeling of grief away. He had indulged himself too heavily to ever give her the mercy of release. He needed her like he needed to breathe. He needed her security and her safety to get him through the day, he needed her like a vice. 

And perhaps that in itself proved Chuuya’s words wrong. 

Because yes he was listening to Odasaku, but that didn���t fully protect Oda’s sister from his greed. Nothing ever could. Someday he would fly too close to the sun and get burned.

It was only a matter of time. 

Pushing his feet forward to walk past Chuuya, Dazai’s eyes then lingered back to the spot where Asagao had disappeared before moving down towards the mutilated body of the traitor that he had shot, a dark gleam flashing through his veins.

Those hideous lips, those disgusting hands, they were on her . 

They kissed her.  

Then the mafia executive leaned down, picking up a discarded gun off the floor before turning the object in his fingers with silent conjecture as his thoughts fell back into that familiar pit of hell, recalling two words that rang against his skull over and over again during their entire conversation. 

Not enough. 

Chuuya then watched wordlessly as the demon turned around immediately, shooting all of the stolen rounds into the corpse of the traitor, the dead body twitching with each lethal bullet. 

And Dazai didn’t stop until the gun was empty, the click of the chamber sounding through the space in order for the mafioso to glare before throwing the discarded object away.    

Feeling the blood begin to coat his solid black shoes, tainting him further, Dazai then finally turned back to Chuuya, the dark shadows of the warehouse overtaking the demon with silent ominous warning. 

“Who says I’m not still selfish?” 

-----

(Guys, I think Dazai is little pissed about that kiss. Just a hunch though.)

(Next Chapter is gonna be a good one, and it has to do with that kiss. Hehe)

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump Day 21 - Unresponsive

TWs in tags || read on Ao3 || wc: 1332

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Time-activated quirks are rare. Izuku knows, he’s studied many. He was fascinated by the logistics the first time he read about one in the news. The quirk usually being transferred by some physical touch or substance from the user- slowly dissolving into the victim like a pill. 

Pro hero Buzzkill has a quirk that gives its victim a bee sting-like welt every four and a half minutes. The vigilante Combo Breaker has a quirk that breaks one of its victim's fingers every two minutes. 

And apparently, the villain he’d been fighting on patrol also shared this unique quirk factor. 

The debrief had said the guy was quirkless, but one look at the shoes on his feet told Izuku otherwise. 

Now, four hours and twenty-five minutes later, he’s lying on the floor of his kitchen unable to move. 

His nose is pressed at an uncomfortable angle, mere inches from where his coffee mug was smashed to pieces when he dropped it. 

He’d felt this odd pain in the base of his spine when he got off of patrol, and after his post-shift nap, it had only been higher up on his back and twice as intense. 

Apparently, when it got to his head, he was due to lose all motor functions. Great!

The good news is that Katsuki should be home any minute, and he can pull Izuku out of this cold, black coffee puddle. Maybe he’ll even put him back in bed if he’s feeling generous. 

He’s not sure how long he waits. His eyelids have drooped close, though he couldn’t open them if he wanted. He spends a while trying to determine if he’s breathing or not, but his whole body is so uncomfortably numb that he gives up. 

Soon enough, the door opens and Katsuki’s gym shoes are kicked off into their cubby. 

“‘M home.” He grumbles, probably not expecting an answer because Izuku is usually still napping when Katsuki gets back from his morning gym run. 

Izuku isn’t sure what Katsuki notices first, maybe his socked feet lying on the ground, or the bits of red, blue, and yellow ceramic that probably skidded across the room. 

“Deku? Did you fuckin’ fall?” His husband scoffs, rounding the corner to see Izuku sprawled on the floor, “Oi, get up dumbass.” 

Izuku mentally winces, not prepared for the absolute earful Katsuki is going to give him later. 

Katsuki walks closer, nudging the broken pieces of mug away, “Izuku?” 

Ah, he’s anxious. 

Izuku might’ve predicted this issue if he had thought a little harder. He’s not in any real danger, so there’s no need to worry-

“Izuku?!”

But he doesn’t know that. 

“No come on,” Katsuki mumbles out loud, trying to reason logically like Izuku knows he does when he’s scared, “he hit his head and passed out- no, there’s no blood. He was tired? Maybe he wanted to sleep on the floor…”

Katsuki comes up behind him and drops to his knees, rolling Izuku over. 

Light flashes in front of his eyes, but he’s powerless to blink at the sudden flash. Katsuki curses when his head flops back and smacks the tile. Stars fly across the black of his eyelids. 

“Izuku, wake up.” Katsuki presses his fingers under Izuku’s jaw and curses. 

There’s no way this quirk stopped his heartbeat- right?!

Katsuki pries one of his eyelids open. The cool air burns but he doesn’t flinch. 

His pupil must not react either, because before he knows it Katsuki is tugging him into his arms with a frantic whimper and launching himself across their living room. 

Katsuki places a leg in between Izuku’s own and wraps one of his arms under Izuku’s shoulders so he can use the other to propel them into the sky. 

The wind whistles by Izuku’s ears as Katsuki wastes no time getting them to what he can only assume is the hospital a few blocks away. 

The strain his arm must feel right now can only be extremely painful but Katsuki makes no sign of it. 

Izuku can feel them descending, just as Katsuki’s grip on him begins to slip. Katsuki stumbles a bit on the ground, lurching forward but being sure to keep Izuku’s body in his solid grip. 

“HEY!” He shouts as soon as they step through the sliding doors of the emergency bay, “I NEED A DOCTOR NOW!”

“Sir please don’t-”

“Pro hero Dynamight!” Another nurse interrupts the first, rushing towards them, “What are his vitals?”

Izuku feels himself get flipped onto a gurney, lying face up on the cold, thin fabric. He can feel everything down to his hair follicles itching to form goosebumps. 

He hears the nurse gasp as soon as his hair falls out of his face. 

I might be wearing pajamas, but I’m still the number one hero, he figures. I’d recognize All Might in his pajamas.

“Is that-”

“Someone who needs a fucking doctor?!” Katsuki growls, “YES.” 

The nurse barks a few orders at her coworkers and, from what Izuku can tell, sprints with him down the hallway. 

“Vitals?”

“No.”

The cart shudders when she briefly trips, “N-No? What do you mean-”

“I mean he wasn’t fucking responsive. I came home and he was on the fucking floor. No pulse, no breathing, no pupil dilation.” Katsuki’s voice moves to his other side, and there’s more movement before Izuku is lifted over to a different bed. 

The nurse hooks a machine up to him to start pumping his chest while she darts around him, checking various other vitals. 

“Shit.” She whispers to herself, pressing her warm hands into his wrist harder. 

Someone slams open the door, running to Izuku’s side. His hearing blurs while they yell orders at each other, pricking Izuku with various needles. 

“C’mon.” A new, higher-pitched male voice grunts in his ear as what he can assume is a shot of adrenaline is pumped into his fresh IV. 

“You said you found him like this?” Another female voice asks, farther in the corner of the room where he figures Katsuki is watching. 

“He passed out, there’s no obvious trauma. I have no fucking idea why.” Katsuki grunts, voice warbling. “He was on patrol a few hours ago but there was nothing in the report that would warrant this.”

“It’s not looking…” She pauses, “It’s not ideal, but we can’t rule out the possibility of it being a quirk.”

“Nothing is rousing him. We can keep the compressions going, but his body isn’t showing postmortem symptoms. I think, truly, if he comes back it will be regardless of what we do.”

Katsuki sighs, “I’m going to call his mom. Take the machine off him, she shouldn’t see him like this.”

Izuku’s head jostles as they remove the machine, his chest already feeling the ache and forming bruises. 

The nurse clamps a heart rate monitor onto his finger and leaves his side, rolling whatever monstrosity of a contraption they had waiting for him on a cart out of the room. 

It’s completely silent for a few minutes, not even the usual steady beep of his heart that he associates with the hospital to keep him company. 

The door swings open and footsteps move towards his side. 

He knows it’s Katsuki as soon as their hands touch. 

His husband’s warm hands cup his own, rubbing circles into his skin. 

“If you die on a random ass fucking Thursday morning when you’re not even working I’ll make sure they send you to whatever hell exists for idiots like you.” 

Izuku laughs inwardly, enjoying Katsuki’s touch. 

“Shitty prank. You broke your favorite mug.”

Ah damn, he forgot about that. 

Katsuki’s hair tickles his forearm as the man presumably leans down, pressing his lips to Izuku’s inner wrist, “If you leave me I’ll never forgive you.” He stretches a hand over Izuku’s stomach, resting it on his soft sleep shirt. “I love you, I don’t tell you nearly enough.”

“Come back to me, Izuku.”

And Izuku wishes more than anything that he knew how.

[worldbeyondtheworld]

More on this AU where another impression of the Mortal kidnaps the Long Quiet and fucks up everything. (Warning for body horror imagery, torture under the read-more, and spoilers.)

The Author knows only a bit more than the Echo about what he's doing. He has an idea that the Long Quiet will likely survive having their heart cut out and destroyed. But to be sure, they've prepared a magical pacemaker. Their weapon can't destroy the Shifting Mound if they're unable to move.

However. The Author can't get to the Long Quiet's Heart / the Voice of the Hero directly. They won't let him. The Author isn't the Princess, whom the Long Quiet loves in all of her iterations and would allow to access to their Heart.

So. The Author metaphorically and literally forces in a bypass. Through said bypass he sends a construct similar to the Princess' chains and ensnares the Voice of the Hero, using the sharp edges to remove and pull him out. The excess of the construct fills the hole he's left with the artificial pacemaker.

The process is worse than the unending, lonely stagnation that made the Voice of the Cold and what happened in the Moment of Clarity combined. The Voice of the Hero has never felt such agony before; neither has the Long Quiet. He's squirming in the chains whose hook has sunken into his sternum. The pain of being cut of the Long Quiet blends with the physical pain so that the Hero forgets where one ends and the other one begins. He just wants everything to stop. It doesn't matter what he has to do. Nothing matters anymore other than escaping, because there's no room for anything else in his mind.

For anybody else.

The Long Quiet... As much as it hurts that the Hero - even through no fault of his own - wants to get away from them, they know what they have to do to save him. They break the chains just before the Author can grasp the Hero and send their Heart to safety.

And the Long Quiet falls inert. The hole in their chest still burns. They can't do anything about it because they are not capable of acting on their own anymore.

One would think this would have severed their connection. The Long Quiet has lost their autonomy - which the Author was cutting out of him - for they cast it away to save him. The Author thinks so. The Princess thinks so. But the chain hook.

The chain hook. The artificial pacemaker forcing the Long Quiet to persist was made form the same chain of which one hook and one link are still stuck in the Hero's chest, above where his heart is.

This is still a story. The construct A story where believe shapes the characters and the environment. And stories rest on symbolism.

The chain. The pacemaker. They are connected. The Long Quiet and the Voice of the Hero are still connected.

Of course, what the Author did? It has frayed their connection. Made it into hurt and fear and grief. The Hero doesn't dare to remember for a long time because it hurts so much. The Long Quiet, when not numb, is roaring from agony. But it persists because part of the two of them want to find each other again.

And they want to find the other Voices and the Shifting Mound and the Princess.

This is still a love story, after all.

[tokyobunnyao3]

🩸 One step closer 🩸

Chapter 10 of my ongoing SatoSugu story, where Satoru spares Suguru's life, has been posted to A03

Here's a teaser for all you curse users & and blessed sorcerers who fiend for their dose of drama:

“Geto is a curse user,”

He’s my best friend-

Yaga’s lips kept moving, “He’s a murderer.”

“He’s a murderer Gojo!!” Shoko’s voice echoed in the recess of his trauma-scorned memories.

Yaga grew annoyed at that silenced, bewildered face his colleague made.

“Gojo,” the principal tried again, looking up at him from his position in the metal chair. “You had to have known that we’d find out at some point.” Yaga met the stare of those menacing blues, “This is a pretty big conspiracy if nothing else. Shit, regardless- you probably won’t be allowed to practice sorcery within the extent of our city or maybe even Japan after today. You’ve committed a crime here too, and if it weren’t for your status within the Gojo clan, your fate would be the same as his.”

Even in the eyes of the law, Satoru was lonely. The taller sorcerer felt impaled by the force of this realization. Unable to numb it emotionally or physically, reverse cursed technique or not. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

Principal Yaga held their gaze.

———

If you haven't started yet, it's not too late!

Read For You, My Life, here!

Comments, likes, and reposts appreciated 🩸⛓️🖤

[darkchocolatecoffin]

HELLFIRE/HEAVEN'S GATE | Repercussions

🕯️˖⁺‧₊ "We all have lessons to learn, my child." He confirmed, his voice tinged with wisdom. "Some more than others, no one is without sin, not even myself”

AN-this chapter really leans into the religious abuse aspect of the story so be warned

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Claudette stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror as the rain pattered against the window, a soothing melody that did little to calm her troubled mind and heart. She released her braided hair, allowing the waves to fall loosely around her face. As she prepared for bed, she hoped to find some solace in sleep, but Claudette knew it would be an unlikely escape from the events of the day. Frollo had not spoken to, let alone looked at her since they left The Festival. She fixed her gaze on her reflection, noting the similarity to her father, and felt a sense of disgust. With a grimace, she turned away from the mirror. The thought filled her with a sense of anger and frustration, the memories of the day's events clouding her mind and leaving her feeling numb. 

Her thoughts raced as she pondered her Father's unwarranted treatment of The Jester, who had sought only to entertain, and the Hunchback who had suffered only because of his physical appearance. She was haunted by the memory of his wounded gaze, the deep pain behind his eyes pulling at her heartstrings, making her realize that her inaction had made her no better than the crowd who had treated him so harshly. The weight of guilt made her question the very fabric of her morality and values in life.

Claudette's mind strayed to Phoebus, The kind and brave Captain of the Guard who had protected her from the crumbling stage. His strong arms encircled her, pulling her close to his chest, his concern for her wellbeing and safety evident in every move. Claudette blushed at the memory and tried to dispel her growing romantic feelings for him, The Sin of Lust was a sneaky and insidious one, and she refused to give into her romantic desires for him. Even so, fighting against the natural pull of attraction was proving to be much more difficult than said.

Matthew 5:28 - But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.

There was an ominous knock at the bedroom door, filling Claudette with a sudden sense of dread. She stood up, brushing out her dress before inching toward the door. With trembling fingers, she reached out to open the door and was met with the disturbing presence of Claude Frollo. With a sickening calm, he entered her room, the chill of death in his steps. Claudette's stomach turned as Frollo paced around the bedroom, his eyes wandering across the furniture before settling on her nightstand. She watched him with mounting unease, sensing the evil that radiated from his presence. When he finally looked up, he locked eyes with her, unblinking and unmoving, as if he could read every thought inside her head. 

“How did you enjoy the festival?”

Claudette's heart raced as her father's gaze burned into her, his expression impossible to read. His words, spoken for the first time since the events earlier, only served to further unsettle her. She looked down at the stone floor, unable to hold his gaze, and clasped her hands together in an attempt to quell her nerves. Frollo continued to stalk closer to her, his movements slow and deliberate. She could feel his presence looming over her like he were sizing her up and judging every move she made. His facial expression remained indecipherable

“It…was wonderful,”

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she answered his question.

“Until it wasn’t.”

Frollo stopped in his tracks, his eyes flickering from her hands to her face, studying the small movements she made.

“Hm…”

He hummed pressing her to continue, Claudette took a breath trying to stay calm as her father pressed her for more information.

“That man-“

“That monster.”

He corrected her in a harsh tone, his brow furrowing in disgust. Claudette finally looked back up at him, her expression wide with fear as he continued to stalk towards her. As he encroached upon her personal space, she felt her stomach drop and tried to inch backward away from the man.

"No... he was just— something must have…" 

She stammered, but Frollo cut her off, his voice growing louder with each word.

 "What you saw was a pure example of the ungodly truth in this creation," He spat, his face contorted with an unhinged fury.

"It's been bestowed upon people such as myself to cleanse the world of such evils. They do not follow the word of our Lord like you and I."

Claudette felt her breath catch in her throat, her fear mounting with each passing moment. Frollo continued to speak, his words filled with a conviction that only fanned the flames of her terror. 

“But—If God created us all in his plan, then why would he create someone that would have to face such cruelty? How can that possibly—“

Claudette felt a surge of fear as Frollo's fist connected with her nightstand, sending her handheld mirror crashing onto the floor. The sound of broken glass echoed throughout the room, Claudette's heart raced as she watched Frollo push the contents onto the floor with a sweep of his arm. The room filled with the sound of clattering objects, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she watched the remnants of her personal possessions scattered across the floor. She pressed her body against the wall as she struggled to find words, her throat becoming dry as she fought to find her voice.

“You question your Savior!”

He snarled, his fists clenching tightly as he grabbed Claudette's wrist and shoved her into her desk chair. The sudden movement took her by surprise, and she stumbled, landing hard on the seat with a jolt. Her Bible was shoved into her vision, and she stared down at the open pages in a state of shock.

“Thou shall not put your lord to the test!”

Frollo's grip on Claudette's shoulders tightened as he forced her to face him. Staring into his face, The man before her became a stranger. He was no longer her father, but a vessel for anger that was now being unleashed on Claudette.

"You disobey your father's word!"

 Frollo roared, his voice echoing through the room. "Manipulating the Captain of the guards to invite you to the festival, not only that but the complete adultery you committed, That Gypsy man, Captain Phoebus! You've been possessed, and if you wish to avoid the fiery depths of hell, you must repent! Repent your sins!"

His fingers dug into her shoulders, shaking her body and forcing the air out of her lungs. His face was twisted with anger, his grey hair disheveled. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. As he opened them, Claudette looked into his dark and soulless lenses. As he raised a hand to touch her face, she shrank back, trying to escape his grasp. His fingers were icy as they stroked her cheek. For a moment, she thought he was going to slap her, and her heart was racing so fast she was afraid she would faint. 

Then, just as suddenly as he had raised his hand, he let it fall to his side. His face was composed, but his stare was still dark and unsettling.

"I do this because I love you" 

He purred, his voice a harsh, unnatural growl. She felt that she was in the presence of pure evil, and yet, there was a part of her that wanted to believe that he meant what he was saying and that everything would be okay.

As he continued to stroke her cheek, she could feel his stare move from her eyes to her lips, heart-shaped, just as her mothers had been. His fingers moved down her face, his eyes lingering on her mouth. He leaned closer to her face, his breath hot against her skin. His fingers moved to touch her lips, and Claudette immediately recoiled. 

Frollo's anger was tempered this time, replaced by a cold, calculating gaze that seemed to pierce Claudette's very being. He watched her every move as she stood up from her seat and moved across the room to her bedside, scanning her up and down before turning away to make for the exit of the room.

“Repent yourself Claudette.” His words were laced with warning. “If you know what’s good for you.”

The silence of the room was suffocating as the door clicked shut behind Frollo, leaving Claudette alone to confront her thoughts. She leaned against the wall, her breathing shaky as she tried to steady herself. She struggled to keep her emotions at bay, the tears wouldn't stop falling. Silent sobs choked her as she sat on the edge of her bed, staring into the nothingness of her bedroom. The weight of her sins crushed her, Claudette knew that she had brought this all on herself. She should have never gone to the festival, She had strayed from God's path, and she knew that her father was right - she had to repent, or risk facing the eternal punishment of Hell.

The night sky above Paris was a dark canvas, the rainstorm from earlier had passed, leaving only the residue of puddles on the wet streets and dampness in the air.  Claudette walked with her head bowed, her breath visible in the cold night air, holding her Rosary in her hand. Her cloak was a patchwork of shadows, hiding the tears that stained her cheeks.

She entered the church, Its towering walls illuminated by the warm glow of candlelight. The church was empty, as she expected it to be at this hour of the night, she walked down its center aisle, the sound of her footsteps echoing on the stone floor. The stained glass windows cast a mystical glow over the walls, and the smell of candle wax and incense hung heavy in the air.

 Her eyes fell on the image of the Virgin Mary, and she crossed herself, kneeling in prayer.

 "Dear Mother of God," She murmured. 

"I come to you in supplication, asking for salvation and forgiveness for my sins." 

Claudette's voice echoed in the silence of the Church, the only sound save for the soft crackle of the candlelight. She lowered her head, her heart filled with humility and a sense of shame for the choices she had made. Her attention was taken by the gentle voice of the Archdeacon, who stepped forward to meet her. His face was turned to one of concern as he took note of her tear-stained cheeks.

"My Child... what troubles you?" He asked softly.

"I've strayed from God's path, Father. I've questioned the Lord's decisions, and I'm afraid I'm being tempted by - "

She couldn't finish her sentence, tears already choking her words. The Archdeacon frowned softly, rubbing her back soothingly as he led her to a seating section and lowered her down onto a pew. His large, bear-like paws wrapped around hers, holding her hand in a comforting grip.

"Claudette, my child... what makes you say all this? What happened?"

Claudette struggled to meet his eyes, wiping away her tear-stained vision. With a heavy heart, she spoke her story.

“I went to the Festival today…and there was a man—he was…different from the others and he was being abused and everyone just stood by laughing at him, engaging. I’m—I had to ask why God would create someone who he knew would face such torture. I should’ve never asked such a thing!”

He watched her with a sympathetic expression, and as he listened to her speak of her doubt in God, he whispered to her, his voice soft but firm.

"Claudette, my child... that's the beauty of this life, of this faith. God wants you to ask questions, what is life if not to ask why?"

Claudette listened to the Archdeacon's words of wisdom, twisting the prayer beads in her hand as she digested his message.

"Even if it's asking his motive to create a life of someone that faces such ridicule?"

She asked, her voice soft and laden with uneasiness. He paused to consider her question, she raised her head and gazed at the beautiful decor around them, searching for an answer. His eyes were fixed on the decor as well, and he hummed thoughtfully. 

"Perhaps he is here to teach the People of Paris a lesson of acceptance."

Claudette tilted her head, peering up at him with a thoughtful look on her face.

"Leviticus 19:18 states, 'You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people…”

“...But you shall love your neighbor as yourself.'" She said, finishing the verse in unison with the Archdeacon.

He smiled kindly to her, his eyes filled with admiration. 

"It seems that's a lesson for all of us to learn"

Claudette sat silently, she gazed up at the intricate decor of the building and contemplated her thoughts. She sighed deeply, her eyes settling on her lap.

"I don't understand my father," She finally spoke, her voice low and filled with frustration. "He's taught me to follow the word of God like himself, yet I can't help but wonder if he has lessons he still needs to learn."

The Archdeacon listened intently, his expression gentle and understanding.

"We all have lessons to learn, my child.” He confirmed, his voice tinged with wisdom.

 “Some more than others, no one is without sin, not even myself." 

As the midnight bells tolled through the church, Claudette turned to the stairwell where the bellowing tones emanated. Her thoughts went back to the Festival, to her encounter with Quasimodo, the way the tragic figure of The Hunchback retreated into the relative safety of the church after being scorned by the crowd. The town told tales of his solitary life in the Bell Tower of Notre Dame, controlling the bells that rang throughout the city, but she had never heard much beyond that. She rarely had the opportunity to get out and socialize, leaving her out of the loop when it came to the whispers and idle chatter that went on. She knew very little about The Hunchback, but she couldn't help feeling a sense of resonance with him and a desire to know more about his life in the tower.

The Archdeacon watched with a knowing expression as Claudette observed the stairwell 

“You should see them.” He encouraged, his voice soft as he gestured towards the Bell Tower. 

"They glisten in the moonlight, it's a sight to behold." He whispered, praying that she would take his suggestion.

 As the final bells tolled through the church, Claudette stood, her feet faltering as she made her way towards the stairs. Carefully, she began to ascend the winding stairwell, her eyes fixed on the upper floors, where the Bell Tower rose into the night sky.

The darkness shrouded her as she made her way up the narrow staircase, guided only by the flickering candlelight that illuminated the path forward. As she reached the top of the stairwell, Claudette hesitated, examining her surroundings. It was desolate, void of life, save for the enormous bells that loomed above her like a massive, imposing giant. She pushed forward, the moonlight streaming in through the open doorway, bathing the room in a soft, blue glow. Claudette peered upwards, seeing the sheer size of the bells, marveling at their size and power. They were bigger than she had ever imagined, their metal glimmering in the night glow, reflecting the beautiful hues of blue.

She stepped closer to the ledge, seeing the breathtaking view of the city below, Inhaling the scent of freshly fallen rain, she took in the peacefulness of the moment, basking in the moon. 

As Claudette turned to continue her exploration, her eye caught a small table in the center of the room, adorned with a scale model of the village below. She examined it, admiring the intricate wooden carvings of the characters that resided in the town. The Sheperd, The Fisherman, The School Teacher, and even her father, Judge Claude Frollo. But one figure in particular stood out from the rest. Claudette let out an inaudible gasp as she saw her likeness, standing proudly among the others. She gently caressed the figure, admiring the handwork.

 There was a creak in the darkness, She quickly lifted her gaze scanning the room warily. The dimly lit space made it difficult to see, but as she looked up, her eyes met those of a shadowy figure clinging to the railing. Claudette froze in her tracks, her breath catching in her chest as the darkness stared back at her. The shadowed figure leaped down, causing a loud thud that echoed in the room. Her Rosary slipped out of her hand and she stumbled backward, falling onto the wooden floor as the figure approached. She raised her arms to shield herself, a silent cry escaping her lips. The shadow suddenly stopped, reaching out with gentle care and picking up the Rosary. 

“You dropped this…”

Claudette’s face softened, her fear slowly subsiding in the face of the figure's gentleness. She reached out her hand, taking the Rosary from him, feeling the warmth of his touch as he gently placed it in her palm. As Claudette took the Prayer Beads, she saw his face illuminated by the moonlight, revealing him to be Quasimodo. Her body relaxed, her tension dissipated and a hint of relief showed on her face.

“I don’t usually have visitors…especially so late at night,” His voice was soft and solemn, his face betrayed a tinge of regret, as he bowed his head in apology. “I didn't mean to cause you any distress.”

“I came to see the Bells…” Claudette admitted, looking up at the towering structures before them. ”The Archedon said they’re beautiful in the moonlight.”

Quasimodo's gaze followed hers

“They are beautiful.” 

They stood there in silence for a moment, both lost in thought until Quasimodo spoke again. 

"What's your name?"

Claudette smiled, a feeling of warmth rising within her chest.

"Claudette"

"That's a beautiful name" Quasimodo said, his voice full of genuine admiration.

For a moment, she felt a strange sense of connection between them, A feeling of comfort and safety, as if she had found a kindred spirit, as if they were both bound by the same thread of fate.

“This is beautiful, did you make it yourself?”

Claudette's eyes wandered back to the scale model, admiring the meticulous detail put into each building and its miniature inhabitants. Quasimodo hesitated for a moment before answering, still feeling somewhat abashed by his appearance.  He had grown used to being the object of fear or disgust, and yet this girl, Claudette, had not responded with revulsion at the sight of him. 

“Oh—Thank you—I did make this” He said slowly, his voice laced with a hint of pride.

“You must have worked a long time on this”

Claudette continued, noting the intricate details and the care that had gone into its creation.

“Well, I have a lot of free time…”

Quasimodo mumbled a response, feeling somewhat embarrassed at the thought of the endless hours he had spent crafting the perfect miniature version of the city. But Claudette did not laugh or dismiss his work, instead, she continued to admire it and asked more questions about the process and the stories behind each building. Quasimodo felt a sense of contentment wash over him. Claudette found herself wanting to know more about Quasimodo. He was intriguing and mysterious, and she couldn't help but feel drawn to him in a way she had never felt before. She knew there was more to him than met the eye, and she was determined to find out what it was.

“Do…you like living up here?”

Quasimodo turned to face her, for a moment, she could see the longing beneath his disfigured features, a longing that spoke of a life that was cruelly denied, but then he turned away, staring at the miniature town as if it were a bitter reminder of what he could never have.

“It’s safer here, People don’t see me.”

He said simply, but there was a depth to his words, a depth that spoke of a pain that she knew all too well.

“I’m sorry about today”

He didn't react, instead, he moved to rearrange the three stone Gargoyles he had placed at various points along the walls, as if her words had fallen on deaf ears. He murmered to them while Claudette watched him move the figures, trying to decipher his words, but she couldn’t understand him

“Did you make those too?”

Quasimodo paused, He rubbed his arm self-consciously, a small sign of vulnerability

“No…these are—My friends…”

The words hung in the air, and Claudette felt a lump form in her throat as she realized the extent of the isolation that had consumed Quasimodo.

“What are their names?”

She asked, trying to break the heavy silence. Quasimodo was surprised to hear her ask this, he didn’t think she would look too fondly on the fact he was friends with Stone. He smiled shyly, looking at the three stone figures.

“Well—This is Victor,” He said, pointing to the first figure. “And these two are Hugo and Laverne”

 It was almost unbelievable that he had been able to create such life-like creatures out of stone, and yet there they were, standing proud on the ledge. Victor was a lanky creature with massive wings that were stretched wide open as if he were mid-flight. Hugo was a round and tubby gargoyle, with wings that were far too small to support the creature's weight. The last gargoyle, Laverne, was a mixture of the two, with a lanky body and a round belly that gave her a playful quality.

“It’s nice to meet you”

Claudette greeted the gargoyles, She knew that they were more than just sculptures to Quasimodo; they were his companions, his friends. She couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for the way Quasimodo took care of them, making sure that each one of them was kept clean and well-maintained.

“They like you” He said softly, afraid of how she might react.

“I’m glad, I like them too”

She extended her hand as if to shake hands with The Gargoyles. Quasimodo watched, a sense of tranquility washing over him. As Claudette took her seat beside Quasimodo on the floor, The Gargoyles watched over them, their stone faces looking out into the night, like they were protecting them from the outside world. They looked out at the open ledge, watching the stars as they twinkle like little jewels in the night sky. 

“How did you end up here?”

She hoped that her question hadn't been too invasive, that she hadn't crossed any boundaries. 

“The Archdeacon…He saved me when I was a young child, if not for him I would’ve been drowned by my mother”

Claudette frowned, feeling her heartache at his story. With a sense of compassion, she put a hand on his shoulder, offering him a touch of solace.

“He’s allowed me to live here in the Bell Tower…It’s my sanctuary” He said, his voice filled with a sense of gratitude

“Having all this space to yourself must be nice” She said, looking into his eyes with a smile, seeing the kindness in his heart.

“Well it’s not just me, there's the Gargoyles–Oh, and of course the Bells” He waved his arm to motion to the Bells, as if they were a part of him.

 She leaned in closer to him, their shoulders touching.

“I’m glad I got to meet you, Quasimodo”

“Really?” He asked, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. 

“Of course. It’s not often I get to talk to people, especially those who are as kind as you”

 She knew that Frollo had been wrong about Quasimodo, he wasn't the monster that he had portrayed him to be. He was a man who had been isolated from the world, a victim of circumstance. Her Father had been influenced by his own prejudices and beliefs, a man who lived in fear of what he didn't understand. She had always struggled with his presence, the way he had controlled her every move and word, constantly leaning over her, never giving her any room to breathe. But now, sitting here with Quasimodo, surrounded by these ancient stones, everything seemed different.

“I’m glad I met you too Claudette”

Quasimodo admitted, As he looked away, she knew there was something on his mind, something that he wanted to tell her, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

“It gets lonely up here”

She thought of her upbringing, how she was forced to stay inside, and how the only outside interactions she had were under the observation of her father.

“It gets lonely at home too”

Claudette looked at Quasimodo, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and despair. She knew in her heart that what she was about to propose was a risk. She reached out a hand to Quasimodo, inviting him to stand.

“Come with me, we can run away from here, and make a better life for both of us.”

She studied his features, desperate for him to understand, to see that there was a life for them beyond the confines of Paris. However, Quasimodo shook his head, denying her idea. He had been isolated for so long, that he couldn't fathom the world beyond the walls of the cathedral. The idea of starting over, of leaving everything he knew behind, was too much to bear.

"I can't," He said, his voice heavy with sadness. "This is my home. I belong here."

Claudette's face fell at Quasimodo's rejection, but she quickly tried to conceal her disappointment, hoping that he would see the value in their newfound friendship.

"Then I'll visit you," She said, her voice filled with determination.

His eyes widened.

“But–You could get in trouble—It’s not safe for you”

“If it means we can talk again like this then it would be worth it”

Quasimodo was torn, He enjoyed Claudette's company, and it wasn't often he got to talk to others like this. He sighed in defeat, knowing that he was making a terrible decision, but one he was willing to take.

“Okay…Just—you have to be careful, you can’t let anyone else see you”

He muttered, his voice apprehensive. He knew that he was putting himself at risk, especially under the particular circumstance.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Quasimodo”

She promised, and as she turned to leave, he handed her a torch to allow her light as she made her way down the dark steps. 

“Goodbye Claudette”

He whispered, his voice filled with gratitude and appreciation for her kindness. She had vanished into the shadows, her form lost in the darkening steps that stretched away from the flame. As its illumination grew faint, he leaned against the wall, lost in thought. How had it happened that in a day, he had been introduced to not one but two beings who saw past his exterior? The beautiful Romani woman, Esmeralda, with her kind-hearted nature and intelligent mind, had captured his heart without even trying. He was torn between the conflicting emotions, as he grappled with the realization that his life had the possibility of being so much more than what his Master had always led him to believe.

Then came Claudette, a sister that he had known for the duration of his entire life, but he was forced to observe her from afar, refraining from ever interacting or speaking with her. Despite their apparent connection, this bond was unbeknownst to her.

The burning desire to reveal the truth to her consumed him, the revelation that though they were not blood-related, they shared a familial bond. However, He knew that such a revelation was not plausible. Claude Frollo, their father, would no doubt bear a grudge against him—and worse, for revealing such information, and Claudette would face punishment for seeking Quasimodo out without permission. 

 It was for the best that she remained oblivious to the extent of their bond, a decision he felt was far safer for her.

[coffeeheartaddict2]

When Life has other plans 13/16

Begin Again

Book: Open Heart (AU)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC Casey Valentine

Category: angsty fluff with a side of smut

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, sexual content, mentions of bio attack and mental illness

Word count: 3511

Summary: The fallout from the attack. Ethan and Casey start exploring what could be, funeral for Bobby and Danny. Ethan and Tobias open a dialogue and both have hopes of reconciliation. June starts to evaluate her position at Edenbrook and the team.

Disclaimer: characters belong to Pixelberry

Authors note: We are post attack now, there is still some angsty moments but nowhere near as intense as the attack. And that also means a strong smell of the happy ending.

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It was the day after the attack. The hospital was slowly coming back to normal function after being shut down after the attack. It all looked normal but there was an air of sadness, shock and anguish that could not be ignored. Those directly involved with the discovery of the cure and the staff who provided support to Danny and Raf whilst they were in the coma were encouraged to have the day off and were offered counselling to work through any grief and any mental anguish that they have endured. This would also be offered to the hospital as a whole but the priority was those who were exposed the most.

Ethan knew he should not have been there. He went home and fell into a deep and exhausted sleep but he awoke with a nightmare of Casey dying in his arms. He could not get back to sleep so he went and sat in her room, watching her to reaffirm to himself that she did make it. Casey woke up and was surprised to see Ethan. He breathed a sigh of relief when she woke up. He asked how she slept and informed her that Rafael was improving.

He moved closer to her and squeezed her hand. Casey smiled weakly.

“Did you sleep well?”

“No, yes, I did fall into a sleep as I was exhausted from then I had a nightmare…” he takes another breath before continuing. “After that I ha hi d to come and see you, to see for myself that you did make it.”

“I made it Ethan, I am alive, yes it was traumatic, but I am here.” Adamantly stated Casey. Ethan leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

“As much as I am liking the visit, head home, rest, I am not going anywhere.” Ethan reluctantly left. He knew Casey was right but he could not help but worry. He stopped off at Derry’s to buy a coffee and went home. He emailed Naveen. Even though he and Casey had not discussed being in the open and how that would look but he felt it imperative that he get the ball rolling.

To Naveen,

I am emailing you to advise that I am in a relationship with Dr Casey Valentine. I have made her aware of my intent of being open about this and we will of course discuss in due course but I wanted to let you know so that we can get the ball rolling.

Regards

Dr Ethan Ramsey.

When Naveen had read the email he could not help but feel happy for his mentee. He knew that both him and Casey were more than capable of working well together, no matter what their relationship circumstances happened to be so he was happy if reporting lines stayed the same but at the end of the day he knew that call would be made by HR but he was hopeful that there would be a solution.

Casey’s physical condition improved over the following week. Her discharge day was the day of the funeral for Bobby and Danny. It was bittersweet. Casey was thankful that a cure was found and that she survived but there was the questions of why me, how is it fair? Going around in her head. Medical leave from work was approved and any counselling she knew would be taken care of however a part of her wanted to seek some type of normalcy. She went to the funeral, hoping it would give closure. In a way it did but she was unable to feel. She felt numb, cut off, the feeling was disconcerting. She felt so disconnected that she barely noticed that the wake was nearly over. Ethan came over to Casey and gave her a hug. “Come on, let’s go.”

He walked her to his car and they drove off.

“How does the weather know?”

“How does the weather know what Casey?”

“How did it know that today was a day of grey and misery?”

Ethan did not know what to say. He had intended to drive her home but at this point changed his mind, he was going to bring her to his.

It was not until they pulled up at Ethan’s building that she realized. They made their way to his apartment. He poured himself a glass of scotch and offered one to Casey which she accepted.

“I know that you must be going through so much. You seem, almost distant..”

“I am numb, numb and disconnected. I thought the funeral would give me a sense of closure, but I have felt so disconnected from anything…”

He kisses her, it was emotion charged. It caught Casey off guard but she returned the kiss. The kisses got more emotionally charged and heated. Ethan pulled away slightly, he rubbed his thumb along her jawbone.

“We don’t need to go any further tonight”

“I know Ethan, but I want to.”

She kisses him. Hungrily. He ran his hands down her side, reacquainting himself with her curves. He unzips her dress and discards it. He looks at her underwear. He kisses her gently on the lips before kissing the column of her neck. He tweaks her hardened nipples through her bra, eliciting a moan from Casey. He unhooks her bra and lavishes attention on her breasts. Casey feels even more aroused. She knew she was drenched. His hand made its way between her legs. He could feel how wet she was. He let out a groan and laid waist to her underwear. He ran a finger around her clit. Casey moaned as she bucked her hips. As much as Ethan wanted to fuck her pain away, he also wanted to savour this night. He positioned himself between her legs. He kissed the inside of her thigh, slowly. Casey quivered in anticipation and he ran his tongue around her clit. Again she moaned and bucked her hips. Ethan then ran his tongue through her folds before entering. He continued to eat her out, being guided by her moans and screams. He worked his way back up to her clit and inserted two fingers.

“Fuck…” she screamed, as he hit that spot from the get go. He moved his other hand up to her breast and massaged it. Casey could not recall when she last felt so much sensory overload. She was fast hurtling towards the precipice of what felt like an intense orgasm. She clenched his fingers and he knew she was close. He pumped her harder and sucked a little harder. Casey fell, screaming. He helped her ride it out. Casey felt like she was floating. He kissed her, the taste of her in his mouth was intoxicating. He got up and picked her up, he took her to his bedroom. He placed her down and she kissed him again, this time removing his clothing. She ran her hands along his hardened cock. He hissed. She then walked backwards towards his bed. They kiss again and Casey moves so that she is straddling him. He leans over to his top drawer and grabs a condom. He puts it on and then Casey slowly works her way down. It did not take long for her body to readjust to his size. Once he was fully sheathed she started to rock her hips. He thrust up causing her to moan. She rode him, harder than what she would have liked to have started with but the intensity of the previous orgasm is what she was chasing. Ethan kept pace, enjoying being fully inside her for real and not just in his lust fueled thoughts. He sucked her nipples which caused her to yell “fuck”. Before long Casey could feel she was getting close. Ethan could feel it too and with his thumb, massaged her clit. The sensation had Casey hurtling to again another intense orgasm. She fell and her climax triggered Ethan’s. After a few minutes she eased herself off and cuddled into Ethan. Casey then started to cry. She had wanted to all day, all week even but she could not, no matter how hard she tried. Ethan let her cry, assuring her that she was ok, and to let it all out. She cried herself to sleep. Ethan fell asleep not long after. He was relieved that Casey was able to let her emotions out and that she was in his arms.

Ethan awoke first the next morning. He tried to gently get out of bed but Casey started to stir.

“I did not mean to wake you” he said gently.

“I was waking up, it’s fine, I had no nightmare last night, plus with our activities, I actually feel rested.

Ethan smiled.

“I have a late start today but did you want to stay here, however long you feel you need?”

Casey stretched whilst she thought about it. Either staying here or at her apartment would mean long hours alone but decided here. After last night she knew she would not be treated like a fragile object and that is what she needed.

“I would like to stay here, but I will need some clothes.”

Ethan squeezed her hand.

“I can drop you to yours on my way to work.” He leaves the room and comes back with a key ring. This is so you can get back into the apartment and come and go as needed.”

Casey smiled. “Thank you Ethan.”

Ethan went to make breakfast while Casey had a shower. She joined Ethan for breakfast and he dropped her at her apartment. She made her way to her room and got changed first. She then packed a bag of clothes to take with her. She then went back to Ethan’s. She used the time alone to research the therapists she had the details of and booked one and had her first appointment a few days later.

She had a nap and woke with a start. It took her awhile to gain her bearings as to where she was. Just then there was a sound of a door opening. Casey got scared until she heard Ethan call out. She made her way to the living area. He could see she was scared.

“I had a nap and I woke with a start and I had only just got my bearings when you came back.”

He gave her a hug and kissed the top of his head.

“Everything is ok, Casey” he whispered. She went to pour them both some drinks whilst Ethan cooked dinner.

They enjoyed their meal and sat on the couch after dinner.

Casey told him how she was going to start therapy. Ethan was relieved she was going to seek professional help. He wanted to start a discussion around what a relationship would look like when she returned to work but he also wanted to savour this time also. Casey was relieved that she knew where she stood in relation to Ethan but she did not want to think too much on it right now. If she was being honest, she wanted to be fucked into oblivion again. The pleasant memories of last night came flooding back and she felt the familiar sensation at her core. She kissed Ethan, gently at first then more passionately. She then moved his hand to her centre.

“I know there are better coping mechanisms but I need you to fuck me.” She whispered in his ear. As much as Casey was right, there were more healthier ways to cope, he could not help but feel aroused so he obliged, as in a way he felt it would help make up for lost time.

They went several intense rounds, Casey fell into a blissful sleep and Ethan followed not long after. For nearly a fortnight it was a pattern that would be followed, work, dinner and mind blowing sex. After a couple of therapy sessions, Casey was given some more coping strategies which helped her not needing to use sex as a crutch. Casey was also starting to miss her friends also. Ethan understood but told Casey she was welcome to come over any time.

After nearly three weeks Casey returned to her apartment. She was used to the alone time whilst she was at Ethan’s but here it felt eerie. She knew that anyone on the night shift would be sleeping and that she was not alone but it was disconcerting.

Meanwhile back at Edenbrook Ethan was missing Casey, not only personally but professionally. He hoped she would be back at work soon, even if it was only part time. He was making his way back to the office when a familiar voice called out.

“Ethan, wait up” called out Tobias.

Ethan looked at his former friend perplexed.

“What are you doing here?”

“Meeting with the board, we will be doing research into the cure for the toxin and publishing it.”

“Congratulations” said Ethan. “Maybe even other toxins could be treated with this cure too.”

“Yeah? Maybe, hey listen, did you want to grab a coffee and catch up?”

Ethan looked at his watch, he had nothing on so he agreed. He suggested Derry Roasters.” Tobias agreed. They had coffee there before, a long time ago, an olive branch had been offered but it was declined and the memories of that haunted Tobias still but they were both older now and he hoped that they could put away the ghosts of their past.

They ordered their coffees and snacks and sat down. Tobias enquired as to how Casey and Raf were going, the team, and how Ethan was going with everything. Ethan was surprised when Tobias was not surprised when he stated that he was seeing Casey.

“You had been the talk of the post hospital grapevine, June for awhile was possessed on finding out the deal with you both but there was some interactions and dare I say an over protective posture that I had never seen from you that made me question the more scandalous rumours but seeing you with Casey that night solidified that any feelings were genuine.” Said Tobias.

“Well there’s truth to the rumours in that we did sleep together whilst she was in her intern year but it had nothing to do with the competition.”

“I figured that much, you have never been one for sexual favours, let alone entering into a relationship easily so she must be someone special.”

“She is, she helped me with Naveen, hell, she even did not give up on him when I did, we have had a rough patch but I feel we have come out the other side.”

Tobias was happy to hear this. He saw first hand how a reluctance in romantic relationships not only affected what was a good relationship but also his and Ethan’s friendship. Tobias wanted to chat further but he had to get back to work and so did Ethan.

“Well it was good to catch up bu…I mean Ethan. We must do so again.”

“I would very much like that, Tobias.”

Tobias could not believe how easy it was to slip back at calling Ethan buddy like he did for nearly three quarters of medical school and he was hopeful they could reconcile. Ethan too was optimistic, he had missed Tobias’s friendship a lot over the past 13 or so years and he hoped they could be friends again now.

A few days later Casey was again home alone, therapy had been going well and she was now eager to go back to work but the memories of what happened and who the hospital lost was haunting her. She had not even brought herself to meet Ethan at the hospital but little did she know that she was going to push herself out of her comfort zone. There was a knock at the door. It was Farley, their landlord. He had come with a sweet smelling bunch of flowers. She was mid thanking him when she noticed a mark on his wrist that he kept scratching. She asked him what was up, he said not much, the mark had been there for a bit but he was over his eyes seeing his gaming screen too bright. When questioned as to why he had not seen anyone about it, he stated that the deductible was too low. Casey stated that she worked as apart of a team that could do it pro bono. Farley was intrigued and she said “go get a coat, I will take you to the free clinic at Edenbrook and go from there.” Casey was now terrified but she knew that if she did nothing, neither would Farley. She found her new pink and grey sweater dress that Ethan had purchased and her leggings and met Farley. They made their way to Edenbrook and the free clinic.

“So far so good” Casey thinks to herself. They are met by Jackie and she takes them both in and immediately she notices Farley’s reaction to the light. Casey shows Jackie the rash and they agree he needs to be admitted. Casey took over from there stating that she would put him under the team.

Casey and Farley made their way to the team office. She was nervous for multiple reasons but ensuring something was done to get Farley healthy again was helping her keep it together.

They came to the office. Ethan looks up and is surprised to see Casey. He recognised the outfit he bought for her, and it looked better on her than what he thought. He decided to stay seated while acassy told him about what was going on. Ethan agreed to take Farley on and he paiged Sarah to take him to the patient room.

“Thanks Ethan, if I did not bring him he would have done nothing.”

He noted the fear in her voice.

“And how are you Casey, this is the first time you have been here since the attack.”

Casey took a breath. “I am keeping it together, ensuring Farley got some care has helped me keep it together. I am grateful for the push.”

Ethan nodded. They had not yet spoken how their relationship would look like at work so he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Casey smiled weakly and could see the conflicted desire swirling in Ethan’s eyes.

“I’ll come over later” she said and Ethan stated

“Don’t you dare change that outfit.”

Casey blushed and took her leave.

Meanwhile, June was having her session with a therapist. Ever since the attack she had questioned if her thirst for knowledge had impacted on her missing the red flags that lead to the attack. Even before the attack she could see that Casey was a good doctor who kept on improving, her contributions were always more than token and yet she still had the desire to only care about how her relationship with Ethan affected the team, for which she clearly saw that it did not. She had always wanted to know what made people tick and would use whatever means necessary to do so but this obsession killed two people needlessly. It was difficult to come to terms with, even the team as a whole missed the flags, explaining it away as over concern but Travis’s actions was text book revenge and she missed it. Today June decided that she needed a new work challenge. Sure Edenbrook had the best diagnostics team that she had enjoyed working on but maybe a change is what she needed. She knew Ethan was not going anywhere anytime soon and if she was been honest with herself, she could see Casey running the team one day. She needed to plan and would submit her resignation further down the line. It was scary starting somewhere new but she felt she needed to.

Later that day Casey was still at the hospital. The more she was there, the easier being there was. She also wanted to keep informed of what was happening with Farley. She bumped into Ethan and continued with him towards the emergency department. They arrived just as an ambulance pulled up and opened the doors. Ethan took charge and they paramedic went through the particulars.

Female, mid 50’s, found on the street, collapsed and in and out of consciousness. The gurney was brought in and Ethan froze. The woman that the paramedic was describing was Louise Ramsey. Casey looked at the arms and noted the needle marks.

“Ethan, this woman has overdosed, she needs naloxone.”

Ethan jolted back to reality and got the drug and administered it. The nurses took over from there.

Casey wanted to talk to Ethan about it.

“I know you want to talk but I need to be alone for a little bit. I’m sorry” he says, with a pained expression before walking off to an on call room.

He is awash with all sorts of emotion and he kicks a bin.

He lets out a groan of frustration and ponders what to do next.

—-

Authors note: and I will end it there. The next chapter will deal with Louise, and some more Tobias and Ethan reconciliation action and chapter 15 will be the last of the angstish moments with 16 being the happy ending. Thank you all for ending this far

Tagging: @jerzwriter @genevievemd @messrprongs @cariantha @tessa-liam @zealouscanonindeer @alj4890 @potionsprefect @liaromancewriter @youlookappropriate @trappedinfanfiction @a-crepusculo @bex-la-get @crazy-loca-blog @schnitzelbutterfingers @lucy-268

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @binny1985

[monstaxdirtywonk]

Heaven is a place in hell with you pt.4

Member: San as Hades X Reader Persephone

Plot: it's inspired but the myth but with some changes too

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut (only some slight suggestive content in this chapter but we will get there)

His lips traveled on your neck, and his arm had a tight grip around your waist as he kept you still on his lap.

"How inappropriate is this? You sitting on my lap like this...you are ready to be completely ruined by me anytime I think it's fitting." You moaned by his words because he was absolutely right. You couldn't find an ounce of dignity left when it came to him.

"Please touch me a bit." Hades chuckled and his other hand traveled lower and lower where you needed him the most.

"Persephone" a voice woke you up and your breathing was irregular and heavy.

"Did you have a nightmare? You were whimpering and moving around in your sleep".

You touched your sweaty forehead and couldn't believe you had your first wet dream. Turns out love and lust were way closer than you thought they'd be.

"Yes I did. I've been stressed the last few days for no particular reason and this reflects to my sleep quality".

Artemis came closer and she held your hand in hers. She wasn't known for being particularly physically affectionate but because you had been clingy ever since you were a child, he made an exception for you, which made you feel even more guilty than before.

"My sweetheart. I got so worried last week when you were gone. Did something happen back then and you didn't tell me about it? Is this why you've been so jumpy lately?"

"No. No. Nothing happened that day. I just lost track of time, that's all. I don't want you to worry about me, I'll be fine mistress."

She took out her handkerchief and wiped your sweaty face. She was humming a melody simultaneously which made you feel relaxed.

"Thank you" you smiled at her and she returned a bright smile back at you.

"I'm going to hunt now. Tomorrow I'll leave again for many hours to join Hippolytus and his men. Do you want me to not go?"

You shook your head and smiled once again.

"I'm well really. You don't have to worry. I'll find something to keep myself occupied."

Artemis checked you from head to toe once again and when she saw no injury or anything that might make her grow worried again, she left.

When she closed the door behind her, you were left with your guilty thoughts. When you stood up from the bed you felt a bit uncomfortable to say the least, sticky down there and a numbing feeling that was a constant reminder of your sinful thoughts. You had to take a bath as soon as possible.

2 days later

"I'm going now. If you want anything tell Nefeli about it and she'll come to your aid."

You hugged her and she left.

After around 20 minutes of her departure, you went to Nefeli to tell her that you're gonna leave to take a walk in the forest.

"Are you sure you want to go on your own?" Nefeli asked.

"Yes. I'll be fine don't worry. I'm a whole woman after all". You laughed and she looked you dead in the eye.

"For me, you'll always be my baby. But I guess I should let you take your own steps too".

"Thank you for that. I'll come back in an hour, I swear".

"Be careful!" Nefeli said and hugged you.

Among the nymphs she was the one you felt closest to. She had a gentle nature but combined it with a fierce protective side that made you feel safe and loved. You hated how she didn't know why you left but you couldn't reveal to her that you're going to meet...someone. if you'll meet him to begin with because there's no wolf threatening you this time.

You started walking towards the lake, feeling a bit nervous. Best case scenario he won't open the portal never again and you're gonna keep living the life that you've grown to love. Worst case scenario, he does and you become a nervous wreck unable to look him in the eyes because you feel so guilty you've been thinking of him in a sexual way. You were horrible, you thought.

On one hand you wanted to run and have more time with him if he opens the portal but you also felt like this was gonna be a huge disappointment if he doesn't. If he doesn't, what are you gonna do? You said Nefeli you'd be home after an hour, you'd have to wander around to waste some time.

You could finally see the lake after walking for 25 minutes. I guess subconsciously you were walking faster than average because it took you longer to arrive last time.

"Here comes my disappointment". You said to yourself and sat on your knees next to the lake's edge.

Maybe if you put your hands inside, that'd help. You don't even know how this portal works. Even if you saw you, maybe he doesn't want you to come again. But he did say he can be your guidance, didn't he? You shouldn't think of yourself as a burden. You wanted to talk to him again, it wasn't just your romantic side that craved that. He seemed so knowledgeable about the world, you wanted to learn from him and eventually form wisdom of your own. Although the path to wisdom would take years, you thought.

After 10 minutes of alarmingly increasing heartbeat, there was no sign of Hades anywhere. You felt your eyes about to tear up and a grip like feeling around your throat. Pathetic. You felt like crying for someone you only talked to for a bit and you had no concrete evidence he felt anything for you other than fascination of your naive side.

"That's what you did to yourself with your stupid wishful thinking" you cried again, wiping your eyes with your dress. You even wore a white dress, your most flattering color.

Suddenly you heard the same earth shuttering sound and moved back in a hurry. Your beloved stairs appeared and without a second thought you went down.

Hades was waiting for you and you smiled so brightly when you saw him, it was so obvious to him you liked him, you thought. But when he took a closer look and saw your red eyes, his expression dropped.

"What happened, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. You were willing to cry every day for the rest of your life if Hades was to call you such.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it." You said and wiped the remaining tears.

"You thought I wouldn't let you in?" You really couldn't fool this man and it scared you. The power imbalance and difference in experiences was evident.

You nodded without saying anything because it'd make your voice break without a doubt.

"But i told you that you can use me for guidance. When I give my word, I am doing what I said always."

You smiled up at him, trying to keep your tears again. This time they were guilty ones, because he was so sweet to you and yet you had this hunting dream. How can you be so unhinged?

"How much time do we have? Because I'm certain you didn't tell Artemis you are coming here." You laughed and answered him.

"You're only coming early here because I don't want you to wander around the forest during the night on your own. Is that understood?"

"Yes. I'll come here during the day."

Hades smiled at your obedient nature. He didn't want to admit it but his sexual urges have been out of control since last week and he knows a very good reason as to why that is. But unlike you, he didn't think of himself as an awful man of carnal desires. He knew that he felt for much more than lust. He wanted to protect you from the world but who is gonna protect you from him? He had no idea about that. If it was up to him, he'd ruin you without a second thought. You falling apart under him and then him putting you together again. The power to control your pleasure and the ease he'd feel to know that he was responsible for you and nothing could ever harm you when he was in control.

"I wanted to ask more about you, if that's okay of course. Your origins and the sides of yourself you are willing to reveal for now".

When he heard the last part, he smirked. You were very observant he thought, and you knew others better than you thought you did. He caught up to you thinking of yourself as less than you were but he didn't agree with that.

"As I've said before I feel comfortable with you so I'm gonna reveal all my sides...eventually. Getting to know others in depth takes time after all. But I will tell you as much as I can for now".

His answer made sense logically but you still pouted at that. You craved to know him better, you didn't want to waste any time to get there. You've never been this impatient before.

"Let's go and sit on that couch, shall we?"

You agreed and you went there before him because you were so excited to learn more and be in his presence. Hades' dimples showed up again, how can someone be this adorable and enchanting at the same time.

He took a closer look to what you were wearing, a white dress that was loose around your body but beautiful drapes enhanced your shapely figure. He had to stop his mind from wondering what was underneath that dress. A rounded neckline complimented your soft cheeks and your long hair, still loose, suggested you were still a young unmarried woman. He could even smell how you sprayed some perfume behind your ears, mixing with your natural scent to attack his senses. He was certain by now that you shared his feelings.

"It all started with my parents, Chronos and Rea. I am the middle child, three daughters before me and two sons after. My parents had great power over the whole world, all the realms belonged to Chronos, which can be great responsibility. It is also a blessing in disguise. Few have the ability to remain noble with great power. My dad wasn't among them and he wasn't willing to share even with his own kids. That's why, when an oracle told him that one of his sons was gonna threaten his authority, he tried to get rid of us. He was able to do so for me and Poseidon, but Zeus escaped him. He was raised in Crete by a cow and some forest nymphs and when he became an old he came for our father's throat, just like the oracle had predicted. We divided the world to three realms and by luck each one got their own, I got the underworld and here I am in all my glory". You laughed at that.

"It is scary to think that even your own parent would act that way against you. But it seems like no matter how hard you try, you won't be able to overcome your destiny".

His destiny. Hades really hoped his destiny included you too.

"Yes. It seems like Moires control our lives. Maybe they are more powerful than us after all. Although I think they aren't the most feared among us."

"Which one do you think is the most fearful?"

"Eros."

You felt very confused by his answer. Eros is Aphrodite's son as far as you know, he makes people and God's fall in love. Shouldn't he be the most well liked?

"He is a beautiful young man, non threatening he seems at first. But just like the Trojan horse, it comes with great danger. I've seen mortals and God's alike do crazy things for him. No logic is left in their minds. It causes great pain too when it's not returned. You can't escape him. I guess we are similar in that way with Eros. He's gonna find you, even if you are in the depths of hell".

He found him, after all. Even here, he found him.

"Even he couldn't escape his power. If you know about Psyche".

You did. You've always thought of their story as the most inspiring and admirable you've heard.

"It turns out you aren't the most fearsome around after all. Don't you feel misunderstood at times?"

"Yes. But others rarely see the person behind the throne. I was assigned to this and I'm just doing my duty."

"You do very well and I'm proud of you".

Proud of him. He couldn't get enough of your praising. He wanted to hear you calling him all positive descriptors a language can have. He was a thirsty man and your sweet compliments were his nectar.

"What about you, love?"

Your eyes widen once again, he really had to slow down with all those pet names.

"I...I don't know who my parents were. Artemis found me when I was a baby and decided to adopt me in a sense. I'm very thankful for that and I love her, I really do. I think she is usually strict but becomes very gentle when i am around. I guess she has a soft spot when it comes to me."

Artemis wasn't the only one that had a soft spot for you, Hades thought.

"She taught me about healing and I'm very grateful for that. I am blessed to have found such a nice home in her arms".

Hades was about to cry and it's been ages since he was so annoyingly emotional. You were such a pure soul, he would fight anyone to keep you safe.

"I'm very happy you found her too. Artemis is a very respectable goddess among mortals and God's. She has a great lot of dignity and independence, very dynamic and strong but fair and balanced too".

You nodded because that's exactly how your mistress appeared in your eyes too.

"Other than that, there isn't anything special to know for me."

"Not having experiences to share doesn't make you any less special than others. You are very admirable and mature despite your young age and you show me that it's alright to wear your heart on your sleeve from time to time."

You felt so happy by his answer. It was hard to not be overly strict with yourself but you felt relieved someone thought of you in such a way.

After some time had passed and you had to leave, he spoke again.

"When are you gonna visit again?"

"Whenever you want. Just tell me and I'll come. I don't wanna interfere with your schedule."

"Maybe you can come in 3 days? Or is it soon?"

Too soon, he says. As if you wanna leave his side to begin with.

"I'll see what I can do. If I get the chance, I'm gonna come over".

"Farewell, my little flower".

"Farewell".

Next chapter: