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fics-n-stuff · 3 years

Text

A Nice Christmas

Thanks to @gayhistorynerd for the prompt, see here (I kind of deviated from it a little maybe a lot but the story still stemmed from this prompt)

Pairing: Wilhelm × Simon

Summary: Wilhelm may have denied being in the sex tape, but that doesn't mean that the world has forgotten. The Christmas break proves to be difficult for both Simon and Wilhelm, one suffering from ongoing harassment and the other feeling completely isolated, and they find that they can't help but be drawn back to each other.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This took me so long to write because I got writer's block right after I started it. This doesn't have a super happy ending because I wanted to try and keep it pretty realistic, but it is pretty sweet and wholesome.

Taglist: @probablyprocrastinatingrightnow @rika90 @angelwilhelm

Wilhelm had never felt more alone than he did being home for Christmas break. He spent as much time as was physically possible holed up in his bedroom, not wanting to see or talk to anyone, especially not his mother. He hadn’t turned his phone on for three days, he had bitten his nails down to the nailbeds and he hardly had any appetite. The ache in his chest was constant and unyielding.

He lay in the dark most of the time, his curtains closed throughout the day and only sometimes opened at night to let the moonlight in. Besides that, he didn’t have much idea of how time was passing.

He did know that it was Christmas eve though. And it must be the morning because nobody had come to drag him out of his bedroom to join the celebrations. A cursory peek around the curtain confirmed that, as Wilhelm saw that the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet.

A deep breath settled the stone in his stomach, and he reached for his phone with a shaky hand.

When the device turned on it immediately started going crazy with notifications, and Wilhelm felt his heart rate increase with every buzz.

5 messages from August

Ignore.

10 messages from Mamma

Ignore.

2 missed calls from Felice

Wilhelm paused in swiping away the notifications. Felice had called him twice and sent him three messages. He clicked on the message notification, sitting back against the wall and holding in a breath without realising it.

Felice: Hey Wille, how are you feeling being home?

Felice: I just wanted to check in but I can’t get a hold of you, I hope you’re doing alright

Felice: You probably don’t want to talk but you can call or text me whenever you do

Wilhelm sighed. Of all the people that he thought that he could depend on, Felice was the only one that he still had. He swallowed the lump in his throat and called her back.

It rang for a while before she answered, and he’d almost decided to hang up the call when it stopped ringing.

“Wille, good morning.” Felice greeted, cheerful but clearly tired. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas Felice.” Wilhelm replied feebly. His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Are you alright? Do you want to talk about something?”

“Uhm, I- I don’t know, I just... I don’t know.” He stuttered, wrapping his free arm around himself.

“Okay, well, what are your plans for today?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t really been talking to anyone. What, uh, what are your plans?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual. We’ll watch Kalle Anka's Jul and play some games before dinner, then we’ll open presents.” She explained. The tinny sound of her voice through the phone was actually quite calming.

“What about for the rest of the break?”

“Um, I’m going to New York to see Maddie for New Year, so that’ll be fun. And I’m going back to Bjärstad on Boxing Day to see Sara. I’m gonna stay there just for one night.”

“So you’ve been talking to Sara a lot then?” Wilhelm questioned, moving to bite at his almost non-existent nails.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Has she said anything about Simon? Do you know if he’s alright?” His words came out more rushed than he had intended. Clearly, he was more eager for some sort of information on Simon than he had thought.

“Um, she hasn’t said much but I think he’s pretty okay.” Felice replied, but it was followed by a small sigh that let Wilhelm know that there was more to the story. “Sara says that things have mostly gone back to normal, but Simon goes out a lot less and she’s had to make her Instagram private. I think they’ve had a few people show up at their house.”

Wilhelm swallowed hard, a feeling of guilt crawling under his skin. Simon’s Instagram account had been private ever since the video had been leaked, so it seemed that now people had found Sara’s too. They had attention on them that they had never signed up for, and Wilhelm knew that it was his fault and he felt terrible for that.

“Okay.” He replied shakily. There was a short silence before Felice spoke again.

“How are you, Wilhelm? Really?” She asked.

“Lonely.” He answered. “Listen, I have to go. I need to take a shower before someone comes demanding that I take part in the Christmas celebrations.”

“Alright well, call me back whenever, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Felice.”

“Bye, Wille. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Wilhelm ran a hand over his face, letting out a groan of frustration and sadness. Why couldn’t he just be a normal kid?

He stared down at his phone in his lap, gnawing at the nail of his right thumb in contemplation. With a shaking breath and trembling fingers, he picked it back up, opened his conversation with Simon and typed a short message. He dropped his phone in mild panic as soon as he hit send, and rubbed his hand over his chest as he took a deep, steadying breath.

+ + +

“Simon, wake up. Rosh and Ayub will be here soon.” Sara’s voice stirred Simon from his sleep and he rolled over to look at her. She was already dressed.

“What time is it?” He asked with a yawn.

“Nine o’clock. Get up and come help with breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting up.”

Sara rolled her eyes and left the room, and Simon reached out to his bedside table blindly until his hand landed on his phone. He squinted at the screen as he sat up, faltering when he saw the notification on the screen.

Wilhelm: Merry Christmas Simon

He felt his heart race as he stared at the screen, only snapping out of it when he heard Sara shouting at him from downstairs. He blinked, dropped his phone and set about getting dressed.

Every Christmas eve since they were ten, Simon, Sara, Rosh and Ayub would have breakfast together and then go for a long walk. It was tradition for them at this point, but Simon found himself unable to feel excited for it this year. It was all well and good to pretend like life was going on as normal, but it was hard not to feel uncomfortable when people stared at him everywhere he went.

Rosh and Ayub arrived just as he and Sara were finishing up making breakfast, and they exchanged Christmas well-wishes as they sat down to eat.

“You’re being real quiet over there, Simme. You alright?” Ayub asked after a while, and Simon realised that he’d been completely zoned out.

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“About Wilhelm?” Sara questioned. Simon pushed a bite of food into his mouth and shrugged.

“You have to move on, Simon.” Rosh said. “I know you care about him but he’s not worth all the trouble that he comes with.”

“I know. That’s why I ended things.” He replied. “It still sucks though.”

“You’ll get over him eventually.” Sara told him, putting a comforting hand on his for a few seconds before going back to her food. Simon smiled slightly.

He didn’t tell them about the text.

Despite all of that, he was in high spirits when they set out for their walk, happily joking and laughing with his friends, and they made it half an hour before he heard the first comment.

“That’s the guy from the sex tape.” Muttered a girl to her friend as they passed, and Simon felt the smile fall from his face.

“Just ignore them.” Sara told him, wrapping an arm around one of his. He nodded, but it had gotten to him. For the rest of their walk from that point, Simon felt like every person that they passed was looking at him and judging him.

They walked both Rosh and Ayub back to their houses before heading back to theirs just a bit past noon. They had almost gotten home when they were approached by a group of teenagers probably slightly younger than them.

“Are you the guy from that viral sex tape?” One of the boys asked unabashedly, the group coming right up in front of Simon and Sara and blocking their path.

“Uh, I don’t want to talk about that.” Simon replied stiffly, still trying to be polite.

“Oh my god, it is him!” A girl exclaimed.

“Was it actually the crown prince in the video?” Another chimed. Simon felt lightheaded.

“He already said that it wasn’t.” He deflected, trying to sidestep the group.

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of people that don’t actually believe him.” The girl laughed; actually laughed, as if this hadn’t been an earth shattering event for Simon.

“If it wasn’t Prince Wilhelm then who was it in the video?” A boy asked, and that was when Simon spotted the phone filming him and his stomach dropped.

“I’m not discussing my sex life with a bunch of strangers.” He scoffed in disbelief, shouldering his way past the group with Sara close behind him. “Please leave me alone.”

“You could just tell us if it was actually the prince or not.” One of them pressed, the group now following after Simon. “If it wasn’t him then you don’t have anything to hide.”

“Oh my god, did the royal family pay you off? Did they make you sign an NDA!?”

“Were you, like, boyfriends? Or was it just a hookup?”

Simon kept walking, keeping his head down and not answering any of the questions being hurled at him. He could sense that Sara was just as tense beside him. The group followed them for a full block before Simon finally lost his cool and came to a dead stop, turning to face them.

“I’m not going to answer your questions. The fact that you’re following me is not going to make me answer your questions. I’ve had my privacy majorly invaded once already and now you’re invading it again. I’m trying to enjoy Christmas with my sister and you’re chasing me with a camera, I’m sick of people harassing me.” He fumed, making sure to meet the eye of every one of them at some point. “Whatever you choose to believe is not my problem. It doesn’t matter whether you think that the crown prince is telling the truth or you choose to make up some type of theory, I deserve my privacy.”

He didn’t wait for any type of response before he turned around and walked away, thankful to find that they weren’t going to follow him anymore.

“You handled that well.” Sara said quietly once they had turned the next corner. Simon didn’t reply.

When they got home, he went straight upstairs without a word. He slammed his bedroom door shut and buried his face in his pillow, unable to hold the tears back any longer.

By that same evening, the video was viral.

+ + +

I bet that girl was right and the royal family made him sign an NDA

If he didn’t want people to think it was the prince he would have just said that it wasn’t so either the prince was lying or this guy is seeking attention

He’s literally a kid why can’t people just leave him alone??

I don’t care if it was the prince in the tape or not, this guy is hot

The way he said that people are making up theories makes me think that it actually wasn’t the prince in the video

I feel bad for this guy, getting followed around like that must suck

Wilhelm scrolled through the captions and comments on the seemingly endless posts of the video of Simon, feeling like somebody had a vice grip on his heart.

The first time he saw the video had been right after Christmas Eve dinner. He’d had a full blown panic attack and locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour. When he came out, his mother had tried to talk to him about the politics of the situation and he had immediately retreated into his bedroom once again. He missed Erik desperately.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, he'd only gotten about three hours of broken, fitful sleep all night, and now he couldn’t pry himself away from his phone. He knew that it was bad for him, he knew that it was making him feel terrible, but he wanted to know what people were saying.

He had been hesitant to text Simon, especially since he hadn’t received a reply to the merry Christmas text that he had sent in the morning, but in the end he mustered the courage to reach out. He had asked how Simon was doing and apologised for getting him into this situation. He wasn’t surprised when no answer came.

Christmas day was proving to be probably the worst day of Christmas break for Wilhelm. His chest felt like it was bursting open and like it was an empty chasm at the same time. He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, he didn’t respond to the knocks that came at his door. He felt like he was trapped in a glass box and someone was shaking it.

Wilhelm didn’t know how long he had been scrolling through multiple different social media platforms when his phone buzzed in his hand and an incoming call appeared on the screen. He faltered, sitting up and almost dropping his phone, when he saw that it was Simon. He ran a nervous hand through his hair as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Simon?” He croaked.

“Hi, Wilhelm.” The reply came through the phone, and Wilhelm felt his shoulders relax at the sound of Simon’s voice.

“Hi. H-how are you.” He fumbled, and Simon sighed on the other end.

“I’m okay, I guess. As okay as I can be after... well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.”

“This wasn’t your fault, Wille.” Simon muttered. “I just wish things were different.”

“Why, um... why did you call?” Wilhelm asked. There was a short stretch of silence that rung in his ears before Simon answered.

“I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.” He confessed, and Wilhelm couldn’t help the soft smile that pulled at his lips. “Honestly, I was kind of surprised that you didn’t delete my number or something.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just thought that you weren’t supposed to have any ties with me since you said that it wasn’t you in the video.” Wilhelm winced at that.

“It's not like my contacts list is available to the public.” He replied, trying to keep his tone light. “I’m not gonna let that kind of thing get in my head again.”

“Is your mum mad?” Simon asked, and now it was Wilhelm’s turn to sigh.

“I’m not sure, I kind of shut myself in my room so that I wouldn’t have to deal with her.” He answered tiredly. “How is your family?”

“Uh, shaken. Sara’s off in her own world with her sketchbooks and mamá can’t go for more than an hour without checking on us both, but we’re handling it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

There was a silence again. Wilhelm ran his hand across his leg, back and forth in a soothing motion, not sure what he should say but not wanting the conversation to finish. In the end, Simon spoke first.

“Did you mean it, what you said before you left for the break?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, I did.” Wilhelm answered without hesitation. “I know it wasn’t a good time to say it, and you probably didn’t want to hear it, but I just had to say it out loud. At least once.”

Silence again. Wilhelm heard Simon sigh, and pursed his lips nervously.

“I miss you.” Simon said.

“I miss you too.” Wilhelm replied with a nervous yet relieved chuckle. “I miss you a lot.”

Another pause.

“Where do we go from here, Wille?” Simon whispered.

“I don’t know.” Wilhelm mumbled. “But I... I want to fix this. Or at least just try to fix it. You don’t deserve to be harassed like this, and it’s my fault and I feel terrible.”

“It’s not your fault.” Simon reassured with a sigh. “It was everything else. We still didn’t do anything wrong, and that includes you.”

“No, I did. I promised we would be in this together and I broke that promise.”

“I understand why you did it. And I’m not mad at you. Honestly, having thought about it, you probably made the best decision for my sake too. I mean, I’m getting harassed enough as it is already. I can’t imagine what it would be like if you had told the truth.”

“I’m still sorry anyway.” Wilhelm said softly, and Simon chuckled. “So, um, Felice told me she was visiting Bjärstad tomorrow.”

“Yeah, her and Sara have gotten close. It’s nice, you know, that Sara’s made friends. And Felice is cool.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

There was silence again, and Wilhelm bit at his nails thinking that Simon was done with the conversation.

“Are you alright, Wille?” Simon asked after a while. “I know this is your first Christmas without Erik, and I guess things with your mum might be a little... well, I just hope you’re okay.”

Wilhelm swallowed. He could lie, pretend he was fine and wave away Simon’s concerns, but he knew the lie probably wouldn’t hold up. Or he could tell the truth and admit how painfully lonely he was, how much he hated being home because the palace felt empty without Erik and how much he longed to be with Simon with every fibre of his being.

“I’m coping.” He sighed, settling for a middle ground of vagueness. “It’s lonely here. The ceilings feel too high.”

“Have you had stuff to do?”

“No, not really. I haven’t really been in the mood for Christmas, but I guess none of us are particularly festive this year anyway.”

“Would you - I mean, if you would even be allowed to, but maybe if you could – would you want to come down here for a day?” Simon asked, and Wilhelm could just picture him fidgeting nervously as he stumbled over his words. The image brought a smile to his face.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He answered softly. “I’ll try and convince my parents.”

+ + +

Going to Simon’s house had been an absolute no go with his parents. “Just too risky” his mother had said. However, with enough persistence, he managed to wear them down to a compromise.

That was how he ended up in a car on his way back to Hillerska the day after Boxing Day. While Simon’s house had been absolutely off the table, it would be easy enough to get back to Hillerska without being seen. The only people who were there during the break were security and the people who came to take care of the horses.

He had been worried at first that the inconvenience of it would make Simon not want to bother, but when he texted to ask if it was okay he had been met with a quick agreement.

A security guard unlocked the door for him when they arrived, sworn to secrecy of course, and he headed up to his room to wait. He didn’t realise he was biting his nails until there was a knock at the door and he was knocked out of his anxious thoughts.

The door opened slowly, and Wilhelm felt like all of the air was knocked out of his body when he saw Simon step inside, dressed in his beloved purple hoodie under the coat that he took off and draped over the back of a chair that was within reach. The door clicked shut behind him, and silence hung in the air.

“Hey.” Simon greeted finally, and Wilhelm took a deep breath as if he was just remembering how to breathe at all.

“Hey.” He echoed. “How are you?”

“Better.” Simon nodded. “Did you get into a fight with your parents?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Wilhelm muttered. “It’s fine though.”

Simon crossed the room and took a seat beside Wilhelm on the edge of the bed, a good few inches of space between them. It felt like miles.

“You look tired.” Simon commented.

“I’ve been having a hard time sleeping.” Wilhelm replied weakly, eyes downcast, fidgeting with his hands. “I get that way sometimes. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

He looked over to find Simon watching him, and he practically crumbled under his gaze. He took a very unsteady breath and shook his head.

“No, it sucks.” He mumbled. His hand drifted back up to his mouth and he gnawed on the nail of his thumb nervously.

“Wille, you’re bleeding.” Simon said, gently grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his mouth. Wilhelm looked down at his thumb and saw a bit of blood pooling in the side of the nailbed, becoming aware of the taste of it on his tongue.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“How much have you been biting your nails?” Simon questioned, pulling Wilhelm’s hand towards him to get a look at them. Every nail was jagged and uneven, bitten down to stubs. The skin around them had been bitten at too.

“I don’t know, I do it without realising.” Wilhelm shrugged. “Probably a lot.” He resisted the urge to curl his fingers around Simon’s hand and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

“You shouldn’t have to bottle everything in, you’re destroying yourself.” Simon murmured.

“I don’t have anyone to talk to.” Wilhelm’s voice broke halfway through his sentence, a single tear managing to fight its way from his eye. “I used to be able to talk to Erik about at least some of it but now he’s gone and I don’t have anyone, and sometimes it feels like the ground is falling out from under me and I just don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t notice that he was hyperventilating until Simon pulled him into his arms. Wilhelm’s chest was tight, rising and falling rapidly against Simon’s body. Simon's arms were wrapped around him tightly, and Wilhelm was suddenly overwhelmed with how much he had been craving a hug as his hands grasped at the back of Simon’s hoodie and he hid his face in the crook of Simon’s neck.

Wilhelm had always been told not to cry. Ever since he was a child, whenever he began to cry he was told to stop. The seed had planted itself in him when he was very young, but the fear of letting himself cry didn’t truly grow until he once saw an article in a tabloid. He was barely eleven and he had fallen and hurt himself at an event. He had hardly cried, just a few tears and red cheeks, but the tabloid had had plenty to say about it. He hadn’t let himself properly cry since, except for when Erik died. Even then, he had waited until he was completely alone before he let his weakness show. But now, with Simon, he felt an overwhelming need to let his tears fall.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered into Simon’s shoulder. He could feel the tears coming out of his eyes but they weren’t falling down his face, instead absorbing into the fabric of Simon’s hoodie.

“It’s okay.” Simon soothed, a hand moving up to stroke over the Wilhelm’s hair.

“I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a prince.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to feel normal. Just for once.” Wilhelm said through his tears. “You made me feel normal.”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows, sympathetic. He loosened his hold on Wilhelm and leaned back, sliding the hand that was on the back of Wilhelm’s head forward to rest against his cheek.

“You made me feel normal too.” He replied softly. “At school I was a social outcast because I’m not rich, and at home I have to take care of my mom and Sara. When I was with you, I didn’t feel like I had to take care of anyone or watch where I was stepping. Well, except that one night.” Wilhelm huffed a slight laugh at the comment, lifting a hand to wipe the tears off of his cheeks. “I’ve never seen you cry before.” Simon commented.

“I’m not supposed to.” Wilhelm replied with an awkward chuckle, his head tipping forward in embarrassment. Simon sighed through his nose and lightly touched his forehead to Wilhelm’s.

“You have to cry sometimes, Wille. Everyone cries.”

“I’m not supposed to be everyone.”

“Okay, but sometimes you need to stop worrying about what you’re supposed to be.” Simon told him. “I know you know that.”

Wilhelm took a deep breath. This close to Simon’s face, he could feel his breathing too. He wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t know if that would be okay. He nodded slightly, covering Simon’s hand on his cheek with his own.

“Yeah.” He breathed.

When Simon leaned forward and connected their lips Wilhelm responded automatically, though it took his brain a few seconds to catch up. Once his brain did catch up, his hand took hold of the back of Simon’s neck and pulled him impossibly closer, holding onto this moment like it was his last. Maybe it would be the last time he got to kiss Simon; he couldn’t know. He hoped it wouldn’t be.

“Thanks for coming to see me.” Simon said when they broke apart.

“Thanks for wanting to see me at all.” Wilhelm replied. “I really missed you.”

Simon hummed, a faint smile playing at his lips. He watched Wilhelm for a few moments before kicking off his shoes.

“Come here.” He said, shuffling over the bed towards the wall. Wilhelm followed suit and allowed himself to be guided down to a lying position, Simon’s chest against his back and arm around his waist. “You need to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day.” Wilhelm protested, weak as the protest may have been.

“People have naps all the time, and you know that you need it.” Simon said firmly, adjusting the pillow under his head with his free arm and finding Wilhelm's hand to hold in the other. “It doesn’t have to be for long, okay?”

“Okay.” Wilhelm nodded, feeling suddenly very relaxed. He took a deep breath settling into the comfort and warmth of Simon’s body around his as his eyes fell shut. “This is nice.” He mumbled after a while.

“Yeah.” Simon agreed softly. “Go to sleep, Wille.”

It wasn’t long until he felt Wilhelm’s breathing change, signifying that he had fallen asleep. He smiled, fondly but with an edge of sadness to it, and pressed a light kiss to Wilhelm’s shoulder before closing his own eyes. They would deal with the rest of the world when they woke up.

#young royals #young royals netflix #wilmon #wilhelm x simon #simon x wilhelm #young royals fanfic #young royals fic #simon young royals #simon eriksson #wilhelm young royals #wilmon fanfic #felice young royals

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [9]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, shooting

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: ok ok ok ok sam deserves the world and im mad that he’s not getting it

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

He was gone.

10:00am

Time had begun to slip past you. Days where you were forced to wake up at 4am were just a dreary memory you didn’t want to revisit. The rough shoves in the morning to have you awake enough to be in training by 4:30am only fell into the category of things you had forgotten over the time you had stayed here.

Maybe sleep wasn’t a luxury you weren’t allowed to afford.

10:30am

By the time you step into the kitchen, the loose structure of the day you had ahead of you was forming. Maybe if you revisited the small makeshift shooting range you had set up for Sam and you to practice. A couple of old soup cans, a flat boulder for them to sit on and you were good to go. He had allowed you to use his giant board for knife throwing too, laughed when you asked for permission before saying it was for the both of you.

You made a sandwich for yourself, forcing it down your throat with water. Bread was starting to feel like cardboard and the jam just tasted like nothing. Peanut butter was even worse.

Losing appetite wasn’t an option, even though it had eroded a while ago. The best option was to just scarf it down with water.

11:00am

Sam isn’t in the house, you had deduced. A morning run or maybe just some fresh air.

You checked for the notes he sometimes left for you when he went out. Something along the lines of when he’d be back, or why he’d left, or where you could find him.

You looked on top of the fridge where he generally left them; someplace he knew you’d see. You didn’t find one.

You shrugged it off.

Something felt wrong about the arrangement of the kitchen but you couldn’t place a finger on what it was. All the chairs were in its place, trash appropriately in the bin, no bowls were left from soup day in the sink to wash.

The origami swan you had made still rested next to his paper airplane. Nothing seemed wrong or out of place.

You pushed yourself to shake off the nerves, to get dressed instead. The shooting range was waiting for you.

12:45pm

When you shoot for thirty and get all thirty, it tends to get a little boring. Not that you were complaining; if even one was off you’d spend the whole day trying to make up for it.

Violent hobbies weren’t ideal. They weren’t even hobbies per se. Just skills you needed to keep sharp if you wanted to survive.

You even shot at the targets that you had hung up on the trees. Dangerous and completely Sam’s idea. Said the wind made them act like moving targets. Nevermind the possibility of a ricochet.

The target board was empty too. Admittedly, knife throwing was a little harder to get used than shooting to but it still only took a few tries before you were hitting bullseye over and over again.

There just wasn’t anything to do. And you realised it had been this way for a while but you never noticed due to his lively chatter or how competitive it got with stupid games you were making up as you went.

1:00pm

You learned against the counter as you ate, eyeing the room, trying to figure out what you had misplaced. The air was cold, even more so after the shower, so you threw on an extra t-shirt to aid you.

You made a noise of disapproval when you couldn’t find what was wrong. A quick wash of your hands before you made your way to the TV, fully intending to doze off while watching Megamind for the fourth time.

You passed by the mini fridge on the way, noting how you needed to restock the ice cubes when you suddenly stopped in your path.

Your eyes peeled back to the small paper bowl Sam had crafted expertly that was still somehow managing to stick together. But that was what was wrong.

The keys were missing.

The fucking car keys and the pocket change you had taken from Pierce’s house were no longer there.

Your body moved on autopilot, dragging you towards the front door. You yanked it open, door creaking under the pressure you applied on it.

Your heart sank.

The car was gone.

1:20pm

You had all the possibilities listed out in front of you with the rest scratched out after you had rationalised it.

Someone had come in and taken the car, which wasn’t likely.

Sam had stepped out but hadn’t mentioned it to you. If he did, why would he need the car?

Someone had abducted Sam, which was absurd on paper but still left a twinge of uncertainty because you couldn’t definitively rule it out.

He had just left. Decided he was done and left.

You stared at the last option.

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you.

“What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?

You wondered if it was that conversation.

He wouldn’t leave after you told him, would he?

You hesitated before shaking your head.

He’d come back. He would.

1:45pm

You had added a few more possibilities to the list but discarded it almost immediately.

You now found a place in front of the TV, watching but not registering what was said. Your fingers kept itself busy by playing with the hem of your shirt. You had thrown another one on since his jacket was missing with the rest of him. It had gotten colder.

The woman droned on about how much her husband loved the recipe she was making. It was Sam’s favourite segment, not because it was particularly fantastic or anything, but because it gave him forty five minutes of free content to trash talk.

Your eyes kept glancing up at the clock. Was it broken or was time much slower than you initially thought?

You almost felt like you were in a cognitive dysfunction; you couldn’t do anything other than while away time till you figured out what had gone wrong.

2:00pm

If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have heard the soft crunch of twigs. The whirring of the wheels as it turned gently only made you sit up straight, hands on the gun that rested on the couch beside you.

It came to a stop. The gun was fully in your grip now, TV turned off to determine what the noises were.

It was the most agonisingly slow minute you spent listening as the car opened and shut, muffled by the distance. You were near the door, using the adjoining wall as a hideaway.

The doorknob shook as someone tried to push their way in.

“Sam?” you called out cautiously against your better judgement, mentally cringing.

It took a second for his reply to return.

“Hey, sweetheart. Let me in, will you? Stupid door’s not opening.”

Of course it wouldn’t. It was fingerprint activated.

Relief flooded your system, letting yourself hold the gun with only one hand as you hastily made your way to open the door.

However, you paused. As much as you wanted to fling the door open blindly, you waited, hand on the knob.

“Is someone out there with you?”

“What?” he sounded confused. “No, it’s just me.”

You opened the door slightly, peeking out through the sliver of open space.

Sure enough, it was only him. The car was returned to the same spot that it was.

“Where were you?” You yanked the door open. You sounded way more aggressive than you planned to, you were sure. It didn’t matter though.

“Went to the store,” he said nonchalantly, stepping inside, and dropping the keys back where they were.

“What?”

He was so relaxed about it, like it was nothing. It only irked you further than you already were.

“Drove the car till the highway, walked into town and went to the store.” He set the bag down. “What’d you do all day?”

“You went to the town,” you emphasised. “To the fucking store.”

“Yeah, I figured you would be up by the time I came back.”

“You were gone for hours.” You crossed your arms over your chest, fighting the urge to yell. You could talk it out calmly. You didn’t have to snap

You hoped he had a good reason. You sincerely hoped, for his well being and security, that he risked his life to go to public space.

“We’re way further out than you think. Nearest dollar store’s almost the next fuckin’ state if you’re walking. Had to ditch the car because it’s a little too flashy, even for me.” He lifted up the bag next to him. “Got us some ramen. And juice. That’s all we had cash for anyway.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly agape.

“You could have been seen, Sam,” your tone was corrosive, the next best you could do instead of yelling. “For all we know, you could have been followed.”

“No one followed me. I made sure.”

That did nothing to alleviate the anxiety that was crawling into your head.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Where are you going?” You ignored him, turning on your heel and walking to the bedroom. You didn’t care if it was his day that day. He could rot in the kitchen with his stupid ramen for all you cared.

You cursed as you slammed the door behind you, launching yourself onto the bed.

There was no denying you were relieved that he was still alive and here. But fuck him. Fucking dickhead.

Fucking juice.

You spent the next couple of hours feeling absolutely embarrassed for yourself. Why did you spend hours worrying if he was safe when he was out there, gallivanting in public for some stupid noodles?

Both of you could have been absolutely fucked if he wasn’t careful. He may have just jeopardised your entire set up.

But deep down, no matter how much it was annoying to acknowledge, you knew he wouldn’t have. He was smart, strategic.

Why would he do something like this?

How much you were worried scared you. There was no time where it had occurred that maybe you were in danger too. Every possibility you came up with only pushed the thought of him possibly in trouble further into your head.

But the more you spend time overthinking, the more you realised that him being in danger wasn’t the entire cause of your worry.

What if he didn’t come back? Why’d he come back?

He had the means to leave, the will to and clearly was able to go undetected for a while. He didn’t need to return, but he did.

And for what; to give you some food he bought from the dollar store.

He seemed excited about it too, before you had closed the door on his face and decided to spend the next few hours self-destructing.

Fucking ramen.

Maybe if you could just lie there until you decomposed, then you wouldn’t have to have a conversation with him about this. That’s what you would have done a couple of months ago.

But now the idea of communicating had been implanted and implemented several times before. It didn’t feel right to push it away, not when you’d come so far. A chance to heal.

You groaned, shoving a pillow onto your face before getting up grumpily.

Fuck this man and his stupid, healthy methods of coping.

___

You opened the door slowly, creeping into the hallway to assess what he was doing. It had been a few hours of silence in the house. He had given you space, not come knocking on the door to explain himself.

You took note of the kitchen. The table had been laid with two bowls of noodles covered with a plate along with a glass each of juice. It was domestic. Cute.

He was watching Die Hard but the volume was turned down low. If he was anything like you, he wouldn’t have been paying too much attention.

You cleared your throat awkwardly to grab his attention.

His neck craned to look at you, surprise flashing across his face for a second before he leapt up, turning off the TV in an instant.

“Y/N,” he stated as normally as he could.

“Samuel,” your tone was steady.

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Wasn’t sure if you were gonna show up.”

“Neither was I.” You looked at the table, gesturing towards it with your shoulder. “Watchu got there, Gordon Ramsey?”

Because screw him, but the longer you stood there staring at the bowl, you were starting to understand the lengths he went to to get something other than bread, peanut butter and soup. As much as the prospect of being petty thrilled you, you had survived on nothing but them for the past few weeks.

“Got a few packs of ramen and a gallon of juice from the store. Thought you- we deserve somethin’ nice.” You noticed his quick coverup but didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s not Michelin star worthy, but it’ll do.”

You nodded, avoiding looking at him.

“I-”

“Hey-”

Both of you started at the same time, only to be cut off by the other. You mentioned for him to continue.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you before I left,” You didn’t expect the sincerity that exuded from every word he let out and you found yourself unable to look away. “I’m not used to people worrying about where I go... but things are different now. I won’t do it again.”

You weren’t used to the feeling of lightness that accompanied an apology. Relief.

“Thank you,” you said breathily. His face noticeably brightened. “But why’d you come back?”

His small smile left as soon as it came, as his face fell into a frown. “What?”

“You could have just left. You had the car, the-” you stopped yourself from listing out reasons why he should have. “Why’d you come back?”

He looked completely confused.

“Because I wanted to,” he voiced. “Leaving you behind was never an option. I wouldn’t-”

He trailed off, eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re stuck with me,” he urged softly. “We’re a team.”

You lingered on him longer than you wanted to admit. He wasn’t lying, you had realised.

“Care to join me for dinner?” he asked, extending a hand to you.

You rolled your eyes but took it, feeling the heat creep up your neck. He smirked at you and fuck, he was frustratingly cute.

You understood. You totally understood when you nearly died at the first bite you took, vowing to never take food like this for granted again. It may have been the absolute bare minimum; just the seasoning and noodles he had cooked in the microwave, but it was the best goddamn meal you ever had.

“Good, right?” He looked about as content as he could be.

“Best fuckin’ day of my life.”

He kidded around some more. You choked out a laugh at some, wholly ignored the others to which he took complete offence. You saw it as a way to humble him.

This was the normalcy you had crushed your craving for so long ago, accepting that it wouldn’t ever happen. A normal dinner with someone who made you smile, no impending doom lurking around the corner and maybe a shot at a glimmer of something happy.

It was strange that you found it with another hitman in a safe house, hiding from authorities and who knows what else, with food worth a couple of cents. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Yet there were things that had to be discussed. Conversations that needed to happen.

“Sam, we need to talk about it.” You didn’t have to explain, he knew what you were talking about.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you.

“I’m listening.”

“We do,” he agreed, and you could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift. “But we don’t have to do it now.”

He reached across from where he was sitting, hesitantly interlacing your fingers. The sense of fluster you experienced wasn’t healthy, you decided.

You just ducked your head, fighting against the damn smile that was trying to make its way onto your face. You didn’t pull away.

“Okay.”

Next part

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safertokiss · 4 years

Text

Hate the Game, Love the Player

A/N: Let the fun times ensue! I really liked this prompt and a story kinda just wrote itself in my chaotic brain so here we are. I relate to this prompt greatly, I will admit, so it was extremely easy to channel. Anyways, thanks for reading and life’s a party.

Prompt: "spence i fucking hate chess. i just like spending time with you." (Anonymous)

Pairing: SPENCER x READER

Category: Fluff and SMUT

Word Count: 4k

ENJOY:)

~~~

MASTERLIST

~~~

Spencer Reid. Spencer Fucking Reid. What a man.

You had been pretty much in love with the resident genius since the second you stepped foot into the BAU for your first day over a year ago. You could remember your first meeting plain as day, the way he stuttered out an introduction while a bright blush covered his entire figure, the way he fiddled with his hands to stay grounded in the moment. You had found the whole interaction very adorable and had decided in that moment that your heart belonged to him.

You guys had hit it off almost immediately, surprising absolutely no one on the team, and a beautiful friendship quickly bloomed between the two of you. While you certainly loved being his best friend and colleague, you were stuck.

As more and more time passed with Spencer at your side, you couldn't stop the feelings you harbored for him from dramatically increasing. You had always read those stupid, sappy romance books that, more often than not, revolved around a close friendship being troubled by one half of the duo catching feelings for the other. Even worse were the stories where they didn’t end up together. You hoped that that wasn’t going to be the case for you and the doctor.

Of course the feelings weren’t just one-sided. It was blatantly obvious to pretty much everyone on the team, yourself included, that he felt the same exact way about you, and while the knowledge of his affection was encouraging, it didn’t amount to much because you knew he wasn’t the type to admit his feelings outright, especially to a female. Since there was no way in hell he was going to make the first move, you had been trying your hardest to make your advances as obvious and clear as humanly possible, hoping that at least one of them would finally lead to more. You had reached a point where you were so desperate you were willing to do the unspeakable for him. It was time to do the completely unimaginable.

“Hey Spence!” You watched his body jump slightly before swirling around in his chair to make eye contact with you, giving you a perfect view of his figure. He looked especially good today for some reason and you suspected that had something to do with your sudden willingness to go through with the one thing you had hoped you would never have to do. “Yeah?”

Oh boy here we go, now or never. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to maybe teach me how to play chess sometime? I’ve been meaning to learn how for quite a while now.” You certainly didn’t miss the way his face lit up with excitement at your question, quickly confirming that you had had the right idea and made the right decision asking.

“R-really? You’d actually want to do that? Oh wow, I’d love to teach you sometime! Maybe uh, if you want of course, you could come over tonight after work and we could start then. I’ll even um-I’ll even try not to win so you could have some fun! Oh um-uh not that you wouldn’t be able to win on your own, it’s just that-”

“Spence, slow down”, you said with a chuckle, unable to contain the smile that covered your lips. “Tonight sounds great. I’ll meet you at your place after we get out of here, ok?” The stupid childlike grin that spread across his face was intoxicating and made you somehow fall even deeper in love with him. It was honestly baffling that someone as seemingly perfect as him could actually exist. God, how you hoped the two of you would at last grow some balls tonight and do something, finally putting that built-up tension to rest. Well, hopefully not to rest. You certainly wouldn’t mind it sticking around forever, as long as he was by your side to ease the borderline torture whenever it reared it’s ugly head.

“Ok uh-yeah that sounds awesome! S-see you tonight then. Oh and don’t forget to bring earplugs for when you inevitably get tired of hearing me explain the complexities of the game for the thousandth time”, he shyly added at the end. You didn’t even attempt to stop the lighthearted snort that escaped at his words. Like you could ever possibly grow tired of listening to him? That’s a big, fat negative. Giving you one last wide grin, he spun back around and began working on his files again, leaving you vulnerable to the not exactly innocent thoughts swirling around in your head.

You were going over his house tonight, the two of you would be all alone. Sure, you had been over there plenty of times before for various reasons, but this felt significantly different for some reason. Maybe that was down to the fact that you fully intended on making some kind of move tonight, in turn, hopefully, making your intentions completely clear to him. You had no definite way of knowing how far things would end up going later, but you certainly had a preference of where you wanted things to end up. Too many days had been spent pining over the young doctor, and at this point it was the only thing you could think of that would satisfy your desires.

Would he even want to though? As close as the two of you were, the topic of sex or anything even remotely sexual never seemed to breech into your conversations, as much as that disappointed you. It wasn’t exactly that you were worried about him not being into that kind of stuff, it was more of a deep rooted insecurity that often made you question whether or not he would ever want to do something of the sort with you. You quickly pushed the thought out of your head, deciding that the only way you were ever going to know for sure was if you worked up the courage to make some sort of significant advance in his direction tonight.

Eventually ignoring your raging inner thoughts and returning to the task at hand, you couldn’t help but check the clock every few minutes, anxiously counting the minutes until you were able to leave this place and get to his.

~~~

You had all but sprinted out of the office earlier once your shift had come to an end, rushing to get to your car so you could leave.

The excitement that had been pumping through your veins was intoxicating and made you question all the seemingly silly nerves you had felt building up throughout the day. What was there to be nervous about? It was just chess. However, as you pulled into his apartment complex’s lot, you realized that it was so much more than just chess and the nerves came rushing back through you like a fucking tsunami.

You didn’t even want to discuss the way you felt right now, perched directly outside of his apartment, dazedly staring at the wooden door. Was it too late to just turn around, go home and forget that this whole damn thing ever even happened. A lucid fever dream, that’s what this could be if you just left.

No. You wanted and needed this. Here’s hoping Spencer did too.

You cautiously raised your fist before gently knocking on the rough surface a couple of times. You were able to hear some slight movement from inside and just as you were taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself down a bit more, the door swung open, an equally nervous and excited looking Spencer now standing opposite you. God he was so pretty.

“Hi”, he quietly spoke, his eyes absentmindedly sweeping across your frame. You were easily able to detect the anticipation that radiated off of him in waves, the same feeling emanating from deep within you as well. “Hey Spence”, you breathily whispered, a shy smile gracing your lips.

After a brief moment of just silently staring at each other, Spencer snapped out of his apparent stupor and awkwardly angled his body to the side so you could come inside, gently shutting the door behind you. Immediately after entering his apartment your eyes drifted to the kitchen, noticing that he had somehow managed to cook dinner for the two of you in the very short time since you guys had gotten out of work, him leaving the office slightly earlier than you did. The kind gesture made you feel warm inside, the situation as a whole feeling amazingly domestic.

“Oh my god. Spence, you really didn’t have to do all this. It smells amazing!” You watched the young doctor ripen into a tomato at your words, feeling your desire for him deepen even further. He blindly followed you as you made your way towards the kitchen to investigate his hard work, passing by the fancy, little chess board you had always ignored before on the way. “It’s no problem at all Y/n, can’t have you learning on an empty stomach right?”, he teased as you let out a light giggle at his thought process. “I suppose you are the doctor here”, you answered with a joking tone. “Shall we then?” Suddenly feeling much more comfortable in each other’s presence, the two of you quickly ate, Spencer’s cooking completely blowing your mind.

“Ok as amazing as that was Spence, I believe it’s chess learning time!” You succeeded in portraying genuine excitement at your statement, simply opting to instead think about all the possibilities of what could happen, rather than the game itself. The evident excitement that exuded from his slim figure was more than enough encouragement for you to get the ball rolling and waltz over to the mahogany table, promptly assuming your position across from him. “All you Reid, I’m completely at your mercy.” You saw him swallow hard at your choice of words and found yourself slyly smirking at his reaction. Quickly clearing his throat, he jumped right into things.

“O-ok so basically to start off there’s um-six classes or ranks for the pieces. You have the pawns, the rooks, the knights, bishops, kings and queens and uh-each different rank has their own move set or “abilities”, if you will. Before every game there’s a specific order that they…”

You tried. You really, really tried to focus on what he was saying, but there was no stopping your mind from wandering to more pressing matters. For example: how unbelievably hot he looked rambling excitedly about one of the most boring things on the planet. He made you actually look forward to playing. In all honesty, you already knew how to play the dreadful game, thanks to years and years of mandatory family bonding time with your dad when you were younger. Spencer didn’t need to know that though.

Eventually his instructional spiel had come to an end, the two of you now having moved on to a couple practice rounds to get the hang of things. You hated fibbing to him about your previous experience with the game, but it was well worth it to see the way his face lit up with every word that fell from his lips. After engaging in several “practice” games, Spencer had deemed you suitable for the real deal, offering to still help you along the way if you needed it, for which you thanked him.

The first few trial games that you guys played through went by pretty smoothly and while you were nowhere near beating him, you were able to hold your own weight fairly well. Sure, you had had previous experience from your childhood, but it had been so long you found your skills were kind of rusty and they presented themselves as such. The longer you both played the more you remembered, reaching the point where you were actually rivalling him and giving him some sort of competition. You could see how impressed he was with you, but there also seemed to be some layer of pride boiling underneath the surface. While you loved his reactions to your “newly” acquired skills, things were going much too slow for your liking and you knew exactly what to do.

“How about we up the stakes a little bit, hmmm?” He looked up at your words, a curious look crossing over his features.

“What did you have in mind?” You watched him visibly gulp at the suggestive smirk that slowly adorned your face. Momentarily ignoring his question, you began to reset the board, the clinking of game pieces being the only sound filling the apartment, that and Spencer’s bated breath as he waited for a response.

“Ok, I’m sure you’ve heard of strip poker before?” You watched him hesitantly nod his head in agreement before continuing. “Well how about we play some strip chess, make things a bit more exciting, yeah?” The speed at which a blush overtook his features would’ve been alarming to anyone else on the planet, except for you of course, who found it utterly adorable.

“I uhh-I y-yeah, sure. Sure! We can do that. It sounds kind of...fun? What um-how would that work exactly?” You gave him a bright smile at the evident eagerness laced within his words before explaining your thought process on specific rules for the game.

“Well I’m thinking that we don’t have enough layers on to remove something everytime we capture an opponent’s piece...soooo..maybe every two pieces captured by the other person you have to take something off? Yeah that sounds like it should work. Good?” You watched him seem to mull over things quickly in his head before nodding with slightly more confidence than he had exuded before. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

Around twenty minutes later, the two of you were stripped down to the bare minimum, you in just your panties and bra, him in his boxers, both of you finally seeming to understand the weight of the current situation you were in. You certainly hadn’t expected to give Spencer this big of a run for his money, but you were glad you were able to best him at least a few times. However, depending on the next few moves, you guys were so close to crossing a line that neither of you could possibly come back from.

Unfortunately, while you were too busy worrying about what was about to happen, Spencer had cornered one of your pieces and captured it, making it his second piece of yours captured since the last article of your clothing had come off. His head jerked up towards you as he realized what his small victory meant. Shit. Were you really about to expose yourself to him, willingly at that?

Yes. Yes you were.

Spencer watched with wide eyes and labored breathing as you slowly reached behind your back to undo the clasps on your bra, the material falling forward slightly, until you removed the straps making the lacy garment come off completely, sending a shy smile in his direction. You swear you saw his eyes darken as they widened even further at your bold movement, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight of your bare chest right there in front of him. Unable to think about it too long and suddenly emboldened by his reactions, you quickly made your next move while he was basically hypnotized by your tits. Maybe this could work to your advantage after all.

Realizing that the boy genius wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon, seemingly too invested in his personal peepshow, you snapped your fingers in front of his face to grab his attention. His eyes immediately snapped up to meet yours, embarrassment coating his face as he cleared his throat. “Oh I-um-sorry. I was a bit d-distracted”, he nervously chuckled, aware he had been caught ogling your body like a horny teenager, not that you minded in the slightest.

You could easily tell how frazzled the young doctor still was as he took his turn, making a move that there was no way in hell Spencer would have ever made with a clear mind. An excited smirk graced your face as you registered what he had just done. And based on the way his eyebrows furrowed, it seemed as though he had too. No fucking way.

“I uhh-uhh...shit. I-I um…”

Making sure to maintain steady eye contact with him, you slowly leaned over the table, your breasts pushing together perfectly to compliment the show you were putting on, and confidently made your final move.

“Checkmate.”

As the two of you sat there just staring at each other, you noticed his breathing becoming more and more labored, his eyes completely black with desire, yours probably looking the same.

Fuck it, let’s go.

The speed at which you shoved the board clean off the table and climbed across it into his lap was astounding, immediately smashing your lips together as you successfully straddled him. He moaned into your mouth at your eagerness and it only egged you on further, roughly tugging on his hair as your lips moved in synchronicity. Reluctantly prying your lips away from his, you stared directly into his black orbs, your chest heaving.

“I want you.” You watched his pupils dilate at your words, a low groan leaving his lips.

“I want you”, he reciprocated with sincerity in his tone. Moaning at his agreement and admission you desperately reunited your mouths as he swifty lifted you onto the mahogany table, stepping in between your welcoming legs so your bodies were as close as possible.

You both needed this. Badly. It was inevitable that at some point the two of you would finally snap, mutually ravaging each other in the most animalistic of ways. It was like a switch flipped inside the two of you, totally disregarding the way you normally acted on a day to day basis. Honestly you had no idea Spencer had it in him, this feral, primal side of him. But you fucking loved it.

As soon as he stepped between your legs and reconnected your lips, his large hands pawed at your chest, squeezing the pillowy flesh like it was his favorite hobby. The moans pouring from your lips only fueled him further, his grip becoming noticeably stronger. Letting his hands roam wherever they pleased on your body, you raked your own up and down his chest, bright red streaks left behind in their wake, making him groan uncontrollably.

“God Y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. Since the moment you walked in I haven’t been able to control myself around you. You drive me fucking insane.” His words only increased the veracity behind your moans as you reached down to palm him through his boxers, which weren’t doing much to hide his rather large excitement. He threw his head back with a groan, his mussed hair protruding in every direction possible. “Spencer pleaseee!”, you begged, desperate for him to touch you and give you more. You needed more.

Seemingly getting the hint, he immediately ripped your panties off before roughly thrusting his fingers into you, exploring your heat eagerly, moaning at the overwhelming warmth and wetness surrounding them. You cried out at the intrusion, instantly latching onto him, your nails digging into his back as your body arched into him. Your reactions drove him insane, his digits consistently pumping in and out of you, making your whole body tremble as you felt your release speedily approaching.

“That’s it baby, let go.” As soon as the words left his mouth, you felt yourself completely tense up before releasing all of the tension in a blissful moment, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips. “Spencer!” He watched with hooded eyes as he pushed you over the edge, evident pride rushing through his veins. The fire inside of you came rushing back, reigniting every inch of your body, craving for more.

You tugged on the hem of his boxers, trying to convey your desires, watching him get the hint fairly quickly and hastily remove them before stepping back between your legs. Surging forward you latched your lips onto his and wrapped your legs around his waist, effectively tethering himself to you and urging him to continue. You could feel him hot and heavy against the inside of your thigh, but it simply wasn’t enough, him seemingly thinking the same thing, soon feeling him position himself against your throbbing core.

Both panting with anticipation and desire, he looked up into your eyes, searching for any kind of sign that this was for sure what you wanted. You frantically nodded your head, a desperate gleam in your eyes. “Please Spence! I need you!”

Seemingly satisfied with your response, the young doctor let out a feral growl before thrusting his entire length into you on the first stroke. You both whined out at the feeling, latching on to each other like your lives depended on it. “Holy shit, Y/n. You feel so fucking good.” His words triggered an unnecessarily loud moan to escape your throat, feeling yourself unwillingly tighten around his cock. The pace he set was brutal as he pounded you into the table over and over again.

That stupid chess table. You could confidently say that this was worlds better than any of the many games you had both played earlier in the night. If things worked out your way the two of you would be doing this a lot more often instead of playing chess.

Even though the two of you had only been going at it for a fairly short time, you could already feel your climax speedily approaching and, based on the way he kept scrunching up his face, you’d guess he wasn’t very far behind.

“Spencer please! I’m so close, baby please!”

The guttural groan that escaped him was sinful and ignited your insides with a fire that you didn’t even know existed within you. As he roughly thrusted into you, your body slamming against the hard surface below you, you felt yourself quickly tumble over the edge, your vision going spotty at the intensity of your orgasm. The way you screamed out his name and clenched around his cock was too much for Spencer to handle, him following you closely behind and filling you up completely with his seed.

The two of you held onto each other desperately as you waited for your bated breaths to return to normal, a light sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Giving you a soft smile, drastically different from the man who had been inside you moments ago, he carefully removed himself from you before walking to the kitchen to get some towels. After cleaning the two of you up, he gently picked you up and carried you to his bedroom, both of you settling immediately under the sheets, clinging to each other.

As Spencer softly played with your hair in the comfortable silence, you could feel the two of you giving into the slumber that was calling out to you. However before you gave in, you needed him to know how you truly felt.

“Hey Spence?”

“Yeah baby?”

“I fucking hate chess. I just like spending time with you.” He chuckled softly before responding.

“I like spending time with you too.”

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#cm fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencerreidsmut #smut #fluff #cm smut #mgg #matthewgrayguber #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #mgg fic

646 notes · View notes

silksandcravats · 4 years

Text

Training (part 2) Kylo Ren x You

Summary: Kylo has a long and brutal punishment in store for you after your behaviour this morning. Read part 1 here for context

masterlist

WARNINGS: explicit language, smut, dom!kylo, mean!kylo, blindfolds, handcuffs, collar, anal play, slight painal, mention of caning, wax play, crying during sex, PIV sex, generally a bit rough, aftercare tho don’t worry

A/N: Accidentally deleted this b/c i’m dumb so reposting. I apologise this took me ages to write but it’s here now! and it is LONG so i really hope the wait was worth it! (ps gif is basically a visual representation of what he does to you… you da helmet b.)

You managed to keep yourself busy for much of the remainder of the day. You could have any food delivered to your quarters, but today you ate at the furthest dining hall possible, trying to kill time. But it would seem that the more you tried to occupy yourself, the more you found yourself coming up blank. In fact, you couldn’t seem to remember a single hobby of yours, instead your mind forced you to relive the events of your morning again and again.

You refused to acknowledge any form of remorse for your actions, but you couldn’t help it when the anxious knot that had grown in your stomach seemed to tighten further and further with each passing hour. It was only after you had given up your game of playing busy that you were forced to face your waterloo.

You were sitting on one of the sleek lounge chairs, facing the glass wall that stood between you and the endless mass of glittering stars and indefinite darkness, when the doors opened. You listened to heavy steps enter the quarters, and you closed your eyes for a moment, collecting yourself, bracing for whatever was next to come.

“Come along kitten, we have much to discuss.” He called for you, opting to forgo any pleasantries. You took a deep breath, before standing, following his voice to another room in your quarters. Technically, it was your bedroom, but the room was so large it served multiple purposes, to one side sat a bed, two bedside tables, a door leading to the refresher, and another door to a large closet, on the other side of the room was a few sleek shelves and an excessively large desk a few feet from the wall, and between the two sides, a large expanse of empty floor.

“Bring me your collar.” he said, already holding something in his massive fist you couldn’t quite see.

You nodded, remembering to add a “yes sir” after he cleared his throat, going to collect the black piece from it’s home in your bedside table. You brought it back to him, setting it down in his waiting hand, before dropping your hands awkwardly to your side, unsure what he wanted you to do with them. He noticed this, but offered you no guidance, grabbing your chin and thrusting it upwards so he could fasten your collar around your neck. He was sorely tempted to pull it too tight, to make you gasp and turn your face a pretty shade of pink, but you would need your breath for what was to come.

Once the collar was secured he began undressing you swiftly and quietly, face void of emotion. If he was aroused by seeing you nude, he didn’t show it.

He then circled around you, stalking his prey, stopping behind you he moved to blindfold you, robbing you of your sight and encouraging you to tune into your other senses. Once it was on tightly you heard him take a few steps back from you. You stood there a few moments before you heard him speak.

“Kneel.” The addition of the blindfold made the simple task more complicated, as your sense of balance was altered. You did your best not to tip over as you fell to your knees quickly, you knew he was expecting blind obedience, and if you failed to comply immediately he would roughly push you to the ground himself.

“I must confess pet, I was under the false impression that we were making progress in your training.” He mused circling to your front again. “But your infraction today has made it apparent I have been entirely too forgiving with you. That will have to change.” He paused and could him shuffling next to you and then you felt his hot breath fanning against your ear. “You look so pretty and vulnerable like this baby.”

“Thank you sir.” you purred, grateful for the compliment.

“It’s too bad I have to punish you for being such an insufferable brat.” he sneered, grabbing your ear tightly, and standing. You winced in pain and followed him up as quickly as possible trying to ease the pressure, but he didn’t let up. He walked to the other side of the room with you staggering blindly just behind him. Using only the grip on your ear, he practically flung you forward so you fell against his desk bent over. Your hands coming to catch yourself a bit too late.

He pulled your arms back meeting them just over the swell of your ass and you felt the unmistakable sensation of standard first order cuffs locking around your wrists. You nearly rolled your eyes, wondering what he had in store for you that he felt the need to restrain you. You were left to wait for a while before you felt contact again. His hand reached your ass grabbing one cheek and crudely pushing it to the side, and then you felt his now slick finger prodding against your back door. You squeaked and tried to move forward but there was nowhere to go.

Self defence wasn’t the only training Kylo was guiding you through. He was obsessed with the idea of claiming you- all of you. And that included every hole. The past few weeks he had begun working you towards taking him up your ass, and while you found the idea of it totally arousing, the painstaking slow path towards it was a pain in the ass, literally. You hated the way it felt so cold going in, the stretch was painful, and at the end of it all it felt like there was no real relief as a plug would usually sit ideally in you, taking up space but not providing you the stimulation you craved.

Tonight Kylo had decided to use this distaste for anal training against you. You groaned at the feeling as his finger pressed firmly inside your unwilling hole, sliding right in, two knuckles deep working into you.

“I’ve got a new plug for you tonight little one,” he informed you, pressing his finger all the way in so it sat deep inside you.

“Is- is it bigger?” You asked nervously, trying your luck as you weren’t sure if you were even allowed to talk right now.

“Indeed kitten,” he answered, it seems your question was allowed for now. He continued pushing in a second finger. “I’ve skipped a few sizes, this one’s bigger than you’ve ever taken. And it’s going all the way up your ass.” you shivered at the thought.

He didn’t prepare you much more before you felt his fingers withdrawal and the tip of a cold steel plug pressing against you. You couldn’t help the grunt of discomfort that fell from your lips as you instinctively clenched tightly, denying him access.

“Don’t fight me.” he commanded calmly, pressing harder against you. You squeezed your eyes tightly under the blindfold, your entire face scrunching with discomfort.

“Don’t want it.” you complained. Suddenly the pressure stopped momentarily.

“Fine,” he relented, tone still eerily calm. “Then you can help me put it in. Hold yourself open.” Your eyes flew open.

“I-I can’t.” You tried, holding your cuffed wrists up slightly as an excuse.

“I won’t repeat myself kitten,” he warned. Not wanting to provoke him further, you elected to oblige. With a pink face and shame filling your guts, you pushed your hands back, grabbing your own ass you pulled yourself open, fully presenting your little hole to him. The position was entirely humiliating, but that was what he was going for.

“The little slut can listen,” he mused, once again lining the steel invader with your entrance. When he pressed again you were unable to resist the way you had earlier, and much to your disappointment you felt yourself beginning to stretch painfully in an attempt to accommodate the foreign object. You could already tell this one was a good deal wider and longer than any of the preceding plugs, and you felt all too sorry for yourself as you thought about how your only option was to lie there and take it.

“You are going to learn that I have final say of anything and everything that happens to this little hole, and every other inch of your body.” he lectured, pushing deeper and deeper. “This body belongs to me, you are mine, and whatever happens to you is entirely up to me. I will see to it that you learn to listen to me better than you listen to your own body. I know what is best for my pet, and you will listen to me.”

You let out a small whine as the widest part slipped inside of you, but otherwise the plug was fully seated without much further protest from you. Finding yourself too overcome with shame to fight your situation anymore. Once it was all the way, he took a moment to admire the shiny and excessive jewel at the end of the plug before batting your hands away. You worked to even your breathing as he stepped away from you, you could hear his footsteps echo as he walked across the room.

“Open” he came around to your front, placing something hard and wooden, a cane, between your teeth, you bite down, realising he wanted you to hold the implement. “We are going to try something new today, it is intended to be a punishment, although I suspect being the little whore that you are you will find some way to enjoy it. This is practice for you. It will be quite intense but you will not move an inch because I told you not to. Since it’s so hard for you to follow instructions, you’re going to hold this in your mouth the whole time. If you so much as step a toe out of line, I will cane you until I draw blood, understood?”

You nodded quickly in response to his threat, knowing full well he was not bluffing.

“Good” he muttered, patting your face and moving behind you again. He allowed you to wait in wonder as he worked behind you. Anticipation swirled in your belly as you wondered what new trick he had in store to make you squirm.

Suddenly your curiosity was answered as you felt something scalding hot drip onto the top left of your exposed back. You gasped, but fought against your instincts, remaining entirely still. The burn was intense but short lived, You felt white hot pain for the briefest moment, before the substance cooled and hardened against your skin. You quickly realised he was dripping hot wax along your back.

“How does that feel?” he asked curiously, running a line down a portion of your spine, moving lower down your back towards a region he knew would be even more sensitive.

“Hurts.” you slobbered slightly against the cane holding your mouth slightly agape, fighting your body’s instinct to wiggle away from the sensation. You yelped aloud as you feel a small puddle of wax pool in one of the dimples of your back. Oh how you wanted to arch your back in response. You found that when the wax made contact with the lower portion of your back the sting only halfway subsided when it hardened, a soreness remaining.

Kylo felt himself hardening at the sight of you. You were purring out pathetic little whines every time he splattered more red wax against your poor flesh. You looked stunning like this, clearly so desperate to move but forcing yourself to be still, to be good for him. Ever the sadist, he continued his work until your skin was practically covered, and your little whines had begun to shift into little moans. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, he was rather proud of your resilience, and decided to reward you by trailing his hand down to your dripping, neglected center.

“Just as I expected. Soaked.” he hummed, spreading your labia to expose your clit and opening to the cool air. “It would seem the little painslut enjoyed herself,” he ran his finger just along your opening, but didn’t give you the pleasure of entering you. “I supposed we better take care of this greedy little cunt.” he withdrew his prodding fingers, moving his hands to your wrist. He released you from the cuffs only to grasp your wrists in one of his big hands. With his other hand he grabbed the top of your right arm tightly, pulled you up so your entire naked backside was flush against his clothed front.

Once you were standing he kept his grip on your wrists but let go of your arm to reach around and pull the cane from your mouth. It was more than a little wet from where you had been holding it in your mouth and you wished your hands were free so you could wipe the drool that had run down your chin.

“I suppose this will be saved for another time.” He muses, tossing the cane to the side. His next move was to release you from the blindfold, granting you sight again. Your eyes immediately squinted and blinked, trying to adjust to the harsh fluorescents of the room again. He kissed down your neck sloppily, overwhelmed with arousal at how well you had taken the experiment. You basked in the shift of attention for a while before he pulled away from you abruptly. You whined at the loss of contact but he shushed you, pulling away entirely letting your hands go.

“Go wait on the bed for me.” He commanded, softly. You nodded moving to the bed still stark naked to wait for him while he undressed. Your attention was once again drawn to the large plug invading your back entrance, as it shifted inside you with every step you took. You wondered to yourself if he would notice if you reached back and pulled the kriffing thing out. But you decided against it as you crawled onto the bed. Of course he would notice.

He hadn’t told you how he wanted you to wait for him, so you opted to lie on your back, propped up on your elbows, watching as he finished undressing himself and moved over to you. He crawled onto the bed, hovering over you, pressing his mouth against you and you kissed back eagerly, opening wide enough that he could poke his hot wet tongue around, exploring your mouth. His hand slid down, grasping your breast and tweaking one of your nipples between his fingers, making you groan into his mouth.

You bucked your hips up into him as he twisted and pulled. “Patience,” he warned against your mouth, moving his hand to give your other nipple the same treatment. You whined, and continued bucking yourself upward against his hardened cock, trying to provoke him to hurry up and fuck you already. Suddenly he ripped away from your mouth, grasping your throat roughly and shoving your head back against the pillows.

“You don’t cum until I tell you. Is that clear?” he snarled, pressing just firmly enough to restrict the blood flow to your head.

“Yes s-supreme leader.” you gasp, knowing the effect his title on your lips had on him.

“Good girl,” he seemed pleased, releasing your neck, moving his hand down between your legs. His fingers grazed past your entrance, but kept moving further down to where the little plug sat, nestled in your back hole. He twisted and tugged at it, to which you responded with more wiggling and groans. “How’s the new toy treating my little toy?” he pulled it out so that the widest part of the plug was stretching you open again and you squeaked.

“F-full sir, really full.” you tried to respond.

“You better get used to it.” he slammed in all the way back in suddenly, making you jump. “When I shove my cock in there soon, you’re going to feel much more full.”

“Please,” you begged, his words making your pussy clench on nothing and your asshole tighten around the plug.

“Please what?” he hummed, watching you practically writhe on the bed.

“Please fuck me.” You sounded so desperate.

“Fuck you?” he asked in a mocking tone, teasing your clit, his touch was feather light but in your state it was enough to make you jerk your hips.

“Yes, yes please.”

“Have you learned anything today, kitten?” His tone is condescending.

“Yes yes! And I’m so sorry I’ll be so good, please.” you word vomit, hoping you’ll say what he wants to hear.

“You’re sorry?” he taunts, lining himself up.

“Yes, yes I’m really sorry!” you plead, shrieking when he slams into you.

“Hmm, I better see if I can fuck any last bits of brat out of you, just to be sure.” He begins pounding into you harshly, finally giving you what you want to feel. The sensation of his cokc ramming in and out of you rapidly is only further amplified by the shiny object plugging up your back hole. You felt entirely stuffed, the feeling was overwhelming. “Look at you, I’m going to make such a mess of you kitten, aren’t I?”

“Y-yes supreme leader.” you moaned, every stroke reaching a new depth within.

“Who do you belong to?” He growled, sweat beading on his forehead as he pounded into you.

“Y-you sir.” You pant. He pulled back suddenly, grabbing both of your ankles, he pulled them up and pressed them back as far as you would stretch. You felt the ache grow in your muscles as he slammed into you from the new angle. “Fuck! Kylo I can feel you in my guts!”

“Shit kitten say my name again. Who fucks you so well?” He growled as trying to get his words out straight as you tightened against him.

“You do Kylo! Shit! Kylo!” you were practically howling, tears streaming down your cheeks as the pleasure overwhelmed you. “Kylo, k-kylo please, please can I cum?”

“Hold it.” he moved his hand down toying with your clit, making you scream.

“I-I can’t!”

“You can and you will, what did I just teach you?” He wrapped his free hand around your throat twisting it away from the pillows so he could glare into your glossy eyes and watch you cry.

“Stars! I’m t-trying sir please!” you cried, feeling the familiar knot in your tummy.

“You can do it kitty, make me proud, just a little longer.” He grunted, snapping his hips into you again and again. You cried harder but nodded, watching his concentration as he fucked you into the mattress. He’d make you wait longer, but he was nearing the edge himself.

“Kylo!” You cried, the sensation was building and you knew you couldn’t hold off much longer.

“Shit, come for me angel, be a good girl and cum on my cock. SHIT!” He yelled head twitching inside of you, unloading his seed deep inside of you.

“Kylo!” You cried the knot inside of you exploded and he released inside of you, squeezing again and again as he continued rocking into you. You sobbed loudly, totally blissed out, and entirely overwhelmed.

Finally, his hips slowed, he let out a grunt, not bothering to pull out of you yet, he collapsed onto you, his heavy weight pressing you into the mattress, comforting you. He buried his face in your neck, panting and you weakly reached your arms up to wrap around his neck, still sobbing into his shoulder as you came down from your high.

“I’m here angel, I’ve got you.” He pet your head as you cried his name. You could feel his heartbeat, steady across your chest as you came down. Soon your crying was reduced to slow ragged breaths, and you seemed to re-enter your body, all too aware of the wax still stuck to your back, your wrists aching from the cuffs, your pounding head, the foriegn presence in your ass, and the overall feeling of achiness and exhaustion.

Kylo and his impressive stamina recovered much quicker than you. He pulled his weight off of you, kissed your forehead, and scooped you up, ignoring your noises of protest, he moved and carried you to the refresher. He sat down with you in his lap on the edge of the tub, leaning to plug the tub and turn on the water.

“Did so well kitten, I’m so proud of you.” he muttered, tightening his hold on you, kissing your temple.

“M’sore.” you grumble softly.

“I know baby, here.” He stood and moved you to stand on your feet. You whined again when he let go of you and pressed you slightly to lean over the sink. “Shh, just taking this out.” He hushed you softly, reaching down to work the plug out of you as gently as possible. When more sad noises left your lips, he reached his free hand out for you to grasp. You took it quickly, squeezing a few of his thick fingers in your fist every time you felt a stretch. He let you without complaining, you weren’t really hurting him, especially compared to what he had put you through.

When he was finished he tugged you up into his chest again, and you nuzzled against him. You were still wobbly from being so fucked out, but his tall, sturdy frame took on most of your weight. He ran his hand up and down your back slowly, cooing more praises to you, about how proud he was, and how good you had been. The skin to skin between the two of you was all too comforting, and you felt your eyes drooping shut to the sound of his thumping chest and the sound of the bath still filling up.

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rise-above-the-grave · 4 years

Text

beware stained glass shards

for @dekusmynamecryingsmygame. you said angst was fine, so uhhhh have some mf-ing erasermic angst I guess. please note that a) I am brand new to this fandom and am still figuring out headcanons and characterizations. hopefully I didn’t screw anything up too bad in that regard...but if I did, please at least be gentle in your critique :’)... b) I wrote this in...about 4 hours, all completely after midnight. it’s not gonna be my best work :/ but I did my best! and I wanted to get this up asap so you could see and read it sooner rather than later.

tw for: canon-typical injuries, hospitals (and everything that goes along with hospitals like doctors, nurses, surgeries, etc.), some implied (it’s only implied!! and it’s super duper uber vague) nsfw stuff, and an off-screen (debatable; maybe-it-was, maybe-it-wasn’t) suicide attempt. (was it a suicide attempt or a villain attack? I don’t even know myself! - at least not yet. read it however you wanna read it. I purposefully leave it open for interpretation.)

and if you don’t wanna read it because of that even potential suicide attempt, lemme know and I’ll write you something else, Peachy... alkdsjflkjdsf unfortunately I have a bad case of “I didn’t think this through” after midnight, and I didn’t even think of that possibility until I was basically done writing it. at that point I was like “It’s 5:30 and I need to sleep, I might as well post this on the off chance they do want to read it...” if you don’t wanna read it tho lemme know and again, I’ll write ya something else tomorrow <3

----------------

He falls.

There is lightning, there is thunder, there is rain—and for an instant (a second, a heartbeat, a breath), he is a swallow, a sparrow, a falcon. He flies with invisible wings, the air is caught beneath him and above him and before him, the world spreads out into infinity below the raindrops hanging suspended in the air. The lightning gilds his dark hair in quicksilver, the thunder that follows an instant later shakes his bones, and the rain that drives him to the earth soaks his clothes into a second skin.

He falls, the asphalt of the alley that runs beneath the comet of his body rising nearer and nearer in a rapid sequence that he thinks, distantly, should be alarming.

I should be afraid, he thinks.

This is going to hurt, he thinks.

Hizashi—

And then there is pain, and there is fear, and there is darkness gilt by lightning, silence shrouded by thunder, blood watered by rain.

---

Yamada Hizashi is 22, desperate, and dangerous.

He is older than he thought he would ever be. When he was young, he had imagined himself living to the infinite age of 50. He would look at himself in the mirror hanging in the bathroom, fingers combing through hair he imagined going silver, palms smearing smooth skin he imagined going wrinkled and weather worn. He would pluck at the band t-shirts he’d wear under too-hot, too-heavy jackets with fidgety hands, wondering what he’d wear then.

I’m gonna be a hero! he’d told his moms, and when they laughed and hugged him and told him, You’re going to be the best hero there is!, he believed himself immortal, invincible, inevitable.

And he was. He was immortal, invincible, inevitable. He could be hurt, he could be beaten, he could be knocked down. But no matter what—no matter the pain, the struggle, the difficulty—he healed, and he fought until he was victorious, and he stood back up. No one could keep him down. No one could diminish him. No one could threaten his impenetrable view of the future.

And then—and then Oboro. And it had all crashed down around him, like so many shards of shattered stained glass.

With Oboro goes his heart. His future. His eternity. He is taught, with the sharpness of stone, with the heaviness of rubble, with the choking taste of dust, that death lurks in the most innocent of shadows, that pain waits in the wings of the theater, that certainty is a lodestone chained around your neck.

Nothing is certain. Not everything can heal. No one is invincible.

He stops thinking he’ll live to 50.

He stops thinking he’ll live past 20.

“Fuck you,” he spat, and Shouta flinched as if he’d been struck, the Happy birthday that had been on his lips dying a silent, painful death. “Fuck everything.” Without warning—without even fully processing what he intended to do; he just hurt, and he needed something, someone, to hurt with him—Hizashi threw his tumbler against the wall behind the bar. The shelf the tumbler hit broke, and a cascade of bottles and liquor crashed to the floor in so many shard of glass and fragments of dreams and spreading rivers of blood.

There was a shout, and then Hizashi felt Tensei’s and Nemuri’s hands on his shoulders, heard Shouta’s voice sounding unusually placating and apologetic as he spoke to the bartender who had rushed over.

“Get him out of here,” Shouta snapped a few seconds later, turning and looking straight at him with death in his eyes. For an instant, Hizashi almost felt guilty. Then Tensei and Nemuri were dragging him away from the counter, away from the gathering crowd, away from the bar.

“Idiot,” Tensei muttered as Hizashi listed against him in the alley behind the bar, all at once too drunk and too sober to function.

“Idiot,” Nemuri sighed, guiding him into the cab, buckling the seatbelt across his chest and waist and then letting him collapse against her shoulder.

“Idiot,” Shouta hissed at him as he undressed him and shoved him unkindly into bed.

He stops thinking he’ll live—and so he stops caring. He drinks too much. Eats too little. Throws himself into his work with a single-minded mania.

His relationship with Shouta suffers. They grate, like two broken ends of a once-whole bone, the nerve that is Oboro’s death still laid bare between them. Shouta can’t sleep without Hizashi in his bed; Hizashi can’t sleep unless he’s alone. Hizashi drinks to drown his memories, his emotions, his pain; Shouta tries to starve his out. They argue about it, until Shouta erases Hizashi’s quirk and Hizashi throws a punch—about Shouta’s energy pouches, about Hizashi’s whiskey. About the lights Hizashi wants to leave on at night. About the socks on the floor inside the door. About the uncapped toothpaste left by the bathroom sink. About the half-eaten takeout sitting in the fridge. About the nights Shouta will disappear without warning, without a trace. About—

Hizashi wonders if it is his fault the day Shouta walks out, slamming the door behind him.

Shouta doesn’t come back.

Hizashi drinks more. Eats less. Works harder. Does anything, anything to distract himself from the event horizon opening inside his chest.

I’ve lost my best friend, he thinks, curled up alone and unable to sleep in a bed that had once held two.

For the first time in years, he wishes someone was sleeping beside him.

It is dangerous. He knows this—knows the risks, knows that the rewards are negligible compared to the ruin it could bring him. His career is on the line. His future hangs by a thread.

Hizashi doesn’t care.

He isn’t going to live past 21 anyway.

Only a few of his partners know who he is. Those that do keep silent. It is never wise to paint a target on your back, and Hizashi makes it clear that he doesn’t want a relationship, isn’t looking for a connection—that there is no reason for them to think there is anything between them but drunken carnality.

He learns fast how to duck cameras—and how to attract them. He learns how to avoid reporters, except when he wants to talk. He learns how to sidetrack paparazzi with glamour shots. He finds he is good at this game of chess, of Russian Roulette, of cards built into fragile palaces. He is good with people, good with crowds, good with playing the symphony’s strings.

I’d make a damn good villain, he thinks one night before he drifts off to sleep, a cute blond whose name he can’t remember already asleep beside him.

And then he thinks of Shouta—of Eraserhead—and the guilt he’d swallowed eight months before, when Shouta had walked out and left nothing but empty shadows where he’d been, threatens to choke him. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he vomits, bile tasting of too-much alcohol and too-little food, of regret and shame.

What am I doing? he thinks, leaning his forehead against cool porcelain.

“Are you okay?” the cute blond asks. He stands in the door to the bathroom and looks down at Hizashi with concern in his pale eyes.

“Get out,” Hizashi says, not looking up.

“But—”

“Just—just go.” And then, softly, voice breaking halfway through the only syllable that matters, “Please.”

The cute blond leaves, and Hizashi is left totally, utterly alone.

---

“You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

Hizashi stares at the window overlooking the city and sees nothing but smears of too-bright light against a stormy night. Sees nothing but the unknown caller ID flashing up on his phone screen after its ringing had woken him. Sees nothing but the memory of Shouta’s face just before he’d turned away and stalked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

What had they even been fighting about? Hizashi can’t remember.

“I’ll be right there,” Hizashi says, unsticking his throat just long enough to remember what he’s supposed to say.

The line clicks dead, and Hizashi stumbles blindly out of bed and into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He throws on a jacket, a pair of boots, a set of headphones. Ties his hair up in a bun to keep it out of his face and, hopefully, dry once he pulls the hood of his jacket over his head.

The trip to the hospital is spent in a haze of emotion, fear, and dread. He can’t parse any of it, though. Can’t understand it, give voice to it, give structure to it. All he knows is that he is feeling, and that he is afraid, and that he is certain that the scythe has finally fallen once again—only once again it hasn’t come to reap his life.

The hospital is bright against the rain-swept night, clean and sharp and stinging. Hizashi feels bad about the mud he tracks in, feels bad about the water he drips on the floor, feels bad about the lingering scent of gel and hairspray that seems to hang around him no matter what shampoo he uses.

He tells them who he is, who he is here to see. The nurse helping him looks at Hizashi with a curious expression that he is too strung out to try to interpret, and then leads him down a maze of white corridors that he knows he will never remember. They stop outside a door in the ICU, and the woman rests a hand on his forearm and says something Hizashi does not hear. Then she opens the door, and Hizashi steps into the room.

Shouta is unconscious on a bed, surrounded by machines. His chest rises and falls with intubated breath, and two IVs are hooked into the backs of his hands. His eyes are closed beneath the purple and black bruising shadowing his face, and Hizashi can just see more bruising peering out above the bandages swathing his chest.

“How—” He chokes, unable to form the words that he needs to say.

“We don’t know,” the nurse says. “He was found in an alley by a couple of drunk college students. We think he fell.”

“Fell?” Hizashi repeats dumbly. “But he never falls.”

The nurse is silent. Whatever she is thinking, she does not share with Hizashi.

For that, Hizashi is grateful.

“Is he going to make it?”

“We don’t know,” the nurse admits. “He has to stabilize before we can use any healing on him. If he survives the night, his prognosis will be good—but it’s a big “if”.” She hesitates, then says, “It’s a good thing you came.”

Hizashi moves to sit in the chair pulled up to Shouta’s bedside and sinks into it. He does not see the nurse watch him with concern—does not hear her pager go off a few minutes later. He does not even notice when she disappears through the door, or when the door clicks shut behind her.

For a long time, Hizashi is silent. There is too much to say—too much he needs to say, too much he wants to say, too much he can’t say. The words sit heavy on his tongue, in his throat, behind his teeth. They are stones in his stomach, glass in his lungs, thorns in his heart.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

He laughs weakly.

“You always did have a way of leaving me speechless, Sho,” he says at last. His voice is a clap of thunder in the silence of the room.

Hizashi sighs and buries his face in his hands.

“Please wake up,” he whispers through his fingers. “There’s so much I have to tell you. So much you have to know. Like, you have to know that I—I’m sorry. For…for everything.”

He swallows. His throat constricts, and his breath comes in shaky gasps.

“I can’t lose you too,” he says to his palms, because looking at Shouta is too much. His voice is hoarse and barely audible and pleading. “Please, Sho…”

The machines beep. The vents rattle. Shouta’s false breath hisses.

And Shouta doesn’t wake, even when Hizashi begins to cry.

---

Hizashi is asleep when the doctor comes in, just after dawn. He startles awake at the sound of the door closing, blinking blearily and turning his head to stare at the tall, dark man. The doctor smiles at him, and goes to check on Shouta.

He had survived the night. That much, at least, is a relief.

“We still don’t know,” the doctor warns Hizashi. “But we can start to be hopeful.”

They take him away for another surgery. This time, they promise Hizashi, a healer will be involved.

Hizashi stands, stretches, and goes in search of food. He finds the cafeteria, and buys a meager breakfast that smells bad and tastes worse. When he looks at his phone, he sees that he has missed calls from both Tensei and Nemuri. He shuts it off and shoves his phone back into his pocket to deal with later.

He’s going to have to call his agency soon, too, but he has a few minutes until that call is critical.

He spends a quarter of an hour sitting at the hard, plastic table in the cafeteria, staring out of the window at the overcast morning and thinking. He thinks about what he is going to say if—when—Shouta wakes up. He thinks about what he is going to say to Nemuri and Tensei. He thinks about his choices, and about the certainty of death, and about the possibility of life.

He thinks about Oboro, and about Shouta, and about how he lost one and how he might lose the other.

Hizashi stands, shoving his chair back so hard it topples onto the floor with a bang. What few others are in the cafeteria stare at him with varying degrees of irritation and wariness, until he rights the chair and walks away with a casual wave of apology.

He calls Tensei.

Tenya is running around in the background, laughing maniacally, and Tensei is distracted during the call in spite of his concern. He promises to come by the hospital when he can, though, and tells Hizashi to call Nemuri. Hizashi promises he will, and hangs up.

Nemuri is unusually quiet as Hizashi tells her what he knows of what happened, and while he tells her that Shouta is back in surgery. When at last she speaks, she only says, “You were still his emergency contact.” It is not a question. It is barely an observation. More than anything, it is a revelation.

“I guess so,” Hizashi says, cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he feeds a bill into one of the vending machines. His breakfast had been bland, and he wants sugar.

They talk for another few minutes about nothing in particular, and as Hizashi unwraps his candy bar and begins to eat, he is struck with the notion that Nemuri is just trying to distract him. He appreciates it. Before long, though, she hangs up with a quick goodbye, and a promise to come to the hospital after her last patrol.

Hizashi crumples the empty wrapper and tosses it into a trash bin, and wanders his way back toward Shouta’s room.

He calls his agency once he is seated by Shouta’s still-empty bed. He tells them there was a family emergency, and that he will not be able to patrol today. They are surprisingly accepting of his feeble excuses, and Hizashi wonders if someone else had already contacted them. Probably Tensei, he decides. That was always the kind of thing Tensei thought of.

His phone calls made, Hizashi settles uncomfortably into the hard, plastic chair to wait for Shouta to be brought back. He tries not to think. He mostly fails.

He thinks of Shouta. He thinks of Oboro. He thinks of invincibility, and of shattered stained glass, and of birthdays. He thinks of a broken shelf of liquor bottles. He thinks of screaming at Shouta in their apartment, so angry he’s lost control, and of Shouta silencing him with a red-eyed stare. He thinks of broken promises, and broken hopes, and broken dreams.

They bring Shouta back in sometime around noon. He is still unconscious, but he looks a little better than he had the night before. The bruising is lighter—more red and purple than black and purple—and he is breathing on his own. Some of his color has returned as well, though he was never anything but pale.

The nurses leave again, after telling Hizashi things he does not hear, his attention fixed on Shouta to the exclusion of all else. He wonders, vaguely, as he feels them leave the room, if they had figured that out, or if they had just finished telling him what they had to say.

The seconds drag into minutes as Hizashi waits, the minutes into hours. Hizashi sits, stiff and sore, in the chair by Shouta’s bedside, watching his chest move beneath the bandaging, watching his eyes flicker beneath his eyelids. He wonders what Shouta dreams of.

The doctor comes in again. Leaves again. Hizashi ignores him.

Nemuri comes, but does not stay long. She talks, and Hizashi listens with half an hear, saying nothing as she tells him about her day, about her night, about everything but her worry over Shouta. It’s there, though, lurking beneath every strained story, every forced laugh, every brittle word.

Nemuri is older than him and Shouta and Tensei—but, like Tensei, she had found them adrift in the wake of Oboro’s death, and like Tensei she had decided, “These are mine, now.” Hizashi is grateful for it most days.

It is only after Nemuri stands and presses a kiss to Hizashi’s cheek in farewell that he speaks.

“They think he fell,” Hizashi says, not looking anywhere but Shouta’s face. Nemuri freezes.

“But he never falls.”

“I know.”

“Do you think—”

“I don’t know what I think,” Hizashi says, short and sharp. “And neither do you.”

Nemuri hesitates. Then says simply, “Okay.” She leaves without another word.

---

Tensei visits for an hour, and when he leaves he promises to return later in the evening so that Hizashi can run home to shower and change clothes. Hizashi agrees without really knowing what he’s agreeing to.

Night has just well and truly fallen when Shouta’s eyes flicker, then open. He looks around, taking in the lights and the ceiling and walls—and then his eyes fall on Hizashi, and he freezes.

“Hey,” Hizashi says.

Shouta turns his eyes away and stares up at the ceiling.

“Uh,” Hizashi says, feeling suddenly awkward and tongue-tied. “Thanks for leaving me as your emergency contact.”

Shouta grunts. Hizashi wonders if he can even talk right now, or if it’s too painful.

“Look, Sho…” Hizashi grimaces. “Shouta,” he corrects.

Shouta looks at him again, eyes flicking over to his face. Hizashi rubs the back of his neck, and tries to figure out how to say what he wants to say.

“I know this is a bad time,” he says finally. “But I have to say this before the doctors come rushing in, and before you get up the strength to kick me out.” Shouta’s eyes narrow at him, but Hizashi isn’t looking at him anymore—is staring, instead, at the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “For…” He takes a deep breath. “For everything.”

Shouta looks back at the ceiling, and does not speak.

Hizashi calls the nurses. They come quickly, and Hizashi excuses himself from the room so that they can fuss over Shouta in peace. By the time they are done, Tensei is back, and Hizashi finds himself kicked out of the hospital until he has showered, changed, and eaten a full meal. He agrees to the terms grudgingly, but only because the memory of Shouta not even being willing to look at him is still fresh in his mind.

It haunts him as he showers, as he changes, as he walks to a small take-out restaurant a few blocks from his apartment and places his order. He wonders if he should even go back to the hospital, or if Shouta would prefer it to just be Tensei there.

He almost decides he would.

Tensei calls him just as he’s finishing his dinner, though.

“You on your way back?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hizashi says, because he can’t quite bring himself to be selfless enough to say no.

---

Shouta is still awake when Hizashi walks into the room again. He looks at Hizashi when he opens the door and steps inside, then looks away again before he can close it. Tensei notices the silent exchange with a pensive look, but says nothing.

“Well,” he says, standing, “I have to go. I’m babysitting Tenya again tomorrow morning, and that little monster drains more out of me than twenty villains.” The soft smile on his lips belies the cutting words, though, and Hizashi knows that Tensei would give the world to his little brother if given the chance.

“Thanks,” Hizashi says, and claims the chair Tensei had just vacated.

Silence fills the room in the wake of Tensei’s departure, heavy and awkward and uncomfortable. Hizashi looks everywhere but at Shouta. Shouta stares at the ceiling.

“I…” Hizashi begins at last, entirely uncertain where he means to go with his next sentence but knowing he can’t bear the silence any longer.

A sigh cuts him off. Then, abruptly, in a ragged voice, Shouta says, “I’m sorry.”

Hizashi finally looks at him, startled. “For what?”

“For…everything,” Shouta says. “For walking out. For not being there for you. For ignoring you when you needed me.”

“Shouta, I…” Hizashi swallows hard. “I dug my own grave. I don’t expect you to dig me out. I never have.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Shouta whispers. “Our problem.”

Hizashi frowns. “What happened, Sho?” he asks suddenly. “How did you fall?”

“Someone pushed me,” Shouta says without hesitation. “I didn’t see them until it was too late.”

For the first time in seven years, Hizashi isn’t sure if Shouta is lying.

“Okay.” The word tastes like ash on Hizashi’s tongue, but there is nothing else he can say. Not now, anyway. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Shouta is silent again, but it is a different kind of silence. Hizashi waits, knowing he is preparing to say something. At last, after a few heavy moments of pregnant waiting, Shouta says, “Can we start over?”

Hizashi looks at him, surprised. “I’m not sure that’s going to be possible,” he tells Shouta.

“Maybe,” Shouta agrees. “But…try again, then.”

For the first time in over a day, Hizashi smiles. “Yeah,” he says. Then, again, “Yeah. I’d…like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Shouta nods, just a little, against the pillow behind his head. He closes his eyes.

“Will you be here?” he asks, voice already thick with sleep.

“Yeah,” Hizashi says, knowing what he’s asking. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Shouta nods again, eyes still closed, and in seconds his breathing evens out into a soft, sleepy cadence.

Hizashi settles back into his uncomfortable chair, preparing for another long night of half-conscious sleep. It’ll be worth it, though, he thinks. Anything is worth having my best friend back.

And for the first time since the stained glass of his invincibility shattered, Hizashi thinks that maybe, just maybe—if Shouta is at his side—he’ll see his 25th birthday. Maybe even his 30th.

Maybe even his 50th.

#erasermic #hizashi yamada #shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta #hizashi x shouta #suicide attempt tw #(or is it???? was it just a villain attack????? idk my dudes. idk)#hospital tw #canon-typical injury #*finger guns* anyway i know hizashi is super like. NOT flamboyant and Weird in this #but this fic is also literally about how his life is falling apart around him (with the implied meaning that this is hidden beneath his #hero persona - and is before he has his radio show i think? idk i haven't figured everything out yet)#but regardless i purposefully wanted to show a hizashi that wasn't him putting on any sort of act or persona #but was him in his rawest and most desperate emotions and thoughts and feelings #soooooooooooo he's p serious in this #*shrugs* i worry about characterization a LOT fam #pls don't be mean but also pls do tell me if i screwed up big time? i guess #just...pls be gentle. my heart is fragile #my disposition weak #if you've read this far into my tags bless you lmao #oh also if i need to tag anything else lemme knoooooooooooow because i'm really bad at tagging stuff #i've also never been in a fandom that has such THOROUGH tagging so usually i can skate by no problemo #but i have a feeling i'm missing some stuff i should have tagged. *shrug*#okay i'm posting it now before i lose my nerve and then going to SLEEP

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

Text

Let's Not Go There

The reason it is hard to believe in the fantastical and unnatural is because you either always only hear of bizarre phenomena that other people experienced, or whatever you experienced was so strange that it is easier to bend over backwards in the effort of coming up with a rational explanation.

My experience defies every possible explanation, and it is why I have developed such a fascination with the concept of other-worlds, astral travel, and parallel dimensions. And I am not alone in this. I cannot chalk it up to mere hallucination. I cannot consider it a case of my mind breaking, for I have no history of mental illness diagnoses, nor have I ever experienced anything like it in the decades that followed.

It all happened in the 1990s. In a place that already feels surreal and otherworldly to begin with.

Of all possible places, it happened in a shopping mall.

Abundant optimism was something you could taste in the air back then. It smelled like bubblegum and stale air-conditioned air and tasted like buttery popcorn. Maybe this is just nostalgia blending with the idiocies of being a teenager, but these are the scents and sights as I remember them back then.

Gentle music underlined by mellow saxophones and sleepy guitars playing in the distance, escalators rolling along at a plodding pace, aesthetically pleasing fountains with their hypnotic water streams, and strategically placed plants that laminated an otherwise cool and heartless architecture, consisting of shiny floors and cubic intersecting spaces occupied by temples of commerce.

The internet was still around the corner, waiting to be discovered on a wide scale, and computers dwelling in blissful isolation of networks stood on display in electronics stores like some sort of technological marvel, even though they chugged and struggled just to spit out pixelated screensavers. While we are at it, try to imagine how almost nobody had a cell phone back then.

Storefronts displayed flashy fashion, an announcement in a melodious voice that I completely ignored echoed from loudspeakers every now and again, and the palette of garish colors and exotic shapes overwhelmed my senses but also always drew me back, luring me to return every week when I had time outside of school and homework.

A texture of voices and motions constantly thrummed in the air, somehow soothing and always vibrant; of many people speaking just loud enough that you could catch a word but never the meaning, and shuffling through these seemingly infinite hallways, in and out of shops, loitering around on benches, or where the smells of ice cream or pizza drew them in like flies to honey.

As much as it was a ritual to visit this wondrous world once a week, my allowance was limited, so I had to save towards certain things and just spent time here with friends, strolling about and admiring things and dreaming of owning items I would never need, but desired, nevertheless.

One of the bookstores at that mall belonged to my personal highlights. Something about the soft carpeted floors that swallowed loud sounds, the muted warm light, the red velvety chairs to sit upon, the rustling of pages, and the smell of freshly printed paperbacks and hardcovers alike, sliding in and out from shelves as people inspected their covers or flipped through their contents.

On that day, my friends and I—because I never went here alone—had already spent hours wandering through the mall, window-shopping, and staring dreamy-eyed at its many meaningless wonders, and our legs were all wobbly from all the walking about.

They had decided to spend the rest of our time at the arcade to get some pizza and play some video games, and I fully intended to rejoin them once I had doubled back to said bookstore to pick up a novel I had been thinking of plunking down my meager cash for.

A rare time and circumstance to be alone here, like this, but there it was. That was when it happened. Creeping and unfathomable, I felt my stomach knot for no apparent reason.

Bought the book I had been eyeing for weeks now, for a collection from the same author I had started reading almost a year ago, eager to uncover the secrets that would unravel once reading it, page by page.

Handing over the cash, hearing that register churn and clink as I received a few coins as change, the smile of the cashier’s friendly beautiful face smiling at me in a rehearsed but pleasant manner. Nothing out of the ordinary. All as it should be.

Yet some inexplicable tension remained even as I exited the bookstore. As always, I felt a little pang of buyer’s remorse, thinking that I might have saved every penny for something better, something more practical. As such, I stopped right outside the entrance to the shop, without apparent reason. Dead in my tracks, pondering if I had done the right thing.

With the water fountains nearby sparkling, people walking past me wrapped up in idle conversation, and the dreamy elevator music reaching my ears, I dug around in the thin plastic bag from the bookstore. Crammed around in it until I found the receipt and looked at it.

And that—that right there was what was wrong.

Only now did I realize how I had bought the book almost blindly. I stared at the flimsy piece of paper and ink in disbelief. The printed symbols on the receipt did not look like numbers or words I could comprehend. Or, hell, like any human being could understand. Just like alien writing that did not belong. The more I stared at it and tried to decipher any meaning, the more my vision blurred and a sharp pain, like a knife sliding right into the back of my head, started to split my skull.

A shopping mall being what it is, you can see motion all around you but just organically tune it out without thinking about it. Something needs to be special or highly unusual to grab your attention, but exactly that happened to me just then.

I saw motion behind me—right behind me—in the reflection of the bookstore’s front window. Eyes. Before I could identify any face to go along with it, the figure melted into the blind spot exactly behind me and only then did I feel a gust of warm breath against the back of my neck.

Terrified, I swiveled and found nobody to be standing immediately behind me. People passing me by gave me funny looks as I kept swiveling, and I am quite sure that I must have looked like I had lost my mind.

When I beheld my reflection in the storefront window again, as if I could possibly see that non-existent mystery person there, something else caught my eye.

The store brand logo on my plastic bag looked different. Similar enough in all key ways to not immediately pay attention: similar shapes, similar color, a typography that resembled the way it should look. But the words were all different. Instead of the name of the bookstore chain, it read, “Look closer.”

Shooting a glance at my bag—not in the window’s reflection but at the actual bag—it looked normal. Just like the logo should, reading the chain’s name as it should. I could feel the blood draining from my face once my gaze wandered back to the window and I could only see that phase again.

Look closer.

The saxophones leading the elevator music in the background seemed to swell while I stared. My own heartbeat in my ears drowned out the idle chatter of any people nearby, and I knew what I had to do.

I stepped up to the storefront window, oblivious to anything on display beyond its glassy surface. Focused only on the reflections, I held up that receipt to it. Sure enough, I could read something on it now, as if the window and its reflections served somehow as a decoding lens.

Look to your right. Step through the exit.

I had to read it multiple times to know I was not dreaming or hallucinating. But I remembered how I could never read in my dreams, and everything else around me just felt and sounded so normal. So real.

The sweet perfume of someone passing me by, the squeak of someone’s sneakers streaking against waxed floors, and a fuzzy something that resisted being compartmentalized into any of the five senses.

Real.

Look to your right, the message read.

As I followed that instruction, I saw the glowing “EXIT” sign, nestled in the wall in between two stores. It looked so unfamiliar in that moment, but also like it perfectly belonged. Had it always been there, and I never paid attention to it? Probably.

Step through the exit, the message had continued. Its words echoed in my mind, riding on the idealized reflection of my own voice.

I looked around but anybody nearby just went about their lives, ignoring me. So, I pushed, and the door emitted a chunky metallic sound as it yielded, letting me enter the fire escape hallway. Another chunky sound accompanied it closing behind me as I entered.

That dreamy texture of mall music and a multitude of people wandering around was muffled by the door, insignificant in comparison to the echoes of my shoes tapping against a rough concrete floor. This hallway in and of itself already felt like another world entirely, one that bled into the world of the shopping mall and vice versa.

Everything was much brighter in here, illuminated by fluorescent tubes running along the entirety of this narrow hallway. A cool air breezed past me as I wandered deeper down its length.

Just like in the fantasy and science-fiction adventure stories I loved so much, I felt like I was fulfilling some sort of prophecy and, hell, my dumb teenaged brain told me that I was born to do this. Meant to do this. Not once did I stop to question the madness of any of this.

Somehow, against all reason, it all made sense.

Yet even as I believed to be feeling the draw of destiny, suffused with purpose, my heart raced. Some other part of me instinctively knew that something was deeply—utterly—wrong.

As I turned a corner, I gazed upon my horrid destination.

A door, covered in black vines with leaves so thin and sharp in definition that they could have been razors. Worms wriggled on the floor around it, near where a crack should be. No handle or knob adorned the portal’s face. But it throbbed with a pulse of its own, out of sync with its own heartbeat. Vein-like tendrils, black, and pulsating, ran from the epicenter of this otherworldly door, entrenched in the wall around it, as if it had infested the plaster like a disease, spreading slowly.

I turned to run, but the lights on the ceiling at the end of the hallway where I had come from now flickered out, dead. One by one, they plunged the hallway into a growing pool of darkness, speeding up as they approached.

Any courage to explore the thin veil between worlds or whatever lay beyond, it now all melted away instantaneously.

Darkness, from which I could hear the mall no longer, and only imagine what things now lurked inside of it.

Or that dark door.

I fled forward. Nearly cried as I scrunched my eyes shut and heard the squelching sounds of things getting squished underneath my shoes, as I felt the delayed burn and sting of many little cuts—like papercuts—flaring up as I pushed against that black door with all my might.

It gave way more easily than I had expected and I stumbled forward into the unknown.

Still blind by own volition, I sensed far softer grounds underfoot, where grass rustled with each of my steps and wind whistled through alien leaves all around me.

When I dared open my eyes again, I found myself in a gloomy clearing, underneath a low, dense canopy of trees, with no door or any mall in sight. Another world. Pink birds chirped with foreign sounds, and insects I never would have dreamed of crawled in the dark dirt between plants.

Panic fully gripped me and dulled my senses to the point where my gaze swept all around me, full circle, multiple times, until I spotted a pair of eyes staring at me from beyond the gloom, swallowed by shadows cast by the foliage. Glowing yellow, and curious. Unblinking and oh-so-hungry.

“Do not look at me,” a hissing whisper came from those eyes.

Though I could see no mouth, I could hear the rows of sharp teeth through which those words traveled to reach my ears.

“Do not look at me,” it repeated. “Or I will eat you alive.”

More than anything, I tried to hold back tears, but they flowed despite my effort.

“I just wanna go home,” I pleaded with Yellow-Eyes.

Although I averted my gaze, I could feel a sinister smile creeping across its face as it replied, now adopting a melodious and mocking tone that seesawed between idle amusement and deadly threat.

“You look like a plump little beanstalk, yet you talk like one of us.”

I looked for places to run, but knew in my heart of hearts that Yellow-Eyes could run faster than I. And that no matter where I ran, I could never hide from such an abomination.

“You are not so pretty yourself, you know,” it said, as if it could read my mind. “But no matter. You fit right in with us. You could carve your own little kingdom from the mountains and the trees here.”

The tree trunks here all looked thick and ancient, yet they presented gaps in between them, wide enough for me to flee through. Not that I harbored any hope of making it. Every time Yellow-Eyes spoke to me again, it crushed every shred of anything even so remotely resembling hope inside its hoary maw.

“But you are afraid, which I understand. I have passed through that same door, before. Of strange steel, and cold, sleek surfaces; where odd squeals travel through the glass to meet my ears and mock me. ‘Open me,’ they screech! ‘Explore the other side,’ they demand.”

To blot out its damnable rambling, I covered my ears, but it was too late. The voice of Yellow-Eyes had entered my mind. I have a hunch as to why, but at the time there was no understanding why I suddenly felt like we were kindred souls, Yellow-Eyes, and me.

Averting my gaze for so long, and with the circle of trees spinning around me as I grew dizzy, I lost track of where this entity prowled. Another gust of warm breath hit the back of my neck, provoking every hair upon it to stand.

“I have glimpsed your world, and you have now glimpsed mine,” said Yellow-Eyes. “I can show you the way back if you invite me across the threshold.”

I wanted to deny it. Turn it down. Its words rang hollow, dripping with venom. In between the lines it spoke, I felt something dark and old and wicked.

“Thus, you need not deal with the things that dwell hither, like the Way King, or the Red Carpenter, or the Unbirthed Paddock-Watcher. The River of Lions, the Green Cairn, or the Castle of Thorns. I could show you such wondrous place, but would you resist their call? Would you survive their grinding teeth, their toxic breath, their maddening words?”

Maddening words Yellow-Eyes provided plenty of already. My heart raced, but those names and those places, they somehow beckoned me. I yearned to explore this world, to uncover its mysteries. It fascinated me as much as it instilled pure dread in my heart.

How alien it all felt, how wrong. Underneath it all, I did just want to go home.

“Please,” I whispered.

That whisper sliced through the air like a blade. The strange forest went silent. All I could hear was Yellow-Eyes breathing, faster. More excited.

I said, “Come with me, across the threshold. Just help me find home.”

That warm breath brushed across the back of my neck again.

“Oh, my pleasure. My leisure. Let us depart with haste, lest the Blighted Sparrow of Shadowy Waters return here to roost and interfere.”

Rubbing the tears from my eyes until my vision had cleared enough to see, the door stood there again—in the middle of the eerie clearing. Worms wriggling beneath it, the solitary door connected to no building, no walls, just wreathed in black vines, as before. Throbbing and pulsating as if alive.

Or had it been there all along? Had Yellow-Eyes hidden it from me somehow?

“Waste no time! Go! Open that door,” Yellow-Eyes hissed, making no effort to sound enticing anymore. Just exuding malice with each syllable.

And I did.

Once more, I cringed at the disgustingly soft grounds where worms squished under my shoes wherever I stepped to near the door, but I kept my eyes wide open this time. I gritted my teeth as I could watch the edges of those bladed leaves, almost translucent, cutting the surface of my exposed skin as I pushed against the door.

A dark void yawned at me from beyond the portal, not a gloomy clearing. I sensed something even worse than Yellow-Eyes, lurking in that deeper shadow. Then it retreated. Fluorescent tubes sprung to life, one by one, and bathed in light a long hallway of white plaster walls and concrete floor before me. I fled inside before the final lights flickered on and despite not hearing any sound to indicate it, passing that threshold of worms and razorblade vines, I knew the door closed behind me on its own.

And with me, this time, traveled Yellow-Eyes.

Greeted again by the chunky sound of the handlebar opening the fire escape door from the narrow hallway, I emerged into the shopping mall again.

Muddy brown discoloration clung to the edges of my sneakers, and I saw tiny streaks of crimson upon the sides of my hands where the leaves had cut me. The bag with my new book drooped lazily from my wrist, but the logo on the plastic looked normal now.

Had it ever appeared otherwise?

Of course, as I wandered through this temple of commerce in a daze, slowly shuffling my way towards the arcade to meet back up with my friends, I questioned my sanity. I wanted to tell them what had just happened, but I also did not want to.

I am surprised I am even telling you, now.

But someone needs to know. Because what you described—it reminded me of this. I can see the signs.

It reminded me that every time I look into the mirror, I see those yellow eyes flash. I see my own lips curl into a sinister smile that it is not my own but inhabits my face against my will. Well, that is not entirely correct, because I did invite Yellow-Eyes along.

And my fascination with the concept of other worlds is not some idle hobby.

It is an obsession.

So, if you know something I do not—if you have an even inkling about how you might cross over, then you need to tell me. Try to remember what exactly you were doing, what time of day, even what you were smelling or thinking. You need to tell me.

Right now.

Because both old Yellow-Eyes and me, we want to return there. See how much has changed in the past decades.

And if you don’t want to talk, well…

Let’s not go there.

—Submitted by Wratts

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mrsrhys23 · 5 years

Text

I want to play a game...

Chapter two: Game of survival

Word count: 2,726

Warnings: mention of major character death, blood, profanities.

A/N 1: This part ended up going in a completely different direction than I originally intended.

A/N 2: I don’t own these characters/ the saw universe.

Sorry ‘read more’ isn’t working.

Summary: They have to get through a series of agonising traps to earn their survival, but who will live and who will die?

Permatag: @desireepow-1986 @cordoniaqueensworld

Series tags: @cordonianroyalty @imthequeenofcordonia @rainbowsinthestorm @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 (just let me know if you’d like to be added/ removed)

His limbs felt heavy, achy as he started to claw his way back to consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, the room was dark except a green kind of glow to it. He blinked a couple of times until everything came flooding back into focus. He looked up realising that his arms were chained above his head.

He looked around him- nothing to be seen. It looked like he was in some kind of warehouse. He soon noticed that his legs weren’t chained to anything, just his arms. He twisted his body slightly to look around when an agonising, fiery like pain laced through his abdomen. He looked down to see his shirt was now red where he felt the pain. He was kind of scared to see what was underneath his shirt if he was being honest.

He stood on a podium, like a stage. Gritting his teeth, he jumped up and down pulling on the chains that held him in an attempt to loosen them from the metal pipe where they were attached to. His attempt to loosen the chains that held him turned out to be futile, they wouldn't budge.

He looked up seeing they were attached to a metal pipe a good 10ft to 15ft above him. He twisted around so he could grip on the chains more easily and hoisted himself up, groaning loudly at the pain that shot through his abdomen. He took a second then continued to climb the chains, once he was high enough he wrapped his legs around it, grabbing on it with his hands and trying to tug it but once again it wouldn't budge. He huffed knowing what he needed to do but knowing it was going to definitely hurt. He took his legs from around the pipe and grabbed back onto the chains.

He let go. The pipe snapped and fell with him. He hit the stage, ending up going through it and landing on his back. He screamed, gritting his teeth. He could feel blood dripping from the wound on his stomach and others that were caused by going through the stage. The chains fell and hit his chest just causing him to yell out in pain again. He opened his eyes at the right time to see the pipe coming down as well so caught it just before it hit his face, chucking it away from him.

He lay there for some time, unaware of how much time had actually passed. His time perception was off, he knew it was late evening when- he couldn't even remember what happened. It felt fuzzy, like his head was made of cotton wool, but he didn't know how much time had passed, how long he’d been out. The lighting again wasnt real so that gave him no indication of what time it was which all in all was messing with his head slightly.

He wasnt sure how much time had gone by but by then the pain had started to lessen somewhat, from the fall anyway, so he turned onto his side, groaning loudly and grinding his teeth together as he did so. He managed to get onto his knees, he lent back on his legs looking at the handcuff like things around his wrists that the chains were attached to. He tried to pry them off but luck wasnt on his side today.

Out of options and knowing what he needed to do to get out of them, he placed his left arm across his leg and lined it up so his right hand with the metal part was hovering over his hand, or more specifically his thumb. He gritted his teeth and brought it down on his hand, the metal tore into his flesh leaving blood trickling down from the wound. He struck it again feeling the bone pop out from it’s socket.

“Fuck!” he yelled. He took in a breath, wincing when he looked down at his now bloody hand. He needed the things off, he wouldn't be able to get far carrying around the chains- they’d hold him back. At least if he got one off that would grant him some freedom to find something to get the other one off with. He grabbed on the cuff around his now injured hand with his other as he wiggled it out, the flesh getting scratched by the rough metal as he shimmied it out of its confinements. He held his hand against his chest when it was finally out and the chain attached to the cuff clattered onto the floor beside him.

Once he had gotten his breath back, he wobbly got to his feet, still keeping his injured hand against his chest. After he had gotten his balance he looked down at the now red stained t-shirt, he felt the world around him sway- he never was a fan of blood.

With his uninjured hand he lifted up his shirt a little bit to see a once gaping wound that had been poorly stitched back up. He dreaded to think why it was there to begin with. He stepped out of the rubble of the now fallen stage, tugging on the chain as the pipe got stuck against some debris. Every step hurt. He wasn't sure where it hurt more if he was being honest. He could feel some blood dripping down his back from the wound he’d gotten from the fall.

He looked around once again when an envelope caught his attention, he hobbled over it, groaning as he bent down to pick it up. He ripped it open pulling out a glossy piece of paper, his brow furrowing as he did so. He turned the paper over - his confusion multiplying as he did so. Once the paper was facing the right direction, he could see an x-ray of a torso. In the left corner of the picture was a key. He unconsciously put his hand over the wound on his abdomen right where the x-ray was showing where a key was.

His gaze then shifted to the cuff on his hand, quickly locating the lock. It didn't take him too long to figure out where this was going. There was no way he was going through dislocating his thumb again.

He looked back into the envelope he was still holding and found a straight needle and some thread- the same coloured thread that was obviously used to stitch him up in the first place.

He staggered back over to the now fallen stage, carefully falling to his knees beside it. He placed the items down beside him. Keeping his still bleeding hand against his chest, he rummaged through the debris until he located a piece with a sharp, serrated edge. He brought his findings up to his face, examining the needle-like point. Once he had come to the conclusion that the piece of debris would in fact do the job, he unbuckled his belt as he leaned back on his legs. He placed the debris and his belt down beside him as he lifted up his shirt, getting a good look at the wound. He placed the x-ray in front of him as he slipped his shirt off over his head. He picked up the belt, folding the leather in half then placed it in his mouth between his teeth. He then picked up his ‘scalpel’. He gingerly touched the outside of the wound with his injured hand as he adjusted his grip on the debris clutched in the other- the jagged edge slightly slicing into his flesh on his fingers- which all in all was miniscule to the pain he had already experienced and was about to. He shakily brought it towards his wound. He took in a deep breath as an attempt to calm himself down before he started.

He brought it just beside the first stitch, gently as possible cutting through the thread of the first suture. He winced- it was muffled by the belt in his mouth that his pearly teeth were currently clamped down on. He continued onto the next one. Some blood soon started to pool from the wound, down his stomach and onto the floor below him. He tried not to look at it, he was already holding back the urge to spill his guts as it was, however, doing this blindly most likely was not the best cause of action.

He tried to somehow distance himself. He tried to imagine that he wasn’t about to rummage around his stomach for a key, the searing pain made that difficult though, that and the feel of the warm, sticky blood starting to pool from the wound.

He cut through the next stitch- there were eight in total, he wasnt even half way yet. He cut through the others quite quickly, wanting it over quickly, the sooner he did it, the sooner he could get the key, sew himself back up and get out.

He took the belt out from his mouth- seeing the imprints in the leather he’d left and tossed it down onto the floor beside him. He took in a deep breath and looked down to the now fully gaping wound. He picked out the bits of thread that were left in the wound- wincing as he did so. After that was done, he placed his thumb on one side of the wound and his index finger on the other side. He grunted as he spread open the wound, his other way hovered near it. He took a moment waiting for it to stop shaking before he slowly pushed his fingers into the wound. He carefully felt around whilst thinking of other things other than what he was doing, the pain of it and the wet, warm, sticky blood coating his fingers.

Finally his fingers brushed against something not organic. He carefully grabbed hold of it, having a good feel of it and soon coming to the conclusion that it was definitely a key. It had been a while since he was in school but he remembered enough about biology to know that you don't have metal, key-like organs. He used his other hand to open up the wound more so he could easily take his fingers out.

He let out a sigh of relief when it was finally over. He quickly used the blood soaked key to unlock the cuff around his wrist, relishing the feeling of there no longer being a weight around his wrist as it clattered to the floor.

He dropped the key down beside the X-ray and picked up the needle and thread after using his already crimson shirt to wipe away some of the blood. He quickly threaded the needle and without thinking too much about it made the first stitch. He hated the feeling of his skin being weaved back together as the needle went in and out, in and out of his flesh. It was fiddly with the needle being straight and having an injured hand made it more difficult, however, he got it done.

He bent over slightly to pick up the blood covered piece of debris to cut the thread, then without care let the needle, thread and ‘scalpel’ clatter onto the concrete.

By the time he was done he had blood dripping down his chin from where he had bitten into his lip so harshly. He used his shirt to wipe away any blood that was around the wound and his chin then slipped his shirt back on. There was something about walking around half-naked that made him uncomfortable, like a piece of his armour was missing. It made him in a strange way feel safer- less vulnerable with his shirt back on.

Without warning a light suddenly was switched on- it was like a spotlight pointing to a door on the other end of the room. He was certain had the mysterious light not have been switched on then he wouldn't have noticed it in the otherwise dimly lit room.

He staggered on over to it. Noting ‘this way’ was written on the grimy, metal door in red ink.

He pushed against it with all his strength to get the stiff, heavy door to open. It almost certainly hadn't been used for a very, very long time. He stopped at the threshold- slightly hesitant to leave. Yes, it looked as if a massacre had gone on with all the blood in there but...it had just been him, but now he was about to step out of there into the unknown with no idea what awaited him. No idea what was lurking on the other side. He did it anyway.

He walked through the long, narrow corridor, the dull lights flickered on and off as he continued on his way, avoiding the water dripping from the ceiling above him.

He kept a hand over his wound as he hobbled along. He pushed the creaky door open at the end of the hall, being greeted with a rickety- not exactly safe looking metal staircase on the other side. He gripped the cold metal handrail on his way up them- the metal clanking beneath his feet. He arrived at the top of the steps into another little hallway with another staircase at the end.

He made his way along, stopping by what looked like a piece of glass- like a one way mirror, he thought.

He leaned in close but still couldn't see anything inside. His curiosity and confusion only spiked when he noticed a big light- like the ones they used on tv to mimic natural light pointing into whatever that room was being used for.

He didn't stay long, eager to get the hell out of there so made his way towards the other staircase. He didn't know where he was going, not a clue in the world but continued on his travels regardless.

Again the metal clanked beneath his weight as he negotiated down the stairs taking him into another hallway. This one seemed to go on for an eternity until he reached...nothing. A brick wall. There was never an option to go left or right. Just a continuous concrete-like maze, except this one guided you toward only one destination. He pushed against it. He didn't know why or what he expected to happen but he certainly didn't expect a mechanical whirring and the bricks to all fall out of place and for the whole structure to move to the side, letting him see the room that stood on the other side.

He stepped in, welcomed by water dripping on to his head. He looked up seeing tubes hanging from the ceiling. It didn't take him long to notice the window- he assumed it was the same one he tried to look through...however long ago that was. Again his time perception was off.

He looked around, taking it all in. The room was still wet, water coated basically every surface and dripped from the ceiling.

He saw the door, his eyes soon travelling to the body that lay just beside it. He walked quickly over to it, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He felt himself start to gag as he took notice of his friend's body. He carefully got to his knees, placing two fingers on the pulse point on his neck- he already knew but...he needed to know for certain.

He felt his body shudder at how cold Maxwell’s body felt under his touch. Of course, he felt nothing and took his hand away, carefully standing back up.

He soon took notice of the staircase and open door. He cautiously walked over to it, taking his first step up.

He ended up down another narrow hallway and entered the only room at the end. The smell of blood in the air was prominent. It looked like a murder scene and judging by the body hanging limply in what looked like some kind of torture device..it was.

This time he couldn't keep the sick down. Practically projectile vomiting in the corner of the room. He looked up when he heard footsteps, his eyes widened in confusion.

“Hello Liam,” the person said, before he felt something strike him in the back of the head before everything went black.

#i want to play a game #trr fanfic #the royal romance #trr #tw blodd #tw character death #pixelberry #choices: stories you play #trr chocies

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gingerpeachtae · 5 years

Text

Concentric [9]

masterlist

Words: 5.6k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut (?)

Warnings: just more punchy violence, dom!jk jumps out briefly

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: oof my update schedule has really gone to hell huh. lmao wack. Anyways here it is friends! Engoy! 💙

The screech of the whistle in your ears.

The shift of sand beneath your feet.

The thumping of your heart in your chest.

You sprang into action, ducking slightly to the left underneath Jennie’s first offensive attack. The female certainly didn’t waste any time getting started. She immediately rushed you after the whistle blew, forgetting all about your mocking response to her pre-fight brag. Letting loose a combination of moves meant to destabilize you, she mainly went after your lower body with an occasional punch aimed at your face. You allowed your dance instincts to take over as you weaved around her limbs and blocked any of the attacks you couldn’t fully avoid. She was fast, you would give her that, but not as fast as Jungkook. You’ve been learning several fighting techniques from the male Saeni, but you’ve also learned how to not get hit. A lesson that was really coming in handy right now, much to the dismay of your opponent. Jennie released a scream of frustration, growling at you to stay still.

You chuckled provokingly while moving out of the way of her spinning kick, “What? Is the secret weapon getting mad?”

She only made another noise of aggravation as she sent a sloppy punch toward your face, leaving her torso completely defenseless. After blocking her attack with your forearm, you sent your other arm swinging into her stomach. You couldn’t help but send her a smug look when your fist caused her to groan and fold over a bit, knowing that doing so would irritate her even more.

You flashed back to when Jungkook would make infuriating comments at you during your first training sessions to try to elicit an emotional reaction from you. It had taken you a while to realize he was doing it for a reason, to distract you and make you lose focus. You decided to take a page out of your teacher’s book and apply the same tactic to Jennie since she seemed to be driven emotionally.

And so you continued. Dancing out of the way of her attacks and antagonizing her with your words and actions. Eventually she would get so annoyed she would throw and arm or leg out blindly, just wanting to hit you in the face, but not executing it well. That’s when you would sneak in a hit of your own to the area she left open.

It felt like you had been fighting for such a long time, but you knew it had to have only been two minutes at the most. You were focused. You controlled your breathing. Maintained proper form. Kept your eyes forward to watch Jennie’s entire body for signs of her next move. At some point, you think you heard Jungkook release an exasperated sigh and mumble something after one of your poking comments, but you paid him no attention. You just continued distracting your opponent and letting her emotions direct her attacks.

“So, what is the secret to your secret weaponry?” You inhaled, and side stepped away from the heel of Jennie’s palm that was targeting your nose. “Can you go Super Saiyan? Because that would be pretty cool.”

“Just… SHUT UP WILL YOU!?”

You bent your knees to duck below Jennie’s kick and swung your right leg in an arc, knocking her off her feet.

Sweat dripping.

Limbs aching.

Muscles burning.

It wasn’t exactly dance, but it was similar, and the rush of exertion and elation was all too familiar. You lived for this feeling.

Straddling Jennie’s slim waist, you pinned her to the ground. You used one hand to hold her right arm down and one foot to hold the other. She wiggled beneath you to try to knock you off, so you pressed your weight down further. You raised your right fist, aiming it at her face and her eyes widened in panic. She continued to squirm underneath you while her legs spasmed, desperate to shake you off. It was futile, though. She was locked down. You didn’t hit her either, just waited for five… four… three… two… one…

Jungkook blew the whistle.

Game over.

You released your hold on the girl beneath you and stood up, stepping to the side of her body. You held out a hand to her, but she only huffed and rose on her own, blatantly ignoring your hand. Shrugging off her poor sportsmanship, you turned to Jungkook with a proud grin. He ignored you too, though, and addressed Jennie with an authoritative tone.

“You lost because you were over-confident. You let your emotions control your actions. It’s not that Y/N is the better fighter, she just kept a level head and exploited your openings.”

This time, it was you who huffed and pouted. You won fair and square, didn’t you? So why was he basically calling your win a fluke? Dumb asshat.

Jennie gave Jungkook a weak nod before sniffling and slunking away in disappointment.

Once she was gone, you placed your hands on your hips and said, “Isn’t keeping a level head and exploiting her openings kind of the definition of being the better fighter?”

He looked at you questioningly before answering in an honest tone. “She has the better technique when she’s focused, which isn’t surprising. She’s been training much longer than you have. You just got lucky because she was too cocky.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.” You raised a brow at him.

Jungkook released a bark of laughter. “You can mouth off to me when and if you ever beat me. Now hurry along, I need to start the next match.”

“Ay ay Captain.” You saluted the Saeni and began walking back to the kiela. “See you in a bit.”

As you sashayed away, Jungkook watched your retreating figure and whispered, “Good job, little human.”

Then he called up the next name, which happened to be Yeonjun. You gave the young Saeni a big thumbs up and wished him luck as you passed each other.

You grinned as you arrived at the spot where the others were sitting due to their cheers and congratulations. You giggled as Hobi and Tae squashed you in a hug and made you jump up and down with them. After the boys released you and you thanked the rest, you sat back down under a patch of shade to rest a bit before your next fight.

You were getting your ass kicked.

This round, you were up against some guy named Yoo Yongha. When the tall male entered the ring and greeted you, he had a shy smile on his cute face and had spoken softly. It made you think you possibly had a chance at winning again. But then the whistle blew, and he did a complete 180. His cute face turned serious. His shy smile morphed into a flat line of concentration. His soft voice changed to grunts and exhales of power as he went on the offensive.

All you could think in the moment the match started was how fucked you were.

Currently, you were doing your best to block and evade his assaults. You, ducked, twirled, jumped, shifted, and stepped out of the way as best as you could but it wasn’t enough. As soon as you thought you could breath after dodging his fist or kick, another was being sent. You had already been hit several times and fuck, it was not fun. You just couldn’t catch a break. You couldn’t come up with a plan. It was happening too fast. All you could think of was evade, block, move. Over and over and over. Nothing else. It was the only thing you could do.

At the start of the match, you had attempted to put him in a headlock, recognizing that if you didn’t finish the fight quickly then you wouldn’t have a chance at winning. Not with how skilled your opponent turned out to be. Following the steps Jungkook had taught you, you got his neck between your thighs and squeezed while lifting your hips high off the ground. You held it for approximately two seconds before Yongha had reached back and sent a punch into your unprotected side. You cried out but managed to maintain the choke until his fist hit you again. With a strangled gasp, you had released the hold and scrambled to your feet before he could pin you. Your chance at winning… gone.

Now, you were moving backwards to try to put some space between you but he kept coming and coming and coming. Never relenting in his attacks. The only thing you could do was defend yourself, but you were getting tired and he knew it.

Blocked his punch coming to your right side.

Stepped back.

Ducked below his right hook.

Stepped back.

Grunted as his leg made contact with your left side.

Pressed your hand against the throbbing area.

Stepped back.

Breathed heavily.

Tried to refocus.

Blocked his fist coming toward your face.

Failed to see his punch aimed at your stomach.

Gasped and clutched your abdomen.

Barely managed to evade his knee.

You took another step backwards but cursed when your balance faltered because of the uneven sand. Your stumble left you in an awkward crouch. Your eyes bugged out when you saw that the kick Yongha intended for your side was now in route to be gifted to your face.

Shit! You dropped to your back as fast as you could.

Somehow you were able to do so in time to save your beautiful face, although you still felt a slight breeze whisper across your cheek since it had been so close.

Get up and keep going, Y/N.

You were slowing down, eyesight blurring and muscles sore and aching. All the morning training sessions and the previous fight were catching up with you, but there was no way in hell you were going to give up. You were going to keep fighting until Yongha pinned you or knocked you out… because in all honesty, there was no possibility of you winning. You couldn’t get by on luck and taunting this time.

Unfortunately, your drive to keep going was cut short because as soon as your body hit the warm sand you heard a shrill whistle.

You were trudging down an empty hallway on your way to your room for a shower while grumbling to yourself.

“Stupid Jungkook. Who does he think he is? Sure, I was getting my ass beat, but it wasn’t over yet! I could have done… well, something! Ugh! Stupid fucking coconut-headed, limp, clammy handshake of a person!”

Yeah, Jungkook had called the match once your back hit the sand. And you were still pissed about it hours later. There was no reason he should have ended it! The only explanation he had given you was that Yongha was the clear winner before he was calling up the next round of fighters. Yongha himself had a confused look on his face while glancing between you and Jungkook before thanking you both and excusing himself from the ring. Jungkook, on the other hand, hadn’t even looked at you. Like he was too appalled by your efforts to give you the time of day.

You had been astounded. What was he thinking!? Yes, you agreed that Yongha was going to win… but he hadn’t actually won yet when Jungkook blew the damn whistle! You had been breathing heavily from both exertion and anger as you stomped away from the ring. You approached the kiela and your new friends, who questioned you as to what happened. You spat out that Jungkook decided to throw the towel in for you. You were trembling from how mad it made you.

With a noise of pure aggravation, you had sat down next to Yoongi, knowing the grumpy male wouldn’t try to cheer you up. You didn’t want to be cheered up. You wanted to hit something. You wanted to hit someone. A certain green-eyed asshat specifically.

Yoongi simply commented on the other matches, pointing out mistakes and missed opportunities in a soothing, almost disinterested voice. After a couple rounds, you were finally able to calm down to a functioning level. It was then that Yoongi informed you that Yongha was actually the number one trainee, and that you did well lasting as long as you had.

The knowledge gave you some more comfort, but it still didn’t ease your frustration directed at the match’s referee.

That frustration was still coursing through your veins, almost a full forty minutes after the seminar had ended.

As your muttering continued, you spotted a flash of burgundy hair through a doorway to your left.

Is that…? Oh, this fucker is gonna get it!

You immediately altered your steps to enter the room and you marched up to the unsuspecting Saeni, who’s back was to you as he walked toward a chair.

“What the fuck Jungkook!?”

The male turned around and groaned when he saw you. “What now, little human?”

You moved forward until you stood flush against his sturdy chest and gave him a harsh poke. “How could you call the match like that!? I wasn’t pinned and I wasn’t KO’d; there was no reason to stop it!”

You weren’t yelling, but you were seething through your teeth. You didn’t care about losing the match, per say, but you were still so pissed he ended it early. You wanted to know why he had.

Jungkook slowly looked down at your finger digging into his chest before raising his head and a brow at you. “You weren’t going to win.”

“Wow,” you exclaimed sarcastically, stepping back and crossing your arms, “glad to know my teacher believes in me.”

“You were obviously losing. End of story.” His voice turned serious.

“Maybe, but I-”

“You weren’t going to win, and you know it. Stop acting like a brat.”

“But I migh-”

Your words were cut off as Jungkook suddenly grabbed your waist and pushed until your back was against the wall. You gasped when you were gently slammed into the wood, one hand gripping his forearm while the other rested against his lean stomach. Jungkook’s hands gripped your hips tightly while he leaned in. Burgundy hair fell over his forehead, threatening to cover his green eyes which had grown dark, the pupils blown out.

Their attention captivated you and commanded your undivided attention.

“I told you to stop.”

He spoke in a low, gravelly voice that caused you to shiver. Heat began to burn through your body and linger in your core. Subconsciously, you tried to squeeze your thighs shut, but of course, Jungkook noticed. With a smirk, he forced his own thigh between yours.

“I swear to Illai, you’re so aggravating sometimes it drives me crazy.

“F-fuck off, Coco,” you weakly said, trying to gain a sliver of control back.

You still couldn’t look away from those dark, green orbs.

His hands roughly gripped your waist even tighter, causing you to sharply inhale. You wouldn’t be surprised if he left bruises from how hard he was holding you.

Hearing your pained gasp, Jungkook quickly released your waist and brought his hands up to the wall on either side of your head, completely caging you in. No escape. All you could feel was him. All you could see was him. All you could smell was him. Just him. Just Jungkook.

“I thought I told you to stop being a brat, sweetheart.”

Your mouth dropped open and you breathed in shakily. The way he spoke was both rough and honeyed. It was utterly masculine and entirely sensual.

Your head was spinning. What the fuck was going on? This wasn’t you. You weren’t one to become submissive so easily. You had to get ahold of yourself. You were a scorja, for Exia’s sake!

You steeled yourself and replied in the most teasing tone you could muster, “Well, why should I listen to a coconut head like you?”

Your attempt at regaining some control failed, though, because even though you didn’t stutter, you had to look away when you said it.

So much for not being submissive.

Jungkook growled and grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him. “Look me in the eye and say that again.”

The sheer dominance in his tone made another flash of heat shoot through you. You shut your eyes and desperately tried to close your legs again, seeking out friction to appease the desire thrumming through you. That failed too, though, because Jungkook blocked the way. He raked his eyes over you and with a hum, pushed his thigh further between your legs until it pressed against your core. You tried to stifle your moan, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but you only partially succeeded. The whining noise that escaped from your mouth made him press even harder into you, and you had to restrain yourself from moving your hips.

But it still didn’t make you look him in the eye.

You didn’t know if you could repeat what you said if you did.

His grip on your chin tightened slightly. “I’m waiting.”

Okay. Okay. Breath, Y/N. You can do it. It’s easy. Ignore what’s going on... down there. Just look him in the eye and say it.

You took a couple deep breaths and slowly shifted your eyes back to him, but you instantly lost yourself in a sea of green. You were swallowed whole. Frozen. All you could do was look at him. Not able to do anything besides stare into his lidded eyes, your shaky breaths slowly grew heavy. With a jolt, you realized that his breathing was just as labored.

“J-Jungkook…?” You licked your lips and his eyes dropped to follow the movement, giving you a brief reprieve from his intense stare.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His breaths became even more ragged, and he shifted his eyes back up to yours again.

“I…” You had no idea what you wanted to say.

You had no idea if you wanted to pull him closer or push him far away. Besides, you were supposed to be mad at him right now, not… not this.

He let go of your chin and caressed your cheek, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb over your skin softly. “What do you want?”

You gasped at the gentleness of his hand, it contrasted so much with the rest of him. “I…”

Your head was cloudy from a combination of anger, desire, fatigue, and logic, but his presence was overtaking every one of your senses. And it was addicting. You wanted more. You wanted him closer. Needed him closer.

With your decision made, you fisted his shirt in your hands and went to tug him fully to you.

At least, you were going to until you heard someone cough from the doorway.

That sudden interruption let you break through to the surface of your confused thoughts. You blinked then released Jungkook’s shirt and shoved him away as fast as possible.

What the hell was I doing!?

With a shocked face, you looked over to the doorway to see your best friend with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

Oh. Oh, FUCK. Of all people why did it have to be him!?

“Hey guys, am I interrupting something?”

You hastily squeaked out a “No!” just as Jungkook growled, “Yes, so get out.”

Jimin’s grin grew even wider but he kept quiet.

Frantically, you shook your head with wide eyes. “No. No. No. Nothing was going on.” You looked at Jungkook desperately, who was staring at you angrily, eyes still dark. “I, uh, just had a question for him!”

You turned back to Jimin, unable to keep looking Jungkook’s glare, with a fake smile plastered on your face. He only hummed skeptically in response and leaned against the entryway.

After a few seconds of very awkward silence that made you want to crawl in a hole and wither away, you cleared your throat. “Um. Yeah. So anyways, where you going Slim Jim? I’ll come with!”

Before you had finished your sentence, you had begun moving toward the threshold. You had to get out. You had to get away from Jungkook and his dark eyes and whatever the fuck just happened. Yet, you had only taken a couple steps before a hand wrapped around your wrist and stopped you.

You whipped your head over your shoulder to see Jungkook gripping your wrist with a look on his face that you couldn’t decipher. That made you nervous.

Your eyes widened once more. “I… I’ll see you in the morning for training. Bye!” You yanked yourself free and practically ran out of the room, grabbing Jimin’s hand and dragging him with you.

“Can you believe him!? Ugh! And he still didn’t give me a valid reason! Only said I was going to lose and that was the end of it.” You threw your arms up in frustration to emphasize its ridiculousness as you and Jimin continued to walk down the palace hallways.

You just finished explaining how Jungkook had called the match early to your friend, who was regarding you with an amused glint in his brown eyes.

“Maybe he saw something you didn’t and thought it was for the best to end the fight?” He replied, trying to think optimistically.

You only drew in a deep breath and dramatically expelled it before glaring at the apricot head.

Jimin chuckled and rolled his eyes at your antics. “I mean ‘Argh! How dare he end my precious best friend’s match early!? What a scumbag!” He gave you a nudge with his shoulder. “Was that better, your highness?”

You made a satisfied noise and nodded. “Yes, thank you very much. Glad to have you on my side. But speaking of highnesses, um, how was your picnic with Jiae?��

He looked at you quizzically. “How’d you know about that?”

“I saw her this morning.” You shrugged.

“Oh, well, it was really nice and relaxing. Hey… um… what do you think of her?”

“Me? I mean we’ve only spoken briefly, but she seems really nice. She’s really pretty too.” You answered honestly.

“Yeah she is. It’s so good to see her again.”

“How long have you known her?”

“Since I first began coming to Illain. She’s always been a great friend, but she’s…” He took a deep breath and smiled at nothing but the thought of the lilac-haired girl. “She’s just amazing, you know? Beautiful, kind, smart. I could spend the whole day with her and still not want to leave.”

I’ve always been a great friend too… You glumly thought before mentally giving yourself a smack.

You were supposed to stop thinking about that. You had to. It’s not going to happen. It’s never going to happen. You just needed to be happy for him.

When you realized you hadn’t responded yet, you punched him lightly on the arm. “Seems like someone’s smitten.”

“I am,” he said, a blush rising to his cheeks, “I think… I think I really like her.”

He exhaled dreamily and beamed, causing his eyes to squish close.

You forced a bright smile back at him while internally sighing. Those damn squishy eyes…

“I’m happy for you, Slim Jim.”

You were. You truly were. You loved seeing him all bubbly and blushing. It was adorable, and he deserved happiness. It just sort of sucked for you until you got over him.

“Just don’t forget about me, okay?” You said it in a joking manner, but the truth is that you were terrified that he would toss you aside if he got with Jiae.

As if he could sense your underlying worry, he stopped you and placed his hands on your shoulders. “I could never forget about you, Y/N. I’m always going to be here for you. You’re not just my best friend, you’re my family.”

He reiterated his words with a gentle but reassuring squeeze of his hands.

You smiled, genuinely this time. Family. I like that.

The two of you continued your stroll throughout the palace, talking about anything and everything. From whether or not Jimin was the best archer in the kiela (he swears he is, but his members had different opinions, especially Tae). To wondering how your family and friends were doing back home. Well, your home. You weren’t sure which place Jimin considered to be his. Regardless, it was the most time you spent together since leaving Earth. It made you feel grounded and normal. It was nice.

After a while, you cried out when you remembered that you never showered, and you turned to Jimin with a grimace. “I can’t believe you haven’t said anything about my sweaty stench, but I’m gross and can literally feel the salt on my skin, so I’m going to go take a shower. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

He nodded but it quickly changed to a rapid shaking of his head when you held out your arms for a goodbye hug. “Fuck no! You just said it yourself! You’re stinky!”

“Oh, come on! You know you want some of this.” You gave him a teasing grin while absurdly gesturing to yourself.

“Ew, I really don’t.” He laughed loudly but ran a hand through his hair when he saw your pout. “But, fine. Come here, you sweaty scorja.”

You rushed into his open arms and hugged him tight. “I think that’s the first time you’ve called me that.”

“Well, the boys are right. It suits you.”

“Thanks, Slim Jim.”

With a tiny smile, you stepped back and gave your best friend a final wave before turning and skipping down the hall toward your room.

Three days later, Jimin found himself walking through the palace with his youngest brother. The former was on his way to meet Jiae for an evening walk through the courtyard while Jungkook was hungry and wanted to make himself a sandwich in the kitchens. They ran into each other on their respective routes and decided to walk together since they hadn’t seen each other much since arriving at the palace.

They were almost to the exit that opened up to the courtyard paths, so Jimin decided to investigate a bit before he and Jungkook parted ways.

“So… Y/N told me you stopped her match early the other day. She wasn’t too happy about that.” Jimin look at his brother out of the corner of his eye and caught the younger’s exasperated eye roll.

“Trust me, I know.”

“Why’d you stop it?”

The duo rounded a corner, but Jungkook suddenly stopped and crossed his arms defiantly. “She wasn’t going to win. She was just going to injure herself.”

Jimin followed suit, stopping as well and looking Jungkook in the eye questioningly. “Since when did you care?”

The green-eyed Saeni scoffed and looked away. “I don’t.”

“Mhmm. Sure Jan.”

“The fuck does that mean, hyung?” Jungkook faced his brother once again and narrowed his eyes.

“It means I’m calling your bullshit.”

“It’s n-”

“Shut up and listen because I’m only going to say this once.” Jimin was quick to speak over Jungkook in a serious tone. “You’re my brother, Kook, and I’ll always love you, but if you hurt her I’m going to beat your ass.”

“Of course she’s going to get hurt. You know how training is, Chim.”

“I’m not talking about training…”

“Then what the fuck are you talking about? We get along fine now. Really well, actually. And I don’t yell at her anymore.” Jungkook was starting to get annoyed with the conversation.

He just wanted his damn sandwich.

The burgundy-haired Saeni sighed, picturing himself biting into the most beautiful and tasty sandwich to ever grace Illain. Shamefully, the heavenly image was quickly shattered due to Jimin raising his voice suddenly.

“You used to yell at her!?”

Jungkook saw the anger in his hyung’s eyes and widened his own. Jimin may be smaller than him, but Illai knows that he’s downright terrifying when upset.

Jungkook laughed nervously, food briefly forgotten, while rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, fuck. Um, so, I might’ve yelled at her this one time while you were getting kidnapped.”

The male suddenly became quite interested in the ornate carvings on the walls, doing his best to avoid Jimin’s murderous glare.

“Yeah… do that again and I’m sending an arrow straight to your balls.” Jimin ran a hand through his apricot-colored locks. “But that’s not what I’m talking about either.”

It was silent for several heartbeats as Jungkook wondered what Jimin could possibly be referring to. On the other hand, Jimin waited patiently for his point to get through his brother’s handsome, but oftentimes dense, coconut of a head.

Finally, it clicked.

With green eyes wide in utter disbelief, Jungkook whipped his head back to Jimin. “Oh my goddess, you think I like her?” He chuckled dryly at the, in his opinion, ridiculous thought. “For Exia’s sake, she’s human. I could never like her.”

“Sure, Kookie, keep telling yourself that.” Jimin patted the younger male on his shoulder in a pitying way. “Just remember what I said.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Jungkook shrugged the hand off in annoyance. “You better get going, Chim. Your princess is probably waiting for you.”

After the elder jogged away to meet Jiae, Jungkook huffed and turned around, walking back the way they had come. In the opposite direction of the kitchens. The conversation had effectively caused the Saeni to lose his appetite. His perfect sandwich would have to wait for another day.

You were walking through the palace, admiring the construction, carvings, and décor while making your way to the kitchens for a snack. It amazed you how something like this had been created. You let out a sigh of wonder as you tilted your head back to look at all the beautiful lanterns hanging from the tall ceiling. Doing so made you groan, though. Your neck, and every other inch of your body, was sore as hell. Because after the seminar, Jungkook decided to bump up your training.

“Since we aren’t walking all day anymore, I want to increase your sessions to three hours, twice a day.”

“Oh, dear lord,” you mumbled to yourself but then shrugged. “Alright, sounds good. It’s not like I have anything better to do, so might as well.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” You waved him off and continued your stretches.

You tilted your head to the side to watch the Saeni out of the corner of your eye as he fiddled with the straps on his armor. You hadn’t brought up what happened yesterday when you arrived this morning, and thankfully, neither did he. It wasn’t awkward between the two of you, but it was apparent that it was a topic neither of you wanted to discuss.

Hallelujah. You gotta love the little things in life.

But while you watched him, you had to admire his figure. How lean and muscular it was. How powerful it was. How it had felt to be pressed against you. How those hands had felt while holding you. You wondered how it would feel if-

Nope. Nope. No. Absolutely not. We are not going there, Y/N.

You forced yourself to look away and finish your stretches, making sure to only look at the ground, the trees, or the sky.

“But that’s not what I’m talking about either.”

You were brought out of your memories when you heard Jimin’s voice echo down the hallway. It sounded liked he was up ahead around the corner. You gleefully approached, not having seen your best friend since he interrupted you and Jungkook’s… moment a few days ago. Quickly, you shook your head, not wanting to think about it again. You had just reached the corner and was about to turn it when a second voice made you pause.

“Oh my goddess, you think I like her?”

Jungkook.

Who are they talking about? You crept closer to the corner’s edge like the eavesdropper you were.

“For Exia’s sake, she’s human. I could never like her.”

Your breathing stopped while your eyes widened and your body stilled. They were talking about you. You didn’t even hear the rest of their conversation as you slowly backed away, you were too busy replaying Jungkook’s words in your head.

I could never like her. I could never like her. I could never like her.

Abruptly, you pivoted and briskly walked back the way you came. You could feel your chest rising and falling rapidly. Your breaths growing uneven.

I could never like her.

Disappointment blossomed in your heart and you felt it spread throughout your entire body.

I could never like her.

Your hands began to tremble slightly as the disappointment transformed into hurt.

I could never like her.

Fuck, why does it hurt?

You ducked into an open doorway, relieved to see that the dim room was empty. Letting your back hit the wall, you slid down until you were fully seated on the floor, legs tucked in close. You wrapped your arms around your bent legs and allowed your head to droop until you were completely curled into yourself.

I could never like her.

Why does it hurt so much?

You had truly thought that you and Jungkook had become friends. You had thought that all the bullshit and hate was behind you guys. You thought that his jokes and teasing came from a good place. You though that his smiles and laughs were genuine. Yes, you still bickered like crazy and considered him a grade-A asshole, but… but you… you had thought…

I guess it was all an act…

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officialleehadan · 5 years

Text

Sword and Shield

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“My life changed in my nineteenth year. At nineteen, I made my first, perhaps my only, friend.”

~From the journal of Telian, the White Sword

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The problem, Bordan thought to himself as he fought to hold back the seething wall of undead, armed with a broken sword and a bad attitude, was that the undead didn’t know when to give up.

Of course, neither did he, which was why he was in this particular situation in the first place.

The road to Ridmar was a long one. Oh, sure it was shorter by train, and Bordan fully intended to take advantage of that, but first he had to get to a town that was big enough to actually have a rail connection.

But wen he saw the cloud of miasma flowing down between two of the foothills towards the next town too small to even have a name, well, he couldn’t pass them by.

He told himself it would have been different if he knew that the town was dead already, hit by another cloud of miasma only a few hours before dawn. If he had known that the town was dead already…

It didn’t matter. He came into town, hoping to warn them in time to get everyone out of the way, and found nearly a hundred twisted, mutilated undead where there should have been a bustling town.

He wouldn’t have stayed, if he hadn’t heard a child crying.

The child turned part of a tiny family who lived in the town’s bell-tower, and who were just high enough to be above the miasma as it rolled through.

He got them clear, but the undead took note.

Now he was trying to hold them off, desperately fighting to buy enough time for the little family to run.

The reason for the miasma became all to clear as he backed up, step by step, hemmed in by old buildings that kept the undead form surrounding him. He thought those walls looked odd, but now he saw the signs he should have seen before he ever risked the town.

The way the hills sloped away from the town.

The deep scars, distinctive and visible if he had been smart enough to look.

The way the miasma crept out of the soil as much as it rolled down the hills.

A blast crater, from one of the bombs that fell during the War between Ridmar and Sidonia. The damn-fool people built a town in the crater of a bomb. No wonder the miasma was so bad here. What could have possessed them to build in a place that practically leaked miasma?!

But when he saw the reactor, burned out and half-destroyed up on the hillside, he understood.

Thee were the workers, the people who survived the war and had no where else to go.

No wonder they refused to leave.

Bordan fought, sword long broken on one of the Undead that was covered in some sort of half-fused metal. He killed it, but his sword, which had been with him since before he could remember, was broken off almost at the hilt.

The miasma cloud, thick and brown but lit inside with eerie blue light, flowed down the hill, slow, drifting fog that left everything it touched blackened and twisted.

Bordan looked over his shoulder. The family was almost clear, but he couldn’t follow them or he would lead the undead straight to them.

But that reactor might offer more than just a stark reminder of the War only two years past.

Bordan kicked one of the undead, what used to be a man and was now a shambling corpse, riddled with maggots and baring blackened teeth, away. The reactor wasn’t far, and it was high enough up that the miasma probably wouldn’t reach him there.

“Hey!” he yelled, waving his arms to make himself a bigger target. “Hey! Ugly! Over here!”

The undead, who were already interested, turned as one, empty, rotted eyes fixing on him.

“This was not my best idea,” Bordan muttered to himself, and waved his arms again. “You want me?! Come get me!”

He took off running, not after the family, but up the rocky trail to the reactor. It had probably been a decent road, once. Now it was a wreck, ruined first by the bomb that cored out the reactor itself and then by years of disuse.

Two years wasn’t long for a man, but of a road, it was an age.

Bordan leaped a small creek that cut through the worn concrete and kept going, pausing only to make sure the undead were following him, not the family.

They were.

This was definitely not his best idea.

The reactor was a ruin. It was clear that the bomb hadn’t struck it clean on, but the damage was done anyway. When Bordan scrambled up the stairs, ducking under branches and through the scrub until he broke into the reactor’s main hall.

Here, the signs of the blast that had destroyed the reactor were visible in the destroyed walls, and the huge chunks of rubble that littered the shattered floor.

But worse, worse was the sign he hoped to avoid.

Where the miasma slipped into the town, born by the wind and seeping form the dirt, here it puddled, thick and viscous.

If he made a single bad step and fell into the thick fog… it was a bad way to die, and a worse way to come back.

The undead were on his heels as he ran through the reactor, following the easiest path through the rubble. Here and there, he paused long enough to take down the closest pursuers, but it was a losing game. Every time he stopped, the rest of the pack got closer.

He was running out of reactor, and ideas.

A glint of light caught his eye as Bordan paused, back against a boulder, to try and catch his breath. Something in the back of his mind prodded him forward. They made artificial lenz in these old reactors he remembered. Maybe…

That feeling in the back of his mind came again, and before he could think better of it, he shoved his hand through the fallen leaves and the rubble, seeking that elusive glimmer that might just be hope.

It was a lenz, but not like any lenz he had ever seen before.

Sharply faceted as all lenz were, most of them were red, or blue. Yellow sometimes. Even white. Their color showed what sort of magic they focused best.

This one was black, heavy and inky like the dark just outside a fire’s reach. Swirls of red shot through it, endlessly moving, and somehow, deeply ominous.

Before he could drop it, instincts creaming that this was not the hope he prayed for, miasma fog, foul and reeking, flooded through a crack in the wall.

Bordan managed three steps before it was on him, overwhelming and so thick it was almost impossible to see through. He stumbled, eyes burning from the acrid fog, and somehow, impossibly, kept breathing.

Miasma fog was a quick death. Bordan knew that better than most. He had seen farmers caught in it, trying to save their animals. He had seen the way they choked and coughed as the miasma filled their lungs and twisted them inside until they died, or worse, fell and rose again.

But this… this was, somehow, no worse than the fog that rolled off the river back home. It stank of rot, but the pain never came. The horrible, wrenching mutilation that Bordan still dreamed about, years later.

Never one to take good luck for granted, Bordan shoved the strange lenz in his pocket, and ran for the exit. With any luck, the undead would be stuck in the miasma, and if he couldn’t see farther than his own arm, maybe they couldn’t either.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

The whine of an airship cut through the miasma somewhere overhead, and Bordan didn’t slow as he shoved through the undead, ducking swipes and snarls, as he tumbled out one of the gaping holes in the reactor’s side.

When he cleared the thick concrete walls, the source of the airship’s whine became clear. The ship itself was dropping lower towards the town, and Bordan could just barely see the family he saved, surrounded by soldiers and being hurried, one by one, onto the ship.

Good. They were safe. That was what mattered.

Bordan was somewhat less safe, but he could deal with that.

While he was distracted, the undead closed on him again, and he muttered a curse even as he vaulted up onto a boulder, and scrambled for the wall above. The undead could climb, but not well. Once the miasma faded, he could run for it again. He didn’t want to chance his improbable luck more than he had to. He was already living on borrowed time as it was.

Before he made it to the wall, claws raked down his leg, and Bordan slashed blindly with his broken sword. He hit… something, and the claws vanished, but the damage was done. Blood soaked his pants and left red smears on the stone below as he forced himself to keep climbing.

So much for running. He could feel the gashes in his leg seeping his strength as the moments passed.

One bad slip, on his own blood ,damn it all, was all it took. Bordan scrabbled at the worn concrete but with one leg down he couldn’t catch his balance. The nauseating feeling of a bad fall swept through him, but suddenly there was a hand, a human hand, on his, yanking him back to safety.

“I would say hello,” the man said, blonde hair tied back, into a loose tail, free hand filled with a rapier that looked like it was worth more than Bordan made in three years. He was that striking kind of pretty that Bordan thought wasn’t real. The kind in the newspapers, that always seemed to be talking to someone important. He was also, Bordan noted, lightheaded from blood-loss, about nineteen. Maybe younger. “But I think look out is possibly a better use of breath.”

“You’re definitely too young to be fighting monsters,” Bordan told him, too dizzy for any kind of good sense. The kid cracked a smile, and hauled Bordan up onto the boulder without the slightest difficulty. Enhanced, maybe, or using a lenz Bordan couldn’t see. Maybe both. “You got another sword in that coat?”

“No. Can you use lenz?”

“Yup.” Not well, and not for long given his general state of exhaustion, but he could.

The kid pulled his coat out of the way and reviled a sophisticated lenz harness across his chest that was filled with high-grade lenz in half a dozen colors. He pulled two out of the harness and handed them over. “Heal yourself and cover me.”

“I don’t know where your mama is, but I’m not telling her I got her kid killed by undead.”

“My mother is dead, and wouldn’t care if she knew.”

“Fine. My mama would be pissed and I’m not explaining it to her either.”

“Is your mother alive?”

“Nope, but I’m not disappointing her memory by getting a kid killed.”

“I am not a child, and your mother will understand, I assure you.”

“She will definitely not.”

Bordan let the banter distract him as he channeled mana into the Heal lenz until the gashes in his leg faded to something manageable, and then switched to the other. It was, it turned out, a higher-test version of the Fire lenz he sold to get enough cash for the trip to Ridmar.

This one was much nicer.

Bordan immediately set to setting everything around them on fire.

The kid blinked, taken aback by all the fire, but took the opening Bordan bought him. The kid, as it turned out, was unreasonably fast. He was also unreasonably lethal with that long-bladed rapier of his, and the two together made short work of the undead crowding around their rock.

Who knew?

Undead handled, Bordan slid down off his rock, winced at the sticky feeling of his blood-soaked pant-leg, and offered the lenz back to the kid.

“You got a name?” he asked when the kid waved t him to keep the lenz. “I’m Bordan.”

“Telian.”

Wait.

Bordan knew that name.

“The White Sword!?”

“I hate that name.”

“But you’re him?”

“My sword isn’t white.”

The White Sword was the A.P.O.C’s youngest general. He was unstoppable. Rumor had it he could take a hundred men by himself. During the war, he fought for Ridmar and when the A.P.O.C formed, they made him a general.

He was also, Bordan noted, about nineteen, definitely uncomfortable with Bordan’s awed surprise, and was trying not to fidget with his sword. There was something about the way he glanced at Bordan out of the corner of his eye that told Bordan just how badly this kid needed someone immovably in his corner.

“You definitely need a friend,” Bordan decided on the spot, and clapped Telian’s shoulder firmly. “You’re stuck with me now. So, is that airship yours, or are we gonna go be airship pirates next?”

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CB - Before the Black Lenz:

Lenz is power. the crystallized blood of the planet. Magic, for those willing to junction it. Power for those who control it. Terrible, for those who face the lenzmasters, who wield magic to terrible effect.

But before they can be junctioned, lenz must be found, and only a few are brave enough to brave the mana fountains that mark the birth of a new lenz.

Fountain Above

Miasma Born (Free on Patreon)

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