#i gave my blood sweat and tears to this chapter

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | three.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

—word count: 4.8k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, general bioengineering project descriptions/terms, very vague mention of mice research work, mentions of a lil cut (nothing graphic), a lil more oc x san!!, oc x san being subtle with their actions - they're def feeling each other/checking each other out tho lol, suave sexy san!!, jongho is onto him oop 🤨, it builds up from here i prawwwmise!

When Sunwoo said he needed help, he truly meant it. A few weeks into the new quarter, you find yourself hustling in the lab in between your class schedule. You do enjoy it though, and you find that you still have time to carve out for your friends and nights out. But, you do feel your workload slowly increasing just because Sunwoo is trying to make significant progress with his project— a project that you hope to build off if you were to fully join Professor Choi's lab. A project that would hopefully get your name on another published paper, too. And, you weren't gonna lie, you wanted to do your best and work extra hard because you needed Professor Choi to see that you fit perfectly in his lab. You needed to show him that this wasn't any ordinary research work to you and that you weren't just winging your time here, especially after he gave you that friendly but stern pep talk during your kick-off meeting with him, Belle and Sunwoo.

—FLASHBACK

"Hey." Professor Choi says while sitting in his chair. The three of you walk in, with Sunwoo plopping himself down on his couch, and you and Belle sitting at the two seats in front of his desk. "How's everyone doing?" He asks while typing away, huge Mac screen taking up the corner of his desk with his laptop connected on a laptop stand.

"Good!" You all say in your own ways.

"How about you, Professor Choi?" Sunwoo leans back onto the couch.

"Mm." He hums. "Good as can be, I guess. Can't complain." He chuckles, now fully shifting his attention to you three. "So! How'd the talk go?"

"Well, I think Y/N would work well with my project. There's so many avenues she could piggyback off of if she joins the lab afterwards that'll help contribute to a lot of the dynamic foraging, brain-wide neural dynamics work we've been doing." You watch as Professor Choi nods in agreement, now looking at you and Belle.

"She could also help with the lab-wide project I've been heading and some other 2-photon and KCR work." 

"Sounds good with me. What about you, Y/N?" He leans onto his desk, eyes glued on you while his hands are clasped together. You lick your lips and nod, nervous that all the attention is on you especially from Professor Choi. You feel like he's burning holes into you, and you can't help but feel incredibly intimidated. 

"Yeah, that sounds awesome. I'm on board with Sunwoo and Belle's plans. I'm excited to dive in." He smiles at you.

"Cool. I think we'll get some great work done during your rotation." He turns to Sunwoo. "Sunwoo, can I trust you to take care of Y/N's badge access and getting her set up with everything she needs?"

"For sure!"

"Thanks." Professor Choi stands. "And just cause I have to lay this out there, there are some expectations I hold for the people in my lab— regardless if you're a rotation student, postdoc, undergrad, staff. It doesn't matter. I expect the highest performance out of everybody, and I want my people to succeed no matter how long it takes. I expect my people to do nothing but the best and I need that to show in everything you do. Presentations. Data. Papers. Everything. I don't want anyone to settle for less than that, and you have my support every step of the way."

"Of course, noted."

"We have lab meetings every Monday at 9am up on the third floor of the south wing. I'll get you on the schedule so you can do your rotation update towards the end of the quarter."

"Journal club!" Sunwoo says, making Professor Choi laugh. "One of us!"

"Yeah, we'll get you to do a journal club presentation too." He tucks his hands in his pockets.

"Professor Choi gets us free hot breakfast for lab meetings." Belle puts her hand on your arm as you all stand and start to get ready to leave. "It's so good." You giggle.

"So, all good? We're all onboard?" You three turn to Professor Choi and nod. "Nice. Welcome to the lab, Y/N." He flashes you a smile that only you catch, a look that only you see. Like it was meant to be that way.

Your time in Professor Choi's lab will be an interesting one.

—END

"Hey." You pull out a seat and plop onto the chair, sipping on the drink you just ordered.

"Hey pretty!" Eunchae giggles, while Felix, Jiung and Jurin wave.

"Where have you been?" Felix asks, poking at your bicep.

"Shuffling between class and lab." You let out a breath, bottom lip poking out into a pout.

"She's rotating in Professor Choi's lab." Jiung looks at Jurin.

"San?" You nod. "Damn, goodluck!" Jurin chimes in and you shake your head. "He's a hottie."

"Here we go." Felix snorts.

"I mean, are we wrong?" She looks at him and playfully nudges his side, causing him to groan in response. 

"I never said you were wrong!" Eunchae giggles at his pained response. "That's just the hot topic on campus. Him and his friends."

"So hot. They deserve to be the talk on campus." Eunchae rests her chin on the palm of her hand. "How has it been in his lab?"

"It's been good! Just really fucking busy. Sunwoo is like.. at the peak of his project. He'll probably try to submit his paper within the year or something if all goes well."

"Fun times." Jiung looks at you while sipping on his smoothie. "You going back to lab after?"

"Yup!"

"I gotta head back, too." Felix says. 

"Same. I gotta run my gels." Eunchae adds.

"What about you?"

"Not today." Jiung responds. "I have a paper I need to start already for one of my classes. I've just been trying to troubleshoot some of the lasers in the lab for the other Professor Choi so I'm not entirely busy yet." You nod, checking your apple watch to peep the time. "Are you guys gonna be able to catch dinner later?"

"I should be."

"Yeah, same."

"Mm. I dunno." You tilt your head. "You can probably go without me and I'll catch up if I can."

"Sheesh, really putting you to work already."

"Yup." You sigh, finishing up your drink and your snack box full of cheese, grapes and crackers. "Anyway, I gotta get going. I told Sunwoo I'd try and fix our behavior rig today so we can start utilizing it soon."

"Text us if you'll be able to join dinner and we'll wait!" Jurin yells before you wave them off and start making your way back to the Harvey Center to finish up your tasks in lab. Part of you really wanted to stay with your friends and hang out for the rest of the afternoon, but you had promised Sunwoo you'd take the time to fix the behavior rig he had been working on for the past month. He just hasn't had the bandwidth to focus on it lately, so having you is tremendous help for him. 

When you get to the lab, there's still quite a few people lingering around in the office area in the basement, surprisingly. You pop over to their desks for small talk, getting to know the people in the lab and the projects they're working on. Most are situated at their desks, analyzing their data and coding between two monitor screens. Everyone's equally nice and passionate about what they do, it makes the environment less stressful knowing it's collaborative and engaging instead of being in a competitive nature. Belle pulls you aside to get your help just as Sunwoo is packing up for the day and thanking you for your help with the behavior rig. She takes about an hour or so of your time, giving you a quick rundown of the procedures she's working on and what you could help with in the next few weeks. It's after your time with Belle that you finally get to sit down at your desk and focus on the rig sitting on top of it. You don't think it'll take much time, and you feel like you'll actually be able to catch dinner with your friends.

Until you realize how difficult it is get everything situated on the breadboard properly. 

San hums as he walks through the cold air, pacing towards the Harvey Center to get to his office. He's just had a good workout at the faculty lounge, and he doesn't expect too many people [if any] to be lingering around in the open office space of the lab. He knows people are cooped up in their own laser or behavior rooms right now, and it's not even the first time he'll be strolling in casual clothes. He tries to keep himself clean and pressed down, but he too, has his days where he just wants to head to work in some jeans. A tshirt. Hoodie.

Right now, the cold is pricking his skin because he's in a black Nike dry fit shirt and sweats. He's running to the office to finish up a few last minute things before heading home and relaxing. As expected, the hallway feels eerily quiet. He assumes there could be one or two people locked away in the rooms, but he won't bother. When he gets into the office space, he doesn't see anyone in particular until he turns the corner towards his office and finds you sitting at your desk in the corner. The computer screen is pretty bright, and you've got your hands tied with a rig. 

He definitely wasn't expecting you to be here.

"Fuuuck." He hears you slightly whine when the small allen wrench in your hand slips and tumbles to the floor, followed by a few screws sitting on your desk.

"Hey Y/N, you okay?" San asks, dropping his duffle bag right in front of his office door before slowly walking over to you. You look up in surprise, eyes quickly scanning Professor Choi in his casual outfit. You're stunned at how good he looks in something so simple, how big and defined his arms are in that tight shirt; he looks so good you almost forget to respond.

He sure as hell catches on though, a tiny smirk growing at the corner of his lips.

"Oh, yeah. I'm trying to unscrew this but Sunwoo's got it in there tightly. I'm afraid I'm weak." He laughs and shakes his head.

"Nah. You're not weak." He picks up the allen wrench from the floor. "Which one?"

"This." You point. "And this too, while you're at it." He chuckles.

"You got it, boss." San angles himself closer to you, face only inches away from yours when he dips to get a better look. You watch as his arm muscles flex when he gets the wrench in there and starts undoing the screw, loosening it in a matter of seconds. "I'll let you do the rest." He moves onto the next and loosens it shortly after. When he finishes, his face is only inches away from yours and he keeps a hold there. He's looking at you again, really looking at you, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. You're not sure what else to do besides nibble on your bottom lip.

"Thank you." You manage to choke out. He gives you a soft smile before handing you the allen wrench and standing fully upright.

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" 

"Um, no. I didn't." San looks at your hand a little further and notices the fresh scratch near your pinky— probably due to your hand slipping from the force, scratching it against one of the mounts sitting on the board. 

"I didn't expect you to lie to me so quickly." He teases, slight whine in his tone while he clicks his teeth. "Can I see?" You show him your hand. "Come to my office, got some ointment for it." He nods towards his door and leads the way. San could damn well show you to the lab's first aid kit down the hall, but his office is much closer and he'd feel a bit better than just sending you off to fend for yourself. 

"Professor Choi, I can just find the—" Before you can finish your sentence, he's already swinging his door open and holding it open for you.

"It's much quicker than heading down the hall to the first aid kit." He laughs a bit. You give him a tiny smile as you brush past and walk into his office, feeling a bit awkward being in his private space for something as little as a cut. You fiddle with your fingers as he places his duffle bag down onto the couch before grabbing the first aid kit in one of the drawers near his desk. He grabs a small pack of ointment and a bandaid, approaching you in the middle of the room. "Mind if I..?"

"Not at all." You leave out your hand for Professor Choi to take and he gently tugs it closer. He applies the ointment on your scab, dabbing it lightly across the surface before grabbing the bandaid and placing it on top. 

"There."

"Thank you, Professor Choi."

"You're welcome. Be careful next time. Make sure Sunwoo does the heavy lifting."

"I know. He's good help. I just figured I'd help him get a head start." San gives you a small smile. "Mind if I ask? What're you doing here later in the evening?"

"Sometimes, I just stay to get my work done. Can't always rely on my home office to keep me productive." He chuckles. "Plus, I get my workouts in at the faculty lounge." You nod.

"I see."

"How long have you been in the lab today?"

"I've been in and out in between classes."

"You haven't eaten dinner?"

"Nope. Dining hall doesn't close until 9pm, though." San looks at the time on his computer.

"Which is getting pretty close. You should wrap it up." You look at him with a small pout and it feels too difficult having to keep his composure while you keep looking at him like that. His eyes quickly dip to the low cut shirt you're wearing before he manages to divert his attention back up to your eyes. The tension is palpable, but you don't say anything. Even if you caught it, even if you wanna tease him a little. You try to stick to your own lane in case all of this is pure delusion. 

You're so fucking pretty, though. It's bad for San. 

Unhealthy.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. It's nice knowing you're working hard in the lab." He follows up with a laugh. "But, you should also get some time in for yourself. Rest and eat well. You can always come back to the work tomorrow."

"What if I fall behind?"

"There's no such thing on falling behind if you're constantly working on so many different aspects, Y/N. Plus, it's not gonna be perfect. You'll have days that're slow, that'll feel like you aren't getting much out of your project. But, I promise it picks up again and things will come out of it regardless."

"Noted." You smile at him. "I appreciate that."

"How about I finish up in there and we head out together? I'd really hate to leave you here in the office alone, especially if I don't have to." You look at him and even though everything inside of you is fighting, pleading, to say no, you end up with—

"Okay." You softly respond. "I'm gonna go clean up."

"Sounds good. I'll be out in a minute." He gives you that look again and you hate that you don't know if he looks at everyone else like this or just you. You eye him once more even as he's turned towards his desk checking his phone before you head out of his office and to your desk. You did make good progress on the rig, which you know Sunwoo would be grateful about. The only thing he needs to do is add the part he created the other day, a tube where the mouse would be situated for lick behavior tests.

Meanwhile, San plops onto his computer chair and pulls up his emails, looping in the appropriate people to help fix certain issues. He's got a few emails regarding just-in-time information needed for the grants he's been re-applying for, making a mental note to hop on a quick meeting with the people involved so they can get their reports and data together and send it off in a timely manner.

It never ends, he thinks. 

All is his life consists of now is work. The lab. Collaborating in various projects across departments. Working out. Sometimes, San wishes there was something else he could look forward to. Something else that could take time out of his day, something that he could put his attention to. Something like—

jongho: still on campus?

He turns to his phone when the text tone goes off, seeing the message from Jongho. San quickly checks the time and finishes up the last email he was working on before he got distracted.

san: yeah, gonna head out tho. just working on some last min urgent emails that came in.

jongho: wanna grab something to eat? i'll meet you at your car

san: alright, give me like 10 mins. 

San sends off his last few emails before checking his calendar for tomorrow's meetings. He has a virtual talk after class that he needs to prep for, which he'll do later tonight. Plus, he'll need to gather that information for the grants. Just thinking about it makes San breathe out a heavy sigh, slightly feeling overwhelmed at his never-ending to-do list.

Yeah, a new hobby or distraction would be nice.

"Ready?" You turn to see Professor Choi locking up his office, duffle bag slung on his shoulder. When he's done, he turns and gives you a small smile; patiently waiting for you to be ready. You nod, locking your computer and grabbing your things before walking out behind him.

"So, do you always work out in the evenings?"

"I try to, yeah." You look up at him while he walks alongside of you. "Helps me release steam from all the stuff going on."

"I can only imagine." You tug on your bag strap. "I don't know how you do it with your busy schedule."

"I'm not too busy." He says in a playful tone. "Just enough."

"Sure." You laugh. "Everyone knows how busy and occupied you are, Professor Choi."

"What if everyone just hypes me up too much and has the wrong idea about me?"

"I doubt that."

"How would you know, hm?" He smiles when he presses the elevator door. 

"Oh, please. I never not see you in a meeting or talking to someone, or doing a talk somewhere." You slip into the elevator with him. He rests against the rail on the opposite side from where you stand, fully facing you. "You even did that episode not too long ago for Professor Young's podcast."

"Wow, you really keep up, don't you?"

"How could I not?" He chuckles.

"That's nice to know that you do." He means it. As much as he loves when people treat him like a regular person, he also loves it when people keep up with his projects. His papers. His talks. He's not gonna lie; it is an ego boost, and he likes knowing that people take time out of their day because they're interested in hearing what he has to say or what he's working on now.

It's definitely nice coming from you.

You quietly stand off to the side, watching as the elevator takes you from the basement to floor 1 of the building. San is subtly eyeing you from where he stands, noticing how you keep to yourself and shift your weight between your feet in some kind of anxious move to get off of the elevator. You can barely look him in the eye and he thinks it's cute.

"What're your plans after you get dinner, Y/N?" He breaks the silence as you step out of the elevator and out of the building. The night isn't too chilly— the stars are dotting the sky beautifully, crickets are beginning to chirp. There aren't too many people moving across campus anymore, which is the usual at this time. Most are huddled up in lab if they're the working night-owl type, or resting at their dorms or apartments to get ready for the next day.

"Finish my loads of homework and try to hang out with my friends for a bit if we all aren't too tired."

"That's nice, minus the homework part." You giggle.

"What about you? If you don't mind me asking." He smiles.

"I don't. I'm just gonna meet up with the other Professor Choi and grab dinner with him."

"You two are close, yeah?" He nods.

"Yup."

"That's cute." 

"Is it?" He asks in a playful, sing-song way that has you shifting your attention to your feet to bite back a huge smile.

"It is. Very." You finally look up at him and meet his eyes. "By the way, I hope I'm not making you walk extra steps tonight." You point at the dining hall just down the path. "I can take it from here if you need to get to your car or meet him somewhere else."

"It's alright, I parked right over here." He nods towards the parking garage coming up on the left. "Easiest garage to find parking at."

"Works out then." You give him a tiny, toothless smile.

"Your friends are able to join you for dinner, right?"

"Should be. I'll call them in a few." You pause in your steps when the garage is directly to the left now. "Thanks for walking me, Professor Choi."

"You sure you don't need me to walk you towards the end of the path?"

"All good. I'm a big girl." He laughs.

"Yeah." He's doing that thing again. That thing where he just looks at you with a certain glint in his eye— a certain glint that makes you overthink, makes you wonder if he does this with everyone he comes across, or if it's just you. 

"Goodnight, I hope you have a good dinner."

"You too." You give him one last smile and wave before you start walking towards the dining hall, creating more distance between you two. You don't catch the way he continues to watch you until you've managed to cross the street and approach the dining hall— phone pressed against your ear because he assumes you're calling up your friends to meet you.

When he feels comfortable to take his eyes off of you, he crosses the way to the garage and starts walking towards his car that's sitting on the current ground level, Jongho patiently leaning against the tail end of it.

"Uh." Jongho laughs. "The hell was that?"

"What was what?"

"I saw you from here, don't try and be slick on me now." 

"It was nothing?" San pops open his trunk and tosses his duffle bag in.

"Didn't look like it." Jongho snorts.

"Y/N was just in lab and I didn't want her to leave alone."

"Your rotation student?"

"Mhm."

"Okay. I'm all for being a gentleman but be careful." He gives him a look.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I've known you for years, bro. There's a certain look in your eyes and it doesn't exactly scream 'nothing.'" 

"Well, it is." Is all San says. He doesn't really have anything else to say because he doesn't wanna sound like he's defending himself way too much when he doesn't need to. He knows better. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Aye." Jongho shrugs. "Want you to be happy but just keep it safe, yeah? You've worked really hard for everything you have."

"I know." San lets out a breath. "Anyway, where do you wanna go for dinner?"

"Happy hour at the bar nearby? I can be passenger princess, or if you really want, we can drive separately to make it easier. I guess." He playfully huffs, making San chuckle.

"Just get in." 

On the way to the bar, Jongho gives San more details about the collaboration and that the group is incredibly interested in moving forward. San nods, agreeing that it would be good for them and everyone involved both funding-wise and opportunity-wise. Jongho then tells San about his recent grants that were finally accepted and re-awarded, giving him a little more leeway to purchase new equipment he's been having his eyes on for Jiung and a few other of his lab members to toy around with. There's a certain idea that's been floating in his head for awhile now, one that San honestly doesn't understand much about because electrical engineering is a whole other beast to him. He gets the gist, and he knows Jongho has only done incredibly work, continuing to one-up himself every single time he comes back around with a new idea.

"So, there's another thing I've been thinking about." Jongho says, as they finally arrive to the sports bar and follow the host to a table on the back patio. 

"Should I be scared?" San asks as they sit and immediately order their go-to beers and the karaage they love so much. 

"I was thinking of asking the dean for some real estate at the new campus building."

"Bartlett Hall? The one that just finished construction?" Jongho nods.

"Mhmmm." He responds in a sing-song tone. "I briefly mentioned it to him in passing and he told me we'd talk more, but was hoping to get you onboard, too."

"Why me?" San laughs, picking at a piece of karaage with a toothpick before popping it into his mouth. Before San can hear Jongho's reasoning, the server comes back to take their orders. They both order different burgers, planning to exchange a half for the other. 

"Was thinking we could open the joint department together, finally have a space for us to combine our work in electrical engineering and bioengineering." San pokes out his bottom lip and nods.

"Sooo, we'd have to write a whole pitch and sell it to the dean?"

"Yeah basically, but we can run it by Namjoon first and see what he says."

"I'm down. I dunno if the dean will budge without implementing certain requirements from our end, but, I'm down to try."

"Yeah?" Jongho laughs. "Glad to hear you're down. It'll be good! I've been thinking about it for awhile but I was always hesitant. Think it's probably just best to take the leap. Worst thing they can say is no."

"That's true. Yeah, I'm down. It'll be good for the students and the postdocs. They'll have a space for them to collaborate together. Pretty exciting to think about, actually."

"Thought so." Jongho sips his beer. "I'll start working on a proposal and send it to you for edits."

"Sounds good with me."

"How was that meeting with Zara, by the way? I never got around to asking."

"Oh, it was good." He shrugs. "We talked a lot about getting her lab situated and getting on more grants ASAP."

"Sounded like a productive talk. Have you met again afterwards?"

"Yeah, it was." San clears his throat. "We met a few more times just to talk a bit more on some finer details for her lab and plans. Hope it was helpful at least. I turned her to Namjoon most of the time cause who else would know more?" Jongho laughs.

"Yeah."

"She's cool, though. Really sweet." Jongho snorts. "What?"

"I see Mingi's plan isn't really working well." San rolls his eyes, stuffing a few fries into his mouth before taking a bite. 

"Yeah, no. It's not." San shakes his head. "Don't even think about instigating, either."

"It's kinda fun. Plus, she's obviously attracted to you."

"No." San shuts it down.

"Why not? Why don't you just continue seeing where it goes?"

"I am, and I'm still in the same position I was when I first met her."

"Which is?"

"I respect her as a colleague and a colleague only." San glares at him. "I'm not going to force anything that isn't meant to happen." 

"Okay, fine. You're right. I'll get behind that." Jongho dips his last fry into the ketchup before looking back up at his bestfriend. "But at least promise me you won't be entirely closed off to it if it does naturally develop into something?"

"Uh." San pauses. He pauses not because of Zara or whatever Jongho's saying right now; he meant to agree, but he finds his thoughts suddenly roaming to.. you.

His curiosity, the need to learn more about you.

"Hello?"

"Sorry." San shakes the thoughts from his head in case Jongho can hear it or something. "Yeah."

"Definitely not genuine. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing."

"I can hear you thinking."

"Can you? That's an invasion of privacy."

"It's her, isn't it?"

"I literally have no idea what you're talking about." Jongho stares and gives him a certain look, causing San to divert his attention away. Away from him, onto anything, anyone nearby.

"Yeah, okay. That's all I needed to know." Jongho quietly sips on the rest of his beer before pushing his plate aside and sitting back into the seat. "San, make your decisions wisely."

"I already told you it was nothing."

"Okay." Jongho says in defeat, leaving the topic alone. All he wants is for San to be genuinely happy, just like their other friends do. But, he's also hoping San is smart enough to make the right [and wise] decisions.

Not be blinded by anything, causing him to make irrational and impulsive decisions based on his feelings.

"Anyway, are you good to go?" San crumples the napkin and tosses it onto his plate before standing up and grabbing his keys, phone.

"Yeah, I am."

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thespiffynerd

[tibby]

How much blood would you shed to stay alive?

THE SAW FRANCHISE | 2004 - PRESENT

[wiseatom]

HAPPY WIP WEDNESDAY EVERYBODY!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️ chapter 1 of my big bang fic, aka “mike isn’t homophobic, but he IS an idiot” roommates au goes up tomorrow!!!!! here’s a snippet for your troubles!!

[apricusapollo]

just finished writing chapter 8 of paper rings. it's 10k words. give me a moment to breath out and maybe I'll post it in an hour or so. maybe.

[cherrysnax]

im sure this feeling will pass but I feel like im not made for comics

[gia-d]

Back in October last year, I started reading This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja.

By the time I had made it to chapter 5, I had already started typesetting this story as I read because I knew this would be one of those stories that I needed to have on my shelf.

When I finally caught up to the story at chapter 31, I begged the author to let me bind this when it was finished.

Nearly a year later, and what is probably the most important bind of my life is finally finished. Check out these glamour shots, and if you want to hear more about the actual binding process and about how this fic actually changed my life, see below.

So funny story, before I get into the technical side of this bind, but this fic actually changed my life. Not as in I was greatly emotionally moved by the story, though don't get me wrong I absolutely was, but genuinely this fic introduced me to some of the best people I have ever had to privilege of knowing (Hello Class, you know who you are 🩷), and also, it introduced me to Freyja, the incredibly talented author, who, as I type this, is curled up in bed next to me fast asleep after flying half way around the world to go on a two week long date with me.

Moral of the story folks is comment on the fics you like. You might accidentally meet the love of your life on, and I can't believe I'm saying this, AO3.

Anyways, about the bind!

This bind was a challenge from day 1. I had to do the typeset for this 300k word fic 4 times, and had to split it across 2 volumes. This was the longest fic I have ever attempted to bind, and it was so thick I couldn't get it in the paper trimmer.

To make this book as durable as possible, I attempted a few techniques. I secured it with 3 tapes, I made an Oxford hollow, I rounded the spine, I made a slipcase and I used 2.3mm boards where normally I use 1.8mm.

The slipcase is covered with embossed faux leather, buckram and plain ribbon, and lined with gold satin fabric. I've never made a slipcase before so this was an experience.

The books are covered with an emerald green silk finish bookcloth which really gave the books the luxury they deserved. I foiled custom end papers as well as every chapter title page using heat reactive transfer foil on toner ink (never again I am never doing that again omg it took days). Huge thank you to @la-sera for letting me use her artwork which helped inspire this fic!

The grey flashback chapters I had to use HTV for the border decoration and I'm very happy with how that turned out because it was so easy and straight forward, unfortunately it just wasn't viable for the whole book.

It feels weird to finally have these books done. They have my blood, sweat, tears and my heart poured into them, and I've been working on them for so long that it's odd to actually have them finished. I'm so proud of this bind, and feel like I've grown so much as a fanbinder by making these.

Anyways, if anyone has any questions about the process, please don't hesitate to ask!

(and if you are an Linked Universe fan and haven't read Adjuration yet, this is your sign!)

[redclercs]

DELICATE ✰ CHARLES LECLERC

❝'𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞❞

WHEN YOUR reputation is crashing and burning around you, the last thing you need is a boy with pretty eyes who drives a fast car and makes you feel things you really shouldn't be feeling.

✑ charles leclerc x actress! reader series.

✑ general warnings: slow burn, strong language, bullying, sexual themes, f1 race calendar is a mess and it's fixed to fit the story, lots of taylor swift references, the pictures used in this series don't represent the exact looks of the main character and are just for entertainment's sake. please refer to each chapter for specific warnings.

✑ listen to the official soundtrack!

✑ for delicate related posts, check out #📖 delicate (asks) and #⚙️ the garage;delicate (wip), beware of spoilers!

INTRO: who is y/n anyway? ew

i. my reputation's never been worse

ii. do you really wanna know where i was april 29th?

iii. one for the money, two for the show

iv. you and me would be a big conversation

v. i gave my blood, sweat and tears for this.

vi. do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

vii. all of my enemies started out friends

viii. 'cause i know that it's delicate

ix. i'm so sick of running as fast as can

x. what a shame she’s fucked in the head

INTERLUDE: this is why we can't have nice things.

xi. it’s okay we’re the best of friends

xii. oh no, i’m falling in love again.

xiii. and all the pieces fall, right into place

xiv. this feels like the calm before the storm.

xv. he was sunshine, I was midnight rain

xvi. it hits different 'cause it's you

xvii. tba

xviii. tba

[a-b-riddle]

I'm just going to ask this because I need to get it out of my head. This is all in regards to your Poly141 x Reader series going on. I'm just going to recap things first.

-Price got verbally eviscerated because of all the times he got short/snapped at the reader because he came into their bookstore that they bought with their own money, put their own blood, sweat and tears into fixing up and had THE AUDACITY to call them immature for trying to break things off cleanly like a MATURE adult in a space that's RIGHTFULLY THEIRS because he couldn't be an adult admit how he shouldn't of been treating the reader like one of his men.

-Soap showing up trying to apologize and then thinking with his dick because of how the reader got dressed up for a dinner date and got a taste of his own medicine when the reader just hit it and quit it without so much as a thank you, or a goodbye kiss and basically told him to clean up, get dressed and kick rocks.

-Gaz shows up after weeks of just flaking out of any dates and just being a ghost (ironic considering Ghost's callsign) trying to talk to the reader in person when the reader had tried for months to just get a glimpse of him only to be told he couldn't right now but could another time. Then the reader just tell him, 'yeah sorry no. I don't have time for you and your mates nonsense at the moment, just swing by to get your stuff when it works for you'.

-Ghost showing up whenever the reader is in trouble and getting them away from danger only to disappear shortly afterward and give the reader radio silence. The one time that the reader tried to seek him out for just a SHRED of comfort and he just told them, 'You're only good for what's in between your legs love, you knew what you were getting into. You should've known better.'

With all this mind, I want Ghost to have everything and the kitchen sink thrown at him. I want him to be told in no kind words that his words and lack of realizing how fucked up the things he said to the reader were was the straw that broke the camel's back. I want the reader to hurl everything that they didn't say to Price to Ghost. I want him to realize in no unclear terms how if he didn't fuck up so royally and had actually attempted to give the reader a fraction of what he was being given, things would be so much better. And for some extra salt on the wound, have the reader tell him that they suppose that when it comes to his line of work, he's pretty good at breaking anything and everything he touches. It's just a shame that for anything that involves a softer touch, he winds up breaking it beyond repair.

I just love narrative/reflective irony and can't wait for the next part and wish you well for making it to the end of this ramble. 🥰

I'm throwing up.

I am so happy that y'all got it without me having to say it. YES! She is giving everything back that they gave her. John's outbursts, Johnny's lack of aftercare and Kyle's flakiness.

I will say this which I think is interesting. Simon said something hellllla shitty and unforgivable. Like it was mean and something once you say you can't take back. I will ask this and feel free to go back and re-read.

What else did Simon do? Before the phone call, what else did Simon do to reader? We know Simon wanted to hurt reader. Why? Did he plan

Spoiler below, read at own caution

Or was he just sick of being the only one out of the four guys to actually contribute to the relationship and knew he needed to be the one to drive it home that there isn't a future with them? Reader refers to Simon several times as her body guard or guard dog... But never a boyfriend or partner.

In flashbacks, we see that Simon only ever came over at night. You'll find out why in the next few chapters, but as much as I love y'all hating on Simon, I cannot WAIT for y'all to get to the why.

And remember kiddos, hurt people hurt people.

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Just Another Notch

Bucky Barnes x Plus Size F!Reader

Masterlist Part 3/?? Part 4

Word Count: 1,824

Summary: If Bucky thinks his charms will work on you, then you’re gonna put up one hell of a fight to prove him wrong.

Warnings: Nothing explicit 18+, until later chapters, read at your own discretion. Fat shaming, bully!Steve. Protective!Bruce

Training felt useless. When you made it to the simulation room, you didn’t even power up the hologram tech. You sat in the chair facing the super computer. Seeing your reflection in the monitor screen, cause tears to well in your eyes. You thought you were beautiful, when you looked in the mirror after you got dressed, you felt so confident. The look on Bucky’s face when you emerged from your room boosted that confidence tenfold. You could laugh at yourself now. How quickly things change, it’s the cosmos teasing you. Blowing a long breath out of puckered lips, you drop your forehead, landing it on the cool glass desktop. Maybe you bit off more than you can chew. Maybe you weren’t strong enough to play this kind of game.

You knew you never stepped foot in that gym for a reason. Why did you think today would be different? “You ok?” You raise up, searching the room. “Uh hello?” You say, standing up when you still don’t spot anyone. You see the top of a curly head of hair bent under a desk. Walking up to it, the gym situation leaves your mind instantly. You see Bruce folded up untangling wires underneath a desk. “What a sight.” You laugh. “Yeah, yeah, poke your fun.” He contorts himself free, standing up to press the power button on the monitor screen.

When he’s met with continued darkness, he rolls his eyes and faces you. “Your forehead.” He motions towards his own. You make eye contact with yourself in the mirrored wall behind him. Apparently you’d banged your head harder than you thought. You didn’t feel it but you saw the blood at your hairline. “Oh my.” Your eyes grew to be big like saucers.

You look at the desk to see a large crack down the center of it. “I heard you do it, that’s why I asked if you were okay.” He was looking at you with disbelief that you did that to yourself without noticing. “It didn’t hurt, don’t worry about me.” You brush him off, running to the sink in the corner to wash the blood and sweat from your face.

“I know you have a hard head, my desk though? Priceless and fragile.” He jokes, you can hear the real concern under his voice. “What happened, really?” Bruce steals your rolling chair, sitting below you, looking up intently. His big brown eyes gave you the courage to admit it. “Just the same old, same old.” You kick at one of the wheels to the chair.

“C’mon, you know it’s not good to hold it in. Let the doctor help.” He sounds playful, but you know he’s dead serious. You never considered Bruce one of the main team, so there was no reason to ice him out. He was a scientist more than anything. He spent almost one hundred percent of his time in this simulation room, save for when you both knew you’d rather be training alone. He kept you company, not in the verbal sense.

Most of the time the room was filled with the clicking of keys and hard labored breaths. You both did your own thing, over time you started appreciating each others meekness and opened up. Once you got the man talking, he never stopped. You’re sure his brain is a computer, he soaks up information and spits it back out, corrected. You knew better than to ever lie to him, he was far too smart to fall for whatever you planned to say.

“Tell me.” His smile drops and you feel yourself break a little more. “I embarrassed myself, Bruce.” You look away from his saddening eyes. They were starting to pool with pity, and that’s the last thing you want from him. “Hard to believe, but how?” He says, grabbing your wrist to keep you from running away.

With a deep breath you begin, “I went the the gym with Bucky this morning, mistake one.”. Bruce quickly interjects “Bucky? What are you doing hanging out with him?” He presses his eyebrows together, you can’t discern his expression, was it judgement or something else? “It’s a long story.” You find yourself looking down and away from him again. Like there’s a smudge of guilt and shame creeping in.

“I’ve got time.” He raises his arms in a gesture that conveyed ‘bring it on’. God he wanted the details, why? You glance around the room, finding another chair and rolling it infront of him. “Where should I start?” You giggle, forcing yourself to lighten the mood. “The beginning, please.” He starts to bounce his knee.

“Last night, I was eating my late night cereal in the kitchen, when everyone got home.” Bruce folds his arms and nods. “Bucky joined me in the kitchen and well, he dumped a bowl of milk on me. It was an accident, I think.”

“You think it was an accident? Or you have proof of otherwise?” He says, tilting his head. “Maybe the latter.” You admit. “Okay, so the guy spills milk on you, so you go workout with him?” He was obviously confused. “Not directly after! He apologized and brought me coffee this morning to apologize again, offered to help me out with training.” Bruce rolls his eyes again and you’re sure they’ll fall out the next time.

“Please tell me you didn’t believe he was just innocently apologizing.” He sounds annoyed with you, it kinda stings. You never expected Bruce to get upset with you over it. “What else would he be doing?” You shrug your shoulders at him, genuinely curious if he saw it the same way. “Anyone with eyes here knows, that Casanova, will pull any girl in the building, I’m sure he doesn’t even have a type.”. So Bruce also thinks Bucky was flirting with you.

“I honestly didn’t want to believe it. Why would a guy like him be with me?” You shake your head, trying to throw the thoughts from your mind. “He has been nothing but nice to me, I promise.” You look him in the eyes and you see the tone you’ve been hearing in his voice. Flecks of green shine and then die out instantly, his knee was bouncing faster than before. “If he was so nice then why’d you leave the gym?” His voice wasn’t questioning, it was accusatory.

You choose your next words carefully. “Steve came in, and he said something that wasn’t so nice, so I left. That’s all, Bucky didn’t even do anything, there goes his attempt at sleeping with the whole office.” You try to laugh it off, but Bruce isn’t budging. “What did he say?”

“I was getting a water from the vending machine-“ before you could finish, his knee stopped bouncing, and he unfolded his arms. Now you were worried. “Did he comment on your weight, yes or no?” He stands up, harshly slamming the chair into the desk. You would never lie to Bruce, but the truth might start something you don’t want. “Sorta…” you say, ashamed. He strides past you, and now you’re reaching out for him, “Wait.”.

“No, I’m tired of these pompous assholes doing and saying what they want. I’m not letting it happen, especially to you.”. He looks back before exiting the room, and you feel something in your chest swell. He was so serious right now, you could feel the anger radiating off of him. You didn’t know Bruce felt anything besides casual friendship for you, now you’re starting to think differently.

“I’m coming.” You run to catch up with him, taking long strides behind him as his white lab coat swings behind him, and in front of you. “What makes him think he can even speak on my- on you?” He redirects as he swings the gym door open.

You’re met with Bucky and Steve racing each other in push-ups. “99-100!” “You suck.” “You cheated.” They’re laughing as if you and Bruce didn’t just walk in. “No one cares.” Bruce cuts in. The look of annoyance on his face was enough to confuse the super soldiers. “What are you doing out of the lab?” Steve jokes, but no one laughs. “The next time you even so much as think about Y/N, you’ll be talking to the big guy, not me.”. Steve looks around the gym, wondering who Bruce thinks he is. “Sure, pal.” He grabs a towel and wipes the sweat from his neck. “Tell your girlfriend to lose some weight then.” Before you could even be hurt, all you saw was green.

Hulk was infront of you now, taking heaving breaths. You poke your head out from behind him and see Steve and Bucky holding their hands out as if they were calming a wild boar. “Woah, don’t you think you’re over reacting?” Steve says, stepping back. “Y/N! Call off your dog!.” He says, tripping over his own feet.

Hulk slowly stalks towards both of the men, ready to shred them to pieces. A sinister smile on his face. You feel no pity for Steve, but the thought of Bucky being hurt in the crossfire didn’t sit right with you. Before the jolly green giant could break a bone you pipe up loudly. “Hulk? Hey! Over here!” You wave your hands around in the air.

He can see your tiny form trying to catch his attention, and Hulk has the peace of mind to just ignore you, and do what he knows best, smash. The first fist landed on the gym floor, splinters of wood flew everywhere, a hole to the basement left in its place. “Hulk!” You scream this time and it catches his attention. “Go home!” You demand. You knew better than to have a civilized conversation with him. He knew how to take orders from Fury, so maybe it would work. When he just stands there and looks at you, you double down. With a faux confidence, you looked him in his giant green eyes. “Now, Hulk!” You raise an eyebrow, like a tested mother, as if you were about to count to three.

You don’t know why, the hulk didn’t frighten you one bit, but silly, mean words would make you crumble. He growls one last time at the scared super soldiers before breaking through the door way leading outside. Leaving you alone with the men you almost had killed. Bucky looks in disbelief, like he wasn’t almost used for a human punching bag. “Sorry.” You shy away, stepping on fallen bricks to follow Bruce outside.

“What the actual fuck just happened?” You hear Steve ask, but you’re halfway to the swaying trees before you could hear his response. You don’t really know where Bruce lives, so following him through the woods was your only option. You don’t want him destroying more floor boards on your account. Also, you need to find out why he was so passionate about defending you.

Tag List:

@cjand10

@winterslove1917

@honestlywork

@calwitch

@missvelvetsstuff

@differenttyphoonwerewolf

@Thewiselionessss

@mcira

@sashaisready

@thejujvtsupost

@toxicteapot

[yumekojabaml]

ঞじòぴé Chapter 1 ઈଓᦗ࿐

Summary: M/n is a cute little white boy in Japan filled with demons and slayers. What if I told you those demons and slayers want him?

Harem list: 1/2 2/2

Chapter 2

author's purpose: Yes, I’m making another series even though I will NEVER finish it. If you guys could give me and idea on each post I got you👌🏽. The yandere will be speaking with bold and a color of my choice. The reader will have just bold.

TW: Death

“Something bad is 'bout to happen to me. I don't know what, but I feel it coming”— Steve Lacy

“M/N M/N RUN RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN”

“I'm sorry m/n I'm sorry I couldn't protect you.”

“M/N GET BACK HERE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE WITH ME.”

“HELP ME SOMEBODY PLEASE.”

“MAMA PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME AGAIN.

“GET AWAY FROM ME.”

“Nobodys going to help you.”

You woke drenched in sweat from a dream. “Type of dream was that?” You spoke out loud you've never had a dream like that before why all of a sudden?

‘I should get dressed.’ before getting dressed let me tell you what you look like. You have (h/l) hair with a petite body, long beautiful nails, and princess peach-like lips. You had a beauty that women wanted but never got.

Getting dressed, you ate, brushed your teeth, then left.

You open the shoji doors and close them leaving to get food since you are slowly running out. As you got there you got some stares from men mostly— the women envy you they just wished you, a foreigner NEVER came here. Did you care?… no you didn't.

“Hi, M/n It's been a while. “Spoke the pregnant lady. “Yes, it has been— how's the baby?” She smiled at you rubbing her belly. “He’s a fighter for sure he's been kicking me all day like he wants to see the world already.” She chuckled making you smile. “When he's born I want you to be his god uncle. “Does she really want that a teenager who should still be in middle school? “You mean it ame?” She nodded. “Now come help me.” she grabbed your wrist.

“Bye see you tomorrow!” She yelled waving goodbye as you walked away. All she wanted was for you to help her cook when her husband come home she gave you some of her food before you left. At least you don't have to cook.

For some reason when you came home and ate you just got this uneasy feeling like— something scary was gonna happen.

Laying your head down to rest all you hear is a loud, bloody murder scream. And your dumb ass got up and ran to the screaming once you got there the screaming stop all there was, was crying. You went to Ames's home seeing her holding a baby in her hands. She saw you. “M-m/n c-come closer.” You bent down in front of her.

“T-take c…are of m-my baby pl…ease. “Tears ran down hers and your face Ame chocked on her blood handing you her baby. “I will Ame… I’ll take care of him.” She smiled after saying. “You’ll be a better mother than me M/n.” Her hand dropped from your cheek before her eyes slowly shut. Your body was shaking if only Ame knew her baby was… gone before her.

— OBANAI’S POV—

‘Shit shit shit shit why didn't we get a report about this sooner.’ I thought seeing multiple dead bodies and blood. “We… are late- too late,” Giyuu said looking down of course we had to be late these demons are getting sneakier.

“Wait! I sense a heartbeat.” Sanemi ran in front of us we followed we made it to a house inside was a boy. Sitting on his knees sniffing holding a deceased baby along with a woman with tears streaming from his face. Giyuu was the first to step up to him.

“We need to get you out of here your family and many others will get a proper burial I just need you to let go of the baby and come with us.” The kid let go of the baby walking out of the house with his head down not even looking at us.

The kaiushi came cleaning up and burying the bodies I turned my head to the kid who was still there. Sanemi walked up to him. “Hey, listen you need to go home the sun is rising so you'll be fine walking home alone. “He didn't say anything well that's what we thought cause after Sanemi was done talking

“She was all I had left. “We looked at him he continued. “She loved me since the day I came to Japan she showed me around and treated me like I was a child of her own and now— she’s gone… because you couldn”t get here a second early.” He got up walking away from us.

It wasn't our fault we were late

[writemywaytoyourheart]

Bedeviled | Chapter 14: Always Faithful, Always Strong

Pairing: demon!jungkook x female reader

Genre: romance, angst, drama, horror

WC: 16.3k

Warnings for this chapter: strong language, anxiety, fear, mentions of blood and injuries, religious themes, mentions of past death and grief, tensionnnn, talk of loss of virginity, JK has mood issues, cruelty, insinuation of torture, betrayal...if there is anything i missed pls kindly let me know

Previous ML

The little angel holding your hand smiled excitedly at you. 

“See? It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she whispered. 

You nodded slowly, looking over at the taller figure beside the small angel. You couldn’t see their face due to the forest-green glow illuminating them from the inside out. Still, they felt so very familiar.

“Are you ready?”

You looked back at the small child when she spoke again, still grinning. Her smile was brighter than all the stars in the sky, the pale yellow wings on her back so tiny and fragile. 

Larger front teeth protruded slightly from her mouth, making her look like a rabbit. 

A very cute rabbit. 

You couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on your face. 

Her sweet grin really did remind you of someone…

“Am I ready for what?” You asked, confused. Your mind was a little blank.

A tiny giggle that sounded like ringing bells fell from the child’s lips, “To go home.”

You blinked slowly. 

“Home?”

The ghost of the word left your mouth quietly in a single breath, full of a longing you’d never felt. 

“Mhm!” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

The grip on your hand tightened a little more. 

Turning your head, your brows furrowed when you saw someone lying in the bed you got out of. She was in a very worn-through white nightgown, her face drained of life as she lay there, a thin layer of sweat glistening on her splotchy face. She appeared to be in a deep sleep.

One she would not wake from. 

The rest of the shack was no livelier. There was a vase full of roses, but they were wilted beyond saving.

It was cold and dark. 

And lonely.

You turned back to the two beings and gave a small nod. 

“I’d like to go home.”

The little girl smiled giddily, then all you could see was white brightness closing in around you and a warmth that enveloped your cold body. 

Blue, pink, and purple lights appeared, surrounding you. Gold and silver swirled around in beautiful shapes. Colors you’d never seen before danced in your vision as the sound of beautiful music played, bringing a deep and wonderful ache into your heart.

Then everything was white again. 

You blinked hard a few times. 

Your heart stopped for a moment when you saw that you were surrounded by clouds. Looking down, you realized you were standing on one. 

Oh.

Oh my.

“____.”

The voice was that of a woman’s; deep but gentle, like a pool of warm chocolate. It brought a comfort so strong you felt your eyes water at just the single word. 

It came from the shining figure. 

The little angel was gone, only the tall being remained, standing in front of you. You still couldn’t see their face, but you were not afraid. You looked at them expectantly. 

“You suffered for a long time.”

A single unwitting tear fell from your eye at the unexpected words. It slid down your cheek and fell to the clouds underfoot. 

No one had ever spoken to you with such empathy in your entire existence; an empathy that reached deep into your soul where no other had touched.

You’d never felt more understood.

Then the feeling of grief washed over you. It was as if every painful thing that ever happened to you was consuming your mind and body in a matter of seconds, taking your breath away. Even though you couldn’t remember what exactly had happened before waking up in that room, you could feel every agonizing minute of it.

“You were alone for so long, scared for so many years, carrying it all on your own. Everything you gained along the way, you lost horribly by the end.”

You looked at the figure that was watching you closely and gulped, the pain not ceasing as you fell to your knees, unable to handle the agony surging through you. 

 “Was it worth it, ____?”

Tears fell from your eyes steadily as you held your heart, body shaking. 

Then you could see him: his sweet smile as he handed you an apple, the warmth of his hand that held yours, the big brown eyes that looked into your own with a comfort so strong it never failed to fix anything that was scaring you…his beautiful soul.

No matter how wretched it felt at times in that life, you were never alone.

A sob tore itself from your throat as you began to remember everything that you had forgotten at first. Everything that you had, no matter how fleeting, before it was ripped from you. 

You looked up at the figure that brought you to this place. 

“Yes,” you whispered.

Although you couldn’t see it, you felt the invisible person smile.

All at once, the pain was gone, replaced with a joy so breathtaking you knew you would do every single second of it again, even if you had been truly alone.

-

You walked along slowly, the invisible person at your right as the two of you strolled through the clouds. She was so tall that if you could see her clearly, you were sure the top of your head would only reach her elbow. 

“Why did you say I was alone most of my life?” You asked quietly, “If you already knew I wasn’t after meeting him.”

“Did the thought not cross your mind, ____?” The woman’s voice asked gently, “Were there not times you felt it was that way?”

You gulped, then gave a small nod, “At the hardest times…I suppose I did, yes.”

“That is why I phrased it that way. That thought, that doubt, was always there; lingering in the back of your mind. No, you didn’t think he wasn’t there for you. But on those dark nights without him there, it would come back. That anger of what was happening to you would come back, wouldn’t it?”

You nodded slowly. 

“You needed to answer the question with that present. You needed to realize the truth yourself in the face of that despair.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

They nodded and you two fell into silence once more.

“Where are we going?” You asked, watching your feet disappear into clouds impossibly soft but still strong enough to hold you up. 

You had always dreamed of being in the clouds. It was so much more than you had ever imagined.

“We’re going home.”

You hummed in response, then spoke up again, “Why did I forget everything for a little bit? How could I have forgotten him?” 

“Do not blame yourself. It can happen at times, when someone passes. Especially if that person passed in a traumatic way. Those that do, tend to forget briefly who they were or where they came from. But it comes back rather quickly.”

“Oh…where did she go?” You whispered after a moment of contemplating, “The little angel.”

“You will see her again,” There was a gentle amusement in the being’s tone as she continued to walk beside you. You had a feeling she was more amused by your incessant questions than irritated.

“Oh, good.”

As you walked, you suddenly saw a huge golden gate ahead, appearing from the clouds. 

“Is this home?” You asked breathlessly, stopping in front of the magnificent structure. You weren’t sure what was beyond them, but something was pulling you there, tugging gently at your heart. 

“It is.”

You just knew that the moment you stepped through those gates, you would never feel out of place again. 

Someone was waiting inside for you. 

They had waited a very long time. 

There, you would belong. 

“Can I go in?”

“You can. Before you do, there is one more thing.”

__________________________________

“I’m letting you out of the deal.”

You feel your heart stop in your chest at his words, then tears spring to your eyes. You shake your head and pull back, not missing the way he reluctantly lets go of you. 

“No.”

“What?” His brows scrunch and he takes a step towards you as you move back even more, wincing at the pain when you walk. 

“I don’t want out-”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” He snaps, “Because you can’t stop thinking about him. Just stop for a moment and think!!”

You shake your head but he steps closer, an angry yet desperate look on his face. 

“If you refuse me now, I won’t give you another chance.”

“I know.”

“Are you fucking insane?” He looks at you in disbelief, “Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into by agreeing to this?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you so in love with him?! Why can’t you see what’s happening?” His eyes are wild with rage, “You are damning yourself to He-”

“What if I stay?”

You see the look of shock flash over his face as he takes a step back, going from one hundred to zero in a millisecond.

“You-...what?”

You swallow, feeling very small and unsure right now. 

“You want me to stay, don’t you?”

The demon blinks a few times. 

If you stay, it will be horrendous for you. It will be painful and wretched and nothing will ever make it better. But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t tell you that. 

He’s selfish. 

And he wants you to stay, no matter what it might do to you. 

If you go through all of this just for some idiot mortal boy, he wants no part of it. But if you stay for him…

If one thing is true, it is that misery so very much loves company. 

You see one of his black brows raise slightly, as if you’ve gotten his attention. 

Taking a deep breath, you stay strong. 

Although it was a rash decision to use those words driven by exhaustion and panic, you knew you could buy time, that he would take it, that he would consider it.

What else could you expect from a demon?

“You don’t want him anymore?”

The way he says ‘him’ is bitter. Jealousy and rage crammed into that one small word.

You eye him carefully, “We still need to go through with the deal. We don’t stop here.”

He glares at you, “Why.”

“I came here to get something. I want to finish what I started. I won’t just toss it all out the window now.”

JK grinds his teeth for a moment, trying not to get angry. 

“Fine,” he eventually spits, “You’ll get the Flame, if that’s what you’re so fucking obsessed with.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice breaking a little. 

He rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh, “Your stupid little friend apparently doesn’t have a lot of time to become immortal. Let’s just keep going.”

You nod, following as he starts off. Almost immediately, you notice him slowing to keep pace with you as you limp slowly. He doesn’t talk much at first and you get the sense that he’s embarrassed for exposing himself like he did. The fact that he wants you to stay, no matter how selfish the intentions are…it means there’s something there.

Not long after walking again, though, he starts to talk. 

“Why ‘Apple’?”

“I like apples.”

“Oh.”

Only a second passes before the next question. 

“What made you decide to wear a dress? It’s not a very practical decision when one is planning to get the Flame of Immortality from the center of Hell.”

“I like dresses,” your voice cracks a little and you swallow, rubbing your throat with your hand gently. 

He rolls his eyes. 

“Well…is white your favorite color to wear then? Or brown…?”

You look sideways at him suspiciously but answer slowly anyway, “Umm…they’re some of my favorites, yeah.”

“What are your other favorites-”

He stops speaking and comes to a halt when you turn to him, badly scraped hands moving to your hips. 

“Why are you asking me all these-...innocent questions?”

“What? You’d rather I ask something else?” He snaps, handsome face set in an annoyed scowl.

“Well, no-”

“Are you a virgin?”

You take a step back, looking at him with an appalled expression. 

He only smirks. 

“You got pissy when I asked questions I thought suited you. Figured I’d try something different.”

“Yellow and pink…and blue.”

You ignore the confusion written all over his face as you walk around him and keep hobbling along. 

The sores on your hands and feet are extremely irritated and sore, the ones in your mouth a little less so. There’s still dried blood on the corners of your mouth and your bones ache so deeply you could curl into a ball on the ground and be fine with never moving again. The pain in your stomach lingers, but is nothing compared to when you were in the eighth circle. You still refuse to look at the wound on your right ankle from when the old man covered in flames grabbed you. It’s painful enough without getting a mental picture that will probably make it worse.

Overall, everything hurts. Your body continues to grow weaker simply being in Hell, steadily shutting down by the hour. 

But you can certainly manage. 

You have to. 

“What the hell does that even mean?”

You bite your tongue as he jogs over to keep in step with you again.

“You asked what my favorite colors are to wear.”

He groans loudly next to you, “I don’t know why I keep forgetting how fucking annoying you are.”

“Aw, that’s sweet, JK.”

“Shuddup.”

You chuckle quietly, gnawing gently on your tender bottom lip as you keep your eyes forward, a million thoughts swarming your brain. 

“What’s your favorite color to wear?” You ask as you glance at him teasingly, “Black? How original.”

He sneers at you, “Wow, you’re so fucking funny. You should be a comedian.”

“I might just do that.”

“What do you do, anyway?” He slows down a little more to stay alongside you after unconsciously walking faster. He can’t help it, with legs as long as his it’s second nature, “You said you’re nineteen. School? Work?”

“Mm, neither.”

“Neither?”

“Well, work I guess.”

“You guess.”

“Mhm,” You pick at the blood under your fingernails. 

“Care to elaborate?” 

He sounds annoyed with needing to ask for further details. 

“No, not really.”

He bites his tongue before he gets the chance to snap at you. 

“Ok, fine,” He says slowly, controlled, “You kind of work.”

You hide the smile creeping up on you. 

“So you’ve never really had any hopes for the future?”

“I didn’t say that,” You correct him calmly. 

“Well you sure as hell aren’t convincing me otherwise.”

You look at him as you walk, “Why should I need to convince anyone but myself?”

“I-” He stares at you for a second, “Never mind.”

It’s not even quiet for thirty seconds before his next wave of probing comes.

“Why apples, though? Pears are better than apples.”

A lump forms in your throat and you have to mentally push the memories out of your mind. Memories of him always preferring pears over any fruit. 

“Because Pear would be a stupid name.”

He chuckles, taking you by surprise. 

“Well,” You hum, “Pear is actually pretty cute now that I think about it.”

“Whatever you say, mortal.”

“It’s Apple.”

“I’m not calling you Apple.”

“Well then I’ll just call you Pear-”

“You absolutely will not.”

You scowl at him. 

“I’ll do whatever I want.”

“Yeah?” He snags your arm, making you stop and pulling you to him at the same time, a dangerously flirty smirk on his face, “Is that supposed to scare me, Apple?”

Your heart lurches and your mouth feels dry.

He leans closer, “Go ahead and do what you want, I’ve nothing against that.”

You try to scoff but it doesn’t come out very strong so it kind of just sounds like you choke. 

“I-I…I-”

“Y-y-you what?” The smirk is still on his face, mischief lighting up his dark eyes. 

You try your best to glare at him, but it doesn’t seem to deter him at all. 

He just leans in again, “If you stay,” his lips are close to your ear as cold breath sends tingles down your spine, “We could cause all sorts of trouble, Apple girl.”

You’re beginning to second guess your judgment of telling him that name.

It’s not the same as him saying it. It hurts a lot more than when he said it. It’s his voice, his face, his eyes that look into yours as it’s whispered. 

But it’s not the same. 

It used to be filled with so much love. 

Now it’s tainted with a shadowy wickedness whispering behind it. But after not hearing it from his lips for five hundred years, it still makes your heart race. 

“I get the impression you cause enough trouble on your own,” you whisper, pulling back and looking at him. 

“You’d be right,” he chuckles darkly, also pulling away. 

Your eyes fall away from his piercing gaze, looking over his shoulder. 

He snaps out of the trance he was in as he looked at you when you point over his shoulder and ask, “What’s that?”

JK turns to see a gnarled mountain in the distance that’s smaller than the others, right in the middle of the barren wasteland; the bottom thick and the top coming to a sharp point. 

“Ah,” he tilts his head and stretches his neck both ways, “You’ll see later.”

You give him a look but don’t bother responding. 

It feels like you can finally breathe when he steps away.You don’t understand how he can so easily flit from one emotion to the next. He’s acting like he didn’t just bare his entire soul to you when he offered to let you go not even that long ago. 

“You never answered my question,” He says as he starts to walk, once again matching your speed, or lack thereof. 

“Which one?”

“I think you know which one.”

Your cheeks heat involuntarily and you clear your throat. 

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s none of your business!”

“I think you’re embarrassed.”

“And why would I be?” You ask. 

“Because you’re definitely a virgin.”

You scoff loudly, “If I am or I’m not, neither of them would make me embarrassed. I have no reason to be ashamed either way.”

“That’s exactly what a virgin would say.”

“Shut up!” You grumble, “If you want to know so bad then you have to answer a question of mine.”

“Fire away.”

“Just like that?” You look at him in disbelief, “After all this time and all the trouble you’ve given me, you’ll answer anything just to know if I’m a virgin?”

He shrugs, “I’m curious.”

You mutter in annoyance to yourself for a moment, then you look at him. 

“What’s with the tattoos? Why are two colored and the rest not?”

“I don’t know.”

“I-” You glare fiercely at him, “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

You stop walking, which makes him stop to look at you. 

“So, let me get this straight,” You say calmly, scratched up and bruised hands folded nicely in front of you, “It has been however long…I have answered many of your questions, and you have avoided almost every single one of mine.”

“And?”

“And you acted like it was some huge deal that you would only tell me in exchange for something equally as big, and yet you don’t even know the answer yourself.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

You wouldn’t be surprised if he could see steam billowing out from your ears. 

“You’re so- so exasperating!!”

He laughs at the fact that that’s the best insult you could come up with in your state of enraged shock. 

“Technically I never said I knew.”

“Agh!” You throw your hands up in the air before pointing a finger in his face and standing up on your tiptoes to get closer, “I’m never telling you if I’m a virgin or not! Never!” Then you hurry around him and start marching away. You hear him laughing behind you, then the sound of him running to catch up with you. 

“You’re so naive.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

He grins annoyingly, shaking his head, “Such a grouch.”

“I’ll show you a grouch in a minute if you don’t let me calm down.”

He puts his hands up in defense, “Damn, ok.”

Your face feels hot with anger, your cheeks undoubtedly red with the blood that’s rushed there. 

Cool air would be nice right about now, but that’s a joke to even think about. Fanning with your hands does absolutely nothing. In fact, it might be making it worse. 

You drop your hands to your side and sigh. 

It’s no use being so angry. Him not knowing is technically an answer in itself. That’s what you wanted to know anyway, with several things. 

Back when you first got here, he spoke as if he was a demon since the fall of the angels, that he was one of them, that he chose it. 

Clearly his memories are not only gone, but corrupted into a false story that he believes is true though there are gaps in it that confuse even him. Like the fire, and the tattoos, and probably several other things; like the handkerchief in his pocket that he gave you when your eyes were burning. The one that looked like his mother’s…

She used to carry soft cream-colored ones around everywhere, and gave some to him. 

That’s what he used to bandage your ankle when you were young.

What would his answer be if you asked him about that handkerchief?

You gulp.

He’s confused when you ask certain questions like that, you can tell. And confusion is the first step, as long as the timing is right.

Your breathing has calmed considerably and the anger has dissipated when he speaks up again. 

“Are you calm now?”

“Yes,” you laugh quietly. 

“You can have another go, if it’s made you that upset.”

“You must seriously want to know if I’ve done it, nothing ever makes you this generous…I’m not upset anymore, I do have a question though, that I’d like to be answered.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll answer yours first.”

“Ok.”

You nibble your bottom lip, your cheeks flushing for a reason entirely different from anger now. 

“I’m not a virgin.”

“Oh...wow.”

You turn your head to see that he looks genuinely surprised as he stares at you while you walk. 

“Why does that shock you so much?” You chuckle. 

“It’s just-” He shakes his head, “You’re so pure, it-”

“I’m pure?”

When his eyes lift to yours again, he sees a teasing smile on your face.

“Two questions,” You hold up two fingers. 

He nods, apparently shocked into temporary silence. 

“One: how do you know that I’m pure? And two: who says that not being a virgin would take that away?”

He scoffs, “Isn’t it obvious? I can see your soul, mortal. All demons can see the state of someone’s soul. It’s how they know their weak points, how easy they are to break.”

The demon stops and turns to you then, a look in his eyes that you don’t understand. 

“How valuable they are to them.”

One of your brows lifts, “Ah, I see. And why would I be any less pure without being a virgin?”

“Your innocence would be gone.”

“And?” You look him dead in the eye, “Is my innocence gone?”

The way he stares at you makes you feel exposed, as if he’s peeled away your skin and can see right through you, into the deepest parts of your being. He is quite literally staring into your soul. 

“No,” he whispers, his voice sounding confused at this revelation. 

“Didn’t He make it for the human race as a gift?”

“I mean…I suppose, but-”

“And if I didn’t abuse it, if I used the gift as it was meant to be used, did I not do what He had intended for me?”

The demon swallows, confusion thick in the air as he stares at you, extremely unsure of everything he thought he knew.

“The act itself is not sinful,” you whisper, watching all the emotions flitting across his face as he tries to figure it out, “The intentions and circumstances behind it? They certainly can be.”

He says nothing, thoroughly befuddled in every sense of the word. 

“I think innocence comes in many forms. I am far from perfect, but I do know that I did no wrong when it came to losing my virginity.”

“Oh.” Is all he’s able to come up with. 

After another minute of him working through things in his brain, he clears his throat. 

“So this…this best friend of yours…is he-?”

“Is he the one that I shared myself with?”

He nods, uncertainty still clear on his face. 

How strange it is to be informing him that you are not a virgin when he himself is the only one you had ever been with.

“Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.”

You step closer, eyes not leaving his, “You said demons know when souls are valuable to them.”

He nods, but says nothing. 

“And?” You take another step towards him, as if offering for him to look again, “How valuable is my soul to you?”

“Any demon would stop at nothing to take your soul.”

“I’m not interested in just any demon,” you whisper, “I want to know how valuable it is to you. That’s my question, that’s what I want you to tell me. You didn’t answer me before, when I asked you how you felt.”

“I did.”

“No, you didn’t. Not really.”

“I told you,” he grits out as you step ever closer, “I can’t.”

“If I am so valuable to Hell’s collection of souls, how could you offer to free me? How valuable can I possibly be if you’re willing to let me keep my soul?”

JK gulps, pursing his lips. 

“How can a demon let go of a soul that any other would stop at nothing to take?” You whisper, eyes searching his, pushing just a little more. 

“Stop.”

“You said you would answer me.”

His eyes fall from yours. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why did you offer to let me leave?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he hisses, “You refused, and I told you, I will not offer it again.”

“Then why offer it in the first place?”

You gulp when his eyes raise to yours again, anger and something else there, something you’ve seen flash through them before, but very rarely.

You realize with a jolt to your heart what it is. 

Sorrow.

“You want to know how valuable your soul is to me?” He glares at you, stepping closer until you can feel his cold breath on your cheeks, “I would do anything to rip it straight out of you. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, holding back the tears that are threatening to come. 

“I would risk losing hundreds of other souls just to have this one.”

A cold finger runs along your chest, stopping right in the middle and not moving.

“How valuable are you to me…?” A painful ache surges through you at his slight change of words 

“So valuable-” His voice drops below a whisper, “That I would’ve let.. you.. go..”

Your heart is hammering in your chest and you know he can feel it. 

“JK…”

You don’t finish your sentence and he says nothing to fill the quiet. That’s when something else hits you. 

Tears spring to your eyes at the realization. 

“You-...” 

His eyes stay locked on yours. 

“You kept talking earlier, asking silly things,” you mumble tearfully, sniffling, “Because you knew I didn’t like it to be quiet.”

His following silence is answer enough. 

“I can’t,” is all he says after a minute. 

You nod slowly, his previous words floating through your mind. 

‘I can’t…love you.’

He can’t love you, but he can let you go; that’s all he knows how to do.

You bite your bottom lip harshly, the stinging pain a welcome distraction from the one on the inside. After a moment to gather yourself, you nod again, not looking directly at him as he watches you with a look so unlike this version of him you don’t think you can handle it. 

Then you raise yourself up, just enough to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. 

As you’re lowering yourself back down, you stop at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, though you keep your eyes downcast.

I’m sorry, Jungkook. 

That you had to be alone for so long, that you had to wait for me, until I could come to you. 

I am so sorry.

“Hey.”

You finally look at him at the light tone of his voice.

“We’ll be at the ninth circle before too long, you can’t grow soft on me now,” he smirks gently at you, “What happened to that feisty little attitude of yours, little mortal?”

You swallow the tears building up in your throat, bottling them up and putting a cap on it.

You will not fail, ____. 

Do not doubt yourself so. 

Nodding slowly, you swallow again, biting your lip as hard as you can handle. 

“I think I’m tired,” you croak, dropping your gaze to the ground between you. 

His boots are still sleek and shiny, completely flawless. The laces going up his shins look brand new, not a fray to be seen. The contrast to your beaten and bloody feet wrapped in torn black silk from his shirt is almost comical. 

“Only now?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You breathe out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, didn’t really hit until now.”

“Ah.”

You rub your eyes, fighting the yawn creeping up on you. 

“Let’s not talk about it,” you mumble, “It’s making me more tired.”

The sound of gravel moving makes you look at him as he turns to keep walking, granting your wish without a single protest. 

“Come on,” he calls out without facing you, “If you fall asleep standing there I’m not carrying you.”

You follow slowly, your brain spinning in circles as you try to stay calm. 

______________________________

“Can I go in?”

“You can. Before you do, there is one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“If you had the choice, would you like to become an angel?”

“I don’t understand,” You stared at the being that brought you to the golden gate in the clouds, brows furrowed in confusion at what they just said, “So…everyone that comes here is an angel…?”

Just like before, you felt her smile, even though you couldn’t see it, “Not everyone, no. The little ones that pass away in the womb become angels,” her voice was still so gentle and deep, it brought a wave of comfort over you just hearing it, “And some that were born and have lived a life worthy of it. Do not worry, everyone else that comes here is joyous regardless.”

‘The little ones that pass away in the womb become angels.’ 

Your heart stuttered in your chest when you thought of the little angel.

Could it really have been…?

Before you could break down into sobs and start begging to see the child, you cleared your throat, knowing the time would come to see her again. “And you…are you an angel?”

“I am.”

“Were you a human once?”

“No,” The voice had a distinct smile in it, “I was always your angel.”

“My angel?” You asked in astonishment.

“Yes.”

“What-” You shook your head to clear it, “What does that mean?”

Instead of getting an answer with words, you suddenly felt a strange pull in your chest. Then the being was gone and you were in your beloved forest, the breeze blowing the leaves gently. You turned this way and that, beyond confused. 

“How-”

You got cut off by the sound of a tiny giggle. Turning in alarm, you froze at the sight of a small child on the ground by the apple tree, her back leaning against it as she played in the grass with her feet.

You, it was you…at four years old…

Taking a step closer to the small version of you, the grass soft beneath your feet, you sucked in a breath when you saw someone else there too, a warm smile on their face as they watched you laugh. 

It was a woman who looked no older than twenty-five, but with an ancient wisdom in her emerald green eyes. She wore a dress of dark green that matched the deepest parts of the forest. Over it were thin plates of armor, a slender sword with a verdant hilt at her side. On her back were large wings that looked like a bird’s; the color of a sunlit field. One of the wings was wrapping around your small figure protectively.

Her hair was blonde, but looked to have hints of leaf green in it as well. 

The angel’s beauty was unmatched; you had never even imagined someone could be so utterly breathtaking. She truly looked like an otherworldly being that had come from the forest itself. 

There was a soft green glow about her as she placed a gentle hand on your head right after a bright red apple had bonked it harshly.

Her head turned at the same moment as your tiny one, looking at the fruit laying on the ground. 

As little you stared at it in bewilderment, the angel looked up and a smile graced her elegant features.

You watched yourself reach for the apple, then you noticed the woman looking up into the tree and laughing delightedly. So, you looked up to see what she was watching. 

Heart flying to your throat, you took a step back when you saw him. 

The small boy with dark hair and eyes that were wide as he looked down at the child he accidentally dropped an apple on. He scrambled down the tree quickly to apologize. 

All of the figures began to shimmer before disappearing, despite your sudden cry for them not to go. 

You gulped and pressed a hand to your forehead as another scene unfolded in front of you. 

The river was there, just ahead. Cold water rushed by, higher than it usually was. After only a moment, you realized what day you were looking back on. Seconds later, you saw two children running over to the river and laughing. 

The little girl said something you couldn’t hear as the boy bent down to pick up a pretty rock. In the next instant, the girl ran into the water. It was swift as it took her off her feet immediately. 

The boy looked up, then dropped the rock and leapt into the water to save the younger child. 

You watched in horror as he screamed for her, swimming as best as he could. 

But his arms were too small and the current was too strong. 

You couldn’t even see the girl anymore, she was gone, dragged under the surface. 

Then you saw the woman again. 

She was on the riverbank, tall and beautiful as always. She reached a hand down into the river and grabbed hold of something before pulling it up effortlessly. 

You saw your own little hand come out of the water as she pulled you out, then your head broke the surface. You gasped and looked around before seeing your best friend holding on to the rose bush. 

It was her…

That was the only thought in your head as the scene changed yet again.

You were back in the forest, by the apple tree. This time, you were watching yourself at fifteen as you cried your heart out after finding out that you were to marry Hoseok and your mother had hurled horrid insults at you. 

“Why me?!” You heard yourself scream at the top of your lungs into the grass, throat burning and heart pounding painfully in your ears.

The angel was there on the ground beside you, bent over in order to have an arm and a wing around you in a warm embrace. You noticed with a hitch in your breath that she was crying too, crystal tears dripping down her porcelain skin and falling to the forest floor as she stroked your hair ever so gently. 

She was whispering words of encouragement and reassurance in your ear even if you couldn’t hear it at the time. 

Once again, the two figures weeping on the forest floor shimmered and disappeared. They were replaced with quick flashes of your life running across your vision, the angel always there; a warm proud smile on her face when you were kind or shining tears drenching her cheeks as you lay sobbing in your mother-in-law’s house after losing your child. 

Then it was all gone. 

You were once again surrounded by white clouds, the giant golden gate looming in front of you. 

But this time, the being was no longer hidden from your view. 

The woman from the visions stood in front of you, a soft knowing smile on her pretty lips. 

If possible, she looked even more magnificent than in the memories. 

She was twice your height, dressed in that beautiful green gown, the armor shining brilliantly and the sword safe at her side. 

You gawked wordlessly at the huge wings behind her. 

“Y-”

You gulped, shocked into speechlessness. 

Her smile grew warmer at the look on your face. 

Finally, you found the words. 

“The invisible person,” you breathed, “That was you?”

Her head dipped slightly in confirmation. 

All the times you ever felt scared, felt unsafe in any way, all the nights you couldn’t sleep thinking of the ghost in the forest…all of it seemed so silly then. With the angelic warrior walking beside you during every step in life, nothing was ever going to hurt you.

You blinked owlishly. “You…how are you my angel?” Was all you could think to say.

Her laughter was like waves crashing against the golden shore. 

“There are many different angels. I am a guardian and I was tasked with keeping watch over you. Guardians have always been angels, from the beginning of time.”

“But…why me?”

“Everyone has a guardian angel,” she explained softly, “Most of them don’t know it until the end. When the Creator made me, He showed me some of your life. He asked me if I would love and protect you. I said yes. Until you were conceived, I simply waited.”

Your heart burst in your chest. 

The angel’s first choice…was to love you?

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. 

“Why don’t some people ever know of their angel until they die?” You whispered sadly. 

She leaned down, blonde locks tinted with green falling over her shoulders. 

“There are many forces at work in the world, ____. So very many of them with wicked intentions and a desire to wreak havoc and despair. They try their best to be the loudest. Sin is attractive, until you see its truest form.”

You gulped, “I didn’t know of you though, yet I still felt you there. Do others not?”

Your angel nodded sadly.

“Why?”

The look in her eyes was so vivid, it felt as though you were looking through each and every moment in history, every little thing she ever saw…Your heart ached deeply in your chest at her next words. 

“Because mankind is lost,” she whispered lowly, “And has very much forgotten how to listen.”

_____________________________________________

The exhaustion is heavy on your shoulders. 

Your eyelids feel like they’re being weighed down with hundred pound weights. But still you walk, dragging one foot after another, again and again. Steps eventually turn into miles. The scenery never changes. 

JK walks beside you, but neither of you speaks very much. Every once in a while, you’ll mention something about how long this stretch is and how hot it is, and he’ll mumble an agreement. 

It’s maddening that you can’t keep him in a certain state for long. He was opening up, he was softening even if just a little. The second the moment passes though, he clams right back up. 

It happened when he offered to let you go, it happened when you spoke by the fire, it happened when you asked him about the value of your soul to him. 

It has happened multiple times. 

And yet each time it passes, he is no sooner retreating into his shell and pretending like it never happened in the first place. 

The only thing keeping your spirits up at this point, is reminding yourself that if it wasn’t getting anywhere, he wouldn’t have softened even for a moment. 

None of this is futile. 

It is slow and it is painful. 

But it is not futile. 

Your stomach turns when you suddenly remember the voice. 

The one that came back when you saw JK’s true form, that mocked him and delighted in his agony. It said something. 

“This is my territory, little angel…you get out.”

He knows you’re here, and that you are not a mere mortal. 

A sickening pit forms in your stomach. You don’t know what will come of it. But one thing is for sure; you have even less time than you thought. 

“Back at the shed.”

You jump a little at the sound of his voice, but recover quickly and look at him as you continue to make your slow trek towards the oddly shaped mountain all alone in the middle of the wasteland. 

“Hm?”

You watch him as he stares into the distance ahead, a small frown on his face. 

“You said it was my fault.”

“Huh?” Your voice is weak. 

You know exactly what he’s referring to, but you need time to think of an excuse. 

“When you were losing your shit,” he speaks calmly, not a hint of anything but curiosity in his tone, “You said that it was all my fault.”

“W-Well, yeah,” you try to scoff, but it still shows the anxiety consuming you, “I was delirious from exhaustion and not to mention the unbearable heat. I mean come on, out here is bad enough, but in that circle-”

“Stop lying.”

You gulp, glancing at him briefly as you try not to stop the rhythm of your walk. 

“I was exhausted and overheated,” you mumble quietly. 

Technically you were, so that isn’t really a lie. 

He sighs, “I suppose I brought this upon myself.”

“What?”

“I should’ve known that sooner or later you would refuse to answer my questions as I have yours,” he shakes his head, an annoyed smile on his face. 

“I mean,” you laugh lightly, “It took me long enough to stop offering answers so freely.”

“Why did you? Before.”

“I don’t know,” you say softly, staring at a black cloud in the sky, “I think maybe I wanted to tell you, as unwise as it seemed at times.”

He doesn’t answer, but he does look at you closely as you walk. 

“Have you never felt that way?” You whisper, still not looking away from that little cloud up there in the bloodstained sky, “Have you never felt so burdened with secrets and struggles that you felt such an urge to just let it out? To let it out to whoever gave you that chance, even if you knew that they would hurt you in the end…”

He blinks slowly, “That sounds like a burdensome way to live.”

“Oh it is,” you say softly as you drag your eyes away from the cloud and over to him. 

“That’s why you offered things up so freely. Why you kept wanting to exchange information.”

“I suppose that’s one reason.” A sad laugh huffs from your lips. 

“What’re the other reasons?”

“There you go again,” you look at him with a playful glare, “Tempting me to say all my secrets, just for a second of fresh air to breathe because I won’t be the only one holding them.”

He shakes his head, “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Oh? And what are you doing, demon?”

He feels a strange unpleasant thud in his chest when you call him that. You’d been calling him by his name for so long now he had gotten almost used to it. 

When he looks at you, he can see something different in your eyes. Something subtle but calculating. It’s a very careful look as you watch him, as if waiting to see what he’ll do, waiting to see the reaction you’ll get from him.

You know something that he doesn’t. 

A foreign chill runs down his spine, startling him. You are a lot smarter than he’s given you credit for. A split second passes where he’s full of an uncomfortable thought that perhaps he’s never had the upper hand. 

Perhaps everything has been on your terms. 

A pit forms in his stomach when you begin to look different. Your hair doesn’t appear quite as tangled, nor does it look dirty. It tumbles down your shoulders in soft waves. The dress and cardigan you wear are not torn or messy with mud and other unsavory things.

As he stares into your eyes, there’s a very subtle color change in them. As if someone was standing behind him and flashed a bright golden light into your eyes for only a second. 

Then it all fades away and he sees just you looking at him expectantly. 

Just messy little you.

You look the same as you always have, only just a little confused now at his long stretch of silence. You don’t seem aware at all that he was quite literally seeing you in a different light momentarily. 

“JK?” Your voice is soft, “Are you okay?”

“What?” He chokes out, voice thick with confusion and maybe just a little fear.

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” you giggle at the silly term down here and with a demon no less.

“Why did you call me that?”

“Huh?” You step closer, confused by his question. 

“Why did you call me demon?”

“Did I?” Your brows furrow and you cock your head to the side, “I don’t think I did, though.”

“You did,” his voice comes out harsher than he intended.

“Oh,” you watch him closely, bewildered at his behavior, “Well, I’m sorry if I did. I wouldn’t have thought you’d mind if I did anyway, though.”

“I-” JK clears his throat, “I don’t. It just confused me for a second.”

“Oh…okay.”

Awkward silence falls between you two, then you nod slowly and turn to keep walking. 

You’re not sure what just happened, but whatever it was, it rattled him quite a bit. 

It takes a moment before you hear him start walking behind you. 

“I shared because I thought you might share as well,” you call to him, “Nothing about you makes sense. You know that, right?”

“You’re the one that doesn’t make sense,” he scoffs, but jogs to catch up to you anyway. 

“Look at us,” you gesture your arms out weakly, “What a pair we make. Nothing about us makes sense!”

He chuckles as you smile.

“Speak for yourself,” he nudges you in the arm as you walk, which makes you smile harder. 

Maybe you can get that shell to crack again after all. 

-

It took less time than you thought it would to get to the lone mountain. You look at it in confusion, head tilted back to see as high up as you can. “That took forever…it looked further away,” you mumble. 

“When are you going to learn that nothing here is made to make sense?” JK looks up at it alongside you, “If it makes sense, you’re comfortable. You’re not supposed to be comfortable here.”

You turn to him, “Since you’re being somewhat honest right now, I’ve been curious about something for a long while.”

“Mm?” He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to you, his gaze directed towards the bent and twisted vines that cover the small mountain, all the way up to the top. 

You two are around a hundred feet away, but you can see the dead climbing plants clearly. Part of you wonders if those are also snakes, like the ones at the entrance to the fourth circle. 

The memory of that feels so old, like you had given your shoes up and had been walking on bare feet through Hell for years. It makes you feel strange, and unsettlingly confused. 

“When I first got here,” you speak a little louder, relieved when he turns to you, “There was something I noticed that you did.”

“And what was that?” He whispers, subtle mischief reflecting in his dark eyes. 

“Before we even got to the entrance, when we first spoke,” you keep your eyes on his face, watching for a hint of anything other than the bored expression now painting it, “You referred to it as the Underworld. Only after we passed through the gate-...”

There it is. 

You see a flicker of something in his gaze. Swallowing thickly, you quietly finish what you were saying. 

“Only after we passed through the gate did you call it Hell.”

You’re surprised to see a smirk spread on his face. 

“Here I thought you were too daft to catch on to that, and yet you knew the whole time. I’m surprised, little mortal.”

You look indignant at that, but he doesn’t stop. 

“Most humans don’t catch it consciously. Only in their subconscious do they realize how much more uncomfortable it feels to hear the word Hell.”

He whispers that last word as he leans closer, as if the term itself is dirty and he finds pleasure in seeing you squirm because of it. 

You gulp but hold your ground as he moves even closer. 

“I won’t tell you,” he whispers. 

You’re about to protest but he startles you by placing a cold finger to your lips, effectively shutting you up. 

“I won’t tell you,” he says again, staring into your eyes, “Because you’re a smart girl.”

Grinding your teeth, you force yourself not to pay any attention to the feeling in your lower stomach. 

“Aren’t you, Apple?” He asks innocently, the look in his eyes showing the true delight he feels making you twitch, “Tell me that you’re a smart girl.”

One of your brows raises and you purse your lips. 

He’s really pushing it, and he knows that. 

“I also have dignity,” you whisper back. 

If anything his smirk grows.He finds it amusing when you snap back at him. 

“You didn’t say Hell because you wanted to be sure I’d follow you,” you keep eye contact with him, “Make it sound less than it is until it’s too late, right? Underworld sounds far less intimidating, less of a chance for the turning back of a potential soul for you to steal.”

“I don’t steal anything,” he hisses, “I told you that.” 

The staredown lasts another ten seconds before he speaks again, voice a bit strained from trying to reign in his irritation at your accusation. 

“See? I knew you were smarter than you let on. Why bother asking all these silly little questions if you already know the answer to them?”

“I wanted you to confirm it.”

“And?” He seems to have gathered himself again, “Has it been confirmed enough for you?”

One of his black brows raises as he clenches his jaw. 

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, can we move on, or would you like to stand here and spew more nonsense?”

You shake your head, eyes drifting back over to the gnarled mountain. 

“We can go.”

“Splendid.”

The demon turns on his heel and all but marches angrily towards your next destination. 

You sigh, then do your best to pick up your pace in order to keep up with him. 

“Does it annoy you that I talk a lot and ask questions that seem useless to you, or does it annoy you that I know more than those you typically deal with?”

“Both, little mortal,” he snaps, “Fucking both.”

You stumble to a stop and wince when he halts suddenly, looking up at the looming form of nature in front of you. 

A pit forms in your tummy when you see the vines ever so slightly writhe under your careful observation. 

Great. More snakes. 

A shaky sigh leaves your mouth, “Is this the ninth circle?”

“No.”

“Oh…what is it?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” JK mumbles, then turns to walk away, “We need to go around it, not through it.”

“Wait!” You call out before he can get too far, relieved when he stops. He says nothing though, just stands there. 

“I-” You clear your throat, “I think we should go in.”

“Why?” He scoffs, turning to look at you with an irritated glare. 

“I don’t know,” your voice breaks, betraying you, “I’m…curious?”

“You’re curious?”

You nod.

He stares at you in disbelief. 

“Are you fucking serious?”

When you don’t say anything, he turns the rest of his body, hip tilted and arms crossing over his chest, biceps bulging slightly at the action. 

“You’re telling me that you want to waste more time by looking inside of a useless fucking mountain?” His glare narrows even more, “We’re almost to the ninth circle. It isn’t far from there that your stupid Flame is waiting. Why do you suddenly have time to tour every fucking corner of Hell?”

You glance back at the mountain helplessly; you have to get in there. It might be exactly what you need. 

“Aren’t we just wasting more time standing here arguing?” You ask breathlessly, anxiety clear in your shaking voice, “Just- show me what’s inside and we can keep going-”

“Fine,” he growls, stomping over and grabbing one of the vines. 

You audibly gasp as he grips it harshly, ignoring the loud hissing before he tears it from the handle of a wooden door. The demon tosses it carelessly to the ground, where it slowly slithers away. You hadn’t even seen the door there, you’re absolutely sure it was only rock just moments before. 

The hissing grows louder and you step back, watching in disgust as the vines wriggle and slither off of the door that becomes ever more visible the more they flee. Soon enough, the ancient mahogany door is clear of the snake vines. JK grabs the handle and yanks it open. Dust falls from around the doorway. 

You stare wordlessly into the dark tunnel it uncovered, a lump forming in your throat. 

“Why-” you gulp, “I-...H-has no one come in here for a while?”

The demon scoffs quietly in annoyance. 

“There are other entrances. I guess no one’s bothered to use this one for a couple hundred years.”

“Couple hundred years?” You echo quietly, staring into the void.

“Well,” he sighs and leans against the doorframe made of stone, “Ladies first.”

You glance at him to see a stupidly handsome smirk on his face. 

He’s far too aware of the fact that you don’t even break a small smile at his words, all you do is blink a few times before looking into the dark mountainside. 

Then you walk inside and are soon engulfed in blackness.

__________________________________________

“Because mankind is lost,” she whispered lowly, “And has very much forgotten how to listen.”

A few tears fell down your cheeks and you brushed them away with the tips of your fingers. 

“Is there nothing to be done for them?”

“There is much.”

She smiled as she stood straight again and looked down at you tenderly. 

“What?” You whispered brokenly, “What can you angels do against such wickedness?” 

“We are stronger than any darkness, child. But we cannot force humans to choose, they have free will to do as they wish. So we can listen when they are broken, and we can bring them hope. There is a war going on, one that most mortals cannot see. Humans are much more important than they know, for they are constantly being fought over.”

You stared at her with wide shiny eyes.

“We will continue to fight for them, despite their blindness to our existence. Above all else, ____, hope is the most powerful weapon against evil. No human is born wicked, wickedness is made. As angels, dear child, we will fight for Him and his creations until the end. With the Father leading our armies, we will always be faithful, and we will always be strong.”

“And what about me?” You wiped your damp cheeks again, “Earlier, you asked if I would like to be an angel. Could I bring that to humans? Could I help them?” 

One of those proud smiles grew on her face. 

“Yes.”

“...how did I live a life worthy of that choice?”

“Would you like to see?”

After a moment, you nodded slowly. 

Once again, there was a bright light around you, closing in until you could see nothing else. 

Then you were in a small room. You immediately recognized it as your childhood house. You were in the room where your mother prepared meals. 

It was as if you were a fly on the wall, watching the scene from your past unfold in front of you. 

Mother was there. 

A lump formed in your throat at the sight of her. She was saying something to six-year-old you, who was sitting on an old rickety stool close to the ground and peeling something carefully. 

You couldn’t see what it was, but you were unable to move from your spot in the corner to try and look. 

“Mother.”

The tiny voice came from the child you. “What is it now, ____?”

Mother sounded irritated. You furrowed your brows as you watched. 

Why was she so upset? 

Tiny you smiled to yourself as you continued to peel what was in your hands, “There was a boy today that I saw.”

“Who? Jungkook?”

You giggled, “No. He was smaller than Jungkook…but he said he was nine!”

You got no reply. 

“Mother, he said he was eight, but how could he be so very small? How?”

“____,” she snapped, “I’m busy, can’t you hold it in until Yoongi comes? Talk his ear off instead of mine.”

You didn’t seem hurt by the comment, only nodded, “Ok.” Then you went back to your peeling.

Mother sighed loudly, “He was probably one of the kids from the village over. They always come crawling in here and start begging for scraps.”

“Scraps?”

“What? You think you’re hungry, child?” She sneered, “There are others out there hungrier than you. Be grateful for what you have, you hear me? That kid is probably so hungry he hasn’t grown. Probably isn’t much use at home.”

Standing in the corner, your eyes widened in shock as you placed a hand on your heart. 

How could she say something so horrible?

Little you immediately burst into tears, startling you. 

“Quiet down, ____! Why must you cry so much?”

“Oh Mo-mother!” You sniffled, “Can’t we share some of our food with him, please?”

“Absolutely not!” She hollered, “Why should we pay for his family’s incompetence??”

“But I don’t mind sharing,” you whispered tearfully, bottom lip protruding. 

“Any food going into that boy’s mouth from this house is off your plate,” she snarled, then told you to hush up as she finished her sewing. 

Everything faded away, then you were in a field. The small one behind the Kim’s barn. That boy was there, as little as you remembered. 

A bright smile graced his features as the six year-old you handed him a cloth with food in it. 

Even though it was plenty long ago, you remembered it clearly then. It was one of the many meals you had gathered from your plate and snuck to him. You swallowed thickly as you watched the tiny girl smile as the boy ate every last bit of food. You knew behind that smile, her tummy was growling awfully.

Before you could fully process it, there were suddenly images flashing in front of you, much like when you were watching your guardian angel during your lifetime. 

Images of you running through the forest and singing with the birds…ever so slightly moving your position so that the sun went into your eyes instead of your best friend’s…slipping another piece of bread from your plate and onto Mother’s when she wasn’t paying attention. 

She was talking about how hungry she was that day…

Rescuing bugs and lying on the floor of that sick boy’s room for hours and hours. 

Everything was going by too quickly. It felt like your entire life was playing in front of you, time passing slowly yet quickly at the same time.

All you could see were flashes of a girl hugging trees and speaking to her beloved clouds…offering to sit on a spot on the log after seeing it looked more rough than the other side before Jungkook could notice…struggling to hold the filled pail but saying nothing so that Yoongi wouldn’t need to carry it for you…quickly pulling weeds so your best friend wouldn’t have to do as many…

Such little acts, usually for Jungkook. 

He didn’t notice all those small things and you always made sure to be subtle so it would stay that way. You did it because you loved him, not because you wanted anything in return. 

The last thing you saw was you lying on the ground by the apple tree, looking at the sky through the leaves. 

That was your seventeenth birthday, the one Jungkook missed.

It was also the day you had forgiven your mother. 

The tear sliding down your cheek as you smiled at the white clouds shone brightly before the rest of the image lit up and disappeared. 

You gasped in a breath, unaware of the tears falling down your cheeks as your gaze focused back on the angel in front of you. 

“You know that you were not perfect,” she said gently, “But now you see the difference you made for others without knowing it. The love you always had for every single one of His creations.”

You wiped your eyes. 

“That kind of love for nature and humanity is rare to come by.”

“But-...”

You couldn’t help but drop your head into your hands and weep. You didn’t even know why you were crying, you were just feeling everything so intensely. 

“I know it must seem like a lot.”

The guardian angel’s voice was gentle and full of sympathy. 

“The decision is not meant to burden you. You need not say yes. You will be joyful no matter the choice.”

“I want to,” you sniffled, wiping your messy nose with the back of your hand, “If there’s anything I can do for those still on Earth, I want to. I want to help.”

The look in her eyes when you brought your gaze back to hers, was so full of love and something that you had never seen before. It was almost like…the look of a mother who was proud of you beyond words. 

That must be what it feels like. 

“Can I help him?” Fresh tears pooled in your eyes, “H-how long has it been since I passed? I don’t even know if he knows. Can I help him in any way? Please? Oh, please let me help him.”

The smile slowly slipped off the angel’s face. 

“What?” You caught your breath, “What’s happened?”

“It…It has been three days since you died, ____.”

“Three days?” You breathed in disbelief. 

“Yes.”

“And…Jungkook,” you choke out, “Where is he? Does he know? Is he alright? He must b-”

The look on her face made your stomach drop. You gulped, trying your best to have the courage to ask. 

“Guardian angel…what’s happened?”

______________________________________________

You keep your hands out in front of you as you walk along the hall inside the mountain. 

It doesn’t seem as though light has ever existed walking through here. It feels almost thick with the blackness, like you’re moving through syrup. You know he’s behind you, even though he hasn’t said a single word. His presence is unmistakable. It used to bring a wave of warm comfort over you, back when you were both young. Now, there’s a slight energy in the air when he’s around. The energy itself does not bring you comfort, but knowing he’s not far from you does. Just having him close is more than you’ve been able to have for so long. 

Finally, you see a tiny light in the distance. It looks like a ball of fire, way down at the end of the hall. The closer you get to it, the less it looks like a floating orb and more like a doorway. 

“Wait.”

You freeze at the sound of his whispered warning, so soft you almost didn’t hear it. Not moving a single muscle, you wait with bated breath. It almost makes you jump out of your skin when you feel a cold hand on your waist, the chill seeping into your thin clothes and making you shiver. 

It doesn’t take much prompting for him to move you to the side gently, just enough so that he can squeeze past. A choked breath is stuck in your throat as you feel his body drag against yours. 

Then his touch is gone. 

You can see his silhouette in front of you, framed by the flaming orange doorway that’s only about fifty yards away. Your heart almost stops the next second when you see a few dark figures past the doorless arched entryway into whatever cavern is in the mountain, walking idly by as their voices carry down the hall.

“The Jia girl?” A high pitched snarling voice asks shortly. 

“Yes.”

That voice was deeper, you don’t recognize either of them though, never heard them before.

“She relented quickly,” The higher voice cackled, “Didn’t take much.”

“If you’d gotten me sooner it would’ve taken even less.” 

The third voice that cuts in sends a chill down your spine. You know that one, but you only heard it once. The way he tenses next to you confirms it. 

What was his name…San? Sal?

Something with an S…

Sav. 

That was it, that was the name of the demon that you saw talking to JK. What is he doing here?

“Who cares if it’s already been done?” The first voice sneers, clearly irked.

It sounds like Sav and the whiny voiced demon are about to start arguing when the deep voice cuts in again. 

“Enough!” It growls loudly,, “Sav, have you found him? I thought I told you to figure it out.”

Silence follows, then Sav clears his throat. “The last I saw of him he was in the sixth circle.”

Him? Sixth- sixth circle?

A gasp gets stuck in your throat when it dawns on you. 

“Doing what?”

The menacing sound of the deep voice makes goosebumps go down your arms and legs. 

“How should I know? Probably just fucking around as he usually does.” 

A low chuckle floats down the hall. It’s so low you can feel it in your bones. You have a feeling it wasn’t a good idea for Sav to talk back like that. 

“Tell me Sav, if he’s always so busy fucking around, how does he manage to get almost three times as many souls as you each term?”

Your stomach twists violently. If you don’t get away you’re going to be extremely sick all over the floor. 

A freezing cold hand presses to your mouth as you get pushed into the wall gently, not to restrain you in any way, but to keep you from view. You hadn’t realized the whimper that left your lips after hearing the demon’s words. 

It’s silent outside the hall. It feels like an eternity passes before the low-pitched voice of the demon that seems to be higher in rank growls again, “You asked to be the one to deal punishment. If I don’t see it done by the beginning of next quarter, you will be strapped right next to him.”

The sound of heavy footfalls echoes around, then the loud slam of a door, which makes you jolt in his hold. More silence stretches on. 

Have the others left?

You glance up at JK, a question in your eyes. You can see the tense expression on his face as he stares towards the doorway, a hand still pressed to your mouth. He looks down at you, then slowly shakes his head. There’s just barely enough reddish light to see the way his jaw clenches and eyes squint in thought.

“I told you not to act so high and fuckin mighty- ah!”

A high-pitched yelp cuts off the whiny demon’s comment. 

“If you know what’s good for you, shut the fuck up,” Sav hisses, poison dripping from his tongue. 

Another chorus of footsteps bounces off the walls before the sound of two doors slamming echoes into the hall.

You watch him close his eyes slowly before he swallows and pulls the hand from your mouth. Tears form as much as you try to fight them. 

What were they saying? Why would he be in trouble? They said it themselves, he gets more souls than most of them. 

That reminder makes a wave of nausea wash over you and you put one of your own hands over your mouth to keep from being sick. 

He doesn’t say anything, just starts walking towards the glowing doorway, boots making a loud thunk with each step. It doesn’t seem like he’s worried. The way he walks emits an air of confidence. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have come in here…No. No no no. 

You need to see if this is what you’ve been thinking of, hoping for. 

No sound comes from your bare feet as you hurry down the hall after him, as quiet as a church mouse. 

-

When you step through the doorway, a small gasp slips from you despite your attempts to keep it in. 

It’s a large circular room. 

The distance from the wall in front of you is almost the length of a tennis court. You saw a few of those on Earth not long before coming here. The entire room looks to be the size of at least two of them but in a rounded form. 

The ceiling is so high you can’t see the top. The sheer vastness of the room is not what made you gasp though. It was the walls covered in glass windows; spanning the entirety of each wall. The windows do not lead to the outside, there is a blood red wall behind each of them. 

Inside, trapped between the wall and the glass, are thousands of darkened souls. 

You know if they were not here, they would be shining with a light that could not be extinguished. 

They would look like stars, only the size of your palm. 

These souls do not look like stars; they are black and shriveled as they hover in their designated place. 

Your shaking hands move over your mouth to keep in the horrified scream that wants so badly to come crawling out. The sound of your knees cracking on the cold marble floor echoes around the huge previously silent room.

JK turns from looking over the ones nearest to him to see you on the floor, torn hands shaking as they stay clamped over your mouth. Tears are streaming down your face as you look around the ever growing collection of tainted humanity. 

“Is this place…?” You finally whisper shakily, horror-struck.

“The Chamber of Souls,” JK responds quietly. Despite that, his voice echoes, feeling like it’s everywhere and closing in on you. 

The walls feel like they're moving inwards, hellbent on squishing you until you can’t breathe. 

Your head feels like it’s spinning as you close your eyes and pray fervently in your mind. 

It’s horrible, so horrible. It’s so sickening to look at. 

Your body is already weakening faster than you have time for. Angels were never meant to be in Hell. Seeing something like this, despite it being what you came for, is beyond what you thought you could handle. As an angel, it’s so much worse. 

To see the result of despair and anger and wickedness right in front of you…It is physically painful to be in the vicinity of these souls. 

JK walks over to you slowly, watching you closely as you shake on your knees, eyes diverted to the ground. 

“Why are you so upset?” He whispers coldly, eyes trained on your face when you look up at him. 

“I-...” 

You drop your gaze back to the marble floor, “I wasn’t expecting it.”

He says nothing, and when you look up at him again, his eyes are slightly narrowed as he looks at you. You clear your throat and wipe at your eyes harshly. 

Pull it together, ____. 

Come on now, don’t blow it. 

Not when it’s so close.

“Sorry,” you let out a choked laugh, “I- think I’m just overwhelmed with everything right now.” 

All I need to do is find his. 

I am so so close.

“Are you ready to leave?” He asks, face not showing much emotion. 

“What? No!”

His brows furrow as you scramble to your feet and wipe at your eyes again. 

“Why? The ninth circle is-”

“I wanted to look around in here,” you manage to get out, then turn to walk away from him, ignoring his lingering stare. He’s way too silent for your comfort as you look at the souls grotesquely on display. 

How are you meant to know which one is his? Your mind is spinning in circles as you force yourself not to look at him. 

He hasn’t moved from where he was standing, but you can feel his stare on your back as you walk around the perimeter of the room.

“What’s in here?” You ask when you get to a spot where there is no glass on the wall, but a black wooden door with a rusted gold handle. 

“Exit.” He says bluntly. 

“Oh.”

You make your feet keep walking until you reach another door that looks the same but with a dirtied silver handle. You look at him with a question in your eyes. 

“Exit.”

“Ah,” you can feel your hands beginning to sweat as you scan the wall of souls over and over again, looking for any indication that one is different from another. 

You end up passing him and the hall that you came from as you go for another loop. 

Only this time, there’s a small alcove that you hadn’t noticed before that catches your eye. 

You stop and look into it. In the shadows is another black door that looks a bit more battered than the others. The handle is a deep crimson color. 

A pit settles in your stomach when you realize the scratches on the side of the door look like the result of long nails. As if someone was desperately clawing at the door in an attempt not to let it close. An icy phantom draft sends shivers down your back the longer you stare at the door.

“Step away from there.”

You jump at the sound of his voice, but scurry away from it anyway. 

“Why? What’s in there?” You ask breathlessly, fear making you shake as you stand close to his side. You want to forget the realization you had moments before he said that. 

The realization that the handle was not red, but bronze. That the bronze handle was covered in dark blood.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving,” he says sharply, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the hall that you came from. 

“Wait!” You cry desperately, eyes frantically scanning the walls again, “Wait, I can’t leave yet!!”

-

“Stop it!!” You scream, fighting him as he drags you down the pitch black hall, never letting up until you’re outside in the blood light of Hell once again. 

“What the fuck is your problem?!” He lets go of you unexpectedly, which makes you trip and fall to your hands and knees before scrambling back up and lunging for the entrance again. 

But the demon grabs you before you can go back in. 

“Let me go! Let!! Go!!” You screech as you try to fight him off, kicking and hitting as hard as you can. 

But you don’t stand a chance as he yanks you away and pushes you just hard enough so that you stumble and need to catch your balance. When you turn back he’s standing between you and the doorway. 

“Stop it!” He roars before you get the chance to dodge around him. 

You freeze for a moment, then fall to your bottom on the muddy ground in front of him, sobs ripping from your throat, tears leaving wide streaks on your dirty cheeks.

You can’t stop crying, it just keeps coming; salty droplets pouring down your face as your body shakes with heavy gut-wrenching sobs. He watches you grab at your tangled hair and scream.

Everything is ruined, you don’t know what to do anymore. 

That was your one chance and you blew it. This whole thing was your only chance…and you blew it. 

“I’m so sorry,” you can barely get the words out as you cry helplessly, nose running even as you try to wipe it, only succeeding in smearing more dirt around on your face, “I’m so sorry!!”

“Why are you sorry?” He snaps, not having a single clue as to what the hell is happening to you right now.

“I failed,” you whimper tearfully as more tears spill out, “I wasn’t strong enough, or smart enough.”

____.

____, do not give up.

Please, listen to me-

“It’s too late!” You scream as you slap the ground before bursting into another round of uncontrollable sobbing, “Don’t you get it?! I lost! I failed!”

You only begin to settle when you see that he’s come closer and is looking down at you without anger, without anything but confusion on his pretty face. 

“Hey.” He calls to get your attention, sending the most painful pang into your heart as you look up at him, bottom lip trembling. 

Not even on your deathbed did you look such a mess.

“You can finish this,” he says, “The ninth circle is right there. You can make it to the Flame.”

A few straggling tears fall down your cheeks. 

“I never wanted the Flame,” you hear yourself saying miserably.

His head cocks to the side as his brows furrow. 

“What do you mean you never wanted the Flame? The Flame is why you came here, it’s why you’ve suffered through each and every-”

“It’s not.”

The pure confusion on his face makes a thought pop into your head. 

Confusion is the first step…

You hadn’t wanted to do it yet, it wouldn’t have worked before. Maybe it isn’t too late. Maybe if you do it now…it might work.

____, listen to me.

You struggle to your feet, wide eyes looking into his. 

His dark eyes flicker around your messy face stained with tears, the shining glimmer of hope in yours a huge contrast from the sobbing you had been doing only moments before. 

Then you’re stepping closer and he isn’t stepping away. 

He doesn’t even flinch when you take his face in your hands and raise yourself up on your tiptoes. 

He doesn’t protest, he doesn’t fight you at all when you pull him into a kiss. 

The second your lips touch, it’s like that last band snaps inside him and he can’t stop. 

He doesn’t want to stop.

A sigh leaves your mouth when you pull away. Only a second later, he pulls you back in, connecting your mouths again in a desperate kiss, his cold hands holding the nape of your neck. 

He tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss and you gasp when you feel something wet prodding at the seam of your lips. The moment your mouth opens in that gasp, his tongue meets yours in a heated tangle. 

Your wet lips slide against his as a groan slips from him. 

“Fuck,” he moans icily into your mouth. 

You can feel his hands running down your sides with frenzied desire. 

Focus, I need to focus. 

Your eyes scrunch shut as you try to keep yourself in check. 

JK’s brows furrow as his mind begins to blur, a strange heat building up inside of him as he continues to kiss you. 

Green leaves and a bright sun flash in his mind, startling him enough to pull away. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, pulling him into you again. 

He shakes off the strange images and dives right back into your lips, an insatiable hunger burning in his lower stomach as his hands travel to your waist and grasp it roughly. 

Only moments later, he sees a roaring river and hears the sound of laughter. 

You feel him pull away again. 

“Just focus, it’s okay,” you whisper, hands cupping his cheeks as you press another kiss to his lips, “Just close your eyes and breathe.”

He wants to stop and ask you what’s going on, but he doesn’t waste a second before pressing his lips back to yours. One of your smaller hands cups his cheek, then you start running the tips of your fingers down his neck and shoulder before holding onto his bicep where that horrible tattoo lies. He feels you grip the sleeve of his shirt harshly, as if you’re dying to just tear it to shreds. 

A vase of dead roses flickers into his blurry mind, then the image of someone lying on a bed, hair splayed out around her.

His brows furrow more, but he doesn’t stop kissing you as the pictures he can’t make sense of fade away. He doesn’t stop his hands from sliding behind your waist and traveling up your back slowly.  

Trees crowd in all around his vision. 

There’s someone running in front of him. 

A small girl. 

She turns around briefly, a huge smile lighting up her face as she laughs. 

“You’re cheating!” 

She only laughs louder and continues to run until she’s disappeared into the bushes ahead. 

“Apple!”

The demon’s eyes fly open and he pulls away. 

You gulp in a breath as you look up at him. 

Then your heart freezes in your chest when you realize what’s happened; the look on his face as he takes a step back from you turns your stomach to rot. 

“Wait,” your voice is weak as you reach a hand out to him. 

You can’t see anything but bewildered anger in his eyes. You were so focused you hadn’t known that he was touching your back. That he-

“I-”

“Shut up.”

You snap your mouth shut. 

“Turn around,” he breathes, just barely keeping it contained. 

“I can expl-” “I said turn the fuck around!!” 

You flinch but make no move to do as he says. 

You can see the last bit of patience snap in his eyes as he grabs your arm and yanks you to him so that he can rip the cardigan off of you. It tears easily, falling to the ground as you put a shaking hand over your mouth and shrink away from him. 

The white wings on your back droop in defeat, the tips just barely brushing against the ground. 

“You-”

The furious hatred on his face is clear. 

You’ve never seen him like this, not ever. 

“You’re a fucking angel?” His voice trembles with rage. 

“JK…”

He steps closer, making you flinch again, “Say that name again and I’ll rip your fucking head off.”

You gulp but don’t say a word. 

“So this was your little game the whole time, huh?” He hisses, stepping closer, “See if the precious angel could defeat a demon in Hell..and here I thought you were smart.”

“That wasn’t it,” you mumble, a few tears sliding down your cheeks. 

“What the hell were you thinking, little angel?” He glares at you in disgust, “That I would fall for you? Love you?” A sadistic chuckle leaves his lips as you close your eyes. 

You jump without opening your eyes when a harsh grip snags your upper arm and he pulls you to him. 

“You really thought I could care about you.” He muses with a dark chuckle, “You, a disgusting pathetic little puppet. I knew there was something off about you this whole time. Did He not give you enough love up there? Had to come to Hell to beg for it?”

You refuse to look at him, you just stand there, trembling and keeping your eyes screwed shut. 

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

Reluctantly, you do as he says. His dark ones are full of so much rage and hatred it makes you sick as he searches your watery gaze. 

Then you feel a cold hand close around your throat. 

“I would kill you right now,” he whispers in your ear coldly. You close your eyes when you feel him start to squeeze harder and harder until you can’t breathe, “If I thought you were worth any more of my time.”

A pained gasp escapes you when he shoves you to the ground. 

You hit the dirt harshly, arms buckling as they try to catch you, wings muddied and sore. Your watery eyes raise to him again, desperate and terrified. 

“Please don’t leave me,” you whisper helplessly, voice hoarse from his actions. You know what would come of an angel lost in this place.

He knows it too.

The demon looks down at you, the lowest angel in existence, with a loathing unmatched before spitting venomously, “Find your own way out of Hell.”

Your vision blurs with tears as he turns and walks off without a single hesitation, his tall dark figure getting smaller and smaller until you are completely and utterly alone. 

_________________

You sit there in stunned silence for a few minutes, just staring at the spot on the ground where he once stood. There is nothing in your mind, yet there is everything all at once. Everything is spinning wildly, nothing making sense. 

Then finally, a sliver of a cohesive thought passes through and you stumble to your feet, tripping over yourself in your haste to get back to the door. 

The snake vines have begun to return, attempting to hide it once more. 

You smack and tear at them viciously, tears pouring down your cheeks silently as you uncover the handle and yank open the door. 

The sound of your bare feet hitting the rocky ground softly as you run echoes off the walls in the darkness. Before long, you can see the archway ahead.

Despite the pain and fear filling you, you push yourself harder until you’re stumbling into the Chamber of Souls and falling to the marble floor. 

You stagger to your feet and hurry to the wall nearest you, eyes scanning the souls frantically as you limp quickly around the perimeter. 

They all look the same. 

They all look the exact same. 

You start to hyperventilate as you go, dirty fingers running along the glass and leaving smudges behind. 

Come on, Apple. 

You can do this. 

You gulp and force your exhausted legs to keep moving. 

He would not give up on you, no matter what.

Suck it up and keep moving.

Your eyes dart this way and that, mind screaming in a horrible panic when you realize you have no idea what to do. Then a thought occurs to you. 

Maybe you won’t be able to tell the difference by looking at them. But maybe you can in a different way. 

Your feet take off running back down the hall where you came from, until you are outside once again and looking for the first heavy thing you see. 

There’s a decent sized stone not far from the door. You grab it and run back inside, lungs burning as you don’t let yourself stop to take a breath. 

You can do this, Apple, you can do this. 

By the time you make it back into the room, you can barely breathe as you lug the rock over to a section of the glass. Closing your eyes, you mutter a quick prayer before opening them again and hurling the stone right at the fragile substance and watching it shatter. 

You put your arms over your face in an attempt to protect it from the worst of the flying pieces of sharp debris. Only your face, chest, and arms were cut by the shards, but not too badly. 

Your chest rises and falls in heavy breaths as you stare at the gaping hole in the windows in front of you, the blackened souls floating there, undisturbed. 

Just as you’re reaching a tentative hand in to grab one, to hold it and see if you can know who it once belonged to, there is a clapping sound from behind you. 

You whirl around to see a demon there, leaning against the archway you came into. 

His skin is pale, eyes dark blue and shaggy hair a dirty blonde that goes to the top of his prominent cheekbones.

The demon wears a fitting black shirt that’s tucked into the waist of his skinny black jeans.

There’s a smug smile on his unsettlingly handsome face as he claps his hands slowly, again, and again, and again. 

You say nothing, eyes drawn to the tattoo on his bicep; the dead monarch butterfly being strangled by a serpent. 

Sav.

“Well, if it isn’t the little stowaway angel herself.”

You continue to stay mute, watching cautiously as he pushes himself off the rocky wall and starts to slowly walk to you from across the room. 

“I thought angels were supposed to be…I don’t know, pretty? Perfect little princesses of Heaven?” A dark chuckle leaves his throat at your silence.

Sav stops ten feet away from you. 

“You’re not any of those things, are you?”

When he takes another step towards you, you finally move, inching backwards along the edge of the room with each step he takes. The smirk on his face only grows as he observes your messy hair, bruised skin and dirty wings that droop behind you, currently at rest. 

“This is what JK risked everything for? Seriously?”

“How did you know I was here?” You ask sharply, eyes narrowing, “How did you know what I was and he didn’t?”

Sav scoffs. 

“Because he’s a fool-”

“Really? And why did it take you so long to find me then, if you’re so smart?”

His blue eyes narrow as he continues his slow but steady advance. 

“I wasn’t looking for you, little angel. I was looking for him.”

“That makes you look even stupider.”

You see his jaw clench. 

“I was busy,” he says, strangely calm, “I knew he was up to something, but honestly? I didn’t think even he would be so brainless as to lead an angel through Hell.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t. Not until now, at least,” he chuckles, “Your wings kind of tipped it off a bit, I suppose.”

You gulp, trying to figure out which way is your best bet on getting out. 

“Don’t even think about trying to escape, it’ll just be a tire for us both.”

You say nothing. 

“Where is he, anyway?” Sav’s creepy smile returns, “Your little demon lover.”

When you don’t say a word, he throws his head back and cackles. 

“He left you.”

Your hands are sweating as you clench them into fists, your eyes darting around to see which door you can get to quickest. It looks like the one with the silver handle might be your best choice. Sav is standing over by the bronze door in the alcove, the gold handled door is between you. The archway is straight across the room and you know where that leads, but he would catch you before you could make it out. 

Silver it is. 

“You do know what happens to naughty angels when they get caught in Hell, don’t you?”

All you do is stare at him, mentally timing yourself on when to run. 

“JK knew…and yet he left you.”

Your heart feels like it’s been impaled by a hundred swords. 

“It’s almost like he wants you to suffer.”

You continue to slowly inch your way around the perimeter as he keeps walking closer. 

You can make it to that door. 

“I wish he were here,” Sav pouts, “I’d pay to see the look on his face when I torture his little angel until she’s begging for me to have mercy. Telling me she will do anything to make it stop..”

You gulp, forcing yourself not to look at the door you are about to make a run through. 

It’s only a few feet away now. 

Sav is just about to make another snide comment about your appearance when you turn and bolt for the black wooden door with the silver handle. You can hear him screaming something angrily, but you don’t stop to find out what it is. You’re out the door faster than lightning and running at full speed down the pitch black hall. 

It’s unclear whether he’s followed you in with the sound of your panicked breathing echoing in your ears. Your body is so exhausted it feels like it’s going to collapse. You can’t let it. 

…

You almost made it out. 

The exit was only a few feet in front of you, when an arm riddled with muscles wrapped around your waist and pulled you back. 

The bloodcurdling scream that left you could’ve been heard miles away. 

It was a scream only those that knew the horrors that awaited them would understand.

It wasn’t Sav that grabbed you, it was a demon much larger than he. A demon that cackled maniacally as he dragged you back through the tunnel and into the Chamber of Souls, where Sav was waiting, a delighted smirk on his face as he stood there and watched you cry and fight as hard as you could, fear clear in your eyes. 

He knew. 

He knew you would never have made it out, no matter which door you chose. 

The demon holding you tightly against it- so hard it pinches your wings painfully- has red scales and a horrible long snout full of sharp teeth. It has bony ribs, but muscled arms and thighs as it stands on two mangled legs.

You grit your teeth, gathering yourself. Then you bite the demon’s slimy arm covered in scales, drawing a pained howl from him as he drops you to the floor, knocking the air out of your lungs. 

After a second, you scramble to your feet, blood dripping from your mouth. You aren’t sure if the blood is your own or the demon’s as it hisses curses at you. Sav just watches you closely as you heave in several breaths. 

“You could defeat us right now,” he says casually, “If He allows it. All you would need to do, little angel, is ask Him. Ask Him or one of His little minions to assist you. Call to His strongest minion of all, go ahead.”

You gulp and wipe at the bloody streaks on your chin, glaring at him. 

He’s right, you could get out of this. 

You can make them suffer.

“If ever you need me, little one, just say my name and I will come.”

“If you hurt us even a little bit though,” Sav looks at his nails, inspecting them as he sighs, “We will torture him greater than even the dealt punishment for not delivering enough souls to Hell.”

You close your eyes.

There was never even an inkling of a plan to leave Jungkook here, even after he left you. All you needed was to get out of this predicament. 

But you will not risk him enduring more agony because of you.

Sav tuts when you lower your head, staring at the floor. 

“Why so eager to help him when he couldn’t care less about you?”

You don’t say anything. 

Even as the demon that grabbed you in the hall harshly digs his clawed fingers into your arm, breaking the flesh and drawing blood, your arms wrest behind you, you still say nothing. 

“Thank you little angel,” a devilish smirk spreads on Sav’s pink lips, “For finally giving me something to hold over JK’s pretentious little head. You, I must say, are the most satisfying weakness of his that I could have ever hoped for.”

“I’m not his weakness,” you mumble, knees beginning to shake as the grip on your arms tightens, “You said it yourself, he left me.”

Sav scrutinizes you for a second longer, then he turns on his heel, the demon holding you following behind him as he heads for the alcove. 

Out of nowhere, another demon emerges as you walk. It’s a tall thin man with too big eyes and a smile that stretches across half his face. You swallow thickly when he grabs your left arm so that you’re being dragged between them, feet barely touching the ground. 

When you see Sav opening the door in the alcove, the one JK told you to stay away from, a terror you’ve never experienced takes root. 

Sav smiles sadistically at you. 

“You made a deal with a devil, darling. Now, you’re going to pay the price.”

Every fiber of your being is telling you to scream, to scream and scream and scream. To beg for someone to come save you.

Your body shakes uncontrollably as you’re dragged closer and closer to the door leading into stairs that fall into blackness. Tortured screams echo from below as you stare at the scratch marks on the door. 

If you weren’t restrained, you’re sure your own nails would be digging into that same wood. An act so desperate it would tear that wood to splinters in an attempt not to let the door close. 

Any mortal would have blacked out from pure gut-wrenching fear at the knowledge of what awaited them down those steps. 

You are too horrifyingly aware as you continue to tremble violently, arms sore as the demons clutch you tightly, pulling you closer and closer to the staircase. 

You are too terrified to scream. 

The demon standing in front of you raises a brow and tilts his head at your silence, "You really are loyal, aren't you? Well, pretty thing-"

Sav leans in, mockery dripping from his tongue as he whispers, "Semper fidelis, semper fortis, little angel." He tilts his head back and laughs, then he walks into the door first, the demons holding you following closely behind. 

“Don’t bother begging for mercy, doll,” he calls over his shoulder, “It doesn’t exist here.”

The last thing you see is Sav walking down the steps before the sound of the door behind you slamming shut reaches your ears. 

Then there’s nothing but darkness. 

___________________________________________

a/n: tysm for reading, thoughts are always welcome, ily <3

taglist 1; @butterymin @kookxin @telepathytae @kooliv @highoffbaddecisions @meanum @smitssharon02 @kmpac @ggukkieland @jjanjankook @sugaslittlekookies @hobispriteu1306 @kimchibrat @slowlydeliciousjiminie @screamertannie @i-dont-give-a-fok @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @ohyeahjk @babycandy111 @era-genius @xmochiloverx @sopikooo @jamlessstars @bangtannie7 @nuttykittypainter @geniejunn @ane102 @charlesswife @ashbxnny @veronawrites @jjkw-7 @jinsundor @h-g-bts @justvibingsblog @hyunyeon @hellbornsworld @hiii-priestess @nuttypizzacat @vidaficrecs @royallyjjk @thvslvt @hoseoksluv89 @moonchilddna @idkjustlovingbts @aurorathi

[insxghtt]

the rage of a mother III — aemond targaryen x reader

When the whole kingdom believed you were mad, Aemond was there. And he would do anything to defend you.

warnings: grieve, violence, angst, blood, death, ptsd, this is some sad shit.

my masterlist.

previous chapter in here. ya’ll asked for part 3 so here it is! idk how many parts this will have but i like it and i hope you do too. again, english is not my first language so i’m sorry if you find any mistakes here.

It’s been two days since your child was taken from you. Aemond tried his best to convince you to get some sleep, but you just couldn’t. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the black smoke on the form of a woman in front of you.

You tried to run to your baby before the witch, but it was too late. She took your little girl’s soul away. Now, you felt like she took yours too in the process, the only difference was that she left you to live without it.

Aemond took a look at you from the corner of his eye. You were across the room, sitting on a chair in front of the fireplace. He stood from the bed and walked to you, ready to say the same words he has been saying for the last couple days. ‘Please, y/n, come to bed. You need to sleep.’ All that effort only for you to ignore him.

But this time, when he got closer, he heard the sound of your voice.

“Aemma, Aemma, Aemma...”, you repeated the name of your daughter over and over again. “I’m here, my girl. Mommy’s here.”

Your gaze was on the fire. It was like the flames were calling you.

Aemond called your name once, but you didn’t answer.

“Aemma, Aemma...”

He took his hand to your shoulder and that simple touch was enough for you to flinch. You looked at him with wide eyes, filled with tears. Your dark circles made your tiredness very clear. You seemed so... broken.

He tried to say something, but you took your finger to your lips, telling him to be quiet. With the other hand, you held his wrist tight. “Can you hear it?”, you whispered. “Aemma is crying.”

Aemond gulped. The only sound in the room was your own voice. He remembered the rumors that ran around the castle. ‘She is insane.’

“My love, look at me”, he said and kneeled in front of you to look you in the eyes. “Aemma is not here anymore.”

To say it out loud was as painful as a stab on the heart, but he couldn’t stand to see the love of his life like that. You had to understand. Losing you would be too much for him to handle.

“Listen to me, y/n, she is gone now”, he repeated and let a tear fall. “I know you want her here, but we need to let her go.”

“Why do I hear her then?”, you cried, finally staring at him. “Am I cursed too? Have the gods not taken enough from me?”

He had no words. There were no words to make you feel better. All he did was wrap his arms around your fragile body and let you cry.

After that night, you never talked about your daughter again. In fact, you spent three days without saying anything at all. Aemond was there, just like he promised.

Some nights were difficult. You’d wake up sweating and scared. The first time it happened he asked you about the nightmares, but soon he realized how much you hated to talk about it.

You tapped his shoulder once again in the middle of the night with tears streaming down your cheeks. It didn’t take more than a minute for him to wake up. “Again?”, he asked.

You nodded without saying a word. Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close, putting his face in the crook of your neck and you snuggled into his warm arms.

“Will it pass?”, you whispered, not even knowing if he was still awake.

He didn’t know the answer. How could he? It was hurting him just as much. The worst part was that he didn’t even know how to feel that kind of pain. Aemond never liked to feel things. For a long time, all he felt was anger. And when you met him and gave him a daughter, the two of you became his world. For the first time, he had lost someone he loved. It was way more painful than losing an eye.

“It will get better”, he answered. At least that was what he hoped for.

When the morning came, you prayed that he wouldn’t have to leave the bed. You knew that as soon as he did, both of you would have to deal with the reality. But your prayers were not enough and the sun reached your face. The birds were singing so beautifully that it didn’t even seem like there was a war going on.

Except that this time, you were the first to get up. Aemond grumbled something when he felt your warm body leaving his arms, but still, it was not enough to wake him up.

After everything you heard people saying about you, avoiding the maids became part of your routine. So, you got dressed by yourself. The last thing you needed was for them to create more rumors about your mental state.

You left your chambers after putting your gown on, without even bothering to braid your hair. For the first time since the loss of your daughter, you decided to walk a little around the garden outside the castle. It was still early and not many people were there. The weight on your shoulder begged you to go back to bed, but you were trying. Aemond needed you to be alright.

Hours went by and you didn’t even notice. The white daisies were doing a good job by making you forget about the pain inside of you. They were as beautiful as always. You wondered if Aemma would love them just as much as you did.

The sound of steps in your direction made you look away from the flowers. Ser Criston Cole was standing there, holding his helmet in one of his hands.

“My princess”, he said.

You never liked him. He might’ve been a good teacher to Aemond and a friend to Alicent, but you saw him as who he really was. An insecure and selfish man. You kept it to yourself, but it was inevitable not to feel uncomfortable in his presence.

“What do you want?”, you didn’t care to be polite. You were too exhausted to be polite, especially to someone like Ser Criston.

“There is someone who wishes to see you, my princess.”

“What? Are you a messenger now?”, you rolled your eyes and began to walk away. “Tell them I'm busy.”

“I was told that it’s really important.”

You stopped walking and turned to him once again. “Maybe you should call someone else then. I am sure you don’t want a mad woman like me to get involved in something so important.”

“I was sent to call only you, princess. Your presence is required.”

Ser Criston Cole did not seem happy to say those words. It was obvious for you to see how much he despised you, though you never quite understood why.  But he knew very well why you bothered him so much. You were not weak like an ideal princess should be. You never cared about what others said about you. You were ambitious. You reminded him of someone.

Without a word, you followed him around the caste until you got to the Iron Throne. Aegon was not there, but Alicent, Otto Hightower and Aemond were. The absence of the King’s presence did not surprise you. Aegon was usually excluded from the family’s reunions. Otto Hightower was the one who made the important choices, no matter how unfair it was to Aegon.

“I’m surprised you bothered to summon me to a family meeting", you said to Alicent.

Aemond sighed. He knew that you and his mother never loved each other. Your marriage was only accepted because King Viserys still lived to allow it. If it was up to her, you would’ve never stepped a foot in King’s Landing. But it seemed to him that things were just getting worse every day.

“If it were up to me, I would have let you rest. I know how hard these last few days have been for you, my lady”, she faked a sympathetic smile. “But a... friend from Dragonstone has arrived with news I believe you should hear.”

The guards opened the doors behind you and you turned around to see a man walking in, carried by two more guards. He looked terrible, to say the least. His eye was so swollen that you couldn’t even stand to look at it for too long. His lip was cut and blood dripped down his chin, staining his torn, old shirt. He fell to the ground as soon as the men dropped him, so week and scared that it made you look away. Your gaze turned to your husband. He stared at the poor man with no pity.

“Can you repeat to the princess what you told prince Aemond, traitor?”, Otto asked the man.

The traitor looked at the prince scared. And right then, you knew that Aemond was responsible for that man’s torture.

“Rhaenyra Targaryen...”, the man spoke with a low voice.

“Louder. And look at your princess when you speak, bastard”, Aemond said with anger in his voice.

The man did as he was told, trying his best not to stutter. “Rhaenyra Targaryen has been working with the shadows, my princess.”

Suddenly, your eyes were filled with tears from anger and hate. You told them. You told everyone and nobody but your husband believed your words.

“How?”, you asked.

“The witch of the woods, my princess...”

“Her name. I want her name.”

“Please, my princess... I was cursed...”, he begged, but you did not have a single drop of mercy in your heart now. “I cannot say her name... her gods will come for me”

You surprised everyone by stealing Ser Criston’s sword. He tried to stop you, but you were quicker and walked to the traitor, pointing the sword to his neck. “You will give me her name or I'll kill you so slowly that you will beg for her gods to take you.”

He continued to look at you quietly, crying and sobbing. You did not feel anything. Because of the witch those gods, whoever they were, took your daughter.

You could hear her crying. Was she scared?

You lowered the sword and the man breathed relieved. That was, until he heard your next words. “Take him to the dungeon.”

He looked at the guards terrified while they took him by the arms, raising him from the ground. He begged again for your mercy, but you didn’t even look at him.

“I will speak to him”, you said and looked at your husband. “Alone.”

part IV

taglist (dm me or send me an ask to be added): @hydrationqueensworld​ 

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (10)

The Decisions of Father

On their way back from the beach, Aemond and Arianwyn are confronted by their four furious cousins.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: description of injuries and medieval medical procedures

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Aria collapsed.

Through his pain and increasingly blurred vision, her motionless body was all Aemond could see. Had Luke struck her, too? Did she bleed into the sand as he did? Was she even still alive? As the horrible thoughts raced through his mind, he began to scream again. Wordless, agonized, soul-rending screams.

He was vaguely aware of voices around him. Some of them seemed familiar – Ser Westerling, maybe? Or Cole? Armored hands lifted him, sending pain shooting through his veins. But he did not care.

All he cared about was Aria.

Hands bearing the shining gauntlets of the Kingsguard lifted her from the sand, and relief washed over Aemond like a great wave when he saw her chest rise and fall. She still bore the scratches she received from her half-sisters, and a bruise was already forming around her neck, but she was no longer bleeding, and her breathing was steady.

She would be all right.

It was only after the realization settled that he felt his own pain. The dull aches across his body were insignificant compared to the searing, excruciating pain he felt in his face.

He felt as though a venom-tipped fang of a Dornish viper was scraping across his brow.

He felt as though the skin of his cheek was being peeled off layer by layer.

He felt as though a dragon had dropped the heart of its burning fire in his eye, boiling and roasting every bit of flesh it touched.

Just an hour ago, he experienced a joy grander than anything he had ever felt.

Now, all he could ever remember feeling was pain.

As Aemond’s screams began anew, Arianwyn woke. The sounds of his anguish awakened something deep within her, calling her to go to him, to be by his side. If only her body could obey, but her feet were not touching the ground.

Blearily, she recognized that she was being held by someone wearing armor – its clanking filled her ears as they ran. It was not until they emerged into the brighter torchlight of the castle proper that she finally recognized the face.

Ser Criston’s warm brown skin had gone pallid, sweat beading at his furrowed brow as he rushed to keep up with Ser Westerling, who held Aemond in his arms.

A trail of blood followed them.

The salt in her tears stung the cuts crossing her face as she gathered her remaining strength to speak.

“Is he dead?” Her words seemed to break Cole from a trance. As he looked down at her, she realized the full depth of his concern. Tears were threatening to spill from his dark eyes.

He and Aemond had always been close, even beyond the training yard, where Cole gave him better instruction, more advice, and closer attention. Aemond had once confided in her that he wished the Kingsguard was his father rather than the king. Seeing the prince wounded like this, he must have felt as though he had failed. He needed to know how well Aemond had fought, how brave he’d been.

With a deep breath, Ser Criston replied, “He is alive, my lady. We sent one of the house guards ahead to fetch the maesters. They will meet us in the throne room.”

“What about the queen?” she whispered. “Aemond will need his mother if…”

Cole shushed her before she could finish. His expression and voice softened, “It will not come to that, Aria. He is lucky – he is near to a maester. Besides, I have seen many men recover from injuries far worse than this.”

Arianwyn buried herself closer to his chest. “He was trying to save me.”

She did not see the kingsguard's eyes widen in fear and confusion as he pondered the meaning of her words, nor how a small, proud smile bloomed on his lips as he looked towards the injured prince he cared for so dearly.

Orwyle and the maester serving House Velaryon, as well as several of Arianwyn’s Runestone guards, were already in the throne room when the Kingsguard arrived. Where the other children had been taken, she didn’t know. Aemond and Arianwyn were placed by the roaring fire – Aemond in a plush chair lined with what looked like any spare fabric they could find to soak up his blood, Arianwyn on a small stool by his side – and were immediately set upon by the maesters.

Aemond was tended to by the Velaryon maester. She watched him through the gaps between Orwyle’s arms as he tended to her injuries. Cole had set her on Aemond’s right side so she could not fully see his wound. For that, she was grateful.

She flinched as Orwyle pressed a cloth soaked with boiled wine to her cuts, and he followed her gaze. She watched intently as the Velaryon maester unstopped a large vial of thick, pale liquid, holding it up to the prince’s lips and commanding him to drink.

“It is milk of the poppy, Arianwyn,” Orwyle whispered, gently cleaning the girl’s wounds. “It will dull his pain for what is to come.”

She, at last, turned her gaze to her familiar maester – her teacher, her friend. “What is he going to do to him?” Her eyes were filled with fear, though her tears were dry at last.

Orwyle kept his voice low. “Maester Kelvyn will clean his wounds, as I am doing,” he squeezed the cloth for emphasis, sending droplets of liquor running down Arianwyn’s chin.

“If the initial cut was not clean, he may have to… remove some of the damaged flesh. A clean wound will heal better and leave less of a scar. And the eye…” Orwyle trailed off, his hand stilling over Arianwyn’s cheek.

“Is it still there?”

He frowned. “I believe so, but it is severely damaged, Arianwyn. It may have to be removed.” Arianwyn did not respond; she only continued to gaze at her dear companion as Kelvyn continued his work.

Though he had been given a massive amount of the milk of the poppy, Aemond still winced when Kelvyn began to clean the wound. Arianwyn reached across the gap between them, lacing her fingers through his. She squeezed once. Though his hand trembled, he squeezed back.

“Aria?” he asked weakly.

“I’m here, Aemond.”

“Are you hurt very badly?”

That he would concern himself with ensuring that she was well while he must be in so much pain warmed her heart. She wanted to climb into the chair with him and hug him but did not want to hurt him any further. “I am hardly hurt at all.”

Any reassurance she was trying to give Aemond was smashed when Orwyle unexpectedly pressed another soaked cloth to her face, causing her to whine with pain.

“Stop it!” Aemond shouted. He attempted to rise from the chair but was restrained by both Maester Kelvyn and Ser Criston. “Don’t hurt her!”

Never before had she heard him raise his voice at Orwyle or look at him with such fury. “I’m fine, Aemond,” she insisted. “It just stings a little. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Aria,” his uninjured eye filled with tears, and his lips trembled. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. What could he possibly be sorry for? He had saved her from her sister’s wrath and had been injured for it. If anything, she should be apologizing to him. But before she could, he again screamed in pain, clutching at his ruined eye.

Orwyle turned to him, pushing Kelvyn aside. “My prince, my prince, please.” When he got no response, he seized the boy by the chin to force him to meet his gaze. “Aemond! You must not cry. Not now. No matter what you feel or how much it hurts, you must not cry.”

Arianwyn gasped as she realized why. The salt in her tears had stung fiercely at her scratches. What Aemond felt when he cried must have been torture from the Seven Hells, especially since—gods have mercy—his tears were not coming only from his uninjured eye.

From the corner of his ruined eye, salty tears mixed with blood as they trailed down his cheek, both cleaning and staining him. Aemond hiccuped as he tried to stifle his tears, but they kept flowing.

“Prince Aemond,” Orwyle begged again. “I know it is hard, but you must be brave now. Please.”

“I can’t – ”

Ser Criston interrupted him, bracing his hand on Aemond’s shoulder. “You can. My prince, you are already brave. You defended Lady Arianwyn despite being outnumbered and unarmed. You are a prince, but you are also a warrior.”

“And a dragonrider.”

All eyes turned to Arianwyn.

“He rides Vhagar now,” she explained with a wavering smile. “He claimed her, and it was the bravest thing I have ever known.”

Cole murmured something, and the maesters whispered between themselves. But she did not care, for Aemond had stopped crying. He reached toward her to again take her hand.

“I am a dragonrider,” he declared. “I can be – will be brave.”

The maesters had begun to prepare their instruments when the queen swept into the room, and the sight of her distraught and weeping nearly made Aemond’s bravery falter. “Mother – ”

“Oh, my dearest boy,” she croaked as she fell to her knees before him – on his left, where she could see the full extent of the wound. Her face paled. “Who has done this to you?”

The bastards, he wanted to say. But not here, not when there were Velaryon servants present to hear and report his words back to Lord Corlys. Still, they would pay for what they had done to him and Aria. “Lucerys.”

“Jace was there, too.” Alicent startled when she heard Aria. Upon seeing the scratches on her face and the reddening bruise on her neck, the queen reached a hand to cup her niece’s chin. “And… Baela and Rhaena.”

The look on her face as she named her sisters – the sisters she had dreamed about meeting for years – was devastating. Whenever Aria spoke of them, and the bond she was sure would form the moment they laid eyes on her, he humored her. But he never told her what he really thought, that the girls were raised by Daemon, who, at best, did not care for Aria or, at worst, hated her. It was likely her sisters felt the same.

It was the closest he ever came to lying to her.

Now, he wished he had told her, if only for the chance that he could have prevented the sadness that now clouded her eyes.

The queen shook her head as she looked between them. “Why would they do such a thing?”

“Because – ”

Maester Kelvyn cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my queen. But it is best we begin the procedure as quickly as possible.”

“Procedure?” she asked, her hand flying to the base of her throat, where her pendant of the seven-pointed star usually lay.

It was Orwyle, holding a small, empty tray, who answered. “The prince’s eye is damaged beyond saving, your grace. It must be removed.”

The queen and Aria both sobbed, but Aemond said nothing. He knew it was inevitable. He had felt how deep Lucerys’ blade had cut. Still, he was afraid.

Would he still be able to wield a blade?

Would reading become harder? Writing? Could he still help Aria with her runes?

Would he be able to ride Vhagar with only one eye?

The sounds of armor entered the room, and Aemond turned to see Ser Westerling, followed by Jacaerys, Baela, Rhaena, and Lucerys. When they looked at him and Aria, there was no regret in their eyes. No pity. Nothing at all to suggest that they were sorry for what they did. In fact, each of them, save Rhaena, looked almost proud.

That was all he needed to strengthen his resolve. He would overcome this. He would not allow them to break him.

Aemond braced himself, gripping the arms of the chair as tightly as he could. He did not look at his mother or Aria. “I am not afraid.”

The maesters had nearly finished stitching Aemond’s skin back together when the king hobbled into the room, a score of other lords and ladies that had been woken by the sound of screaming behind them. Leaning heavily on his cane, it took him many long moments to come to his son’s side. When he finally laid eyes on the ugly wound, he looked like he might be sick.

Arianwyn stared up at him, waiting for him to say something. To ask his son how he felt or the maesters if he would heal. To order the bystanders gawking and gossiping away to spare Aemond from their judgemental gazes. To learn who it was who maimed the prince.

But he said nothing. He hardly even looked at Aemond for more than a heartbeat.

The king slowly made his way to the Driftwood Throne. He shook his head, anger seeming to grant him strength. “How could you allow such a thing to happen?” he asked. When, after a moment, none of the guards – Kingsguard, Runestone guards, or otherwise – spoke, he raised his voice. “I will have answers!”

It was Ser Westerling who finally replied. “The princes were supposed to be abed, my king.”

Viserys closed his eyes for a long moment, clearly unimpressed by the answer. “Who had the watch?”

This time, Ser Criston answered. “The young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace.” When Arianwyn looked at him, he was still pale, not yet recovered from the sight of Aemond’s wounds.

The King rose from the throne with a sudden burst of rage. “You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” he roared.

Arianwyn had never seen the king so angry. It was enough to make her shy away. She slid from the ottoman, kneeling on the stone floor with her chin on the arm of Aemond’s chair, her lips pressed to their joined hands.

“I am very sorry, your grace,” Westerling said, fully accepting the king’s anger with the grace of a dutiful servant.

Ser Criston was less obedient. “The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes, your grace.”

“That is no answer!” Viserys shouted before the knight had finished speaking.

Arianwyn flinched again, at last noticing that Aegon and Helaena had arrived, standing by their mother’s side. Aegon looked at his brother’s wound with a furrowed brow and a frown, his wine-glazed eyes clearing with each passing moment. Helaena stood with her back turned, gazing into the fire, completely detached from what was happening around her.

Alicent looked to Orwyle and Kelvyn, “It will heal, will it not?” The entire room turned to hear the answer.

“The flesh will heal,” Kelvyn said, punctuating his words with a final stitch to Aemond’s cheek. “But the eye is lost, your grace.”

Arianwyn felt the declaration like a blow to the chest. Never again would she gaze eye to eye with Aemond, with his beautiful violet eyes. True, most of her family bore similar eyes, but Aemond’s were her favorite. His was a delicate purple, closer to blue than most – perhaps better-called periwinkle rather than a true violet. And now one of those lovely eyes was lost forever.

The queen stood from Aemond’s side, descending on Aegon with a fury. “Where were you?”

“Me?” Aegon balked. But that was not the answer Alicent wanted; she told him as much with a hard slap. “What was that for?”

“That was nothing,” Alicent spat, “compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” It was not an indictment of his behavior that night but of the years before, when he had encouraged his cousins to join him in mocking Aemond – the very behavior that had eventually culminated in their fight that evening.

The large doors above the throne creaked open, and Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys descended the winding stair from their bedchambers.

“What is the meaning of this?” Corlys demanded as his wife called for their granddaughters. She held their faces to assess their wounds – though they were far fewer than Arianwyn or Aemond’s.

Not a moment later, Princess Rhaenyra burst through the doors at the far end of the room, shouting for her sons as she ran across the hall. None but Arianwyn seemed to notice Daemon behind her, striding slowly as if he did not want to be seen. Anger twisted the Princess’ face when she saw the bruise forming around Luke’s crooked nose. “Who did this?” she demanded.

Arianwyn’s anger began to rise again, chilling her every breath. “They attacked Aemond!” she yelled back as she stood, still holding Aemond’s hand. “He did naught but defend himself. And me!”

The last of her words were drowned out by the overlapping shouts of her cousins and sisters.

“He attacked Baela!” Luke screamed.

“He broke Luke’s nose!” Jace cried.

“He stole Vhagar!” Rhaena barked, apparently unconvinced by Arianwyn’s earlier words.

“He disrespected my mother!” Baela bellowed.

The shouts began to overlap, and Arianwyn and Alicent joined the clamor, refuting the children’s outrageously false claims and defending Aemond, but there was too much noise – none could hear their words.

Though his heart felt full to bursting watching Aria defend him so fiercely, Aemond tugged on her hand, glancing with his one remaining eye at the king, who was weakly trying to quiet their words. He was well aware that in a conflict between him and his half-sister’s bastards, he was at a severe disadvantage in the eyes of the king. After all, he was born to the wrong queen.

Viserys had some affection for Aria, at least. It was likely only because she was Daemon’s daughter, but it may still earn her some protection from his anger. But he still would not take any risks. Not when it came to her.

When she finally looked down at him, there was a question in her silver eyes. “What?”

He raised himself as far as he could without straining his aching body. Close enough that, within the din that had settled within the room, he could speak without being heard by anyone else. “Be quiet. Don’t make him angry.”

Aria nodded, stepping closer to him and pursing her lips as she always did when biting back her words. It made him smile.

“Silence!” the king bellowed. All fell silent as he climbed down the steps of the throne toward the chair where his wounded son sat. “Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened – now.”

Aemond looked sheepishly away from his father and toward Arianwyn, uncertain. She knelt back down, nodding, and kissed his hand. He understood her as clearly as if she’d said the words. No matter what was said against him, they both knew the truth, and he would have her unending support.

But before he could respond to his father, his mother stepped forward. “What else is there to hear?” she pleaded, though her husband was turned away from her. “Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.” The queen glared across the room toward Rhaenyra, who now stood with her arms around her sons.

“It was a regrettable accident,” the Princess said, refusing to look either her father or the queen in the eye.

“Accident?” the Queen nearly laughed at the word. “The prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son!”

Rhaenyra stepped forward. “It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves,” she growled.

“Liar!”

Arianwyn understood why her cousins and sisters had lied – they wanted to protect themselves from the punishment they rightly deserved. But for Rhaenyra, whom Viserys wished to be queen one day, to lie? When she had only just arrived, with no idea what happened in the tunnel?

That, Arianwyn could not stand.

“You’re a liar!” she yelled again, ignoring the sounds of shock that reverberated around the room. It did not matter that Rhaenyra outranked her; she had lied so blatantly to the whole court for years, but she could not be allowed to lie about this. “You were not there; you did not see what happened. I saw it all.”

The king turned his eyes to her, assessing. She lifted her chin and met his gaze, not allowing him to see the fear that had her tightening her grip on Aemond’s hand. After a long moment, Viserys nodded, leaning on his cane with both hands.

“Very well, Arianwyn.” Something cracked in her chest when he did not call her ‘Aria’ as he usually did. As her family always did. He was not her kind, if distant, uncle in that moment. He was The King. “Tell us what happened – but speak only the truth.”

“Aemond and I were returning to the castle,” she said, confident despite the many inquisitorial eyes upon her. She spoke the truth. Surely they must believe her. “We… we had snuck out earlier.”

Her tale was interrupted by the voice she was least eager to hear – her father’s.

“And where had you gone?” Daemon leaned calmly against the door where he had entered and gestured to his daughters by Laena. “It seems to me that detail may be crucial to this story.”

Arianwyn did her best to swallow her rage as Aemond nearly growled behind her. “We went to the beach south of the castle,” she said, “where Aemond laid claim to Vhagar.”

The silence in the room was palpable. Some seemed impressed by her claim. Others – mostly Velaryon – were enraged.

The Queen looked towards Aemond. “Is this true?” she asked. A wave of joyful relief swept over her face as her hand flew to the Seven-Pointed Star medallion around her neck, and she murmured a prayer of thanks.

Even the King seemed to forget his anger for a moment as he looked at Aemond with something close to pride.

“He stole her!” Rhaena’s voice shattered the fragile peace of the moment.

Arianwyn’s blood blazed cold with anger. “A dragon cannot be stolen! Vhagar claimed Aemond as much as he claimed her!”

She turned back to the King. “The four of them were in the tunnel when we got back. It was Rhaena who started the fight – she attacked Aemond. He defended himself, and in return, Baela hit him. We both fell and when he saw that I had been hurt, he returned the blow – but he was only trying to defend me.”

Hot, stinging tears welled in her eyes. “They all attacked him, and they would not stop. He was on the ground – he could not fight back – but they just kept hitting him and hitting him.” She began to sob in earnest as she looked at her sisters.

“I just wanted to get them to stop, so I pushed Rhaena off of him. She scratched me, and Baela pulled me away. She had her arm around my throat,” she gestured to the beginnings of bruises on her neck, “I was struggling to breathe – I had been since I fell. Aemond got away from Jace, and he found a rock somewhere in the sand. He hit Jace with it once, but only after Jace drew the knife.

“Baela wouldn’t release me, so Aemond threatened to hit him again if she didn’t let me go.” She blinked furiously, looking down at Aemond as she finished her story. “But Jace threw sand in his eyes, and Luke used the distraction to – to cut him. And then… nothing else happened until Ser Westerling arrived, I swear.”

Viserys looked between her and Aemond, weighing what he had heard. Arianwyn was so focused on him and what he might say that she did not notice that at the door, Daemon’s eyes had darkened. He examined the scratches crossing her skin, pride rising in his chest for Rhaena’s ferocity. Arianwyn’s assault on her, no matter her motivation, would not go unpunished.

Before the king could pass judgment, Rhaenyra spoke again. “I think you are forgetting, Lady Arianwyn, that amidst the fray, Aemond levied vile insults against my sons.”

It was true; Arianwyn had forgotten. The words had been least amongst the vileness she had witnessed that night – what were mere words against blood spilled? “Aemond’s words were mild compared to what your sons have said to him for years and certainly not deserving of this.”

“What insults?” the king asked, holding up a finger to silence her. Arianwyn balked. Was he really considering words – a single, true word – against the irreparable damage that had been done to his son?

Rhaenyra lifted her chin, confident in her hold over her father. “The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question.”

Viserys tilted his head, “What?”

“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys answered.

As silence once more fell over the room, Aemond released Aria’s hand. She looked down at him, her face lined with worry, but he just smiled at her. In the firelight, her silver eyes had turned golden.

He knew he had just lost his father’s sympathy – and whatever small pieces of affection, if any, he held for Aemond – and would likely face further punishment for his words. Men had been maimed and sent to the Wall for voicing that plain truth. Though Aemond was his child, the king had always favored Rhaenyra and her brood. Even his second son would not likely be forgiven.

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, You Grace,” Rhaenyra said, striding toward her father with confidence. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

Aria let out a cry like a wounded hawk. “You want to torture him?”

“Over an insult?” the queen asked in utter disbelief. “My son has lost an eye.”

Rhaenyra did not respond. She merely watched as Viserys looked down once more on his son. All pride and concern had gone from his face. Instead, he looked at Aemond with the rage of a king.

“You tell me, boy,” he hissed. “Where did you hear this lie?”

Aria was speechless, but Alicent was not. “The insult was training yard bluster. The lot of boys. It was nothing.”

But her pleas fell on deaf ears. “Aemond. I asked you a question.”

Aemond merely stared at his father.

‘Father.’ How he hated the word.

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder?” The queen asked, desperate to steer her husband’s ire away from their son. “The boys’ father. Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter.”

The distraction worked. “Yes, where is Ser Laenor?” The King asked. When he turned away, Aria again fell to her knees, gripping Aemond’s hand with all her might.

“It will be okay,” she whispered, though Aemond knew she did not believe it to be true. “I’m here – I will not leave you.”

Aemond stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I know.”

Daemon watched them closely, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind.

Rhaenyra’s confidence seemed to slip at the queen’s question. “I do not know, Your Grace. I… could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.” Aemond suppressed the urge to point out that no one asked her where she had gone. As she entered the hall with Daemon on her heels, that detail may be quite ‘crucial.’

Alicent quirked her head at the answer. “Entertaining his young squires, I would venture.”

But the distraction was done. Viserys turned back to his son. “Aemond, look at me,” he said, slightly lightening his tone. The prince took a heavy breath and looked up at his father. “Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

Aemond glanced at his mother for guidance or perhaps a new distraction. But the king followed his gaze. Not wanting his mother to become the object of the King’s wrath, he said the first name that came to mind. “It was Aegon.”

“Me?” Aegon asked for the second time that evening. But it was too late to object. The king needed a scapegoat, and Aegon was well-suited for the role.

The fear on Aegon’s face as his father’s wrath turned on him was almost enough to make Aemond regret naming him. Almost.

Viserys limped over to his eldest son. “And you, boy?” he asked. “Where did you hear such calumnies?”

Silence.

His patience at an end, Viserys screamed. “Aegon! Tell me the truth about it!”

But Aegon was unfazed, still drunk enough to let his tongue loose – to let the truth loose. “We know, Father,” he sighed. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

Not even Rhaenyra protested the words. Since the moment Jacaerys emerged from his mother’s womb with hair as dark as night, the truth was clear. Only the King and Rhaenyra herself still denied it.

Though on this night, it seemed that even the king had not the energy to uphold the lie. Rather than assert the legitimacy of the boys, Viserys addressed the entire room.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” he shouted, pounding his cane on the floor. “All of you! We are a family! Now, make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it!” Then, with a look to Aemond that was almost apologetic, he began to walk away.

Arianwyn’s pulse quickened, a now familiar icy creeping through her veins. That was it? Aemond deserved more. Retribution. Justice. Something. “Uncle – ”

“That is insufficient,” Alicent called to her departing husband, entirely exasperated.  She gave Arianwyn a single look that demanded her silence. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, my king. ‘Good will’ cannot make him whole.”

The King sighed. “I know Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken.”

“What would you have me do?” the King asked, exhaustion plain on his face.

But Alicent held firm. “There is a debt to be paid,” she declared, turning to face Rhaenyra. “I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.”

A murmur passed through the crowd, shock setting in at the price the queen demanded. Even the King seemed surprised.

Arianwyn looked up at Aemond and did not know what to make of his small smile.

“My dear wife,” Viserys began.

Alicent’s voice broke as she tried to move her husband. “He is your son, Viserys. Your blood.”

The king stalked back to her, “Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment.” Thinking his words were final, he turned away.

“If the king will not seek justice, the queen will,” she said, resolute in her defense of Aemond. “Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

‘An eye for an eye,’ Arianywn thought. Perhaps an extreme punishment, but certainly fair, wasn’t it?

Luke cried for his mother, and the king pleaded with his wife, but she stood firm. “He can choose which eye to keep,” she ordered, though the knight did not move, “a privilege he did not grant my son.”

Rhaenyra placed a protective hand on her son’s chest. “You will do no such thing,” the warning she issued Cole burned like fire in her eyes.

“Stay your hand,” the king warned, though Alicent immediately objected.

“No,” she ordered, her voice growing frantic, “you are sworn to me!”

Ser Criston looked over all those commanding him and bowed to the orders of the king. “As your protector,” he muttered, though he seemed displeased by the words.

With a sigh, the king faced his wife. “Alicent, this matter… is finished. Do you understand?” He took her silence as affirmation and turned away.

Rhaenyra smiled, the expression as smug as her voice, “Thank you, Father.”

Arianwyn could hardly follow what happened next. One moment, she was watching Alicent stalk toward the King. She heard the ringing of a blade being drawn, then shouting, and the clanging of armor rung out from across the room.

Aemond pulled her towards him with such force that she collided with him as he stood and stepped in front of her, shielding her with his arms and taking a defensive stance. She could not understand how he could stand with his body weakened by pain and his mind clouded by milk of the poppy.

But he stood resolute, her sworn protector, even if no oath had been taken.

They watched together in horror as Alicent collided with Rhaenyra, holding the king’s Valyrian Steel dagger above the princess’ head, poised to strike. Not even the Kingsguard dared approach the women as Rhaenyra struggled to hold the queen at bay.

“You have gone too far,” the Princess hissed.

“I?” Alicent asked, verging on hysterics. “What have I done, but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout it all to do as you please.”

“Alicent, let her go!” the King shouted – but she did not listen.

“Where is duty?” she demanded. “Where is sacrifice? It is trampled under your pretty foot again.”

The Hand stepped out from behind the Driftwood Throne to calm his daughter. “Release the blade, Alicent.”

Still, she pressed on. “And now you take my son’s eye, and to even that, you feel entitled!”

Aemond clenched his jaw, trying to step forward. Arianwyn held him back with only a hand on his shoulder. Had he not been in such a state, she doubted she would be able to stop him.

Rhaenyra whispered something too soft for them to hear.

Suddenly, the queen shouted, breaking free from Rhaenyra’s grasp and slashing with her stolen blade. Aemond surged forward, out of Arianwyn’s grasp, leaving her reaching for the empty space where he once stood.

Rhaenyra fell back into Lord Corlys’ arms, the queen to her husband’s. Even the roar of the fire seemed to quiet as a stream of blood began to pour from the Princess’ arm. The king’s blade clattered to the floor.

Fear overtook Aemond’s entire being. If Viserys would allow Lucerys to take his eye for a mere insult, what would he do to his mother for drawing Rhaenyra’s blood?

It was his fault. He had been the one to seek out Vhagar, knowing that Rhaena had aims for the dragon.

He stepped from the crowd, his feet unsteady as he fought through the fog in his mind and the agony in his body. “Do not mourn me, Mother,” he said, trying to summon the joy he felt while riding Vhagar back into his heart. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye – but I gained a dragon.”

Lucerys was not forgiven. No, this debt would be repaid. But to protect his mother in this moment, Aemond would say anything.

Fortunately, the king took him at his word. “This proceeding is at an end,” he declared.

But not all were finished. Not yet.

Daemon stalked out of the crowd, his eyes dark as he glared at Aria. He made his way to Rhaenyra, cradling her wounded arm in his hands, and turned to his brother and the queen.

“I think,” he remarked, not breaking his gaze from his daughter’s, “that it is long past time for Arianwyn to come and live with her father – and her sisters. When you leave for King’s Landing in the morning, brother, she will remain here. With me.”

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Seven. Sacred)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter warnings: emotional distress, anxiety, recall of threat of assault/brainwashing, explicit smut A/N: My treat! Happy Halloween! Only about half this beast is edited, but I gave myself permission to break the no-fic-til-first-draft-is-finished rule if I could complete it by Halloween, soooo... ENJOY! Happy to talk inspo music/plot/scream in harmony in comments and asks.

Chapter 6: Sacred

She wasn’t wearing shoes.

She didn’t entirely realize until she left the palace. The grand castle released her easily, giving her a side door to slip through as she tried escaping herself, and she hesitated when soft dirt replaced smooth stone. The fae’s work stripped a lifetime of callouses. A week ago, she could walk across gravel barefoot. Now… She could go back, admit defeat and finish dressing properly. But she couldn’t deal with any more of Gwen’s concern, and the urge to run boiled from her stomach up the back of her throat. Maybe it would burst out as a scream. Maybe she’d just vomit on her own toes.

No going back.

Something would catch her if she turned around, and she wouldn’t stop until the sensation drained away in sweat, blood, and tears. 

Maybe she’d trip and earn herself some new scars.

She didn’t actually run, but she walked quickly, like she had any idea where she was going and had a schedule to keep.

The sunshine welcomed her, wrapping warm as her shawl around her shoulders, but she kept her eyes on the path, looking for loose stones to dodge or signs of other travelers. But she found no footprints. Heard no breaking twigs ahead or behind. No voices carried on the faint breeze. The world felt a little too perfect, as if it froze when she left her room, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass by. Too still. Like it might startle her if the clouds skidded along like normal clouds usually did. The blue overhead felt careful. Intentional.

The path led her to the edge of a river – or a lake – maybe a vast moat around the palace. She couldn’t see a way across, and she hesitated on the bank, toes curling into the grass as fingernails folded into palms. She wasn’t ready to stop. She needed to keep going. This wasn’t where she sat and cried. She had to burn out the panic, and she desperately needed a way across the water so she could escape into the green hills beyond.

Chewing on her lip, tasting blood, she squinted at the flecks of sunlight glinting on the water’s surface and tried to guess how deep it was. Impossible to guess. But it looked placid enough. Her was still wet, after all. A little more water wouldn’t hurt her.

She stepped from the bank, expecting a cold plunge, but she found sand barely an inch below the surface. Looking again, she could just make out a submerged path ready to help her ford the river, and she tried very hard not to question if it was there before she stepped on it. More than a little afraid it would disappear halfway through, she sprinted across the open water, splashing her clean clothes and making a terrible racket in the pristine stillness. Although the water wasn’t perfectly still, her steps left great ripples that carried the secret of her flight to both shores and beyond. Round whispers revealing her route, rolling off like a bell’s peel to tell the invisible something where she’d fled.

Her beautiful skin crawled, and she didn’t stop until she’d hidden herself in the green shadows beyond the far bank. Pine needles cushioned her steps, and she slowed to catch her breath, still moving forward, but only barely as the wood’s sap and moss filled her senses.

Her heart beat so fast it hummed, and the old ache stirred sharp and deep behind her ribs.

She was missing something. She needed something. She’d been hurt in ways her simple human magic couldn’t mend, but if she pulled the shawl even tighter, everything would be fine. The soft knit would hold her together like a bandage. Or a net. That shouldn’t comfort her, but it did, and she had too many battles to choose this one.

Being caught was alright so long as she was the one to trap herself.

She kept going, and her heart stewed in memories she’d hoped to leave on the floor of the bath. Things grew out of her helpless fears. Weedy jolts of terror that came back no matter how much she reasoned them away. Doubt spread like mold over every good thing. Confusion soared tall as a tree, and even the Dreaming’s determined sunlight couldn’t pierce its canopy.

She didn’t understand why Morpheus lied. And because she didn’t know that, the question her safety and future hinged on, she couldn’t banish every creeping dread that fed on its shadow. Everything she thought she knew felt fragile, and she wasn’t willing to test her assumptions’ strength. She’d thought he respected her. She’d thought her dreams could be a haven with him. She’d thought her life had changed for the better. For once.

But the fae took her for him.

Whatever she thought she knew, they clearly knew something else.

She walked on. Searching her thoughts. Wandering a strange land. Not at all ready to ask for answers.

The woods thinned into scrubby trees and thickets, fading from emerald to a yellowed olive green. Low stone walls rose and fell along the sides of the path she chose at random, bordering little fields full of pumpkins and graveyards bristling with angled headstones. Signs of structure beyond wilderness, a long-inhabited corner of a rural land, far removed from the gleaming palace with its lavender bath and magical bed.

But it was still so quiet.

Where were all the people? Dreams, nightmares, stories. The Dreaming may be vast, but it had nearly countless residents. Fin and Gwen spoke of whole villages, towns, homes full of strange, beautiful, and awful creatures crafted or invited into the Dreaming by its king. The silence rang false, and her heart snagged on a terrible idea.

The air in her lungs hardened.

She’d never left the unseelies’ court. She only walked through a vision boiled from poppy juice and desperate hopes. Maybe she still wore her wedding dress. Or maybe this was the truth of Love in Idleness. She could love her monster because she imagined he was better than he was. Her mind had broken and she found herself roving freely, left to convalesce on her own terms while in reality…

She’d come to a stone bridge fording a creek, and she practically fell back against the wall, sliding down, dropping her head to her knees.

Fucking fuck.

She’d walked so far, but the fear still had a literal chokehold.

Breathing. That mattered most. Whatever else was wrong couldn’t be fixed until she could breathe. She couldn’t even keep walking without air. Old lessons battled with her diaphragm as she tried to scold herself calm. Her old breathing exercises helped take the edge off the crushing sense of suffocation, but her nervous system hummed with tension, and she sat locked in place. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about the dress, feeling phantom spider silk clinging to her skin, watching the threads stretch and tear with so little effort. Of all the things to focus on, maybe it was easiest. The only change she could easily escape. But also a reminder of the monster the fae believed her soulmate to be. Someone who would callously, willingly…

Her stomach rolled, and she lurched onto her knees. A little stomach bile came on the second, wrenching heave, but nothing followed. Not even water.

Fuck.

How long had it been since she ate? Time was so slippery in the fae realms, and gods knew how long she slept in the Dreaming. Her head pulsed as her stomach finally agreed it was overreacting, and she fell back to sit against the wall of the bridge, panting with her eyes closed against every little pain and discomfort knocking on her thoughts. They each wanted to let her know her body had been abused, and all their good intentions just made the message play on repeat, forcing her to not only face but feel everything that happened.

Sorely used.

An archaic turn of phrase, for sure, but fuck if it didn’t fit.

Her ears rang. A sure sign there was just too much happening inside. Even if she didn’t die at the hands of the fae, a rogue nightmare, or some demon Constantine hooked her into finding, her blood pressure would send her to an early grave. For sure.

Her head hurt. Her belly hurt. Her heart hurt. Now that she wasn’t walking, her feet ached, too.

It seemed like a good time to cry, but she hurt too much to do that, either.

So she sat with the pain instead.

Crossing her arms over her knees, she buried her face and tried to block out this world, her monster’s world, and create her own. Simple and dark and safe. The borders only extended to her fingers and toes. It ended where the air touched her skin. Her goal was to drown out the ringing in her ears with the cycle of her breath, and if she forgot anything else existed, maybe that would be possible.

She buried herself so well in her arms and the chorus of her panic that she didn’t notice the little creature approach until it touched her. Tiny claws pricked her ankle. It felt like a cat, a determined kitten scaling her leg to perch on her knee, and she opened her eyes sluggishly, pulling out of the sticky morass of her own head to find a ruby-eyed gargoyle peering into her face. It chirred, potato-shaped head tilting in wordless question.

Golden with little wings that looked entirely insufficient to keep its pudgy baby body airborne, it lurked happily in the grey area where things so ugly they could only be cute flourished.

“I should probably warn you,” she murmured, “that I’m really shit company right now.”

The little creature warbled, like it understood and disagreed. Its claws pinched the fabric over her knee as its wings pumped, lifting him an inch into the air.

Well.

That would show her for making snap judgements.

The little darling really could fly.

It tugged, trilling louder, and she got the idea it wanted her to come along.

“I don’t have wings.” She felt like she ought to apologize, explain her shortcomings the way she’d reason with a small child. “And I don’t feel so good right now. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to.”

Dissatisfied with her decision, her little companion dropped back to her knee, croaking a long, demanding wail.

“Goldie!”

The voice carried through the fog, rattling over the stones, and her little friend perked and turned to call back. Following the direction of his attention, she realized two whole Tudor mansions stood on the opposite side of the bridge. If she’d stumbled any further, she would’ve run into someone’s front door.

She desperately needed to get out of her own head before she walked face-first into an immoveable object and broke her nose.

“Goldie?”

The creature flexed its claws, essentially making biscuits on her knee.

“I think someone’s calling you,” she suggested. The name and color couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in the Dreaming. Everything made a slanted kind of sense here, if it made any sense at all.

The tiny monster, Goldie apparently, settled belly-down, folding its wings and all in a show of blatant refusal. It wouldn’t give up the new friend. Toy. Guest. Whatever the hell she was to it.

“Goldie.” The voice was nearer. Footsteps crunched on loose stones, and a pleasantly round man, with a pleasantly full beard and a pleasantly wide-eyed face, came along from the direction of the two houses, looking the wrong way. “You’re still awfully small to be wandering off, even if you can fly so well. Now, where did you – ” He turned, saw Goldie sitting on Aisling’s knee, and blinked his wide eyes even wider. She stared back.

He remembered his manners first, rushing to welcome her. “Oh! Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”

He approached with a smile, but he hesitated when he realized her position. She must look at least half as horrible as she felt, after all, and she hadn’t moved from her folded spot against the wall.

“Are you alright?” He grasped for solutions, for answers. “Did Goldie scare you?”

Exhausted as she was by her own terrors, she couldn’t help snorting.

“No.” Hell. Her voice practically creaked. She swallowed, trying to get her dry, aching throat in working order, but she only made the ache worse. Coughing, she spluttered, “He didn’t scare me.”

“But you’re not alright.” Those big eyes flooded with growing concern, and she wondered if it was because he genuinely gave a damn or because of some nebulous rule about guests and hospitality and all that shit.

“I’m not,” she confessed. “But I will be. Eventually. I always am.”

“Well, how about some tea while you wait?” He extended a hand, and Goldie fluttered up to his shoulder, clearing the way for her to rise. Now that the cretin had backup, it seemed confident she’d follow.

And since she had no other plan, she did.

“I’m Abel.” His warm, worker’s callouses rasped along her palm and around her fingers as he helped her to her feet. “It’s been a while since we had a proper dreamer here, I’m afraid. Are you lost?”

Very.

“I don’t know. And I’m a dreamer, but I’m not dreaming.”

He didn’t keep hold of her hand as he led her towards one of the two houses – presumably his – but he hovered. He had a good face for that, and he kept near, like he thought she might fall, which was fair considering how he found her.

“Then how are you here?”

A mirror. Knives, and spiders, and that damned dress.

“It’s a long story.”

“Maybe over tea, then.”

“Maybe.” Probably not, though. She couldn’t stomach that tale in her head yet. She couldn’t hold it in her mouth long enough to taste.

The courtyard between the two houses boasted a half-forgotten kind of charm. It grew in moss over crumbling busts and fogged over the windows with just a little too much dust. Cozy neglect. Cottagecore with fewer fairylights and more fog.

Abel held the door for her, and she found a sitting room as wonderfully cluttered as the landscape outside. Books stacked in towers supported forgotten cups, and old table cloths, rugs, and scarves littered every surface. She sat at the little table where her host gestured and admired the collection of his personal history as he busied himself with the stove.

“I should really tell my brother we have a guest,” he fussed. “He’ll be terribly angry if doesn’t have a chance to meet you, I’m sure, Miss…” His hand flew to his mouth, and he murmured his apology through the gaps between his fingers. “’M so sorry. I never asked your name.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m – ”

“Let me get Cain. One introduction! Much easier. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out again, and Goldie fluttered to sit on the table, resting between her limp hands and blinking up like he wasn’t responsible for anything ever, at all, in the very least.

She ran a finger over his bumpy little head and sighed. “Aren’t you just proud of yourself?”

Goldie crooned confirmation, and she rubbed her nail along the loose threads in the tablecloth. A hundred tea stains bloomed over and across each other, but she didn’t see any crumbs from dinners past. The candle in the brass stick at the center of the table had dripped down to anchor the whole contraption in place, and she could only just see a faded red paisley pattern beneath it all.

If she were to read Abel’s cards, this would be the place. It had his rhythm: habit and footsteps and care. A place to plan the morning and end an evening. 

The door’s ominously friendly groan announced the brothers’ return, and she looked over her shoulder to meet much less open eyes in a much less open face, shielded by spectacles and a mouth prepared to sneer.

But he blinked like his brother as Abel rushed to attend the kettle again, and he marched in with open curiosity.

“Well, you are a puzzle.” He made a little bow. “I’m Cain. You’ve met the dunderhead and Goldie.”

Abel set a steaming pot and three cups around the table, practically shaking with excitement. They really must not get company often. “And now she’s going to introduce herself, and we’ll all have tea while she waits to feel alright.”

Cain’s eye’s narrowed, and Aisling jolted to defuse the poisonous tension.

“I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Abel clapped, and the tension fizzled away as she tried to catch up with whatever connection he’d made. “Fine Gent’s Aisling? The witch from the Waking?”

“You know Fin?” She accepted her cup of tea, hoping for more about her friend. How did they know each other? Did they know where her friend was lurking? Were they at all like him?

Cain nodded, ignoring the cup and saucer his brother set at his elbow. “Better sort of nightmare. Reliable. Sharp. And if you’re really that Aisling, then I suppose we know why you’re in the Dreaming.”

She shuddered, an involuntary reaction she only just saved her tea from disaster by plonking it back on the table. Gossip traveled quickly in all realms, apparently, and while Fin was a considerate asshole most days, the fae hadn’t been subtle in their… gifting. She could ask how much her hosts knew, but then she’d have to listen to it. And she didn’t want to. Cain’s eye pierced her with a knowing glance, but Abel stood there in wide-eyed befuddlement, so she left them to their own assumptions and tried again with her drink.

Under any other situation, the tea would be very nice. Well-steeped, but not bitter, with a nutty note that made her think of toasted barely milk tea. In the moment, it was better than anything she’d ever tasted. Her senses sprang back from the fog of despair and remembered how nice it was to quench her thirst, how the steam opened up her sinuses, and she could smell the dried rosemary over Abel’s kitchen window. One sip was not enough. Tipping her head back, she drained it in one go and immediately decided manners were for losers, desperately holding out her cup for a refill.

Holy hell was she thirsty.

Abel quickly poured more, and Cain’s side-eye grew razor sharp.

Aisling drank another cup. And then a third. But when she lifted a fourth to her lips, a familiar hand settled on her wrist.

“That’s a great way to make yourself sick again.”

Fin.

He hovered at her shoulder, calm and constant as anything, charming as ever. Just looking up at his smirk – always welcoming her into a joke whether she understood it or not – felt like setting foot on solid land after a long boat ride. It surprised her by how steady it was, and she remembered what confidence had always felt like when they went on their adventures, dragged along by his leads and her intuition.

She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Under his guidance, she settled the cup in its saucer, and she winced an apologetic smile for her hosts.

“Sorry.”

Cain scoffed. “For what? Drinking tea? Pah.” He eyed Fin with a considerably less charitable look, hoisting the teapot in a clear invitation for yet another refill when required. “You’re a guest, and a thirsty one.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fin pulled out a chair for himself, settling a wicker hamper on the table. “You sprinted from the castle like a bat out of hell, and you slept for ages before that.”

Abel gawked like her wandering was some great accomplishment. “You’ve wandered a long way from the Heart of the Dreaming. This is the border of Nightmare.”

Although she determinedly didn’t sip the tea, she kept her heads around the cup, letting the fading heat sink into her palms and remind her she was alive. And awake.

Nightmare. That made sense. She’d never entirely trusted dreams. They felt so sweet in her sleep, but they always stung when she woke up. She found nightmares more reliable. But distance was nothing in the Dreaming. Even she knew that. If the realm’s lord and master hadn’t chosen to let her have her head and run, she wouldn’t have reached the river.

Busying himself with the basket, Fin muttered, “This one never did like to keep to one place. Here.”

He pulled out a lump of cheese and a crusty roll, setting them on a plate he magically fished from the delicate chaos of Abel’s living space.

She looked at the food distrustfully, not sure if her belly rumbled in welcome or rebellion yet. But Fin was on a mission, and he fished out a dish of strawberries next, bright as gems and so ripe she could smell them. Plucking one from the top of the pile, he sliced it into three neat pieces, offering her one on the flat of his blade with an expectant expression. He’d done the work. She shouldn’t waste it.

“The tea will settle better with a bit of food,” he advised.

Cain and Abel kept their own counsel, either riddling out what they were seeing or collecting fresh fuel for the gossip engine, she couldn’t say.

She accepted the strawberry.

It tasted like summer. Ice cream in the shade, and the riot of growing things in their prime. Sunshine and sticky hands with her bare feet in a creek.

Food really wasn’t supposed to taste like that. It took her breath away, and she hesitated, balanced on the edge of Fin’s knife between enjoying the little gift and careening back into her overwhelmed panic. Everything was a step further than she expected, or a little too perfect, or grand in ways that made her feel so, so small…

Goldie, sitting by her elbow, trilled. She looked into his ruddy eyes and held out her hand in a silent demand for another bit of strawberry, even though she hadn’t finished chewing.

Fin tipped the next slice into her waiting palm, and she offered it to the baby… whatever. Goldie seized it with a delighted gurgle and crammed it in its mouth. The sliver of berry filled much more of his mouth than Aisling’s, and his cheeks ballooned with the treat.

“What do you say, Goldie?” Abel asked.

His – pet? Child? – offered a gulp, a belch, and a croak, which was enough to satisfy Abel.

Fin shoved the third slice of berry directly in her face.

And she nearly choked. Nearly laughed. It startled her, but she put her hand to her mouth and kept everything in – chewing and swallowing emotion and food. They saying went that laughter was the best medicine, and while she was a firm proponent of the wonders of antibiotics, her inner sky cleared just the tiniest bit. The cracks were still there. Her world was still more than a little broken. But the fog of war began to lift, and she could see some of what was left. What was alright. What might be alright with a little more time.

Moss would grow on the ruins, and rain would fill the holes into ponds for frogs and water lilies.

What couldn’t be repaired could be made new.

And if she ever cleared all the clouds from that inner sky, maybe she’d find another watercolor sunset waiting for her.

Fin, watching her very carefully, cut another strawberry, and she ate it all with more confidence than the first two mouthfuls. He sliced open a roll and spread soft cheese on the two halves, giving them to her one at a time. When she reached for her tea to wash the bread down, he didn’t protest.

His posture softened until he slouched in his seat, shoulders back against the wood and one ankle propped across his knee. The little wrinkles that forecast a frown smoothed back to the edge of a smirk. All his anxiety appeared in the hollow shapes left behind as it melted.

She was sorry to have worried him, but watching him relaxed helped her more than all the tea and food in the Dreaming could. He’d decided she was safe, and in this wonky wonderland, she trusted his judgement. Fin may not betray his maker for her, but he would never be ease if he wasn’t sure all was – or would be – well.

Rapid tapping interrupted the scene a few minutes after she refused more food from Fin. Sated, pleasantly full, and breathing easily, she didn’t jump at the sound, but her heart jumped when she saw the raven on the other side of Abel’s window. She’d bet anything it was…

“Matthew.” Fin nodded to the bird but didn’t move to let him in. Instead, he turned to Aisling and asked, “Feel up for a walk?”

“Back? That’s…” The best idea. The worst idea. She thought of the castle and the entity who ruled it. He needed to be stitched back into her story. She had too many frayed ends left in the wake of the latest tear, and she couldn’t begin any real work until she saw the pattern. All her questions and accusations coiled into a lump in her throat. “A long way.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Since his question hadn’t really been one at all, he stood up, put the basket on his arm, and pulled out her chair.

It was time to go.

Cain and Abel stood, too, and Goldie bobbed up to Abel’s shoulder, sighing like a tired toddler.

“Thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway and wondered what the rules were in the Dreaming. Did she owe them something? Did they expect a token, or a boon, or some specific words? Should she start planning a thank you card? Was there a ritual, or – no. She was overthinking it. “It was… You helped. A lot. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Abel beamed. Goldie warbled in agreement.

“Of course, she’s welcome,” Cain snapped, finding some unknowable annoyance in his brother’s manners. He looked back to his departing guests and nodded, slowly, almost like he was bowing. “Fine Gent. Lady.”

“Oh, I’m not-”

Fin looped his free arm through hers and tugged her off balance, moving through the door. Her confusion of thought was lost in the chaos of stumbling sideways to keep up.

“Thank you, Cain,” Fin said.

The door closed. The sounds, smells, and sensations of the outdoors crashed over her fragile senses like a wave, and she was very glad for Fin’s arm. She was… better. But still not well. The ground stayed firm under her feet, but the back of her mind whispered it would melt into quicksand at any second.

Fluttering wings and a familiar croak warned her just before Matthew came flapping in her face. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thought you were gone forever when you didn’t come back to your van, and the boss-”

“Will explain his thoughts himself,” Fin interjected. He gave the bird a look, a suggestion or a reminder. Once upon a time he threw those her way in the Waking. When she was young and overeager to test her limits. When she ought to know better.

Matthew landed in a chaos of black feathers and clattering talons, hopping alongside as Fin led the way across the bridge. Back to forests, fields, and strange moats. Back to the Heart of the Dreaming. Whatever that meant for her. There was no rush, but Fin clearly had a direction in mind, and while he was willing to go slow, ambling rather than marching, he was on a mission.

She didn’t like the heavy feeling that realization left in her gut, full of the food he’d so carefully and considerately brought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there was a new authority overshadowing their old dynamic, and she just didn’t like it.

Chastised, Matthew actually held his tongue for a few minutes. But every few steps, she caught him peeping up with sharp swings of the beak to glance at her, like he was waiting for a signal to talk again. He looked so awkward, fumbling along at their pace. And earnest.

And none of this was his fault. It wasn’t Fin’s. It wasn’t the raven’s. It… probably wasn’t their master’s, either.

She offered a wan, tired kind of smile that she hoped would ease the tension. He snapped it up.

The raven cleared his throat. “You look nice?”

And she always would. No matter how sick, or exhausted, or miserable, or – The phantom tingle of the fae’s thick salve gleaming with unicorn horn rolled down her arms, and she shuddered.

“Don’t.”

Matthew immediately dropped his head. “Sorry.”

Well shit.

“It’s fine. Just – yeah.”

And with that eloquent excuse of a non-apology, the three fell into a deeper silence.

The trees swallowed the two houses and the bridge that led to them. The path unspooled ahead, under darker boughs, and after a corner or two, the edge of the forest thinned. Too quickly. A slowly as she’d run. Impossible and sensical, because what else could it have ever been.

As the castle came into view, she fought against the dream-fall sensation demanding she wake up. She knew she couldn’t, because she was already, but that didn’t stop of her mind from spinning with the alien logic of this world. She was still looking for an escape, even if she didn’t feel the need to run for one.

A bridge – which she knew for sure wasn’t there before – connected the edge of the forest to the castle’s island. A low, discreet construction entirely unlike the arching causeway she could spy towards the front gates. The Dreaming hadn’t made it a challenge to leave, but it made returning even easier.

It invited her to come home.

Fin huffed, and she caught a smirk twisting his lips before he schooled it into a more dignified expression.

“You’re expected, it seems.”

Her hand spasmed on his arm, and he patted it almost condescendingly.

“Of course,” she murmured, demanding her stomach settle and her feet move.

Fin stayed with her across the bridge, through the garden, to the door that let her out. She felt like a stray dog being returned by a neighbor after a jaunt around the neighborhood, and it took conscious effort not to let her hackles rise. Inside, the castle was as quiet as it had been before, and she wondered again if people were being kept away from her on purpose, and if so, for whose benefit.

They stopped in the first crossroads between hallways. “This is where we leave you.”

“What?” Panic fluttered like butterflies through her gut. Fin settled (most of) them with another one of his looks – teasing, mocking her just enough to assure her this wasn’t anything like she feared. It made her feel stupid. It gave her courage. “I mean – fine. Okay. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Fin pointed to the left. “If you head that way, you’ll find yourself back in the room you woke in. Gwen and Jeff will take care of you.” He pointed to the right. “If you go that way, you’ll find him. If you’re ready to talk.”

He delicately peeled her fingers off his arm, stepped back, and performed a tidy bow. Duty performed, he left her with a wink and walked back the way they’d come in, a way that now offered many more doors and turns than she remembered.

“Good seeing you, Aisling. I’ll see you around?” Matthew didn’t wait for an answer. He launched into the air and flapped after Fin. A last caw caught and echoed through the branching halls, fading until she stood alone with her decision.

The still air pulsed with her thoughts, and her bare soles stuck to the polished floor, rooting her in a whirlpool of feelings she couldn’t face long enough to name. A crossroads. Her crossroads. Another gift from the entity she’d always feared would take away her choice. Was it respect or apology?

He’d lied to her, and even if he wasn’t responsible for… everything else, how could she trust he’d finished with masks? Kindness made for a clever veil, and he’d already surprised her with the face behind one helm.

But he hadn’t destroyed her. Hadn’t let others strip her will when it could’ve suited his purposes.

Romances between gods and mortals rarely ended well, and he was beyond a god. How could she ever hope to understand that? There was no world in which she could be his equal, where he could stoop low enough to grasp her human fears. Holding hands across a chasm like that always ended in a fall. Hadn’t she been enough of a fool already?

She remembered her first dream with him. He was more honest with her then than he’d been since, and the first thing he wanted to show her was the place where he held her the way she’d always held him. For that night at least, everything made sense. Maybe not the pain, but the agonies she’d suffered almost seemed worth it.

She didn’t know what to think. If she never faced their tangled wyrd, the potential bond she’d tasted so briefly, she’d never know how to feel, either. Maybe all this would kill her, but she couldn’t live without knowing.

So, she turned right.

Maybe it was her imagination, but the coolly lit hall seemed a little brighter as she made her way from the crossroads, looking for Morpheus.

She didn’t have to go far. The hall stretched straight ahead. No side passages to distract her. No doors to tempt her curiosity. Dream of the Endless wasn’t hiding, and as he reached out to guide her steps, he shaped the world to his intent.

The hall ended, rounding a little bend and opening into a high-ceilinged room that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A gallery. A meeting place. Something old and new and hollow. One wall bristled with shapes emerging from grey-veined marble. Windows stretched from floor to roof, bathing the sculptures of vines, trees, rolling waves, and writhing figures with soft light at odds with the relief’s high drama. There was no furniture. Only space waiting to be filled. And a lone figure. Waiting for her.

No obstacles. No games or tests.

It could all be so, so simple.

Morpheus wore his regal grace with the same ease as his long black coat. But it failed to shroud his melancholy, and his longing wafted through the room in perfumed spirals of burning incense. She breathed it in; it stung her eyes and plucked on the frayed tatters in her chest. Sympathetic pain bloomed, and she rubbed along her sternum automatically, blinking back tears so she could trade them for words.

He broke the silence first. “I welcome you to the Dreaming, Aisling Hunt.”

Without his helm, his voice sounded so different. Incredibly. Even more beautiful, like looking up into a night sky with stars that looked back, but less like a force of the cosmos, more a man who traded in the dust that made worlds. He regarded her, and her intuition thrummed, trying to answer in ways her human body physically couldn’t.

He paused, lips parted on a thought, and the formal weight evaporated, replaced with aching strain that curled his shoulders towards her, even across the room, like a plant bending towards the sun. Strange. Unsettling. She didn’t feel like something bright in his world, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind his grotesque helm again.

“I am, despite everything, glad to have you here.”

Oh.

It shocked her back into her body. Into feet just a little cold and still bare on the floor. Into flesh she was afraid to look at in case she started crying again. The hope and horror bridged, and the most urgent question grew like a weed up her throat.

Well. If he was going to bring it up, then…

“I need to know something.” She rubbed her chest, hoping to pry loose a scrap of courage. None lingered in her heart, but a few tatters could’ve gotten caught in her ribs, and even a slip would do her. “Before this – I need to ask you something. I think I already know, but I need –” She knew how quickly words and oaths could twist under desire’s pressure, and even if she’d committed to playing the fool, even clowns had their limits, and she wouldn’t dance into another lying mirror. “You said you wouldn’t steal me away to hide in shadows, but you could send others to take me, and this place is very bright.”

His shoulders drew back, and his chin lifted. He’d offered her formal welcome and she asked for formal confirmation that he hadn’t betrayed her. She wasn’t ready to burn for him as his sun. She had to know he wouldn’t snuff her out first.

“I did not ask for you to be taken. I did not ask for you to be changed against your will. I did not ask other hands to commit such sins in my name, nor will I in future.” Angling his face down again, he offered her a glimpse at the wrath hidden there. He had not forgotten her suffering. It would not go unpunished. And just as quickly as he revealed his rage, he buried it again, stowing the knives and earthquakes for the villains who’d driven her to ask for proof in the first place. He watched her absorb what he’d said, and his voice turned feather soft. “You are my most cherished guest, and though I ask that you stay until word has spread and it is safe for you to walk the Waking world, you are no prisoner.”

Blinking, she took a deep breath. It rattled all the way down to her fingers, and she shook out her hands to banish the trembling.

“Thank you.” He gave, and he gave, and he gave. Time, space, reassurance. Her gaze roved the complicated mass of imagery covering the wall, looking for a theme. A hint. Frozen sailors reached for the land, tying sails against a wind determined to keep them at sea. Trees bloomed. Flowers fell. Fruit swelled, and snakes crept through their own shed skins as seeds burst from fallen, rotting apples. Time, loss, and rebirth without aim.

“What do you want, Morpheus?”

Had she ever actually asked him? She desperately wanted the truth. The whole thing.

“You were right.” Her own truth. An olive branch. An invitation and a plea. “Others shaped my view of you. So, now’s your chance. Tell me, so I can it from your own mouth. What do you want?”

In this moment, she was judge, jury, and executioner. No one would decide who or what she loved, and she would know the entity whose name she carried before she gave him anything else.

The air turned sharp. It cut the light like a prism, glittering in her monster’s eyes, a focus so sharp it broke sunbeams into their constituent parts. For all the black he wore, he practically glowed, a king in all ways, an open heart in more. Only here. In private. For her.

His eyebrows lifted, pinched. “I want you.” His voice was a song, weaving everything that could be beautiful between them into the simplest terms. “I want to be near you. I want to comfort you.” He approached, drawing his words out with cautious steps, hands hanging stiff at his sides. He halted, just far enough for her to feel safe, even when he spoke again, letting his lust drip into his tone, scenting his song with night-blooming jasmine. “I want to love you and make love to you.”

That was… honest. Heat rushed over her face, and she dropped eye contact like it was the source of the fire.

Fuck.

It was, actually.

When she first saw him, locked away in the cage beneath Fawney Rig, she thought his beauty was a warning, a good reason to look away and avoid him. Beautiful things were almost always cruel, but now… Well, things were different, weren’t they?

“I want you to know me.” He glanced out the window, and she instinctively did the same, looking over distant mountains and glittering bridges. World beyond worlds. “The Dreaming is a part of me. Simply by walking it, I feel you’re exploring me.”

They looked at each other again, just a little closer than before, and the hope in her monster’s eyes made him almost boyish. He was older than her planet, probably. But even an Endless must be reborn sometimes, in some ways, like the snake winding through the rotting fruit.

So, she’d met him when the water splashed over her toes. She let him comfort her when she drank the tea and ate the food of the Dreaming. Even if she hadn’t held his hand or looked in his eyes, and he was reaching for her in all but body now.

Fine.

Alright then.

She wouldn’t be anxious over a project she’d already begun.

“May I touch you?”

His smile bloomed soft and sweet. “Yes.”

Having the permission she needed from his strange eyes, his lips, the face she still didn’t know, she looked at his hands. She drew the tips of her fingers along his knuckles, a whispered touch asking for an answer, and he lifted the hand for her inspection, turning it over so she could see the creases of his palms. Invitation and vulnerability. Her touch wandered the lines, trying to read the silky flesh like a book. Palmistry had never been her forte, though, and she only found her own memories in his life and love lines.

“I know these better than your face,” she admitted. They felt safer, something secure to hold when his galaxy eyes threatened to sweep her away.

She found her courage in inches, lifting her eyes to his shoulders. His neck, his skin pale and untouchable as a reflection of the moon. Would she find the same strength in the rest of him as she did in his hands? The same possessive tenderness? The same call that felt like a puzzle coming together when she stroked his fingers, demanding and comforting as a deep breath after a dive?

Gingerly, like one or both of them was made of glass, she pressed an index finger to either side of his jaw. The barest caress drew along the edge of his face, not just feeling him, but listening to the hushed drag of skin on skin, until her two hands met, fingertip to fingertip, over the point of his chin. A sigh gusted down her wrists, along her elbows, and a rebel army of goosebumps sprang to life at his summons.

Without entirely meaning to, she looked up and met his eyes, and once she found them, they snared her.

It was entirely unfair for anyone to have actual stars in their eyes, and she read her doom in them as easily as she read her cards.  

“I’d like to kiss you.”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he shifted closer, keeping his hands to his side despite the way his want curled out to close the distance like a physical force. Well. It was his world. Perhaps it was. It found her heart and tugged.

Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, waiting to read his answer. “May I?”

“Yes.” His voice rumbled so low and strong she felt it like thunder. No hesitation.

She wondered if she’d have to rise onto her toes to reach him, but he swept down to meet her, giving rather than waiting for her to cautiously claim what she’d asked for. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first caress. A soft touch expressing and savoring everything she’d allow. There was no demand, but as she pressed into the kiss, chasing the delicate friction, he answered in kind.

Little sparks carried through her blood. Through her mind. Urging something to life. Drops of sunshine calling up flowers in springtime. He tasted like traces of smoke from a campfire on a cold night. Vellum and lignin. The last breath before a jump.

When she broke away to breathe, she peered into his face, and she felt the trembling rush of standing in a high place. In the Dreaming, were the butterflies in her stomach real, too?

His hands hovered, framing her face with restrained yearning.

“May I touch you?” Gravel thickened his voice until it nearly broke, and he searched her expression with bared desperation. “May I hold you so I may feel you are well? May I love you, my little hero?”

She settled her hands over his, kissed his palm, and guided his fingers to her cheek, closing the gap he’d left for her to decide in. “You may touch me.”

He accepted her permission with open wonder, taking a full moment to rest where she’d led him, moving just enough to stroke the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. When he freed himself of the spell she’d so innocently cast, he let his touch wander – sweeping over her brow, tracing her nose, cradling her jaw. But when he came to her mouth, he lost his focus. He replaced hand with lips, jolting back after the briefest, most chaste contact when he realized he hadn’t asked permission.

She grabbed the lapels of his long coat, shaking the fear from his expression. “You can kiss me. Please. You don’t need to ask. Not tonight.”

The worried frown he’d grown melted. A smirk washed up his face, dark with promise. But he didn’t tease her. He claimed another, proper kiss instead. Free to touch her, he angled her face with careful pressure, showing her how best to deepen the pleasure of lips, and teeth, and tongues, until she was equally breathless and reluctant to breathe.

Resting forehead-to-forehead as she recovered – as she gathered air to take the plunge again – he asked, “May I hold you?”

“Yes.” Her turn to answer quickly, for an ache to strain her voice.

Long limbs twined around her, drawing her close with a hand on her back and another on his him as her monster once again set to work trying to consume her. She did finally rise onto her toes, begging for more with eager hands slipping up his shoulders to comb into his hair. He gave her too much to feel, and she couldn’t give each piece its due. His lips gliding over hers. The secure warmth of his arms. Smooth skin and soft hair. The pressure of his chest against hers.

She knew pains like this. Sensations too overwhelming and complicated to make sense of. But she’d never felt pleasure the same way, and it swept her away faster than a riptide. She’d given the sea permission to drown her, though, so it was alright. More than alright. Wonderful.

He wasn’t as cool as he’d been when she first touched him. The rosy heat didn’t blush over his skin, but it pressed out to meet her, as if he was taking inspiration from the pulse and flush of mortality. Her blood warmed her because it must. He only warmed from a desire to be near.

“And may I love you?” A kiss to her cheek. “May I?” Another just below her ear. Withdrawing to lift her gathered hands to his lips, holding her gaze, he brushed a third kiss over her knuckles. “May I?”

Almost too disoriented to answer, she nodded, running her palms over his clothed chest. “Yes. Please, Morpheus – ”

His name on her lips tore through the last of his self-control. Finally. Finally given permission. Finally near enough to touch, and taste, and take. He crushed her closer with tender, rabid affection, kisses wandering to her cheek, down her neck, and back to her lips to share her sighs.

Maybe she wasn’t the sun, but how she burned for him.

Lovely as it was, she wanted his coat off. With their lips tangled together, she struggled to ask, but she pushed at it, and he wordlessly agreed, helping her peel it away from his shoulders to drop, abandoned, somewhere behind him. Her monster’s greatest frustration with the act was the time he spent with his hands otherwise occupied, and he grabbed her back to him like they’d been separated for years, not seconds.

His hand slipped beneath the soft shirt he so thoughtfully provided when she woke, and she whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard by how good this new wave of sensation felt. Fragments of control washed away with each graze of a knuckle or press of his palm along her back, pulled away as sand in the surf.

When she released her hold on his shoulders, he left her break the kiss, his eyes somehow even darker as he watched her reach for the hem of the garment. He helped her – carefully, reverently – guiding her arms and head out of the fabric. His lips parted as he looked her over, and he reached for the bottom of his own shirt. She mirrored his performance, helping him with the simplest chore of escaping his clothes, and when he emerged from the black shirt’s depths, he reappeared with a smile. A little amused. Deeply fond.

More kisses. Cautious hands mapping new spaces. Enjoying each other slowly so the heat could grow. Shared breaths, every shudder and shift pressed into the other’s flesh. Wrapped up in each other entirely. There wasn’t room for fear or doubt; they stood much too close.

Even when Dream pulled back again, something as fiendish as it was loving in his expression, she couldn’t remember there was a room or a world beyond him.

He spread his palm wide over the center of her chest, covering the flesh between him and his mark, and he pressed down. Gravity bent to his will, an intractable urge. She fell to his desire and found herself sprawled flat on something comfortable that wasn’t a bed. But he left her no time to wonder, following her with a rain of kisses that left her dizzy. As his hands crept down, he hovered, watching for her to revoke her permission, or even the slightest hint of discomfort. But by the time he’d reached the rest of her clothes, her hands fluttered around his, trying to slip multiple layers off in one go. She wanted her pants gone as much as she’d wanted rid of his coat, and he chuckled as she kicked them off the last inch.  

Once she’d escaped the last fabric keeping her from his touch, she drew him back for a kiss, this one so soft it spoke his thanks. His care.

Although he rested between her legs, he didn’t rush. He attended her breasts, plucking yelps and giggles from hidden ticklish spots, rising back to her lips again and again as she grew hotter and more desperate under his hands. They might’ve spent a hundred years hovering on the threshold, finding each other in grazes and kneading grips.  

At last, he roved lower, and even as he brushed his lips over hers, his thumb rolled over her bud. Slowly, tortuously almost, he fluttered over the nub, refusing to explore further until she whimpered and writhed. He traced down her folds and groaned. She could feel how wet he’d made her, and the mortification would’ve swamped her if she couldn’t feel how excited it left him. The bulge pressing against her hip left no doubt.

His fingers sank inside, curling to pull something out of her. She gave him a moan, a fluttering thing, unsure on new wings, and he hovered with his mouth hanging open in awe, like he could catch it. Keep it. Cage it in his ribs to keep. Before, when he’d pleasured her in the dream, he had plenty to say, even when his mouth was on her. That was worship. This was communion. A true meeting, a joining without words.

He worked her open diligently. And all the while, he held her gaze, feasting on it.

Every nerve sang for him, and he coaxed her to the very edge before she grabbed his wrist. He froze, looking for pain in her expression, and she kissed the worried line between his eyebrows.

“I want you.”

She didn’t need to explain. With a look so vulnerable he almost looked hurt, he said, “You have me.”

When he pulled back this time, he took her with him, and she sat astride his lap as he worked a mark into her neck, giving her time to change her mind. His pants had magically disappeared. She wasn’t at all surprised, though she’d wanted to help take them off herself. Next time, maybe.

Next time? There would be a next time. And another next time. And all the next times she wanted.

Elated by her revelation, she all but yanked his face from her neck so she could kiss him properly. He laughed, and it tasted like elderflower cordial, rich and sweet enough to make her drunk with one sip. She ground down on his length, and his hands spasmed on her waist.

“I’m ready,” she assured him with an eager peck. “I want this.”

He shifted, arranging himself to brush her entrance, but he didn’t press. Even here, he waited for her. She sank to meet him, her grip on his shoulders seizing as she stretched. His hold moved to her back, her neck, cradling her near instead of exerting any kind of control. And she was glad. She needed it as her eyes all but rolled back into her skull.

As light kisses rained over her face, she fought to relax, to take him entirely. She only opened her eyes once she had him. Once he had her. And once she saw him, she wondered how she could ever turn away again.

It was the way he looked at her. Fathomless patience meeting desperation. All of it honed by time. He’d craved her company before she was born, and he’d wrestled back his yearning until it cut into his soul to keep from scaring her away.

He wanted to be seen, and held, and cared for, too.

A thousand adoring words bubbled up her throat, but it wasn’t the right time, so she peppered them soundlessly down his neck and along his collarbones instead.

And she moved.

The drag was almost too much. The pressure brought stars to her own eyes, and although she refused to close them, sometimes she thought they’d fluttered shut, because the push and pull of their lovemaking really was blinding. He stroked up to meet each roll of her hips, crooning as she kissed and petted and squeezed him.

They were the turn of stars, the draw of ancient voids too vast for names, and all the voiceless songs strung between worlds.

She forgot the pain in her chest. She forgot she’d ever done anything but burn for her monster. Her Morpheus.

If she wasn’t the sun, she must’ve swallowed one.

The inferno melted her from the inside out, and she all but fell apart, wrapped around him, and cheek-to-cheek, he groaned in her ear. She panted, open-mouthed, fighting for air and sense as he kept his slow, deliberate pace. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill yet, and he held her all the tighter as her quaking limbs refused to play.

When feeling eventually returned to her legs, she pulled them around his waist, anchoring herself and refusing to release him as adamantly as he clung to her. The otherworldly sensations lingered, but she remembered herself a little more, found the cognizance to appreciate who held her, who she’d accepted. Who stoked the flame, sheathed inside.

Even as he worked her up to another orgasm, a painfully soft part of her heart burst open, and affection flooded her system. It bled open and free, forcing tears to her eyes.

She was safe, and he was hers, and she –

She really had to tell him somehow. She couldn’t bear to say it, though.

She’d be worthy of his face. She’d break him out of a thousand cages. If only he’d keep her so close and secure and warm.

This time when she trembled to pieces, there was no putting her back together, and her monster graciously followed her release. He kissed her as he came, holding her still so they could feel every shudder of the end. And when he’d finished, as their breathing steadied, he tumbled with her back into something soft, never once letting her slip from his arms.

[harkonnin]

* The heart is not meant to rule *

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader

Slow burn, knife kink, blood kink, strangers to lovers, softer!Feyd-Rautha, CONSENT, 18+, arranged marriage, assassination, poison, murder, etc

Previous Chapter - Resurrection Current Chapter - Never lose me

***

It had been a few days after Feyd left to go back to Giedi Prime, wedding preparations he said. He didn’t leave you much time to bond after the kiss, nor did he have need for a conversation about feelings. You attribute it to his upbringing, assuming Harkonnen don’t talk about their feelings at all. So, you stow away yours for now.

*

Feyd wanted to make haste, he wanted nothing more than to stay on Caladan and ravish you before the wedding, but he also respected his duty and the rules involved with an arranged marriage. Should he break those rules, he wouldn’t be able to marry you. Intercourse before marriage wasn’t frowned upon, it was downright illegal. He had to put a distance between the both of you before his feelings could settle in the pit of his stomach and he lost all control.

*

A few weeks pass while Feyd is busy sorting out all the legal business, talking to servants to import certain items from Caladan, and even requesting an answer from you concerning your wedding dress and the sort. You receive the message during a sparring match with Duncan, who has been training you extra hard upon hearing the news that you were going through with the marriage.

He sees your face contort after a member of the staff gives you the message and asks what you want to respond with. It felt so, indifferent and impersonal, a message as black and white coming from Feyd, no love to be found, no greetings, just a demand. You frown as you respond to the messenger and turn back to Duncan, sighing.

He stays silent for a few moments, until the messenger leaves.

“I know it is not my place Lady, but do you mind if I give you any advice?” he sounded sincere and worried.

You nod at him, curious.

“Please don’t marry Feyd. I know it might seem like a good idea, if we’re speaking about bloodlines and dukes and barons, but… you should be with someone who loves and respects you.”

He got closer to you as he spoke those last words, his hair partially stuck to his face because of the sweat of battle. He extended his hand for you to take, and you did. Feeling anything at all was better than the dryness that got stuck in your throat when you received Feyd’s ‘demand’.

“Duncan, I-…” you trailed off.

You didn’t want to admit that you liked Feyd, it wasn’t love yet, but there was a certain attraction between the both of you. You wanted to explore this, even if it meant being married for a different cause. You just felt insecure after he left so fast, seemingly taking all the sweetness away from the moment you shared before.

Duncan pulled you into a hug, somehow knowing exactly what would help at this point. You felt his heart beat fast, faster than usual. He gave you a kiss on the forehead and continued to talk.

“Feyd has no idea how lucky he is. Should he ever try to hurt you again, I will intervene.”

He lets you out of the hug and takes your hands in his and goes onto one knee.

“If you ever feel doubt know that I’ll be here for you. I love you, Lady Atreides.”

He says as he kisses your hand. The confession feels heavy but sincere. You had no idea Duncan felt like this, you had always just assumed he was a man with his heart on his sleeve, loving all the Atreides family, because he had just always been there for you all. But a proposal?

“Oh, Duncan, I-“ you say as you feel a tear starting to roll over your cheek.

He comes back up and cups your face in his hands, wipes away your tears and kisses your forehead, and returns to hugging you. You softly sob as the heat of the older man gives you the comfort that you needed.

“I know.”

*

Feyd is struggling to get everything sorted, there’s a lot more shouting and killing of servants going on right now. He wants the wedding to be utter perfection, no place for errors, this includes everything you should bring or prepare. He shouts at a servant to ask about your wedding dress, and to make it quick. This explains why the message sounded so cold and demanding when you received it. The Harkonnen were anything but subtle with words.

He had been in and out of meetings concerning the festivities and he was about one more question away of killing another servant. He hated this, hated that he had to do everything, make all the choices, he should’ve just asked you to come along, but rules forbid. Curse the rules, he thought.

For an arranged marriage the people involved wouldn’t be allowed to see each other for a month before the marriage, this is to allow both families to prepare everything and make sure that the couple still wanted to get married. Also to get all the political things in order, most of all.

Feyd had 5 minutes of peace before he had a meeting with yet another person involved with the wedding. He was staring out at the arena and somehow missed simpler times like that. His momentarily peace got disrupted, however. A servant asked for his attention, it was Tula. Feyd knew how fond you were of her, so he promised himself that he wouldn’t hurt her. She was however, testing his patience at the moment.

“My Lord Na-Baron, I have a message for you, from Lady Atreides,” she spoke quietly.

Feyd shot up and took the message out of her hands, read it and a frown came over his face. Your reply was very formal, much the same as his question, or demand, felt to you. Yet he didn’t expect it to be so… dry. He looked up at Tula for a second, almost questioning her why your message didn’t sound nicer. He thought he knew you a bit more than that at least.

“My lord? Are you ok?” Tula questioned, seeing his face contort in several ways. “Fine,” his voice all gravely, he even sounded tired.

Tula started to walk away but then suddenly came to a stop. She considered the sentence she had on the tip of her tongue before finally saying it. As she turned back, Feyd looked up at her.

“My lord, … I have also received more information about Lady Atreides.” Her eyes trailed off, suddenly aware of the stare Feyd was giving her. “Speak.” He spit out. “… it appears that Lady Atreides has received a counteroffer for marriage, from Duncan Idaho.”

Feyd’s eyes narrowed into slits. Unaware of his next action, Tula wanted to make sure she would live after giving him the bad news, so she continued.

“Lady Atreides has declined his offer however,” she had no proof, but she also felt like you wouldn’t just bail on everything that had happened between you and Feyd.

She assumed you would say no to Duncan, considering the position you were in. A wild bet, to save her own life.

“Is that so…” he trailed off, started to stalk around Tula.

He took out his dagger and started to play with it, she feared for her life.

“It seems like I will have to teach Duncan some manners in the future.” He looked at Tula and then his dagger.

He reminded himself that the time would come where he got his revenge on Duncan and sheathed his dagger again. Tula almost sighed in relief.

“Send a message to Lady Atreides, tell her I look forward to making her mine soon.”

The implications where there, both innuendo and not, and Tula made sure she left as soon as she could.

*

When you receive the message, you’ve just finished bathing and are in a comfortable robe, hanging out on your bed. The staff member leaves the message in your hands and lets you be for the night. As you start to read the message you realise it’s from Tula. She tells you Feyd found out about the proposal from Duncan and wasn’t happy about it. She also conveys his own personal message to you.

“Make me his? Who does he think he is!”, you talk to yourself.

The way he talks to you ever since he left was very different from how he was on Caladan. No softness anymore, the Harkonnen in him had returned. You were sure that planet had something to do with it, Caladan was far more relaxed than Giedi Prime was. You decide not to answer him, it was only a few more days before you travelled to the planet yourself, so a response could wait.

You wonder if Duncan’s proposal had something to do with how cold he sounded in the message. You assumed it did, you didn’t see Feyd as an insecure person, but knowing how close you and Duncan were, anything could happen. You just hope Feyd doesn’t go ham on him and kill him. You fear that will be the only outcome, however.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you missed Feyd. It made you insecure to not have him around you. What was he doing right now? Did he also miss you? All these questions came floating to the surface as you kept thinking about him, and his hands, and his lips. And how strong he felt when he was holding you close, how his hands moved to your lower back and your legs, how his hot breath felt on you in the damp wet grass.

You instinctively open your robe thinking about him and start to touch yourself. You wanted nothing more but to feel him all over you, feel his hot mouth on your entrance. You imagine that your hands, are his, as you circle your clit. You insert two fingers and start to pump, cupping your breast in the other hand. You felt his erection as you sat on top of him, panting, and you think about how big he was, how he would stretch you, how he would make you his.

His cold words from the message now circle in your head, as you imagine him saying them out loud, whispering them in your ear from behind you, as he’s taking you. You come hard, thinking about him enveloping you, not stopping until you’re completely ripped at the seams. You imagine him holding you after, kissing you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear, as you drift to sleep.

*

Feyd is having another night, however. His insecurity takes hold of him the night before your arrival. You hadn’t replied to his last message from a few days ago and he imagines you might just give up on the entire wedding, and so, give up on him. He keeps thinking about how he can convince you to marry him, what he would do to Duncan should he ever see the man again, and his anger boils inside of him.

He has thrashed his room already, broke a few chairs and killed a few servants, but nothing seems to help. A servant reminds him of the box they took with them from Caladan and he remembers the rose oil he took from his chambers. The servants draw a bath for him, with water, and put the rose oil in it. As soon as he enters the bathing area he relaxes. It feels like you are in there with him, soothing his fears and feelings, and calming him down.

He's not one to let his guard fall, but he drifts off into a soft sleep while he lay there. He dreams of you, in the damp grass, on top of him, under him, in any way he wants because it’s his imagination. He reassures himself that all will be fine once you’re here. He wakes and gets himself cleaned off. Before he goes to bed, he sprinkles some oil on his bed sheets, so that he would at least feel as if you were with him that night.

*

You travel to Giedi Prime on the day before your wedding. The rest of house Atreides would arrive later today. As you arrive you are greeted by a few servants, and you react with glee once you see Tula. You hug her and forget the differences in culture for a while before letting her go and straightening yourself. She has a soft smile on her face, however.

“Let me show you to your chambers, Lady Atreides.”

She walks in front of you as the other servants with your bags follow suit. As she ushers you into the room and your bags are in it, she closes the door and turns herself to you.

“My Lady Atreides, I fear I have a confession to make.” She looks strained.

You take her hands in yours, and you ushed her to sit down on the bed. “What is it, Tula?”

She shifts her eyes up at you, guilty for some reason.

“I was the one who told Feyd about the proposal from Duncan. I wanted him to hear from me, because I was afraid he might hurt you, should you have told him. I’d rather he hurt me, than you.”

You’re somewhat shocked but not for the reason Tula might think. She risked her life for you, knowing Feyd, he probably did end up hurting her.

“Did he hurt you?” you look at her, worried. “N-No, he did not actually. He only mentioned that he would have to punish Duncan, that’s it.”

You sigh, happy. But you’re also surprised he didn’t lash out at her. A mere servant in his eyes, what would be one more or less. Maybe Feyd was more perceptive than you thought.

“Tula, you did nothing wrong. You were loyal to your Na-Baron. I understand. I think Feyd will notice that I declined the offer if he sees me in a wedding dress tomorrow, we’ll be fine.”

You notice she had some tears forming in her eyes, so you decide to hug her, and she lets it all out.

“I hope he deserves you, Lady Atreides.” She tells you in between sobs.

It was the sweetest thing any servant had ever told you. You hope he still wants you as something more than a political pawn. Insecurity creeps back in as you prepare to go to bed before the big day. You wonder if he has any interest in you anymore as you drift off to sleep, worried and anxious.

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter sixty one

close to home | chapter sixty one

plot: daryl finds out what happened to the reader

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 3,790 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd, injury, daryl being daryl A/N: thank you for reading!! how the fuck did I write 60 chapters of this I'm insane

Daryl thought about you every second of every day for the past five and a half years. He was too stubborn and pissed off to go after you the first few days, and then it got harder and harder as time went on. He tried to. At least once a week every week since you left, he tried to go to you, to Alexandria. He’d even made it as far as getting to the outskirts of the surrounding woods. But then he saw you on watch, laughing with a guy he didn’t know, and he turned around and went back. 

But he thought of you regardless. He cried almost every night in his self-pity and threw himself into trying to find Rick’s body. And after you screamed at him, and hit him, and cried to him about the other woman, he never saw her again. It didn’t matter that nothing happened, that it was only a few brief conversations in passing, but it hurt you so deeply. And he knew he fucked up. Which is also why he stayed away from you. 

Still, it hurt him. And because of it, he had several burn scars across his forearm from cigarettes. 

He even took a knife and carved your name with his last name into his crossbow because he knew there would never be anyone else. He gave you up after hurting you so profoundly and destroying the one thing in the world he cherished above everything else. He would’ve burned the world for you but ended up burning you. 

So he stayed by the river and tried to find his brother’s body. 

***

It was fall, and there was a bite in the air. Daryl sat by his morning fire with Dog beside him, staring at your name in the crossbow. He hadn’t eaten a thing in a day because of the guilt he felt. 

Then he heard a horse running and his name being yelled. It took him a second to realize it was Carol before he jumped up. 

“It’s (Y/N)!” Carol yelled, out of breath as the horse trotted in a circle. “She’s hurt.”

Daryl chewed on his lip as anxiety filled him. “What happen'?”

“She was shot.” 

The muscles in his face dropped. “Take me to her.” 

“She’s not stable yet, and Siddiq is coming in from Alexandria, but it’ll take hours.” 

“Take me to her, now!” Daryl swung his crossbow over his shoulder, mounted the horse behind Carol, and whistled for Dog to follow. 

***

It took longer than Daryl ever would’ve imagined to get to the Kingdom. He hadn’t realized how far out he was. But when he saw the approaching gates, he felt like throwing up. Carol didn’t slow down as the gates opened, and she led the horse straight to the medical building toward the back of the community. 

Sitting outside were Ezekiel, Henry, Jerry, and a man he didn’t know. 

“What happened?” Daryl yelled as he got off the horse. “What the fuck happened to my wife?”

“They were on a run. She got shot. One of our men was killed as well.” Ezekiel said. “She’s inside, follow me.”

Daryl walked anxiously behind Ezekiel into the building and directly to a room toward the back. The door was shut, and he hesitated for a second before he walked in. 

The room was quiet, aside from an unsteady beeping. You were lying in a bed hooked up to a machine. An oxygen mask was over your mouth, and Daryl saw two discarded tanks in the corner of the room. 

Tears burned his eyes as he walked closer to you. You were out, of course, and thick, white bandages dried with blood were wrapped around your middle. Your hair was braided back like always, and sweat was dotting your face. Your skin was paler than he’d ever seen. 

“How did this happen?” Daryl asked angrily and turned around. “I wanna know right fuckin’ now!”

“She got shot, Daryl. There is nothing anyone could’ve done.” Carol said. “You being angry right now is not helping.”

The door pushed open, and a man named Adam walked in; Daryl knew him as the Kingdom’s doctor. Or at least the best they had. 

“Can you tell us again, Adam?” Carol asked. 

The doctor walked up to your body and checked your heartbeat as he looked around the room. “The bullet went through what I can assume is her appendix, and with no exit wound, it’s still in there. The bruising on her stomach leads me to that conclusion as well.”

“Why ain’ ya take it out?” Daryl yelled. 

“We can’t cut her open and remove it without putting her under. Her body will go into shock, and I won’t be able to operate. Siddiq from Alexandria is bringing medication, and he’ll be better equipped with the surgery.”

Daryl rubbed his forehead. “Is that it? Ya just a waste a damn space!”

“Daryl!” Carol yelled. 

Adam looked at Daryl, your body, and Carol and Ezekiel. “I’ve radioed Alexandria, and Aaron told me Siddiq has already left on their fastest horses, but…”

“But what?”

Adam hesitated. “She lost too much blood on the way here, they were too far out. We don’t know how long it’ll take Siddiq to get here; it’ll be hours at the earliest. We’ve done a few transfusions already.”

“So what does that mean?” Ezekiel asked. 

Daryl was already shaking his head.

“If he doesn’t get here soon, she won’t survive the night.”

***

“Daryl… Daryl, stop!” 

The chair broke against the wall, and Daryl paced around the room and grabbed another one. Within a few seconds, it was broken against the wall. 

“You aren’t helping anything!”

“It’s my damn fault!” Daryl yelled, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. “If I had been there… if I wasn’ such a piece of shit!” He kicked the wall, leaving a dent the size of his boot.  

“Back off,” Carol told the guard that was standing by. “Daryl, this is not your fault. You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

But all Daryl could see was red. “I shoulda been there!” He nearly screamed, punching the wall. The old drywall crumbled against his fist, and he struck it twice before blood showed up on the wall. 

“Daryl!” Carol grabbed his arm. “Daryl, you need to stop.”

The archer pulled his arm away from Carol with a grunt and looked at the guard who was staring at him. “Ya got a problem, asshole? Who are ya anyway?”

The man swallowed the lump in his throat. “Me? My name is Ryan.”

Daryl’s face dropped, and he walked up to the guard and grabbed him by the shirt collar. “What the hell ya doin’ here? Huh? Why you waitin' for her?”

“She’s my friend.”

Daryl slammed the man into the wall. “Did ya sleep with her? Tell me right now, asshole.”

“No-No-I mean, I asked her out a few times, but she always said no. Said she was married.”

“Ya lyin’ to me?”

Carol grabbed Daryl’s arm and pulled as hard as she could. “Daryl, if you do not calm down, I will have them lock you up.”

Daryl shrugged her off and slammed Ryan into the wall again. “Did ya fuck my wife? Tell me the fuckin’ truth!”

“No, no!”

Daryl grunted and pushed away from him as he began to pace back and forth. Carol sent Ryan out of the room and told him not to let anyone else in. 

“Daryl, you have no right to be acting this way. You left her.”

“I didn’ leave shit!”

“Yes, you did!” Carol seethed. “You don’t think I know what happened between the two of you? How you pushed her away until she was nothing but a crumbled pile of mess because of you? You two aren’t together anymore.”

“Then why the hell ya get me anyway?”

“Because when she was bleeding out on the ground, she was crying for you, you asshole!” Carol yelled. “And I don’t know why she’s still hanging onto you after so long, but I owed it to her to get you. Now you can either man up and sit by her side or get the hell out of my Kingdom!” 

Daryl paused at her words. “She really was cryin’ for me?” His voice was soft.

“Yes. She was.”

He couldn’t stop himself from crying as he sank to his knees. “What did I do? How can I fix this?” He cried. 

Carol’s face softened, and she walked over to him. “Well, for starters, you can go pick flowers for her to put by her bed. And then you can get the only chair you didn’t break and sit next to her until Siddiq shows up.”

“I can’ lose her…”

“You already have, Daryl. But if you want her back, then start with what I just told you to do.”

***

It was past sunset, and Daryl was pacing back and forth in your room. Your body was lying there, helpless, but the beeping of your heartbeat was music to his ears--even if it wasn’t steady. 

Fresh cut flowers were in a cup sitting on the table, and he looked at them every few seconds, trying to decide if he should get you more before you woke up. But it was getting late, and Siddiq wasn’t here yet and he needed to be by your side. 

His eyes were red and swollen from crying, but that didn’t stop him from shedding tears every time he looked at you. The only thing he could think of was how much of an asshole he’d been to you. He’d wasted five and a half years chasing after ghosts when he had you right in front of him. 

Daryl kept thinking about the day he left you crying in the mud after begging him to come home. More than anything, he wanted to go back to that moment, scoop you up and never let you go again. He was so stupid. 

The chair scraped against the floor as he sat down next to you. He carefully leaned against the bed and took your hand. It was littered with old cuts and scars, and he could remember each one you got over your time together. 

“My crazy girl,” He mumbled, kissing your hand and then holding it against his cheek. “Please fight, darlin’. I can’ live in this world without ya. ‘M so sorry for bein’ such an asshole to ya. I’ll do anythin’ if ya just keep fightin’.”

His eyes started to burn with tears again, and he laid his forehead against your bed as he sobbed. “Please, God, don’ take her. Ya can take me, I swear it. Won’ put up a fight or nothin'. Just don’ take her, please… please….” Daryl hadn’t prayed in a long, long time, but he kept repeating himself and to a God he hoped was still up there. 

When he sat back up and looked at your face, he felt anger coursing through his body. “Darlin’, please don’ leave me.” He cried. “I’ll do anythin’ to fix up, anythin’ I promise. Just stay and let me. Please, (Y/N), please.”

The beeping quickened, and he watched your chest expand shakily as you took a deep breath. His heart pounded as he thought you would wake up, and his prayers were answered. 

But then you exhaled, and the beeping stopped. 

“(Y/N)...” Daryl stood as he shook your hand. “(Y/N)!”

Before thinking, he ran to the door and started screaming for Adam. When he heard footsteps, he ran back over to you. “She stopped breathing!”

“Daryl… she’s lost so much blood. She wasn’t going to make it through the night without an operation. Even if we get her heart beating, it won’t last without the operation. It’ll be cruel to do that to her. There’s nothing I can do now…” Adam said with sorrow. 

“No, no,” Daryl shook his head. “Ya get over here right now and start pumping her chest. Now!” He screamed. 

Out of fear, Adam did what the archer asked. Daryl took off your oxygen mask and waited until Adam gave him a nod before breathing air into you. The two of them repeated the cycle a few times before the door opened, and Daryl heard Michonne and Rosita yelling your name. 

“Oh my God,” Siddiq said. “Get out of my way, now! Get out of the room!” 

Daryl stepped back, shaking his head as he watched Siddiq and Adam start to try and bring you back to life. He let Carol drag him out of the room in his hopefulness, and he leaned against the wall as he started to cry again.

“‘M gonna lose her tonight, I know it.” 

Rosita shook her head and wiped away her own tears. “You lost her a long time ago, asshole.” 

***

Daryl was sitting in the corner of the waiting room. His eyes were stinging from how swollen they were, and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. It had been hours since he watched you die before him. But he hadn’t heard anything else. Siddiq and Adam hadn’t come out of the room, and he had to believe that was good. 

He kept thinking of your laugh and that beautiful smile that had him in love with you before realizing it. He thought of your soft hands in his and the way you giggled when he kissed you. He could feel your touch on his skin, rubbing circles in his back, or your fingers playing with his hair. It would kill him if he never got it again. He wouldn’t survive your death. He’d put an arrow through his skull. Or maybe he’d go insane and drag you around as a walker just to keep you with him. 

It was morning when Siddiq and Adam walked out of the room. They had blood on their clothes and looked exhausted, but they walked out with relief. 

“We had to remove her appendix, but that was where most of the internal bleeding came from. She’s got two broken ribs, one from the impact and the other from chest compressions. She’s heavily sedated, but she’s stable. She’ll probably be up tonight or tomorrow.”

Daryl started crying at the news; he wasn’t the only one. 

“Thank you,” Michonne said and hugged them both. “Thank you both so much.”

“You guys can sit there, but it’ll be a while before she wakes. We all should get some rest. I’d like to give her blood before, though. Is anyone an O?” Siddiq said. 

“I am,” Rosita said. “You can take as much as you need for her.”

Daryl followed Rosita and Siddiq into the room and watched quietly as Rosita donated a bit more blood than a typical amount. But he was thankful for it, and he thanked her quietly. She didn’t respond. 

He insisted on staying with you, so after everyone came in and made their peace with you being alive, they went to rest. 

Once the door was closed, Daryl carefully grabbed and kissed your hand a few times. “Thank you for fightin’ darlin’. That’s my girl.”

***

A few hours later, Daryl was asleep with his head on the bed next to your hip when he felt you stir. He was immediately up and staring at you as your eyes opened for the first time.

“‘M here,” Daryl said, taking your hand.

You looked around the room with hazy eyes, the sedation running through your veins still. When your eyes finally met Daryl’s, he sighed with relief. “Hi, beautiful.”

“This… dream…. Daryl….”

Your head hit the pillow again, and you were out. But he didn’t care. You were going to be okay.

***

The next morning, you were awake. Michonne, Rosita, and Carol were in the room with Daryl, and when he heard you waking up, he let the women stand before him. He was scared of what you would say to him without the sedation. 

“Michonne?” Your voice questioned whether you were awake, and he wanted more than anything to hold you.

“I’m here, (Y/N). We’re here. Me, Rosita, and Carol.”

He heard you moan, and then you started to cry. “It hurts, everything hurts.”

“I know, I know. Do you remember what happened?”

“I remember those guys coming out of the woods… and I remember looking down and seeing so much blood. And then Carol and Ryan trying to stop the bleeding…” You said through tears. “It hurts, something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Rosita said. “Siddiq looked at you this morning. You have two broken ribs, babe; it’s gonna hurt for a while.” 

He heard you let out a sigh and then groan in pain. “Is Henry okay?”

“He’s just fine.”

“Okay…good…” 

You were out again.

***

When you woke up later that day, Daryl was the only one in the room. He heard you stirring and was anxious but had to talk to you. He had to. 

You groaned in pain as you adjusted on the bed before realizing who was sitting next to you. When your eyes met him, Daryl felt his heart in his throat. 

“Get out.” 

“(Y/N), please,”

“Get out. I don’t want you here. You shouldn’t have come.”

Daryl tried to grab your hand but you pulled it away. “Darlin’-”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your anything.”

He shook his head. “Ya still my wife, ya still my girl. Ya always will be, even if ya don’ think so yaself.” 

“Fuck you.” You muttered and then groaned in pain. “Why are you here? Don’t you have a river to be in or that woman to fuck.”

Daryl sighed and moved from the chair, getting down on his knees beside the bed. “Crazy girl, I was never with that woman. I swear.”

“I don’t believe you. Get the fuck out, Daryl.”

“I swear on my life, on everythin’ I have which I know ain’ much. I only spoke to her a few times, and that day ya came by, the last time… I never saw her again. I never fucked her. I promise ya.” You turned away from him and stared at the wall. 

Daryl started crying again because he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take what he’d done to your marriage and to you. “‘M so sorry, darlin’. I hate what I did to ya, what I did to us. I love ya so fuckin’ much. I’ll do anythin’ to make it right. Just tell me how.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you looked at him. “I will never forgive you. I gave you everything. Everything. And you threw it in my face. I hate you.”

“Don’ say that. Ya don’ mean it.”

“Oh, I do.” 

Daryl hung his head and tried to calm himself down. “Just tell me what I can do…”

It was silent for a long time, and Daryl was too afraid to say anything else in fear of you telling him to leave and never come back. His heart wouldn’t be able to handle it. So he stared at your clenched hand for a second before slowly grabbing it. You tensed but let him hold it, and he rubbed it the same way you used to when he was angry. 

“I don’t hate you.” You whispered. “I’m sorry I said that.” 

“I deserve it.”

You didn’t argue, but you did pull your hand away. “I don’t know what you expect me to say. If I had known all it would’ve taken for you to talk to me was getting shot, I would’ve done it long ago.”

“Ya almost died. Ya did die.”

You sighed and leaned your head against the pillow. “Why did you come?”

“Because I love ya.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

Your words caused his chest to hurt, and he felt tears slip from his eyes. “I love ya, I do.”

“Stop.”

“I love ya more than anythin’ else in the world, and I was the biggest idiot for lettin’ ya go. I ain’ gonna do it ever again. Ya my wife and I was a shitty husband, but I’m here now, and I’m back, and I’m beggin’ ya for just one more chance.” He met your teary eyes and felt you grab his hand again. “Please say somethin’, darlin’.”

“Kiss me.”

Daryl didn’t hesitate to do so. He could taste the salt from his tears, but more importantly, he could taste you. It was so familiar even after all these years, and it made his chest beat ferociously. All he wanted to do was wrap himself around you, hold you, cry, and beg for forgiveness.

His lips moved against yours slowly, and when he pulled away, he saw tears falling from your face. 

“You should leave.” You whispered.

“No,” His voice cracked. 

“That was goodbye, Daryl.”

“No.”

“You don’t get to just say no.”

“‘M ya husband, through thick and thin. Ya my wife.”

“I gave you the ring back years ago.”

Daryl sat back down and held up his necklace. “I still got it. I kept it. It belongs to ya. Please take it, darlin’. Please.”

“What happened between you and her?”

“Nothing,” Daryl said as he got down to his knees. He felt his heart quicken at the change of tone in your voice. "I swear to ya. I just knew Dog, and he followed me home.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

Daryl blinked back tears; you were slipping away again and he didn’t know what to say. “‘Cause ‘m desperate. And ya the only woman I’ve ever looked at. The only one I ever cared about. Ya know that, (Y/N). Ya know I would never do that.”

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

Your question broke his heart and his tears started falling again. “Oh darlin’, ya was always enough. More than enough. More than I deserve… I don’ know what happened. All I know is that I regret it, and I wanna spend the rest of my life makin’ it up to you.”

You groaned in pain as you moved on the bed and Daryl looked at you with concern. “I’m in a lot of pain, and this is a lot for me to handle right now. I wanna sleep.”

“Can I stay? Wanna watch over ya.” You glanced at him as he intertwined your fingers. “Please darlin’, please, let me stay.”

Finally, you nodded.