#so I’m hesitant to like nail down any part of this au quite yet

[the-east-art]

There’s aren’t really anything but do you understand my vision. The reason I haven’t posted art in four days is cuz I’ve been playing nier nonstop

[pleasantanathema]

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: Intimate Truths 

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader [now with a dash of Erwin x Reader]

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of death, violence enemies to lovers, angst, smut, remnants of hate sex/marking, implied cheating

Word Count: 6.3k

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter 

          Reiner had no shame as he leaned against the door frame, eyes trapped in an infinite loop as he traced over the exposed stretches of your naked skin. You looked beautiful in the bath, warm sunlight from the window pooling over your shoulders and glistening in the water that lapped at your chest. He suddenly understood the temptations sailors must have felt toward playful water nymphs, especially when you lifted your leg from the surface, fingers sweeping over your skin as you bathed.

           You looked ethereal, serene, tempting. You looked like you were his, all the bruises and bitemarks glossy on your wet skin.

           “Finished with your phone calls?” You hummed, soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

           “Yeah, for now at least.”

           “Care to join me, then?”

           He was hoping you would ask. His arms stretched above his head for a moment, waking up the still heavy and tired muscles in his shoulders, his back. He’d spent most of the morning pacing around the living room in his boxer briefs, warding off questions from Zeke and setting up plans with Pieck. It was no longer a secret to anyone that he’d brought you to his apartment, which was a tricky thing to explain. He’d settled on telling a half-truth: he wanted some time alone with you to make you more comfortable. That was his job, after all, to butter you up and make you a willing participant in the Marleyan games.

           He swiftly shed what little clothing he had, hissing at the heat of the water as he slid in behind you. He felt like he was boiling, but you seemed content in the warmth, all soft hums and gentle sighs as you settled between his outstretched legs.

           “How is everything?”

           You peered over your shoulder at him, lashes fluttering as you took in his form.

           “Surprisingly calm. Though I do have a date planned for us.”

           Reiner brushed his hands down your upper arms, over your back, fingers spread wide as he marveled over the smooth planes of your body.

           “A date?” you laughed, breathy and sweet.

           “Mhm, Pieck wants us to meet her and Annie at the library in a few hours. Didn’t explain much, just said she’s found something interesting.”

           “Annie?”

           Your back met his chest as you leaned against him, setting a lavender scented bar of soap to precariously balance on the edge of the tub. He’d forgotten he had that under his sink; at least it finally found a purpose, though he never expected the soap to be slipping across your skin.

           “Yeah, it’s been a while for you two, hasn’t it?”

           He wrapped his arms around your stomach, your breasts resting on his forearms. There were water droplets resting on your neck, dripping down to the hollow of your throat. He tilted his head down to capture them with his lips, his tongue, kissing languidly up and down your neck.

           He quite liked this side of you. Tranquil, relaxed, it even felt domestic. The atmosphere felt much more conciliatory, like you’d both agreed to lay aside your transgressions.

           Your lips mimicked his, kissing at the pulse of his neck as your head lolled back against his shoulder.

           “I’m sorry about last night, I shouldn’t have gotten so upset with you.”

           “Don’t be,” he chuckled, one of his hands reaching up to cup your breast because he just couldn’t help himself, “you had every right to be angry.”

           Your fingers laced over his, both of you feeling the weight of your breast within your hands, listening to the rhythmic thumping of your hearts. He was transfixed by the rise and fall of your chest. It was sensual, the embodiment of life, the most natural thing for any body to perform.

          He didn’t know if he’d ever felt this intimate with anyone before. He’d never not bathed alone, always finding solace and silence in the water. But now he had you in his arms, both covered and uncovered by the thin barrier of water over your curves. It took a moment for the realization to settle in that you were really here, allowing him into your space like this. You’d allowed him in, even allowed him inside your body. It all felt like a privilege he didn’t quite deserve.

          “If you had the opportunity, would you do it all over again?”

          “What do you mean?”

          He rested his cheek on the crown of your head, thumb still sweeping over your nipple.

          “If life gave you a second chance, would you start over? Do things differently?”

          “In a heartbeat.” He didn’t even have to ponder on that answer. He’d made far too many mistakes that he wanted to correct.

          “Me too.”

          You turned your face toward him, offering your lips for him to kiss. Complying, he pressed his mouth to yours, groaning as you began a slow, careful cadence. It felt like the first time he kissed you last night, only gentler, more exploratory. He took his time traversing your mouth, teeth nipping at your lips, tongues tangling. One of your hands lifted from the water to cup his face, dripping fingers pulling him closer.

          There was a moment for a small breath as he broke away to test a new angle, his fingers twisting in your wet hair to dip your head back, open your lips wider. He smirked into the kiss when you moaned, a delightful sound that reverberated down your throat. He couldn’t get over how intoxicating you were.

          His other hand abandoned your breast, discovering new parts of the swirling, breathing cosmos that was your body, the pads of his fingers dancing over your belly. You spread your legs knowingly, moaning again as he found the softest of flesh between them. There was still hesitancy in his confidence, power behind his touch, as his fingers dipped inside of you and he curled the digits just right.

          You sucked in a sharp breath as you pulled your lips from his, his eyes opening to find your brows slightly furrowed.

          “Fuck, I’m sore.”

          “Sorry about that.”

          You laughed, lighthearted and grinning, “You are not.”

          You continued to smile through your moans, his fingers continuing to dreamily stroke and press inside you, your walls tightening at his movements. The water was splashing along the sides of the porcelain tub, sloshing back and forth in timing with his strumming of your body.

          His lips were back at your neck, mapping over places he’d already been just hours before.

          “It’s amazing this tight little pussy could fit my cock.”

          He could practically feel your skin tingle from his words.

          He circled his thumb over your clit and the high pitched moan that fell out of your mouth had his cock hard in an instant. His cock was straining against your back, throbbing and making his stomach muscles tighten.

          Your hand dipped under the water, catching his wrist and ceasing his movements. He carefully pulled his fingers out of your folds, concerned that he had hurt you as you started shifting in the tub. Small waves of water sloshed into the floor as you turned around, coming face to face with him and settling into his lap. Your warm thighs draped over his, your knees barely making space on the bottom of the tub.

          “Too much?” He was looking up at you, hands sliding down your back.

          “Not enough.”

          You captured his cock in your hand under the water, pumping at the shaft and making his head fall back. He hadn’t felt that yet—your soft palm wrapped around him, thumb circling the fat, swollen head. He had thought he could keep his control, just take a simple bath, but he should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you.

          He swallowed thickly when you lifted your hips, lining him up with your entrance. There wasn’t very much he could do in this position aside from let you be in control.

          “Fuu-uuck,” he groaned, giant hands helping to keep you steady as your pussy started to suck him inside. You were so fucking tight, like he hadn’t molded your insides to be his last night. Your hot little cunt felt like heaven all over again, every inch taken in making him breathe deeper and harder.

          He watched your head lull back as you pushed all of him inside of you, lips parted.

          God he didn’t deserve this. Nothing he had ever done justified being ridden by something so beautiful.

          Your hands held on to the muscles of his shoulders as your hips started to roll. The water started ebbing with your body as you made your own tide. He looked down to where your bodies were joined, groaning so loudly it even shocked himself.

          “Yeah? Feel good, baby?” Your voice was low, sultry.

          He didn’t even notice you lean down to kiss him, gaze too transfixed on the bulge he could see from his fat cock inside of you. One of his hands drifted from your waist to your lower stomach, palm flat so he could feel the movement from inside your body.

          “You take my cock so well, princess, fuck, look at you.”

          His praise had you moving faster, whimpering above him. Your snug walls wrapped around his length was driving him mad, sending him into that headspace where all he could think about was painting your insides white.

          All his instincts were telling him to grab a hold of you and take over, but he was holding back, wanting you to set the pace with how deep he was in your guts.

          He felt your hand on his face, pulling him up by his chin. Your lips captured his, tongue greedily sliding into his mouth. He grunted into the kiss as your nails dug sharply into his shoulders. It was all messy, moans bleeding into one another as you continued to move up and down, up and down, over and over again in his lap, ass smacking into his thighs and disturbing all of the cooling water.

          “Couldn’t stand it, could you?” he mumbled into your mouth, “You had to have more of me.”

          “Mhm, your cock feels s-so fucking good.”

          “Who knew you were such a little cockslut.”

          But he was the one fading, pleasure was racing down his spine, making his toes curl. He knew he was going to fall off the edge soon, just from a few minutes of your delicious cunt sliding over him. He moved the hand on your stomach lower, thumb tracing around the folds that were enveloping his cock.

          If there was one thing he still had control over in this situation, he could make you cum. He swirled his thumb in a rather cruel pace over your clit, knowing it would send your senses into overdrive.

          “Oh, oh, oh please, please.” Your head was hanging lower, mouth permanently open with gasps of satisfaction.

          “You beg so pretty, so, so pretty, such a good girl.”

          You cried out, cunt clenching around him. He smirked, hand abandoning your hip to reach up and grab your cheeks, the other still tormenting your swollen clit.

          “Oh you like that? Like being my good girl?”

          Your head nodded fervently in his hold, lips reaching for his but he kept you at bay.

          “Y-yes,” you were breathless, breasts bouncing as you started to get sloppy, losing your mind on his cock, “I’m your g-good little girl.”

          He was going to explode. You were too fucking good, divine, even, to be saying things like that to him.

          “Fuck, Reiner, I…”

          You didn’t get the chance to say the words, orgasm ripping your body so strongly that he could feel it. He felt every muscle clench, felt your thighs shaking, felt your wet, slippery walls squeeze around him so tight he felt like he saw god.

          You looked so sublime in your bliss, head thrown so far back that your back was arched, the alluring column of your throat on full display. Your tits were heaving with stolen breath, hips slowly rocking in his lap as you pulled out every last moment of rapture that you could.

          He was so close, just needed a little more from your spent body. He used his strength to lift you up by your ass, bucking up into you roughly and using you like a cocksleeve.

          And you let him, your grip on his slick shoulders weak, body bouncing to the hurried, desperate pace he set. Everything was so wet, warm, he felt like he was slipping under the water and drowning, but he was just lost in your body.

          Reiner came with strangled roar, a gasp, some out of body experience that made his head hurt with the pleasure of it all. He felt like he was on fire despite being in the water, like his skin, his cock, were burning, pounding. And your perfect pussy soaked every bit of him up, cum spilling into your depths.

          He kept himself seated inside of you as you both came down from your highs, arms winding around your back and pulling you to his chest.

          “Are we going to make a habit of this?” He smoothed a hand over your cold, damp hair as he asked, unashamedly pressing a doting kiss to your forehead.

          “Why not?”

          You looked up at him, face flushed, satisfied. There was a bit of mirth in your eyes, something mischievous, but a lingering seriousness that made your simple question resonate.

          Why not?

          There were probably a thousand reasons why not. One of the glaring ones being that you were both prepared to hurt each other at any given moment. He’d wanted to kill you the night you were captured, and you’d wanted to wring his neck before he turned your anger into passion.

          Maybe that’s what this was now. A new way to channel all the uncertain emotions you felt toward one another.

          If that was the case, then why not? Why not fuck the most bewitching woman he’d ever met? Especially when you were so willing and so fucking tempting.

          He knew why not, but at this point, he didn’t care. He wanted you, so he was going to have you.

━━━─── • ───━━━

          It felt like the world unfortunately started turning again when you made it back to the Marleyan Warrior Headquarters. Reiner had been kind enough to loan you a scarf to keep the winter chill away, but also to keep questions about all the rather...unseemly marks on your neck at bay.

          You should’ve stopped him from being so brutish, but you knew that deep down you never would have said no. It felt too good to have someone be so eager to claim you.

          The two of you walked side-by-side through the building, winding down hallways and up the stairs toward the archives where Pieck was waiting.

          It took you by surprise how massive the library was. Perhaps it was your bias influencing you, but you didn’t expect the Marleyans to have such a vast collection of books just sitting inside of this internment zone. The walls were littered with all kinds of colored spines and oak tables were scattered around and looked dusty from never being used. Toward the back of the room, behind several incredibly tall bookcases, you could see a desk lamp shining in the darkened room.

          Reiner must have noticed you taking in the sights, your walking pace having slowed behind him.

           “Impressed?”

           Your face whipped towards him, heat creeping up your neck as you remembered the last time he said that, he was holding his hard cock in front of you.

           You cleared your throat, “Uh, yeah. Only place like this in Paradis is in the capital.”

           “It’s a shame no one is ever here, I think Pieck is the only one who has used this library in fucking decades. These are all old history and science books that didn’t...fit with Marleyan teachings, if you catch my drift.”

           You caught up with him, weaving through the tables.

           “So, it’s everything that doesn’t fall in line with government propaganda.”

           “Yeah, more or less.”

           You admired him for a moment as he walked in front of you, all broad shoulders and proud, blonde head in his uniform. He looked fit to be a Vice Commander, even if you hadn’t thought so before.

           There was an urge to grab onto his arm, to latch on to safety in this still unfamiliar place. But you held yourself back; you didn’t want to seem too attached to him. You reasoned it was all because he had been the only stable thing, the only light in your darkness, for days on end.

           Annie and Pieck were seated at a table near the farthest wall, Pieck’s head down in her arms as she lazily flipped through a book, Annie’s arms crossed and her eyes closed like she was meditating.

           A slow, sinking feeling crawled into your chest upon seeing Annie. You’d been here weeks, yet never had the displeasure of seeing her until now. She looked about the same, long blonde hair swept into a low bun, lips in a straight, unamused line. Even with her eyes closed, she appeared to have the same put-out attitude she always did.

           You hadn’t forgotten that it was Annie who used Erwin’s own vertical movement gear blades to sever his arm.

           That thought lit a particular fire inside of your chest. You’d been trying your hardest not to think about him, didn’t want some kind of melancholy seeping into your spirit over the man you left behind. Annie wasn’t around to actually see the carnage she brought onto him. She didn’t experience the days sitting in the hospital, the sad, knowing glances that the scouts cast at one another when they caught a glimpse of the Commander struggling with his humanity after the loss of his limb. Over the years he had come to cope with the issues, but there were intimate moments you had shared with him that were ultimately shaped by the damage Annie had created.

           Then again, you couldn’t be one to judge. You’d encouraged Reiner to kill who you now knew to be Marcel Galliard, a childhood friend of all of them.

           All of you in this space had some kind of blood on your hands and bitter tastes in your mouths.

           Reiner cleared his throat as you approached them. You had half a mind to slide behind him, to hide yourself away behind his broad shoulders and back, but you stood still, eyes glancing between the two women.

           There was an awkward, pregnant pause as you all stared at one another. You’d yet to meet Pieck until now, so her demeanor was still a mystery to you. And Annie took a moment to look you up and down, letting herself become reacquainted with your presence.

           ��Hmph, you look better in my clothes than I do. Figures.”

           Your eyes widened at her comment, the fact of you still wearing her clothes having escaped your thoughts until now.

           “Now, now, you don’t have to start off so passive aggressive. You were the one who wanted to meet, after all.” Pieck lifted her pretty head to speak to Annie, eyes blinking rather romantically as she placed her chin in her hand.

           “You wanted to meet with me?”

           “Well, I couldn’t avoid you forever.”

           You couldn’t help the smile spreading on your face. Seems like she hadn’t changed much after all. You’d learned how to dance around her walls before, you could easily do it again.

           “Please sit. I have something to share.”

           You and Reiner both took seats across from them at the small, rectangular table, your knees bumping together under the surface. You absentmindedly pulled the scarf he’d give you a little closer around your neck, not wanting anyone to see what was underneath. The two of you being...involved might just be something worth keeping quiet for now.

           “What is it, Pieck? You know we don’t have much time before the meeting this afternoon.” Reiner spoke to her softly, like she was something skittish. But she didn’t appear skittish, more like something gentle. Wise, perhaps, or just quiet.

           Pieck extracted a folded paper from below her book, thumbs pulling at the creases.

           “I found this not long ago in the War Chief’s office.”

           She slid the document across the table, the crumbled edges and a stain of some sort signaling that she had probably been digging through his trash.

           “What is it?” Reiner’s hand reached for it first, but she slid the paper more in your direction away from him.

           “I’m not sure, I was actually hoping our new...hm, I don’t know what to call you. Friend, perhaps? Ally, maybe. I was hoping our new ally might know what this is, it looks like something from a Paradisian company.”

           “And while we’re here…” Annie sat up a little straighter, placing her elbows on the table, “I want to know what Zeke wanted to meet with you about earlier. He called you in to speak alone, right?”

           You nodded your head, taking the heavily inked parchment into your hands.

           “You know, for him being your War Chief, you all seem to distrust him as much as I do.”

           “Our loyalty is to Marley, to our families, not to someone who abuses his power.” Pieck smiled at her own comment, small wrinkles framing her eyes.

           The paper had a name you recognized on it: Stohess Pharmaceuticals. It appeared to be a receipt of some kind, dated within the last few months. If you hadn't spent your time working in the intelligence sector, meaning that your office had been moved directly next to Hange’s, you probably wouldn’t have been able to decipher some of the items listed. There were orders for DNA sequencing equipment, a mass spectrometer, imaging systems, large glass syringes, and strangely enough...human fluids, spinal and amniotic.

           “Pieck, this document can’t be right. Stohess Pharmaceuticals was shut down about two years ago due to malpractice lawsuits. So either these dates are wrong, or this whole thing is just a front for something else.”

           The three heads around you all glanced toward one another before back to you.

           “No, we know they’re still in business, we were supposed to meet with them in that warehouse, that’s why we were there, I think to pick up whatever all that is listed.” Reiner admitted, which had your face lifting toward them all.

           “Zeke told me in our meeting that he was going there to get more arms and ammunition.”

           Annie looked particularly perplexed by your statement.

           “No, we would never cross into Paradis for arms. We have a deal with a group of Military Police to bring it directly across our border.”

           “You what? That’s how you’ve been getting them?”

           God, for working on this Zeke case for nearly a year, you felt so behind. But you couldn’t expect any less from the most elite military force in Marley. They knew how to dot their i’s and cross their t’s, they knew how to infiltrate, how to network, how to apparently slip under every radar you had.

           “Zeke told us we were picking up top-of-the-line medicine, that’s why we were all present. We had to be prepared to protect it. Hell we even had giant coolers ready for whatever it was.” Reiner was scratching at the back of his neck.

           “Well what it was,” you sat the paper back down, finger pointing to a specific listing, “wasn’t medicine. It was body fluids of some kind, for some reason. I don’t know whose or for what.”

           Annie snatched the receipt, eyes glaring at you as she began to speak, “What else happened in your meeting with Zeke?”

           “Honestly? Not much else. He had me record some bullshit for your brass. Made me state my name, my former scout positions, had me admit I wanted to help Marley because I knew of Paradis’s corruption. Overall he told me that he found me to be useless and that I needed to find a way to make myself useful.”

           All three of them seemed to scoff at once.

           “You’ve got that backwards. Marley thinks you are useless, Zeke was the only one who showed any interest in keeping you alive for some reason.” Annie’s words were irritated. Clearly she was tired of not everyone being on the same page.

           “You know,” Reiner sat back and crossed his arms, brows furrowing like he was trying to recall a memory, “now that I think about it, he seemed to know who you were the night the scouts ambushed us. When you couldn’t escape, it was like he was...excited. He made sure to knock you out before any of us could draw our weapons and he gave very specific orders that no harm was to come to you.”

           “But why me? Maybe he knew I had been one of the people working on his case? I mean, for the last year or so, it’s all Miche and I have been working on.”

           “That’s what we’re thinking,” Pieck chimed in, “but we aren’t sure. We were just hoping we could start working together to figure this out.”

           Something just didn’t feel right.

           Your whole world felt titled, shifted, like you’d been inside an hourglass and suddenly a celestial hand came and turned it upside down, allowing you to see everything from another perspective. You thought you’d found nearly all the tiles to this every growing mosaic while you were working back home. In fact, you and Erwin had managed to make some arrests in your border patrol for being in collaboration with the illegal arms trading. You knew there were still links missing as to who was getting them to the border, but you hadn’t expected it to be Military Police members. If only you could call and tell him right away, let him know more of what was happening, surely with the manpower of the scout unit they could reveal the whole picture of what was happening.

           There was too much going on for you to deal with. All you wanted was to be home, to be safe. You didn’t ask for a conspiracy.

           “If you’re asking me to divulge what I know, I hope you understand I won’t just be laying every card on the table. I might be playing nice, but don’t forget I’ve been kidnapped. My trust is on thin ice.”

           They all shook their heads knowingly. For a moment, you thought you saw Reiner’s hand twitch, like it was itching to come alive and touch you.

           “Yeah, we understand that. For what it’s worth, this whole hostage situation wasn’t our idea.”

           You narrowed your eyes at Annie, teeth gritting.

           “No, it sounds like you would’ve rather had me be dead.”

           “Would’ve made things easier.”

           You...you couldn’t fault her for that logic. Though it still stung to think about.

           Pieck sighed at the turn of the conversation, closing the book in front of her and preparing to stand. You almost did the same, but something about the tome in front of her caught your eye. It had very specific black lettering on the front, set in a font you hadn’t seen in ages.

           To the surprise of the table, you reached slowly for the thick, hardcover book, flecks of old red coloring falling onto your skin as you took it.

           “I haven’t seen this book since I was a kid. I was obsessed with it. Why are you reading it, Pieck?”

           You sat on the edge of your seat, waves of nostalgia washing over you as you began to thumb through the yellowing pages.

           “You’ve read this book before?” Pieck sounded confused, intrigued.

           “My mother had a copy of it in our house. She used to read the mythologies to me when I was little, then when I learned to read myself, I couldn’t put it down. I was fascinated by the stories of titans. I even brought the book to school one time to show my friends, but I remember distinctly getting in trouble for it. Mom said a book that old should never leave the house so it didn’t get damaged.”

           They all crowded a little closer to you, silence overtaking you all as you flipped through the contents of the book. Dust was spilling into the air with every page turn, sometimes covering the detailed artwork of mystical, giant beings.

           “Are you sure it was this book? Not one similar?”

           “I’m certain, I would recognize the cursive lettering on the front anywhere. I was quite the bookworm, I’d even take it outside to read when I was supposed to be playing.”

           Pieck’s slim fingers stopped your searching, pressing the pages down as you discovered the familiar two page spread of the chimerical nine titans of old.

           “This book isn’t common. We only have it here because it was brought in by the Tybur family, an Eldian noble family, when the Eldian immigration happened a few hundred years ago. Do you know how your family came into possession of your copy?”

           You all began to separate, sitting back in your seats.

           “I was told my mom stole it from the library in the capitol because she knew I would want to read it. I never really asked beyond that.”

           “I see.”

           Her tongue clicked behind her teeth, her phone vibrating on the table with an alarm.

           “Our meeting is soon. Thank you for your help, I’m sure we’ll be needing it again.”

           All four of you stood rather stiffly, a tension lingering in the air like there were unspoken words left hanging between you. Admittedly, you still had more questions, and you presumed they did as well. But time was precious, and you knew it was dangerous for them to be discussing such things with you.

           This kind of talk was treason for them. That hadn’t really settled in for you until you saw how quickly Pieck shoved the dirty receipt into her coat pocket and how Annie practically bolted from the back of the library already. Pieck waved to you as she left. She was slow on her feet, a slight limp holding her back.

           “If you have a meeting soon, does that mean you need to go lock me away somewhere?”

           Reiner actually looked quite hurt from your words, a frown twisting at the corner of his lips.

           You were alone again, which felt quite comforting. You’d gotten used to your space being occupied by him, felt at ease in his presence.

           He moved closer to you, warm, almost sweaty palms cupping at your cheeks, brushing hair out of your face.

           “Technically...yes, I should take you back to my room. But…”

           He felt too tall. You grabbed a hold of the labels of his jacket, trying to pull him closer.

           “But?”

           “But I think I can leave you here in the library for a bit. As long as you promise to be a good girl and not run away.”

           The way the deep timbre of his voice rumbled good girl had your stomach twisting into knots. He really was going to use that against you, wasn’t he?

           You both broke out into smiles, with Reiner leaning down to capture the corner of your mouth in a kiss since no one was around to look.

           “I hate you.”

           “I know you do.”

           He let you go, smoothing out his clothes as he turned to leave you.

           “I’m serious,” he called over his shoulder, “be in that spot when I come back. And if anyone comes around, you have the Vice Commander’s permission to be here.”

           You cocked your hip against the back of the chair, waving at him as he paused his walking for your response.

           “I’ll be a good girl, promise.”

           And with those words, you were alone for the first time in days. You’d been alone in your cell, been alone in the bathroom, but actually alone and...free? You hardly knew what that felt like.

━━━─── • ───━━━

           Like you promised, you stayed in the back of the library. Reiner had been kind enough to not lock you away like some princess in a tower, so you knew better than to abuse his generosity.

           It was like heaven and hell swirling together to be completely alone with your thoughts. You didn’t know what to think anymore, a cacophony of emotions and sentiments restless in your mind.

           What the hell were you doing here? Was what you were doing really for survival, or pleasure? The weight of Reiner’s kiss was still heavy upon your mouth, like a stain you didn’t want to get rid of.

           Why did you want him?

           You knew the answer to that: you’d always wanted him, desired to break him apart and find who he really was beneath all his armor.

           Your life always seemed to circle back to him, even after all these years of you moving on from his betrayal. Maybe some sick god just liked toying with you, or maybe you were meant for another. You didn’t know. But what you did know was it felt good to be in his arms, to be under his protection.

           But you could find that same happiness with someone else… you had found that felicity with someone else. But he...he never really crossed your mind anymore, did he? Not unless you needed him. You hadn’t even gotten emotional sending him that email last night, you were just too anxious about Reiner waking up, too busy licking your wounds from a brutal fucking you hadn’t expected but fully wanted.

           Some part of you reasoned that you were sleeping with him to use him, to make sure he was on your side. But you knew it was more than that, and that it was dangerous to let any romanticism sweep over your rational thinking. However, there was some part of you begging to take up his offer and run away together, especially after all these revelations about Zeke Yeager.

           You could run away from all this, but would your morality let you? You’d already let it grey by sleeping with the enemy, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to jump ship and let others bear these burdens.

           You were back in your seat, that familiar, beautiful book still laid out before you.

           You hadn’t thought about the story of the nine titans, of the goddess Ymir Fritz, in what felt like a lifetime ago. Your fingertip traced over the gods of destruction, legends of old that used to permeate your daydreams and your nightmares.

           The colossal titan. The armored titan. The attack titan. The female titan. They all surrounded the feet of the founding titan, of the goddess Ymir Fritz, with her flowing hair and her commanding horn in her fist.

           For a moment you longed to be swept away into childhood fantasies again, to be far from this world and floating in ethereal daydreams where you felt like you were above the clouds.

           You’d always assumed the book your mother had given you was special, but to be one that royal families held? You hadn’t expected that. You knew that the Reiss and Fritz families of Paradis and all their sprawling branches of cousins and relations kept a tight lock and key on family heirlooms in their estates. They believed they were descendants of these people, and given how beautiful Historia Reiss was, you wouldn’t be surprised if myths turned out to be truths.

           Reiner wasn’t gone long, just about thirty minutes based on what the lonely clock on the back wall told you.

           He returned with an unparalleled grin; he looked like a little boy holding a present behind his back, even with his fists sitting in his pockets.

           “That was quick, I thought I’d get more time alone.”

           “I have news.”

           You quirked your brow at him, leaning your face into your palm as he stalked closer to the table.

           “Must be some news for you to be wearing such a smile.”

           “Apparently, General Magath was the one who received that interview Zeke recorded. And, based on your answers, he thinks you’re harmless and somehow so willing to help Marley.”

           “Well I did try to sound convincing.”

           “It worked. They’re making you a warrior candidate.”

           You felt like doing a double take at his words. The thought of you being a candidate for the elite military unit that you were actively fighting against was laughable.

           “You’re joking.”

           He shrugged, chuckling and shaking his head.

           “I still have strict orders to keep you under my supervision, so you’re not rid of me yet.”

          “To be fair,” you stood from your seat, closing the book and circling around to get closer to him, “I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of you.”

          All that tension from before seemed to be alleviated from the air, a whole new game opening up for you to partake in. He must have felt it too, that grin still creasing the soft, blonde hair around his lips.

          You knew the undeniable truth was that you didn’t want to be rid of him. At least, not yet. Not when there were so many things to explore about him, so much skin still left untouched, so much heart still left unread.

          And just like the pages on the table, you desired to be opened and read by him, to be explored by hands you had thought about far too often.

          You didn’t want to be rid of him, not when he looked down at you with golden irises painted with remorse and misery that seemed to reflect your own inner turmoils. He was like your emotional mirror, always reflecting whatever you put onto him.

          It was beguiling, but also so, so frightening.

          “I’ll protect you,” he whispered, hands finding their home again on your face.

          “I know you will.”

[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 16

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: mentions of violence Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“You’re coming to me about soulmate bonds?” Bruce Banner asked for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Once again, you and Bucky nodded in sync, standing awkwardly in the middle of his lab. 

Bruce let out a sigh as he turned back to whatever he had been working on. He hadn’t totally dismissed you two yet, thankfully, so you were just forced to stand there, waiting.

When Bucky had told you this was who would potentially help you, you were a bit hesitant. You had only encountered Bruce briefly in your time at the compound. In fact, you hadn’t really gotten to know anyone outside of Bucky and Steve. So, coming to an Avenger, let alone a literal nationally recognized genius, for help with such a thing...made you nervous, to say the least. You’d have to confess your troubles to a third party once more. 

But Bucky assured you over and over again that Bruce could be trusted. He didn’t know the scale of his research on the topic but he felt he was a trustworthy person for this. Eventually, you agreed. After your first shift back at work - a new addition back to your routine as you worked to regain some stability - Bucky took you over to the compound. You had thought he had gotten an appointment or at least gave Bruce some kind of rundown on the proposal but, apparently, no.

“What makes you think I can answer any questions on that?” Bruce grumbled as he furiously wrote notes on his current project. You and Bucky shared a look. 

“I heard you did some research on it,” Bucky explained. 

Bruce huffed. “So?”

“So,” Bucky sighed, “we think we… we have a problem with ours.”

This vague statement was enough for Bruce to perk up a bit. His writing had stopped. He was looking forward now, away from the project. “A problem?” Bruce asked, slightly glancing over his shoulder.

You shifted your weight as you stood a bit uncomfortable with the admission out in the open. Bucky, though, was the definition of cool, calm, and collected. You were just a little bit jealous of him.

Bucky nodded. “To put it simply, my girl has nightmares.”

Bruce seemed very interested now. He finally turned back around, facing you two fully once again. He looked intrigued but not really excited. You wondered greatly what his research really encompassed. 

“Nightmares?” Bruce was beginning to sound like some sad echo. But you and Bucky just went with it, nodding your head in confirmation. Bruce continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of nightmares. They’re dreams we have — soulmate dreams.”

You sighed, greatly out of annoyance. You’d been hearing the same thing day after day after day for years. “I know,” you finally said. “I am well aware of that but it just isn’t how ours work. I’ve only ever seen the…bad things Bucky has encountered. And for a while, after we met, they stopped.”

“As you would hope.”

You nodded. “But then that…thing happened. And it’s all started over again except somehow stronger. I’m seeing it all through Bucky’s eyes. Through his feelings. Through his — his everything. I’m back there twice over and many times after.”

Bruce shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to do. Bucky was very tense beside you, hands balled into tight fists waiting as anxiously as you for Bruce to just say something about it. But he didn’t, not yet, as he raced over to his desk. From one of the drawers, a very particularly locked one, Bruce pulled out a file. He flicked it open and began reading, his finger roaming over the pages wildly, hunting for whatever it was he needed. You and Bucky just watched the situation unfold, practically holding your breaths. 

Eventually, Bruce walked back over, a very specific page opened in the filed documents. You couldn’t make out what it was about from your sneaky glance so you waited for the genius to begin. He looked between you and Bucky, jaw slacked in amazement and concerned. 

“Before I get into this, I want you both to promise me this knowledge doesn’t leave this lab unless it is on my account, okay?” He spoke strongly and seriously. You two nodded. Once he was pleased, Bruce looked back at the file and began, “Gosh, I can’t believe I forgot about this… You were right, Bucky, I have researched soulmate bonds. I didn’t do it for long, God knows it’s a hot topic, but part of my research involved what I nicknamed toxic bonds.” He looked pointedly at you two. “It just started out as a little theory stemming from the old stories about soulmates ‘moving on.’ It’s really a bit more than just not liking someone. This theory revolves around stories of soulmates, in these cases, receiving unflattering or uninteresting dreams from their partnered mates. I was basing these off the accounts of long ago as there are no known partners that fit this mold. At least, until now.” Bruce motioned between you two. You didn’t like where this was all going. “I believe what you two share is a toxic bond, a sort of glitch in Fate. Except, where you two fall flat in this is the fact the nightmares have come back. All dreams change after meeting your soulmate, right?” No one said anything. Bruce continued, “Yes, they technically should. Something has in fact fallen off with you two. I can’t say what but it doesn’t add it and could be significant to this research. With permission, I would like to run some tests on each of you.”

You stiffened. “T-Tests?” While you should be kind of relieved there’s some answer - or idea - for what you’re experiencing, you were suddenly hung up on the prospect of being an experiment. Bucky’s hand reached out to grasp yours, trying to offer some comfort. The thought of being strapped to a chair flashed through your mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky shoot Bruce a harsh look.

“Nothing harmful, I promise,” Bruce insisted. “I would just like to take a peek into your brains, into the bond.”

“That’s possible?” Bucky asked. You were glad he at least had the strength to speak.

“It’s attached to the brain function in various ways,” Bruce explained. “A look into your brainwaves can tell me a lot. Or nothing, if that's the case, too.”

You knew you were doing an absolutely horrible job at hiding your worries but, thankfully, neither man was bringing much attention to it. They just looked at you, waiting for an answer. You were quite impressed by how Bucky was just going along with this. But, at the same time, there was a reason he came here instead of seeking a true outsider. If this was okay with Bucky, it was going to have to be okay with you. At least this time, you weren’t being thrown in a chair alone. 

“Okay,” you nodded. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

***

You didn’t know which was more daunting: the actual test itself or waiting for the results. 

The test was more like a true test of patience. You basically just had to sit there as Bruce wrote notes and saw things you never could make out from the weird squiggly lines on the monitor. All while he’s doing that, you’re trying not to just break down from being in a lab again. Thankfully, Bucky offered more comfort the best he could. He let you squeeze his non-metal hand, never flinching once no matter how much your nails dig into him. He even tried striking up conversations with you, trying to distract you. He tells you about the new romance movie he thinks you two should go see. You try to stay engaged, feeling a bit bad you couldn’t focus well on it, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

When the roles were reversed, Bucky didn’t ask for any help from you. You still tried to offer something by taking his hand in yours. But he just didn’t need distractions, perhaps a bit too familiar with being subjected to testing. This had to be on the easier side, you figured. 

Once you both were finished, Bruce instructed you to take a seat and wait. He had some things to double-check. The longer you sat, the more you were worried it was bad news - but you didn’t even really know what bad news would actually entail. What was he looking for? How much of the bond could actually be seen? You hadn’t heard of this ever. If you did, you probably would’ve looked into it a long time ago just to clarify if you were fucked in the head or not.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asked, gently. You fiddled with your fingers, unsure. 

“It wasn’t so bad,” you said. “Just not sure what he’s going to find.” Bucky agreed and you two fell back into your silence as you waited. 

Minutes later, Bruce finally re-entered the room. You two must’ve been wearing hopeful looks because he motioned for you to calm down. Bruce wasn’t matching your excitement. Something twisted in your stomach. 

“I’ve reviewed your tests,” he said, holding up a folder labeled with your names. You two nodded. Bruce motioned towards you first and said, “Your test came back perfectly normal. Everything is fine with your part of the bond which quite surprised me but I checked and rechecked. The issues aren’t with you-,”

Bucky sighed, cutting Bruce off as he mentally pieced it together. “They’re with me.” 

You felt your body tense as Bucky looked defeated beside you. He wasn't meeting either of your gazes despite you trying to reach for his hand again. He shrugged it off, you quickly turned to Bruce. 

“What’s the problem?” You just about demanded. Bruce didn’t look very phased by your outburst. He pulled up a seat in front of you two looking like he had to mentally prepare himself for this.

“There’s an unnatural disturbance in Bucky’s side of the bond,” Bruce explained as he flipped open the folder. You didn’t even try to understand the printed results. Bucky was fully disconnected at this point. “I can’t say for sure what caused it, but if I had to guess when he underwent what...Hydra did, it affected lines in the transmission process. They probably thought they were severing the lines but they were really just scrambling them, hence the nightmares. They’re the dominant memories the bond reads in transmission. Bucky’s missions and recent healing process didn’t help anything. All in all, to put it simply, any intense moments Bucky experiences will be projected back to you due to a disconnect in the function of the bond.”

“So, I really was the cause of all this?” Bucky finally spoke up. His voice was hoarse, almost weak. You knew he thought his hair hid the look of distress written on his face but you could feel it. Boy, could you feel it. 

You immediately began shaking your head and reaching for him again. He didn’t move under your touch but at least he was allowing it. “This isn’t your fault, I promise.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to protest further but Bruce stopped him, “You couldn’t do anything to prevent this.” He looked back at you. “Either of you. These were the actions of some deranged individuals and they are the only ones responsible. I’m just sorry you two have to pay the price.”

“I-Is there anything we can do to fix it?”

Bruce closed the folder, looking more uncomfortable - if that was even possible. “I’m afraid not. It’s hard enough to damage soulmate bonds, essentially impossible to bandage.”

Upon hearing that, Bucky abruptly stood up. You jumped at the sudden action, suddenly convinced he was going to walk away. Forever. But instead, he made his way over to the window, his back towards you two, lost in whatever self-deprecating thoughts were flooding his brain. You’d address that later but were currently focused on pressing Bruce.

“There’s really nothing at all?” You were sounding desperate at this point but Bruce didn’t seem to mind, giving you the most sympathetic look.

“My best advice would be that Bucky finish his healing treatment and then get him out of this...profession.”

You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you two now. “What, like retirement?”

Bruce shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it. Essentially, the less he fights, the less traumatizing situations he’s put in, the fewer nightmares you’ll have.” He glanced back at the folder. “In theory, you could be rid of them all. Get back to having actual dreams. It’s an optimistic take but you’ve already proven it’s possible to some degree.”

You looked over your shoulder, your worried eyes meeting Bucky’s intense ones. He wasn’t exactly protesting but you saw the hesitancy. You turned back to Bruce.

“Thank you for all your help,” you said.

He nodded. “I’m glad I could be of some assistance. If you ever want to look even further into it, I think I know someone else that could help.”

“I think we’ve learned enough for a while.” 

“Of course,” Bruce agreed and then stood from his chair. “I’ll let you two go. Probably got a few things to discuss. Call me if you need anything.” With that, he exited the lab, leaving just you and your soulmate to move forward. Somehow. 

Bucky had turned back to the window. You shifted in your seat, unsure of what to say now.

Thankfully, Bucky was the first to speak. “Do you want to get some dinner?”

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Love, fear, peace.

My Masterlist  

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “I wanted to request an imagine where the reader and Ivar have a 4-5 year old daughter. And while Ivar is usually very cruel, he'll do anything for his little princess. And she asks to paint his nails and have him join her for a tea party, so he does, as long as it's a secret between them but the reader ends up seeing them and her thoughts on it? I'm in a big mood to read Ivar fluff”

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: A lil bit of angst, my best attempt at fluff, just soft stuff all around, probably ooc

A/N: My friends, may I interest you in an AU where all five sons of Ragnar are alive and happy? We call it ‘denial’ where I’m from, but yeah, in this universe they’re all alive, Sigurd married off to some Saxon Princess, Ubbe in Dublin, Ivar King of Kattegat and Hvitserk with him with a family of his own goddamit, Björn fuck-knows-where avoiding commitment like he was born to do, and that’s it. Ta-da.

Ástríðr is a name derived from the Old Norse elements áss "god" and fríðr "beautiful, beloved"

Taglist: (If you wanna be added or removed lemme know!) @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​   @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​   @chibisgotovalhalla​ @receptionistfromhell​​ 

Hvitserk greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and you thank the gesture with a smile, though your eyes are scanning the main hall.

“Where’s Ivar?” You ask as he walks at your side, greeting a few people with false smiles and courteous nods.

Hvitserk only shrugs, “I thought he was with you.”

“No, we were supposed to talk with one of the earls about the effect of a high tide, but he wasn’t there.”

“And how was it?”

“Dull,” You reply sincerely, “But I have an idea of where my husband is.”

The other man betrays a smile, “Can you blame him? It is hard to say no to her.”

Oh, you know that. She has him -and you- powerless to deny her anything since she first came to this world.

Try as he might to deny it, to keep the idea of the ruthless king that loves nothing alive, to mantain the façade of how nothing makes Ivar the Boneless falter; your daughter is an adorable force to be reckoned with, capable of making even the King of Kattegat surrender.

It is no secret, for you or any soul that encounters your husband, that Ivar loves his family, his wife and daughter, like nothing else.

The world will never forget the battles he’s won and lost, the wars he started, the kingdoms he reduced to ash, the lands he conquered. The world will never forget of all he did in the name of his ambition, in the name of his fame.

But the world will never forget what he did in the name of love either. Countless deals made, countless fights, countless plans devised and even more sacrifices made so that he could grant his daughter the safeties she deserved; so that he can give her the world and, when time comes, have her step sure, knowing the very earth and the very skies are hers.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you blink past the sleep that weighs on your lids. You find yourself as you were, resting comfortably on a seat that has progressively become just a pile of pillows and furs since the start of winter.

You still feel the comfortable weight of Ivar’s head on your lap, and you can make out his voice speaking quietly. Looking down you find him talking to the small bump on your stomach, the evidence of your child growing inside of you.

At the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, Ivar looks up and offers you a smile, before scooting even closer to your stomach.

“Tell your mother to go back to sleep. You and I aren’t done talking, Princess.”

A part of you is tempted to taunt him about how the might Ivar the Boneless is so smitten by a child not even born yet, but you choose instead to bask in the softness in his expression, in the happiness that curves his mouth.

Still, after a few moments, you offer, “They could be a Prince. Ivarsson.”

Your husband hums, presses a kiss against your stomach and settles again on his back with his head on your lap.

“We will have sons, I know,” He tells you, smile faint as he closes his eyes, “But first, we will have a daughter.

He speaks with such certainty that you cannot help but huff a laugh. Still, it is a nice thought, to have a Princess to call your own, a little girl, blessed by the Gods.

“She will be just like her mother, and she will be ours to spoil and take care of.”

“You speak as if you wouldn’t spoil our sons, Ivar. Someone else might believe that lie, but not me.” You tease, eyebrows lifted.

“Mhm, but a father grows jealous of his sons, and their fame, their triumphs.”

“No daughter of mine, or of yours, will be content without her own triumphs and conquests.”

“I know,” He replies without hesitation, proud smile widening and eyes opening to gaze up at you, “Like I said, she’ll be just like her mother.”

It was never a secret, a surprise, for you to witness Ivar love your child before she was even born; to feel his joy and his anticipation and his love in the way he spoke of that daughter you’d have, and all the sons and daughters that would come after.

You learned to love him years ago, and found beneath the cruelty and venom and bloodthirst a man that loves intensely, that willingly gave his heart to you to keep safe the day he made you his wife. So his love doesn’t surprise you, his devotion to his family doesn’t make you falter.

There were still many things that made you falter, that made you see everything with new eyes, during those months while you carried Ástríðr and in the years you’ve been fortunate enough to have her.

One of them was how the sons of Aslaug, much to your surprise and despite all their other failings, had been raised to be utterly devoted to their families. Hvitserk was almost giddy at the possibility of a niece or nephew that he could keep close to him, unlike Ubbe’s children all the way in Dublin. Ubbe, always the father figure, visited more than once and kept watchful eyes not only on you and his brother, but on everything, as if from Dublin he could look over all of you like he did while growing up. To your surprise, even Sigurd, past the animosity between him and Ivar -and all the disagreements he has had with you over the years, of course- sent word from Northumbria wishing you three the protection of the Gods.

Another of those discoveries, sadly not as heartwarming, was to witness the burden your husband carried and not being able to do anything about it. The more easily-soothed fears, like what your daughter would think of him, or whether she would be born healthy, were quietened by your voice promising him over and over that any child of yours would love him like no other, or by the soft kicks of your daughter against where his palm rested on your stomach, making tears shine in Ivar’s eyes every time.

There were deeper fears, and fears that plagued you too, that you couldn’t so easily soothe. The whisper in the back of his mind that happiness is nothing, that everything you love eventually you lose, that all his cruel ways and his mistakes would one day cost him what he holds dear. The blue eyes of the man you love, so used to seeing what others cannot, so used to planning ahead and seeing the world like his enemy does, seeing a world where at any time his fame and his conquests could cost him your life or your daughter’s.

For a man as cruel and vicious as Ivar, it is easy to forget he is not something otherworldly, some demon like the Christians say, some beast like your own countrymen claim. Sometimes, in all his rage and all his chaos, it is easy to forget he is a husband, a father, a man.

And like any man with a beating heart, especially a heart so wholly owned by his wife and daughter; Ivar fears.

Ástríðr blinks big and strikingly blue eyes, and you smile widely, unable to keep yourself from bringing your daughter closer and pressing a kiss on her head, delighting yourself in the familiar and comforting smell of your baby.

“Good morning, little one.” You whisper, and she coos in response, as if she understands.

“Is she…is she alright?” Ivar asks, moving closer to you and looking at her over your shoulder.

“Of course she is,” You smile down at your daughter, your finger tapping the tip of her tiny nose. “Our beautiful girl, she’s more than alright. She’s perfect.”

“She was…coughing.”

“That’s something babies do, Ivar, she’s fine.” You reassure him, only slightly bothered by the fact that he woke you up because your daughter coughed. You adjust your grip on Ástríðr, let her nuzzle against the column of your throat and find her sleep again.

Ivar drops his head to your shoulder, sighing against your skin and laying quite a bit of his weight on you. You sit there, your daughter against you and your husband letting you hold him up as he releases a tension you didn’t realize was there, and feel a pang of something in your heart.

After a few moments, you hold back a sigh, you try biting back your worry, and whisper, “You should sleep, love.”

“Mhm,” Ivar mumbles, but it is an argument, even if he doesn’t find the words to voice it yet. “Later.”

He has taken the awful habit of not sleeping at night. Each night when you settle in bed with Ástríðr nestled close to you, and Ivar holds you both close in his embrace; he remains awake, vigilant and expectant, watching the shadows for ghosts and enemies. You’ve noticed him faltering during the day, worsening his pain by not letting himself rest like should.

And it has only been worse since Hvitserk has been gone.

You know there are few people Ivar trusts fully, even fewer he entrusts the safety of his wife and daughter to. With just being here, Hvitserk granted his brother a peace nothing else can, a certainty that there was someone’s back to lean his own against, a promise that he could lower his guard and rest assured he wasn’t alone.

It is just a matter of days before Hvitserk returns, but you refuse to let Ivar run himself ragged.

So, you use your and not holding Ástrídr to wrap around his waist, and slowly move the three of you, as well as you can manage, back to lay on the bed.

With a slightly startled breath Ivar opens his eyes, focuses almost frantically on you and Ástríðr. You sigh again, but make use of the loss of his weight against you to settle against the pillows, holding your daughter better against your chest, your hand covering her back and holding her gently.

When you’re certain she’s comfortable, you lift your free arm and run your fingers through Ivar’s hair.

“You’ll rest.” You order, your eyes on your husband’s. He wants to argue, you know he does, a war between exhaustion and stubbornness, but it seems the pull is strong enough to even make him cave.

Ivar settles on your opposite shoulder from your daughter, his hand warm and rough as it settles over yours on her back. You chase tension off his back by running your hand up and down his back, and as both he and your daughter sleep safe and warm against you, you allow yourself a whisper of gratitude to the Gods.

You never knew what the Seer had meant when he told you so many years ago that ‘he can only use one hand and chooses to hold the sword, and for that you’ll need to hold the shield’, but now, as you hold your world close against you, you dare think that you understand the Ancient One’s words.

Eventually, the fear of something stealing her in the middle of the night passes. It always returns, that irrational fear he has that he will lose it all, that frantic paranoia that if he doesn’t plan, if he doesn’t prepare, they will take you both from him.

But as Ástríðr grows healthy and lively, the fears dwindle, or maybe they just change. And for a man that scorned the very uttering of the word, Ivar finds peace.

Through the halls, you follow the familiar sound of Ivar’s war cry, though quieter, and the adorable giggles of your daughter. Walking into your rooms, you make sure to remain hidden as you watch Ivar on the floor, holding himself up on his arms, mocking a taunt towards your daughter, daring the little shieldmaiden to attack.

A part of you is glad that this is a secret, a side of your husband, of your family, that the world will never know of. The world needn’t know of how easily Ástríðr makes her mother and father cave to her every wish, the world needn’t know of how fiercely and uncondicionally she is loved; only she needs to know of it, andn you and Ivar have made sure she lives a life knowing how loved she is.

You lean your shoulder on a pillar near the door, arms crossed over your chest but still betraying a smile.

Ástríðr brandishes a wooden sword at her father, big eyes strikingly alike Ivar’s when she focuses and finds her determination.

“I will defeat you!” She exclaims, the seriousness in her expression making your chest warm.

“You’re just a shieldmaiden, you can’t defeat me!” Ivar replies without missing a beat, faking a monster’s swipe with a hand that tries grabbing at her small foot.

Your daughter jumps out of the way with a squeal, but quickly furrows her brow adorably and lifts her chin, stubborn and arrogant.

Gods, Ivar is right, she looks so much like you.

“I am Ástríðr Ivarsdottir, I’ll always win!”

“Ah, you will, won’t you?” Ivar teases, letting go of the role of whatever beast he was supposed to be, grabbing onto your daughter and falling on his back with her in his arms, lifting the girl up and making her giggle. “Mighty shieldmaiden you’ll be, my sweet.”

“I know.” She replies without hesitation, startling a laugh out of you.

Two pairs of blue eyes turn to you, and Ástríðr wastes no time in calling out for you, squirming her way out of her father’s grasp and skipping towards you.

You kneel on the ground and welcome your daughter’s enthusiastic embrace, even if it was only this morning you last saw her.

“Did you defeat him, little one?” You ask her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Of course I did, mama.” She replies, almost offended. Of course, look whose daughter you’re asking about a victory in battle, imaginary or not.

You catch Ivar’s eyes and whatever intent you had on chastising him for leaving you to deal with the earl alone vanishes at the softness in his gaze at he looks at you both.

Not many know of Ivar the Boneless’ love. Even fewer know of his fear.

But there’s only a few lucky ones that have seen his happiness, his peace.

You two share a look, a look that speaks not only of gratefulness for one another, but of gratefulness for this perfect blend of the two of you, of your stubbornness and his drive, of his eyes and your hair.

Ivar betrays a small smile and his eyes go to the discarded wooden sword at his side.

“Oi, shieldmaiden!” He calls out, and Ástríðr turns to him without hesitation. “You never leave your weapon behind. It is the one thing, besides your mother and me, that you can trust blindly in this world.”

Ivar motions for the sword, and your daughter dutifully goes to pick it up, only to be ambushed on the way, Ivar’s eyes trapping her to his chest.

She is startled, and lets out a loud and adorable laugh as her father once again drops to the furs at his back, his smile blinding.

“You see? If you’d had your sword, no monster would have gotten you.”

Ástríðr grumbles an argument, but Ivar only snorts a laugh. His eyes lift to yours, and he lifts his hand, calling for the touch of yours, calling for you to join them.

You sigh, but still walk to them and stretch on the furs near the fire, accepting the embrace Ivar offers you when he lifts his free arm.

You nuzzle your nose against his throat, reaching with your hand and taming Ástríðr’s wild hair.

“Do you think one day I could defeat a dragon, like the warriors you tell me about?”

“Mhm, of course. You’ll be the most famous shieldmaiden who has ever lived.” He promises her, pressing a kiss against her hair, his arm tightening and trying to bring you closer even if it is impossible.

___

I struggled a lot writing this, I don’t really know why bc it was a lovely request. I tried my best :)

I hope you liked this, lovely anon! And I’m sorry it took me so long to get it done! I love you!!

[melissa-s23]

Private lesson

Sumarry: Janus try to decieve himself into a timeline where he can save his friends. He does not expect reality to offer him an opportunity to prove himself.

Word count: 3127

Characters: Janus Sanders, King creativity Sanders

Warnings: Sword fighting?? Idk please tell me if you think something else should be added here.

Author’s note: MY FIRST ONESHOT EVER COMPLETED! Yes! And the honor goes to @rondoel ‘s King!AU! ( @kingcreativityau ) :D Now: are the characters OOC in this? Most probably. Do I really care about it? Only a tiny bit. I only started to post Sanders Sides content here recently, but I’ve been a fan of the series for a few months now so I had time to read a lot of fic... however I’m still not sure on what I got wrong so if you have any criticism, positive or negative, please let me know! Lastly, this was at first supposed to be an animatic (on the song called ‘This is war’) but I have NO TIME to draw and lot of time to write so enjoy! When I do get time, I might try to animate a certain part of it that I don’t think I nailed that well in the fic. Anyway, I’ve been rambling for long enough. ENJOY!!!

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

Janus stood there, in the empty training room. Since King's return, he felt very conflicted, and he hated himself for it.

The king was merciless, he cursed Patton to make him look like a toddler, he removed Logan's vocal cords, he cursed Virgil into torturing himself into deadly downward spirals, and...

And he was very spiteful, he was angry... because he'd betrayed him.

Janus clenged his fist. He couldn't help but remember the look of betray and rage that his King gave him when he discovered his team-up with Logan. Those orange eyes that could burn him down on the spot. Those oh so intense eyes... Damn it, he was back at it again. This is over now. His king was gone. Now it was the King. The tyrant. The side who hurt his friends.

He was standing in the empty room, looking at his reflection by the mural mirror. His now half-half face looked so tired. Was he really this tired ? He was probably very very tired... but he'll rest later, as the memory of his most recent wound was still fresh in his head, replaying this utter humiliation, he just couldn’t sleep. Anger soon filled him up.

He could have tried to stop him. He could have tried to save his friends, and instead he just... froze. He just let it happen like he couldn't do anything. And he knew how to fight ! He knew how to defent himself for crying out loud ! He could've done something, and instead... Nothing ! He recalled the scene, bit by bit. How Logan stood at his left, how virgil was just behind, how the king was looming over them, despite being 10 feet away from them. He remembered every movement, every word, and every second of that moment like it was written in his metaphysical blood.

And in a second, it was like he was dragged back to this hell again.

And he would not let it happen a second time.

He summoned his cane and raised it up at the memory of King. His mind wandered off now. He had to imagine how he would've react. Would he summon his sword or take full creative control to just trap him ? He wanted to think he had a chance, so he chose the sword scenario.

And just like that, the imaginary fight was on. Step forward. Left. Right. Dodge. Go protect them. Put up a fight. He would have rushed toward the tyrant and aimed for the head, the sword would've get in the way and he could uses the top of his cane to project himself back to the group. Go. Dodge. Pare. Block and Dodge and Move fast and Dodge again and Block and pare and send it back. The world was spinning around him and the fight got more and more intense. He may have his eyes closed, but he knew perfectly where he was in the room, and he was completely in his daydream. Left and Right and Block again and Forward and Left and Block and backward and spin and swing the cane for it to stop only an inch away from the face of his enemy. He would have been a threat, and he would have been able to save his friends from the King.

He didn't expect, however, to be met with the actual King in front of him when he opened his eyes.

Janus' eyes widened and he immediately cursed himself for backing up. Great. He was all about putting up a fight and a second later, he was cowering. ‘Talk about blowing smokes.’ He at the very least kept his glare from fading away. He couldn't be scared of him. He couldn't show it. He was simply surprised... He had to make that a challenge for him, Deceit was not a side you could see right through, after all.

« You seem to have a quite... Interesting dancing style » King spoke, an almost mocking grin showing as he looked down at Janus. Crap. Did he knew ? Was he there the whole time ?

As the tyrant lift his hand, Janus snaps back into reality, setting his guard up and putting a stronger grasp on his cane. Only for the object to sudenly float in the air, shining with bright light and transforms into a sword that Janus grabbed back before it falls on the floor. This left only more confusion in the half-snake, confusion which turns into alert when he lifts his gaze back at the King only to be met with another blade. He jumps back.

« W... What ? » Janus was lost.

« Wouldn't you try and learn an acutal fighting technique ... » King's voice was composed, but also slightly amused at Deceit's confusion.

«... instead of the poor travesty I just witnessed ? » until it all vanished in favor of annoyance.

Janus tried to process the words as King switched his position for a dueling one. His sword in front of him, his torso on the side and his feet dug on the ground. Was he.... what ? What was happening ?? One thing sure was that he invited Janus to mirror his behaviour. And so he did, taking a deep breath, and standing still while carrying his sword to cross the others. And before he figured out what to do next, King took three blows and sent Janus' sword flying through the air and crashing on the ground.

« Whoa wHoa WHOA ! Hold on ! » Janus lifted his hands in defense and gulped as the blade of his enemy got dangerously close to his throat.

He then heard a chuckle, and the blade finally got away from his neck. « It was just too tempting. » He snapped his finger and the sword flew right back to Janus' hand, who was still confused.

« Alright, for real this time, I let you give the first blow. »

Janus hesitated, still not sure if the scene before him was really happening, but quickly composed himself. He came back to mirroring King's posture and came with a serious expression. He quickly analysed how he could start and how he could win the fastest. When he assumed to find a way to win quickly, he lifts his sword up and went for it.

Boy, was his assumption wrong.

He thought he'd move faster, but the moment the sword swingged on the left, King's weapon caught him off guard, and it only took two quick slays for Janus' to fly in the air again. He felt baffled and humiliated. And the amused smile from his opponent didn't boost his ego at the moment.

« How ? » He didn't understand. Even his instincts weren't nearly as fast as the King, and the tyrant didn't get the chance to train in years !

He only got an arrogant giggle in response before the sword flew back to Deceit's hand. Janus frowned deeper and dug his feet in the ground, ready to jump. King did not miss, nor cared for deceit's threat.

« Again. » He simply ordered. He only had to move his arm to be back to his initial position. Was there a point to it ? Or did his tyrant just liked to put him through this childish show of superiority ?

For some reason, Janus obeyed.

And lost.

Again.

« Try again. » the King ordered.

The other obliged.

After the 4th time the sword flew back into the yellow side, he had to face it : This was happening. King was training him to sword fight. And he just... accepted it ??? What ?? How was this happening ? Usually, he would try to bite back, make some remark, try to hurt him, but here he just... went along with it. And King seemed pleased with that. He looked...content. He looked satisfied with giving Janus private lesson. This moment...  against all odds... felt... not as bad as he expected.

The more they fought, the less cold the tyrant was, and the less tense they both get. King stopped trying to bring him to his knees and instead looked like he a professor, excited to give his student something to work on.

Of course, he would never admit it, but in this instant, in this moment of intimacy and challenge devoted from any animosity... It was calming, it was like a fresh wind coming after a heat wave of chaos, and the adrenaline that came from the fight was giving him enough energy to savour every second of it.

Wait.

No.

No no no no no.

He wasn't enjoying it. He wasn't enjoying it at all. He could not appreciate what was happening : the sadistic bastard was bellitling him and humiliating him right now ! And worst part is ? He couldn't even do anything about it ! Because King is so freacking good at sword fighting and Janus' main weapon has been turnd into a sword for crying out loud. There was no time to lust over past relationship !

And another game lost.

« I told you to pay attention to what was happening high up. Looking at my chest is not going to do much if you want to predict where or when I'm going to hit next. I thought you'd know that. »

« I was simply lost in another train of thought, I hope you could forg- »

DON'T.

FINISH

THIS WORD.

'You be submissive, god dammnit.' He thought to himself before clearing his throat and returning to his cunning voice. He had to keep his distance.

« I don't need you to tell me that. I was simply lost in thought. Do you really I am this much of an idiot ? »

« Well, you didn't prove me otherwise yet so. » He chuckled low and got ready for yet another one. « En garde. »

Even though he couldn't hide the joy he was feeling at the moment, he could mask it behind his usual calm appearance.

« And how many times are we going to do this ? » He asked, his tone playing between teasing and bored

«Until you get some actual fighting skills. » King answered, playing along.

« Ouch. I think I prefer the wounds caused by your sword. »

« Well then hurry up and grab your weapon. » Damn it. Why did they seem to get along of all sudden ?

« As you wish. This was merely a warm up. » he lied

« I do not doubt it any second. »

And just like that, the conversation became non-verbal again.

…

Truth be told, neither knew how long they've been fighting. Was it an hour ? Three hours ? 20 minutes ?

Truth be told, neither cared.

All janus knew is that he was getting better and better, almost becoming a challenge to the King , and the other side seemed glad to step up and fight with more intensity.

And both completely forgot to hide their excitement.

Janus started to tease king, even when he was clearly losing, and the other responded with as much sarcasm and complicity. The two glared at each other with malice and playfulness the whole time. And both couldn't help but smile.

And just like that, it felt as if they never left each other.

When he was younger, Janus and his king would play around with wooden swords, roleplaying like two ennemy seeking vengence in the most childish way. Janus sometimes would fake losing so he could see his king's proud smile which was worth losing 10 times again. His king would sometimes lose and janus would feel a feeling of acomplishment that was very strange to him, in a pleasant way. And at the end, they would most of the time lay down on the green grass and just talk about everything and anything.

And right now, he felt like he was playing with his king. Only the swords weren't made of wood anymore, and it was more professional. But still, it felt the same.

And it felt ...pleasant.

He could hear himself laugh just like when he was younger, and if he listened closely, he could feel king chuckle just like his king.

And it felt … nice.

From the talk, to the movement, both were on edge, calculating every move and waiting for an opportinity to strike. It was an amazing strategy game combined with pure raw strenght. And King's fighting style was both very classical and yet creative. He was very crafty and Janus only had to rival with his own tricks. They were in the moment, living fully the present.

And it felt...

And dear lord, it felt so, so good.

He could feel himself fly as he dodged, he could feel fire in his vein when he was about to strike down, he felt his head spinning, yet everything around him was so crystal clear, it was like a dance. A disturbing, aggressive, cold and passionate dance.

A dance...

They used to dance before.

His king and himself.

Most of the time, when they were done fighting, they would lay down on the grass. Most of the time.

Sometimes, he could have the biggest honor of all.

'Now, my dear, would you enjoy a waltz with me ?' his king offered his hand

-'I don't want to step on your foot again'

-'I told you you didn't hurt me ! Come now, it's not your job to be scared.'

despite his defensive approach, he adored those dances.

-'Alright, I'll dance with you. '

How did it go again ?

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3.

Left, right, right, wait no, was it left again ?

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3

step up, forward, step back, and one turn and another. His king would have his hand on Janus' shoulder and Janus would have his hand on his king's waist. And they would dance, and the music filled the air, and his king would have made a room just for them to dance.

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3

Turn around, then left then back up.

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3

Then caught in their trance

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3

They would just spin around, and turn and spin and spin again and everything was  spinning around them and they could only see each other and the whole world was spinning and it was just them. Just the two of them.

And they would smile and they would laugh and everything was still spinning around them and it was blissfull, passionate, affectionnate and in they would join their hands once more and their finger would interlace and once their hands was only one thing, they would lift it in the air with bravery as a victory for their hapiness.

And he would lift his hand in the air, with his king.

And they would lift their hands, hold together, in the air.

And they would yell a victory choir.

King's sword fell on the ground.

And he had his hand on King's chest.

Oh lord, he was too close to King.

Their faces were only two inches apart.

And Janus visibly forgot how to breath.

King was staring with wide eyes, clearly not expecting Janus to send his sword flying nor getting this close. None of them dared move an inch, and none of them could breath.

What... what just happened ?

How could Janus get so caught up in his dreams that he erased whatever was happening in front of him ? And how did this stupid dance from years ago helped him beat the King to his game ? And how could he, despite everything,  try to search for his king's eyes in the tyrant that stood in front of him ?

Right now, the King's red and green eyes were  flickering into orange glimps and his look was just tearing Janus up from the inside. He looked ready to cut his throat open if he had his sword in hand.

And yet …

For only a moment, only for a single instant, did Janus find his King shining through the side in front of him.

Sadly, this bloom inside of Janus' heart got cut fast as thorns grapped him and pulled him far away from his The King, and before he realized what was happening, the thons just gripped tighter and tighter, making Janus unable to hide the jolt of pain.

He struggled, trying to get away from the grasp, but they only tightened and eventually, he stopped, gasping for air. He tried to look back at the tyrant, who was simply observing with a serious expression, the joy of the past moments seemingly dissapeared the moment Janus got too close. And now, he was back to being a threat. Without looking away, he move forward, with slow steps. Janus tried to manage a sentence but the pain was too high for him to form anthing coherent. Eventually, The King was in front of Janus, and the yellow side swore he was about to get killed right on the spot, but instead he just kneeled down, grapping back the sword that flew away.

Oh.

He got up and, with the other hand, brushed over the blade. Without looking away from it, he spoke : « You fought well. » He lift his eyes to meet Janus, struggling not to faint, and determined to look at him with rage. The corner of his lips twiched into the smallest of smirk and he turned back, opening the gap between the two.

And as the King took his steps, Janus' eyes widened, realizing what King was about to do.

'No.'

'No. Not again.'

'Don't leave. '

'Please'

'Don't leave me again. '

He turned into a snake to got away from the thorns and rushed towards him, ready to grip his cape. Anything. Anything but that. He was so close...

But the thorns got Janus back before he could make it.

He couldn't even hear his own grunts of pain. All he could listen to was the sound of footsteps, and a windblow that made King dissapear. Janus froze in place.

And the silence that grew in the room was deafening.

After what felt like an enernity, the thorns let go of Janus, who simply fell on his knees shaking. He hugged himself as hard as he could, and curled on himself.

He tried to fight back tears that wouldn't stop to threaten to fall.

And none of them ever left his eyes. Just like no wound ever left his heart.

------------------------- WHOOOOOO What a ride! This was really fun to write and the challenge of putting words on the visuals your head come up with is certainly something. Now, I hope you didn’t expect things for them to get better just like that, huh? ;) There is too much they need to discuss before being close to make peace, so that’ll have to wait! I have other ideas for those two so I’ll see if I get motivated to write it out. Hope you liked it!! :D

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 33

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 10.5k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act four ➻ part eight

​​​​

Five people in the room. Dark walls, wood panels laid over bricks at haphazard and awkward angles, quiet voices muttering off to the side, three cots smashed together as closely as possible on one side of the room, body splayed out on the two cots on your left whilst you lie on the third. Every muscle in your body aches and burns like it’s been sitting over a fire for the better part of a day. There’s a slight itch to your throat, but you can’t even bring yourself to cough. You don’t move; you aren’t sure you could if you wanted to, so you don’t push it quite yet and instead settle for lying down and listening to the hushed whispers around you.

Seonghwa’s voice is the first to drift to your ears, and just the sound of it lets a bit of comfort sink into your heavy bones. You wish he was at your side and not across the room, and the small cravings for his hand in yours swell up in chest. Jongho speaks up after that with his deep timbre that rumbles against the soft sound of the air conditioner. And lastly, Yunho. His voice grates hard on your mind, and you wish you could fall asleep just so that you wouldn’t have to listen to it any longer. One quick glance to your left tells you that Yeosang is sprawled on the cot beside yours, and just past the steady rise and fall of his chest, you catch sight of Hongjoong’s blue head of hair.

Five people in the room, and San isn’t one of them.

Rest is out of the question at this point, especially with the swirling memories of the dream you woke up from not too long ago.

“Ah, Tsukio. There you are.”

“Tsukio?” You question, head falling to the side as confusion waves over you. Water continues to lap at your feet and pushes between your bare toes. “That’s — you’ve never called me that before.”

“Yes, I have, child. Ever since the first time you visited me.”

Daichi turns back to the pebbles under him. He nudges them some more with the end of his twisted branch, then lets the stick splash against the surface of the lake. He pushes himself up to his full height, yet something about it doesn’t feel quite right. He isn’t as tall as you remember him to be. Not only that, but your body doesn’t feel the way it usually does. You feel heavier, like something is wrapped tight around you and pulling your shoulders down with its weight, but you can’t bring your hands up to look at them any longer.

“She is too close to you,” Daichi utters without sparing you another glance.

“She?”

“You were foolish enough to let the fire come in and scald you. The water will drown you in her embrace.”

“Wh-What?” You stammer through your endless confusion. You hardly have the mental capacity to be thinking about the meaning behind his riddles might be, but that added to the strange foreign sensation running through your system doesn’t help to ease your panic one bit.

“How often must I remind you of the prophecy before it sinks in through that skull of yours, Tsukio?”

You grit your teeth together to keep from snapping at the old man and telling him off. You want nothing more than to tell him that you are not Tsukio, you are not Umiko, you are just Y/N and nothing else. He has never even mentioned any sort of fucking prophecy to you in all the time you’ve been meeting with the damn man.

“The moon will meet the sea in fire, and guided by the earth, they will seek the sun. As the sun rises out of the east, so the moon will set in the west with waters crashing out of the south and the earth climbing in the north, and fires will blaze at the center of it all. Blood spilled over pale sands and misted skies.”

You find it in you to pull away from the man, although it takes far too much effort to do so, and you slide back across the mud. The sensation is strange between your toes, and you certainly don’t welcome it, but it carries you away from Daichi and his odd mutterings. That’s good enough for you. You don’t manage to pull that far away before your legs fail. Black waters splash around you when your knees sink into the mud. That’s the position you remain in for quite some time too; unable to pull yourself up and incapable of doing anything other than stare down at the swirling waters. It’s only when they still that your senses return. Because the reflection in the water is not your own.

The face blinking back at you does not belong to you.

It belongs to —

“Y/N.”

You jerk your head towards the sound of the voice, eyes honing in on broad shoulders before Seonghwa’s face comes into view. He kneels down beside your makeshift bed. The second he extends a hand to brush the loose strands of hair off your forehead, a wave of comfort hits you, and the gentle smile painting his lips almost convinces you that everything is okay.

“How are you feeling?” He inquires. His hand remains in your hair, nails now scraping therapeutic patterns across your scalp. The idea of sleeping again comes to mind, but you force yourself to sit up on your elbows and look closer at the man’s features.

Even if you were to put it kindly, Seonghwa looks like absolute shit. The deep circles under his eyes, shallow scratches over one cheekbone and a nasty purple bruise on the other. You can see white gauze under the collar of his form-fitting shirt that seems to snake up over his shoulder, but he uses that arm without any visible issue just fine. You hardly realize how your arm moves on its own accord, reaching up to cup the line of Seonghwa’s jaw, and your thumb drags over his scraped cheek.

“I’ve been through worse, princess,” he chuckles under his breath. The smile on his lips stretches to one of amusement, and if you had it in you, you might laugh back with him. But not now. Not while Yeosang and Hongjoong remain unconscious beside you, and nearly half the crew is unaccounted for.

“I’m – I’m sore,” you manage after a couple of seconds of easy silence.

“Not surprised. You were given a pretty strong tranquilizer.”

It comes back to you then, an almost instantaneous shift in your demeanor as you remember what exactly went down prior to you passing out. Nothing too dramatic or memorable compared to the finale. If you had thought that Han Jisung wouldn’t haunt your thoughts after that, then you would have looked a fool on all accounts. Seonghwa notices the tension that rises in your body, and his hand drops from your head to your shoulder, squeezing gently at the flesh under his fingers. He opts not to comment on your unfocused gaze; rather, he motions towards Yeosang and Hongjoong behind him.

“We don’t know when they’ll be up. Yunho was up within a few hours, but his dosage was apparently a lot lower than yours and Yeosang’s were since he didn’t pose as much of a threat.” You squint at Yeosang’s reclining body once before pulling yourself up into a better sitting position. Seonghwa moves with you, hand never leaving your form for a second, and he’s there to steady you when you wobble a little upon swinging your legs over the edge of the cot. You don’t dare to get up from there, content to just sit and stew as you watch the unconscious crewmates in front of you.

“What happened?” You ask after quite some time.

“I can explain that a bit more when Yeosang wakes. It’s… um—” Seonghwa doesn’t let himself finish the thought. Your heart twinges in your chest, although you know that it isn’t on your own accord because of the way Seonghwa’s expression shifts. His gaze falls to the floor past your cot. You don’t press him for answers, but it is more than clear enough to tell that something awful has happened in the time you were unconscious. Your initial reaction is: no, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. I would be better off not knowing.

That devolves in a matter of seconds thanks to the worry rolling off Seonghwa’s body in waves. You bring a hand up to the one he has resting atop your shoulder then with a hesitant grasp take his lithe, long fingers between yours and offer whatever minimal comfort you can to him.

“Hongjoong is lucky to be alive.”

If Hongjoong is lucky to be alive, then what of Mingi? Where is he? Is he in a similar condition? Better? Worse? Wooyoung isn’t at Yeosang’s bedside. San isn’t at yours. So where the fuck are they? In another room? If they managed to cram three cots together in this one, then surely they could have made some more room for the others as well.

“We need to let him rest longer, give him time to recover, and let his body catch up on sleep as well. So hopefully Yeosang will get up soon, and you won’t have to stay waiting for an explanation for too long.”

Seonghwa’s words exude a sense of finality, and yet he doesn’t move away from you. He stays put and brings his gaze up to trail over your features. He seeks something in them that you aren’t aware of, a dash of confusion to his dark orbs that has your stomach churning every which way, and you can’t pretend not to know why.

“I thought I would lose you both,” he whispers so quietly that only you can hear the words. “I fear that I won’t be able to have you as fairly as I promised bec-because–”

“Do you still love him?”

“Not in that way any longer.”

“We can talk about that later,” you say, cutting Seonghwa’s thought short despite the fact that you already know where it was headed. It is an easy feeling for you to understand because every aspect of your life seems to drag you back to Jisung somehow. If Hongjoong is Seonghwa’s weak spot, then Jisung is most definitely yours. Too much is happening for you to properly process it all at the moment, so part of you demands to postpone that conversation with Seonghwa as much as possible if only to let you have time to gather your bearings and work through the confusion. Some things can wait. Others cannot. What happened before you got here is one of those that cannot wait. That conversation with Seonghwa can. And Jisung… Jisung is a thought that you will push to the deepest recesses of your mind and avoid with as much willpower as you can muster because while you should have seen this coming, you are still reeling.

He always spoke of coming to Kebos once he retired. It was his dream for the both of you. You didn’t have word for word confirmation that he was alive but you knew quite well that he escaped Eros prior to the execution then he disappeared from your radar. You figured he would be here and yet… you could never have expected him to be in the arena when he was or do whatever it is he did. To the outside eye – to Seonghwa – it might seem like an attack, and that would be logical since Jisung didn’t seem to know who you were until you said his name. However, he had to have seen you before the attack, he had to have known it was you, he said your name without an ounce of hesitation, and he was very clearly watching you because you could sense a presence before he showed himself. If he had wanted to kill you, he would have done so. He could have killed Yeosang and Yunho as well, but here they are, alive and for the most part well with you. San… Wooyoung… you don’t want to think that Jisung would kill either of them, and you don’t want to think that they are dead either.

What exactly was Jisung doing in that tunnel?

You are so lost in those thoughts that you don’t feel Seonghwa pulling away to face where Yeosang lays behind him. Jongho comes closer to the bedside, head stretching out to rest atop your head, and the gentle weight soothes you enough to bring you out of the intruding thoughts. He seems to be in far better condition than Seonghwa is – you can’t spot a single scratch or bruise on his face at least, but his knuckles are all battered. His red eyes are tired and bloodshot in a way that is concerning. He reassures you with a gentle smile before pulling his hand away from your head.

“Yeosang?” Seonghwa nudges the sleeping man with the back of his hand. At first, the blonde doesn’t budge even an inch and remains so still that you would believe that he’s dead if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Seonghwa bothers to prod at his shoulder once more, this time garnering a reaction from the man as the Elitist bolts upright on his cot. His body still seems to be on the offensive because he nearly clocks Seonghwa right in the nose with a wildly swinging arm, but the latter deflects the awkward attack before it can make contact.

“Where are we?” Yeosang asks the moment he somewhat gathers his bearings.

“We’re at a hostel not far outside the city, but at a safe distance from the arena.” Seonghwa stands up straight as Yeosang continues to blink around the room. It’s only a matter of time before the blond begins to ask more questions, including ones surrounding Wooyoung’s absence, but Seonghwa beats him to it. “Now that you’re both awake, we can better explain what exactly happened. As soon as Vladimir figured out that it was Mingi down in the arena, he detonated the electromagnetic bomb underneath the building that sent an intense electrical current through the arena itself. Neither Hongjoong or Mingi had time to react or withdraw, so they were both caught in the majority of the blast, but it also stirred up an awful duststorm, which flooded the base and tunnels surrounding the bomb. Then, Vlad dispatched several fighting units to no doubt dispatch of us before we could escape. Jongho and I went down to get Mingi and Hongjoong. We could hardly see a thing in there because of the dust, and it was only when it cleared that we were able to find Hongjoong, unconscious and beaten within an inch of his life. Mingi was nowhere to be found.”

Your gaze flits back down to where Hongjoong lies. His face is turned to the opposite wall so you can’t see the evidence of his fighting all too well, but several bruises poke out of the collar of his shirt. That is enough to tell you how bad things got for him.

“We spent so long searching for Mingi,” Seonghwa continues through a deep sigh. You shift to glance towards Jongho, but the Berserker stares at the floor without moving a muscle. His expression is impossible to read, and you can’t bring yourself to try to figure out how he feels about this. The exhaustion alone on his features tells you about how well he’s taking the situation. “There was only one exit, and that was the tunnel you all were already in. We assumed that we could carry Hongjoong out and find you all with Mingi in the tunnel. However… when we came in, it was worse than we could have imagined. The two of you and Yunho were all lying face down, completely unconscious, and there was a man with a green hood standing close to your body, Y/N. We – I immediately confronted him because I thought it had been his doing, but he claimed that he did not do anything to harm you all. There was still no sign of Mingi there either.”

Seonghwa must have more to say than that. You can hardly believe that he wouldn’t breathe a word about Wooyoung or San, but his continued hesitance offers no comfort and only makes you want to make a break for the door and get out of this damn room. Yeosang picks up on that as well, and this time he is quick enough to ask a question.

“And what of the others? Wooyoung?”

Seonghwa’s tongue pokes out to moisten his lips. He doesn’t respond right away, then he reaches for his pocket, pulling a shattered wristband out and passing it to Yeosang without a word. You lean forward to look on as well but regret it the moment you catch a glimpse of the screen. It’s the band that was assigned to Wooyoung, and you only know that because of the small initials flashing in the corner of the cracked screen. You don’t get to look longer than a moment; next thing you know, Yeosang is pushing himself to his feet and hurling the band across the room. It hits the brick wall with a loud clatter. He must not have all his strength back quite yet because just the simple movement has Yeosang stumbling and falling to his knees. Seonghwa tries to catch him a moment too late, hand clasping around Yeosang’s forearm the second he hits the floor.

“Wh-Where is he?” Yeosang asks, tone heavy with labored breaths.

“We… we don’t know, Yeosang.” The lack of confidence in Seonghwa’s tone betrays how he truly feels, and it scares you when he glances up to meet your eyes. The next words to fall from his lips are far worse. “San is gone too.”

Gone.

Choi San is gone.

“No,” you choke out, hardly aware that you say the small word of denial out loud. “Not again. I-I… pl-please—”

“What would’ve happened if you died out there?”

The world suddenly feels a lot less real, like you’re stuck in a pathetic state of limbo and watching everything happen around you without being a part of it. There is a stabbing pain in your chest that lingers for far too long.

“And I wasn’t there to be with you. What would I have done if you died before I told you how much I care about you?”

Seonghwa, Yunho, Jongho, Yeosang, Hongjoong. Five people in the room. And not one is San.

This time when you reach out to Seonghwa, it’s a desperate attempt to have something ground you. Jongho moves to intercept your movements and stand in Seonghwa’s place, but the lieutenant doesn’t let him do so; instead, he slips away from Yeosang and closer to you. His fingers slip between yours, squeezing tightly at your hand, and his other hand moves around your waist. He anchors himself there, the sinking sensation of his warmth filling your senses as you drink it in deeper and deeper. The black waters of panic surge around you.

This is what you feared would happen.

The reason why you were so adamant and desperate not to get attached.

Seonghwa braces his body against yours. The anchor sinks deeper. You ball your fists around the fabric of his coat, clinging to it like a lifeline, and your panicked gaze drops to where Yeosang still kneels on the floor. Jongho squats beside him now, having taken Seonghwa’s place by his side. If your pain and fear are this deep, then you cannot even begin to imagine how Yeosang is feeling at this moment in time.

Can love be so powerful that it changes the deepest parts of a person? You would like to believe that yes, it can. And you can only say that because of the way Kang Yeosang – an Elitist, an arrogant and logic-inclined Elitist – is hunched over on the floor sobbing into his hands. Sobbing could not even begin to describe his cries, in all honesty. They are wretched and awful, so broken at the seams that every crack in Yeosang’s usually so-put-together composure shows every drop of pain in his body. You aren’t sure what you expected from him — perhaps anger? Rage directed towards Seonghwa and Jongho for not getting there sooner? Towards himself for failing to keep Wooyoung safe? Towards you since you gave your word to him?

You aren’t sure if it’s the panic gradually residing or if Seonghwa is influencing your emotions somehow with his closeness and the heat of his breath on your ear, but your heart slowly comes down to a more regular pace. The intense pain over your heart remains quite present. You can manage that; Yeosang, however, just seems to be devolving further and further into a drastic state of hysteria thanks to the news. There is nothing you can do — nothing any of you could possibly do to console him unless you brought Wooyoung through the door right this instant.

Sometimes, on days that were not so busy or stressful, you would find yourself in the mess hall with Yeosang and Wooyoung, maybe with Jongho or San at your side as well. You never put much thought into it back in the heat of the moment, just filtered through things and stored certain memorable moments in the recesses of your brain. But something you could always clearly see from Yeosang – something you see every single time he looks at the dark-haired man – is the way the Elitist would look at Wooyoung as though he held every star in the universe in the palm of his hand. Now you can reason it out and know why exactly Yeosang would look at Wooyoung in such a way.

Because the man hunched over on the floor before you is crying as though the light of his life has been taken from him, like he is fully enshrouded in such an intensity of darkness that there is no way out.

They are doing nothing more than the rest of every last sorry soul in the universe: trying to create what would be their perfect world. Fate has deprived them of enough. Who are you to take more from them?

You would make every last monster who took Wooyoung from Yeosang pay a hundred times over, just as you would do the same to the ones who took San from you.

Jongho maintains a steady touch on his shoulders, one hand squeezing tightly around each one, but the gesture doesn’t slow or stop the cries falling from Yeosang’s lips. It’s with a rare look of desperation that Seonghwa focuses his attention on Yunho, and with an unspoken plea for Yunho to give him something, anything. All the healer can manage is a shake of his head, and he returns to watching Yeosang sob forlornly. For Yunho of all people to admit that there isn’t anything he can do to help the man right now is a punch in the gut. Seonghwa leans away from you to mutter something into the shell of Jongho’s ear, and the Berserker offers a curt nod in response.

“Let’s get you some food,” Seonghwa whispers once he turns back to you. “Jongho will stay with Yeosang for now and… try his best to calm him down some. At least enough so that we can discuss further and talk about a plan.” Seonghwa sinks his teeth into his lower lip. “I wish — I’m sorry I don’t have more answers. I wish I could give you more than what we have now.” The way Seonghwa gazes at you speaks more than the words that fall from his lips. The endless apologies on his mind that don’t come to light – you don’t need to hear any of them to know how he’s feeling and how he’s blaming himself for not doing more.

When he stands, you move with him, albeit on shaky legs that aren’t used to the sudden pressure. Yunho leads the way out of the room without a word. Again the world seems to shift under your feet, like a cruel slap to the face, and you can almost feel yourself slipping back into a dingy and rusted cell. Your mind is so disconnected from reality that you don’t even fully fall into a flashback; it comes in snippets instead, gross figments of your past that you don’t want anymore.

“He’s not coming back. I told him to leave for good.”

“H-He wouldn’t do that, Hyunwoo. He wouldn’t leave us. Jisung’s – he’s different, not like that!” Your hand clasp desperately at the iron bars separating you from the broad-shouldered man. Hyunwoo dips his chin to his chest.

“Forgive me, Y/N… the only way I could convince him to leave was to – was to tell him that you were dying with me.” Your throat goes impossibly dry. “Jisung is gone. As soon as they take your chains off, you should do the same. Get the hell out of here, get off this planet, and – and do better.”

Seonghwa’s hand rests on the small of your back. The pressure of his palm increases with each passing second. It pulls you back and gives you glimpses of the present. A dark hallway, stairs, a smiling woman who motions towards an empty table.

“I – Hyunwoo, I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

“I’m sorry. This was the only way I could save you all. Maybe one day you will get to see each other again, and you can tell him the truth. And he can tell you the truth.”

Sitting down, Yunho sitting across from you.

“What fucking truth? You can’t do this now of all times, Hyunwoo! It isn’t the time to be cryptic and mysterious!”

Seonghwa’s hand still on you.

“You’ll understand one day, Y/N. I promise.”

You don’t understand a thing. And you certainly don’t get why life or fate or whatever the fuck it is keeps wrenching the people you care about from your grasp.

“Do you at least know whether they’re alive?” You ask, tone hesitant and quiet yet pleading at the same time.

“San and Mingi both had their wristbands still on. Vital signs were active for quite some time but…” You don’t even care that there is a ‘but’. Simply hearing that the vital signs were active is enough to wrench a relieved sigh from your lips. “We have reason to believe that they were taken off-planet. The bands only work within a certain range, and the atmosphere affects them greatly as well. Since we were all on-planet, I didn’t set the frequencies to adjust for space travel. I-I should’ve thought of all the possibilities and planned accordingly.”

The woman from earlier bustles around the table, delivering plates of an assortment of foods from bread to fruits to meats. Despite hunger curling in your gut, you aren’t sure that you can stomach the food anyway. Seonghwa nudges a plate in your direction, and you decide to at least put in a bit of an effort for him, if only to make him feel better.

“It’s not your fault.”

The words surprise both you and Seonghwa, heads whipping up to look at the man who spoke in unison. Yunho stares down at the table as though he hasn’t breathed a word at all, but you all know what he said, heard it loud and clear.

“Pardon?” Seonghwa says after blinking away his shock.

“It’s not your fault. There was no way you could have expected what would happen on the mission. Even if you did expect it, there was no possible way of preventing the damage that was done. Thus… it is not your fault.”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust comfort coming from your lips, Yunho.”

The healer sighs upon hearing Seonghwa’s clipped tone, carefully setting his fork down beside his plate, and when he glances up at the lieutenant, his gaze is unreadable.

“I feel guilty too, you know. For not fighting more, doing more, not being strong enough, for not being the one they took. Seeing… seeing Yeosang’s reaction and Y/N’s reaction — those things make me wish that I had been taken in Wooyoung or San’s place. In Mingi’s place. I know you feel the same way, just as we both wish that we could have taken Hongjoong’s place in the arena.” Seonghwa’s fingers curl into a tight fist against the wood of the table. “I do not want to admit this, and it truly pains my pride to say it, but I do realize the truth of the situation. If things had gone worse for Hongjoong, then you would have lost the most out of everyone.”

“Comparing losses is like comparing apples to oranges, Yunho. A loss to me is far different than a loss to you. It isn’t about who loses more.”

“Yet, you would have had to step up and become captain right away. Be on the bridge of the ship alone for the first time in years but with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be coming back. Bury Ho–”

“Is it your goal to pain me right now?” Seonghwa asks through gritted teeth. His tone is almost choked in the way it strains in the back of his throat, evidence of how upset the mere thought of Yunho’s words are making him. Yet, for once, you don’t feel as though Yunho is intentionally trying to upset him. As shitty as it may be, you almost think that it is his attempt at an apology. Yes, his ego and pride and a whole slew of other issues that he has have not gone away and are blocking him from providing a proper apology. But his tone is not aggressive or seeking to draw anger out of Seonghwa.

“It’s not. We both know Hongjoong will awaken and that he will recover. He will be okay, and he’s come back from worse in the past. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t worry, but it allows us to have more confidence this time around. And I know that when he does wake up, your name will be the first on his lips. What Vladimir said before Hongjoong descended into the arena — he mentioned how Hongjoong looks at you like you’re something precious. Still. Even after all this time and everything you’ve been through together, he still looks at you the same way. I merely feel an unreasonable and unruly amount of jealousy when I think about it.”

“And that jealousy drives you to overstep boundaries and lines you should not cross.”

“Then we share in that jealousy.” Yunho’s gaze flits up to meet Seonghwa’s across the table. You expect some sort of altercation to unfold between them, but for the time being, they both remain level-headed. The thread keeping Seonghwa tethered is wearing thinner and thinner by the second; you can see it in the way his clenched fist trembles. “He didn’t start coming to me to slight you, Seonghwa. It was never about rubbing it in or trying to hurt you. He only came to me because he didn’t want to hurt you.”

The thing about love is that no matter how hard you try to force it down, no matter how much you kick and scratch and bite at it in a desperate attempt to push it away, it always comes back with more force than before. The more you fight it, the more it spreads. The thoughts that invade your mind, the memories clinging to your skin like a disease, the emotions curling sharp talons into your heart. So no matter how much Seonghwa claims to love you, he will always be fighting his love for Hongjoong. The same can be said of you and your love for Jisung, or even your care for San. Love is not something you can force out of your heart; it is something that you must gradually grow out of, and you only realize now that all your attempts to run away have made it worse.

“Y/N, I—” Yunho cuts his thought short to look towards the ceiling. He must have had enough of the conversation with Seonghwa, tone shifting as he changes the topic over to you. “You did not run away even though you had every opportunity to.”

“Don’t give me one now.” Yunho is trying to say that he was wrong, and you can recognize that. Seonghwa surely can as well. If it’s forgiveness he’s after, however, you aren’t inclined to give it to him quite yet. An apology given under the guise of narcissism doesn’t deserve forgiveness, and forgiveness given in that situation would only breed further issues later on down the line. The selfish part of you also just doesn’t want to forgive him yet.

The meal continues on in silence for quite some time. You don’t bother with trying to figure out how much time passes exactly; all you know is that the air surrounding the table is terse at best. Things only change when Yunho decides to speak again, although this time it’s to drop bombshell information that you could never have predicted.

“You know my mother was murdered here on Kebos.” He doesn’t look up from his plate, but both you and Seonghwa again jerk to stare in his direction.

“I thought she died of illness,” Seonghwa whispers.

“She did. The illness was poison. Poison administered by one Vladimir the Bloody.”

“I — Yunho, I had no idea th—”

“It was my job, my duty, my responsibility to heal her. I knew what to do, I knew how to heal her, how to extract the poison from her body, and I couldn’t do it. Every case I take on is a selfish attempt for me to reconcile those mistakes. To, if nothing else, prove to myself that I am not the failure who watched on as his mother died because he was too weak to save her. I didn’t save my mother, I didn’t keep Mingi from killing his father, and I didn’t save Cass. I broke Jongho’s trust, failed Y/N when she confronted me with the truth, and I cannot count on one hand the amount of times that I’ve failed you, Seonghwa. I’m not asking you to pity me or feel sorry for me. When I first woke up and started treating Hongjoong, you begged me to save him. I do not fear Vladimir taking another life from me. I fear not being able to do the job that is expected of me when the going gets rough.” Yunho drops his hands to the table, letting his palms lie flat against the wood. “I don’t care what you think of me. Whether you find me to be selfish and egotistical — that does not matter to me. I just refuse to let you look at me like I’m still that failure who is helpless and naive. I see it enough when I look in the mirror.”

Seonghwa inhales sharply as Yunho speaks but does not make an effort to come up with any sort of reply until well after the healer has stopped talking.

“Never once have I thought you to be a failure, Yunho,” he mutters. “Nor have I ever despised you. All my anger is directed at myself and Hongjoong. I never wanted you to get dragged into that, but things just happened this way. It’s unavoidable when we all work in such close quarters day in and day out.” Seonghwa sighs and drops his chin to his chest. A hesitant hand reaches up to comb through his dark hair, pushing it off his forehead, then that same hand drops down to his side. “You two should eat quickly. I’m meeting with someone here soon.”

“You are?”

“Yes, the man we found with your bodies initially. I asked to question him about what he saw, if he has anything we can use to find the others, and he agreed to meet me here.”

“Consider me gone,” Yunho sighs, leaning away from the table. “I need to check on Hongjoong and dress his wounds again. And have a chat with Yeosang if he’s any less… hysterical.” Seonghwa offers a hasty nod. Yunho continues pushing away from the table until he’s on his feet, and he doesn’t wait for you to move before he walks up the stairs and out of sight. A hand drops onto your thigh, not searching for anything more than the small contact.

“I would not be opposed to you staying here with me during this meeting.”

“Do you think this person might try something?”

“I doubt he would be so bold as to do that. It’s just that… well, your presence brings me peace.” Seonghwa whispers the words under his breath as though they’re meant for your ears only.

“Because of what we are,” you state even though it was initially meant to be a question. Seonghwa huffs out a quiet laugh and shakes his head a little.

“If that’s what you would like to believe, then yes.”

Seonghwa’s hand falls away from your thigh. At first, you think you’ve done or said something wrong, but the way his back straightens and eyes grow cold tells you that it is something else entirely. You follow his line of sight to the door to the hostel, catching the way it swishes open, and a hooded figure steps through. It must be the man Seonghwa saw in the arena, but you can’t quite catch his face through the harsh shadows his hood casts over his face. Some odd feeling twists in your gut as he moves towards your table, like you already know what is about to happen, and yet that still cannot prepare you for it.

Because when the man slides into the spot where Yunho just sat and tugs his green cloak back to expose his face, you truly feel as though you have entered some strange distortion of reality.

“I don’t believe I introduced myself when we last met, Lieutenant of Death,” he says, tone as clear and teasing as the day you met him all those years ago. “My name is Jisung. Han Jisung. I hope you’ll remember it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Seonghwa exhales through a tight smile. He motions towards you, eyes remaining glued to Jisung’s features as he speaks again. “This is—”

“Y/N L/N, Ghost of Eros. Oh, where to begin with her repertoire? Best sniper in the military of Eros. Assassin of the King of Eros. One of six members in Unit 24, a reconnaissance and extermination team operating under the esteemed military of Eros. Recruit number 17. Little lady, perhaps?” He smiles at you with every passing word. Smiles like not a day has passed and nothing has changed between the two of you. Round cheeks balling up with the same joy they always did in the past, and you nearly believe that time has frozen for the two of you when you see it. Seonghwa brings you back to reality, eyes wide and flashing confusing as he glances between Jisung’s smiling face and your more solemn one.

“You two… do you know each other?”

“Han Jisung, otherwise known in the past as the assassin and reconnaissance specialist of Unit 24. Recruit number 41.”

Seonghwa inhales so sharply that the air whistles through his teeth. His gaze is on you, and you can feel it so intensely that you almost want to burst into tears to alleviate some of the pressure in your head. You have reached the point of no return, chest so tight with emotion that you somehow feel nothing at all when you blink back at Jisung. It haunts you — the mere fact that you are looking at the man who once held your whole existence in the palm of his hand as though he means absolutely nothing to you.

A hand slips back over your thigh, searching for your own desperately, and you know Seonghwa just wants to offer whatever comfort he can right now. The damage is already done. The dam is already broken. And your words spill forth with a reckless abandon that you never imagined you could muster up.

“You knocked me to the ground and injected me with some sort of potent anesthesia. Whoever the hell was with you in that tunnel did the same to my four crewmates. When I woke up, it was to find that two of those crewmates are gone. You’re smart enough to realize how bad that looks for you.”

“I… I do,” Jisung says, tone falling quiet, and his smile droops a bit at the corners. Seonghwa levels him with a suspicious glare, but he doesn’t add anything more for the time being. “I hardly expected this to go over well, but all I can do is plea that you hear me out. My boss — the man I now work for asked for two people to be brought out of that arena. The Brute of Kebos and the Ghost of Eros.” Your throat turns to sandpaper, and Seonghwa’s hand clenches harshly around your leg. Jisung’s lips twitch as he grins a little wider. “You know I’ve never been good at following orders, especially when they come from a leader I can’t see directly. I have two superiors — my boss and my captain. My captain is the one who dispatched me and my three crewmates to take care of the mission. I have never met or seen my boss; I don’t know his name, his face, anything about him. That made it easy to decide what to do, because as soon as I heard ‘Ghost of Eros’, I knew I wouldn’t be able to take you. So, when I went into that tunnel and saw you with four other people, I made a spur of the moment decision to take two others under the guise that… that we simply could not find the Ghost of Eros, but we brought two others instead.”

“You used my crew as a bargaining chip?” Seonghwa seethes.

“To protect Y/N, yes. I know that if it meant protecting your crew, you would do the same.”

Seonghwa’s jaw stutters, but he is unable to come up with any sort of reasonable or logical response. Jisung is right, and you all know it. That doesn’t keep your rage from overflowing, although it isn’t directed at the man across the table. More than that, ti’s what he said. That his boss — whoever that may be — wanted you, and because of you, both Wooyoung and San were taken. Guilt sweeps over your whole body, overtakes your senses in less than a second, and before you know it, your vision blurs with unshed tears.

“You should have fucking let them have me,” you spit before a dry sob tears through your throat.

Because of you, your team fell to pieces and broke apart. Juyeon abandoned his best friend. Soojin left the only family she had. Ash lost all the people he looked up to. Jisung gave up everything. And Hyunwoo walked to his death.

“Why wouldn’t you let them have me? What were you thinking? That you couldn’t set me free at some point on the way back to your boss? That I couldn’t fucking protect myself? Why would you take them in my place?”

Because of you, Wooyoung was taken. San was taken. The light of Yeosang’s life is gone. All your past mistakes rush back to greet you, reflected in the face of the man before you.

“Even after all this time, you would always be my priority.”

Seonghwa snakes his hand around your back, fingers dancing over your spine as he lifts it to brush against the base of your neck. You wish that the action would bring you comfort, that it would do something to alleviate the burning pain spreading through your chest, yet it does nothing except make your tears roll over the balls of your cheeks. Jisung’s brows knit together as he watches you cry. He stretches a hand halfway across the table and stops there, unsure about going the rest of the way.

“If I had known what they meant to you… I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“If you had known what they meant to me, you still would have done it.” Jisung shifts his jaw at your words, eyes blinking away from yours and confirming what you already know to be true. There’s another question on your lips, one that you desperately want to ask but can’t bring yourself to speak into existence, so it dies in the back of your throat with your cries. Seonghwa’s fingers continue their methodical drags over the base of your neck.

“That is true, yes, but — but now it means that I can help you get them back. All of them, including the Brute of Kebos.”

“What’s the catch?” Seonghwa inquires. Jisung wets his lips then presses them tightly together before speaking again. His gaze falls on you, the soft gleam in them taking you back to a starlit night full of cherrywood and sugar and the taste of honey and vanilla on your tongue.

“I want to retire from this life of… constant running and fighting and following orders. I want to do something for myself, but someone made me a promise a few years ago. To retire with me, move here on Kebos, and put that life behind us. If I’m going to help you, I need a surefire promise that after we get them back, Y/N will come back to Kebos with me.”

“That is not a deal I can agree to. Not without having time to discuss it with both Y/N and my captain—”

“Are you not the acting captain, Park Seonghwa? I saw the extent of the damage done in that arena, most delivered by none other than the Brute of Kebos. You can’t tell me that he will be up anytime soon, and I doubt your friends can wait that long for an agreement on your part.”

“Don’t – don’t drag him into this,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone as flat as possible. “I’ll do it.”

“Y/N, no.” Seonghwa blinks down at you. His eyes are wide and glassy, and even just those two words convey more emotion than you thought possible. He said he was afraid to lose both you and Hongjoong. What about when it comes to choosing between three crewmates – people he’s been with for years now – and you, someone he’s only known for months. It isn’t a decision you would wish on anyone. You don’t know what you would do in such a position. You do know that you would rather see yourself back in a prison cell for treason than let Wooyoung, San, and Mingi be taken to some god-forsaken place. As Seonghwa once said, sacrifice and trust go hand in hand. Now, he needs to trust that this is the best decision you can make and let you make it.

“You love her,” Jisung states, drawing Seonghwa’s gaze off you for a moment. “What is love compared to duty? Would it keep you from agreeing to my help, something invaluable in this situation?”

“You would do well not to romanticize love in such a way otherwise you will be sorely disillusioned. Love contains the freedom to choose what you want without the other person making any decision for you. Hence why if this is what Y/N wants to agree to, then I will compromise for her.” There lies a hidden meaning in Seonghwa’s words. They aren’t just meant to defend himself and explain his reasoning, but criticize Jisung for what lies behind his bargain.

“Love means keeping promises as well.”

Those words bring a dramatic halt to your tears, causing anger to bubble up in your gut as you process them, and all you can think is how fucking hypocritical it is of him to say such a thing.

“Don’t subject me to a life without you in it, Jisung.”

“I could never. I love you far too much to do that.”

“Promise me that you won’t.”

“I swear on my life that I’ll never leave you.”

“Then why did you not keep the ones you made me?”

“I was told that you were going to die.”

“If you had truly believed that… If our positions had been swapped, I would have at least stayed and done something to stop it.”

“I suppose that’s where we have our differences then. I trusted Hyunwoo enough to believe him when he told me you were both slated to die and that I should leave. But you’ve always had a problem with trust, haven’t you?”

“I think it’s best if you stop talking before you ruin your chances of walking out of here alive,” Seonghwa retorts before you can come up with a response.

“You wouldn’t dare kill me when I’m the only one who can help right now.”

“No, but I can hurt you just enough to leave you within of life and force the information out of you. I do not wear the mantle of ‘Lieutenant of Death’ for show. Although, if you truly believe that it’s merely a farce, I would be more than happy to show you how I got the title. You have what you want. She’s agreed to this deal of yours, which means it’s now on you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

Jisung regards the man with nothing more than a wavering glance for several seconds. Then he drops his head, a messy mop of blond hair falling forward to cover his forehead.

“I can meet you here again tomorrow morning, but it’s too late to be going out right now. My guess is that your captain will need at least three days before he can even be well enough to move to your ship.”

“It will only take him two. He’s a determined son of a bitch after all.”

“Of course he is. I’d expect nothing less from someone of his notoriety. Tomorrow, I can bring information concerning where they’ve taken your crew as well as what they intend to do with them, if I can. Boss has been pretty mum about his intentions, but I can at least figure out what they’ll do with two he didn’t ask for.”

“Won’t your captain be suspicious of your absence?”

“My captain is none other than Vladimir the Bloody. He doesn’t care to keep tabs on his men when they aren’t working a job for him. My job is complete. All that’s left for me to do is report back on the status of the mission. After that… I can easily eavesdrop on his conversations with the boss. I’m a Spectre, after all, and a damn good one at that. I’ll do my part. You have my word.” Jisung pushes himself up from the table, stepping over the bench and turning around to face you again in one move. “Y/N, if there had been any other way to get you out of there, I would have done it in a heartbeat.”

You answer him with silence. Your bloodshot eyes avoid his features like the plague. You only decide to look at the place where he just stood when you hear a door swishing, and it’s empty when your gaze falls upon it. Seonghwa’s hand slips down to meet yours. He intertwines his fingers through yours without saying anything, offering a silent plea for you to follow him when he too stands up. And you do. You let him pull you to your feet and up the stairs without complaint, even when he stops in front of a new door and guides you inside. It’s a single bedroom, much different than the one you woke up in, and Seonghwa parts from you there with a gentle kiss to your forehead and a whispered promise that he will be right back.

You hardly process a thing as you fall to your side on the bed and tuck your legs up into your chest so that you are curled into the most fetal position you can manage. The darkness in the room adds to your dazed state, shadows blur together into almost human-like forms in the edges of your vision, and you find yourself drifting back in time until your surroundings feel a lot more like that hotel in Echidna where San laid his soul bare before you.

A shaky hand reaches across the darkness to brush over the mattress as though San will appear under your fingers if you do so. He wouldn’t have been taken if not for you. Why won’t that thought leave your mind? The guilt that eats away at your stomach is far too much; it physically hurts you with every breath you heave, and your breaths rasp into the empty air before you. Fingers tighten around the linen sheets. The shadows almost come to a rest before you, almost morph into a face that is recognizable, so close to a dimpled smile and cat-like eyes.

Please be okay. Please be alive. I don’t know what I would do if you aren’t okay.

“Y/N.”

The voice doesn’t startle you or cause you to shift in the slightest. Every muscle in your body feels ten times heavier than before. Seonghwa slips into the empty space before you, causing that shadowy figure vaguely resembling San to dissipate into thin air. Whatever spell was binding you to the silence shatters, and you choke out a fresh sob. Seonghwa catches your wrist and tugs you into his embrace without hesitation. You can only press your forehead against his chest as tears begin to fall.

“This isn’t your fault, Y/N. I promise,” he murmurs, chin coming to rest atop your head. “You didn’t make them get taken, you aren’t the reason why they were taken. That decision… it was not yours. Jisung is the one responsible for that, not you. And he is paying for that choice by helping get them back.”

There is an elephant in the room. One so large and intruding that it occupies most of your thoughts as you listen to Seonghwa speak. You choose to continue avoiding it, running from him, pushing it back to the deepest recesses of your mind while you can.

“I’m t-tired of running from the – the past only for it to r-repeat itself,” you stutter through choked sobs. Seonghwa’s hold tightens around you.

“I know, Y/N. I know you are. I am too. But I understand. We are going to get this. All of us, with not one person left behind or forgotten.” His chin shifts until you feel his lips caressing the curve of your ear, hand tangled deep in your hair. “I’m here, I’m with you. I’m not going anywhere. For now. For as long as it lasts.”

When you first asked him to make that promise, you did not think that your time together would be so impossibly short, but now it truly feels like there is a ticking time bomb surrounding everything about you two.

“Why didn’t you ask him to make a different deal?”

“Because it was your choice, Y/N. I hate the mere thought of having to trade you for — I hate it. Yet if this is what you truly want… if you have a chance to rest peacefully at last with someone you love, who am I to deprive you of that? That is all I could ever want for you.”

“Stop me from doing it, Seonghwa,” you cry weakly. A pathetic whimper slips past your lips as you pull your head away from his chest to look him in the eye, and you are startled now because nothing could have prepared you for the sight before you. Tears paint the smooth skin of his cheeks, leaving ugly streaks down the side of his nose. “Make me stay. Please, I-I won’t stay otherwise. If nothing else just – just make me stay because I’m a Siren, because Hongjoong needs me, because you need me. Be selfish, please, I’m begging you.”

“I was selfish enough to have you as long as I did.” He smiles through the whisper. Not a happy or content smile, not one that brings you comfort, not one that blossoms a warmth in your chest. It’s one that takes your heart right out of your chest and squeezes it so painfully that you cannot breathe. “We can find another Siren. There are always others out there but this? This could be your only chance to have a normal and peaceful life.”

“I don’t want it. I don’t want normal or peaceful, I don’t want to go.”

“I think that deep down in your heart, you know that this is what you want. What you’ve always wanted. A chance to be free of expectations and pain. I would do anything to give you that opportunity, yet maybe Hongjoong and I are meant for each other simply because of what we are at the end of the day. Scourge of the Black Sea and the Lieutenant of Death. San told me that you have pardon papers. You can use those to clear you—”

“But they aren’t for me! They aren’t for me. I don’t want – I don’t deserve to be the one who is pardoned. What makes me more deserving than the man who died for me?”

“Oh, darling, if you could see yourself through my eyes, you would know that you are the most deserving person in the universe.” Seonghwa cups your cheek so gently, with such care, and holds you as though you are delicate and precious. “I know my fate, Y/N. It is to die amongst the black sea at my captain’s side. I do not think that is meant to be your fate though.” If you could possibly cry any harder than you are, you truly would. It is hard enough to breathe as it is, sobs continuing to tumble from your lips as Seonghwa keeps on holding you in the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry. I would do anything for you, but I cannot force you to stay. That is the one thing I cannot bring myself to do.”

You crash your lips against Seonghwa’s in a mess of salty tears and saliva, teeth clashing with his, but he’s right there with you, gasping into your mouth as a quiet sob slips through his previously unbroken visage. There is no more strength left in your body. You don’t have it in you to continue the kiss, and you can barely keep your eyes open at this point. When Seonghwa pulls his mouth away from yours, you can’t even chase him for another kiss, letting him slip a hand behind your head and tuck you into his shoulder. Hot breath ghosts down the back of your neck. You cling to it as desperately as you can like it’s the last bit of warmth you will ever be able to have from him, even though you know deep down that that is not true. He carries you into a deep sleep like that, and it is a sleep that awakens new dreams in you with new and haunting implications to them that you won’t be able to explain come morning.

…

Panic surges through your veins, startling you into a state of consciousness, but when your eyes open you can only see dark shadows in your vision. You aren’t alone. You know that much thanks to the steady sounds of breathing around you – at least two people with you, wherever it is you are. There is a strange sensation about your body, one that you recognize from your previous visit to the Dreamscape, but you cannot see well enough to stare down at your body and figure out what it is. Two shaky hands dart up to your neck, clasping around something terribly cold and metal. It’s a collar of sorts, and it refuses to budge even a centimeter as you try to yank at it.

A finger slips under the ridge of the metal. You brush over the cold skin there only to find a blossoming scar across your neck, one that spreads no matter how far you move your hand along the collar. You jerk your hand out from under it with a growing feeling of disgust churning in your stomach.

In the very least, your eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness, and you can make out the two figures with you. One sits off in the furthest corner of whatever cell you’re being held in. Broad shoulders slumped forward and showing unconsciousness, but you can detect the faintest scent of blood coming from him. The other is closer to you, only an arm’s length away from you, but his head faces away from you so you can’t make out any of his features.

You dare to reach out to him, forcing your tired muscles into action as you drag yourself closer to him. Even through the darkness, your hands look far too masculine to belong to you, but you hardly have time to think about that when you pull the man to face you.

A strip of white in his hair. Unmistakable features, even in the dark.

San.

You stumble back with a gasp, head hitting the metal wall behind you so hard that your vision goes spotty for several seconds. You still can’t see straight as you force yourself towards the other man in the corner. Hands fumble over his collar, jerking and pulling until his head falls forward into your waiting hands. Fluttering lashes pull his eyes open. Red eyes. Close-cut hair on the sides, blood trickling down the side of his temple.

Mingi.

You lose all control of your body — if you can even call it your body. Something else takes over, something pushes its way forward and assumes full control when Mingi fully comes to and squints at you. Off to the side, San is waking up as well, a soft grunt falling from his lips that has the body you’re in darting back over to where he’s hunched.

“San, are you okay?” The words aren’t yours. The voice is foreign but not quite, only odd because it feels like it is coming from your lips.

You can remember it now. The face in the water was not your own. It was Wooyoung’s. You remember it oh so clearly because it scared you so much the moment you saw it. You were in the Dreamscape yet you were in Wooyoung’s body.

San blinks himself to full consciousness, squinting harshly through the dark to look at you better.

“Wooyoung?”

✧✧✧ a/n: hi yes welcome. welcome. to the finale of act four. welcome yes wow can you believe it? i can’t um yeah so !!! a TON happened! let me know what you think, how you feel, how much you hate me! i love to see it! that ending tho 👁👁

taglist: @faeriewoobin​​ @sugarrimajins​​ @atinyinwonderland​​ @2504-life @lil7bluedragon​ @sparklychangbin​​ @jeong-uwu​​ @jeonartemis​​ @anothershorthuman​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​​ @haotheheckk​​ @noonawriter​​ @lostscenarios​​ @nlost21​​ @mirror-juliet​​ @okokokok123-45​ @purple-aeon​ @theoinkypiglet​ @toothlessshiber​ @atinyarmyx1​ @simpforhyunjin​ @hwangwoosan​ @vampire-jimin​ @softyubi​ @drumboydowoon​ @chatsgotmytongue​ @just-a-starfruit​ @babydolljo​ @scintillating-souls​ @khjssss @felixity​ @rawrrainn​ @hewwo-from-the-other-side​

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[notnctu]

sugar | s.j ❀

━ listen to: sugar by brockhampton 

❀ johnny suh x fem!reader ❀ genre - smut, angst, fluff? ❀ details - fwb!au, kinda unrequited love? who knows lol, sweet love makin ❀ word count - 2k ❀ synopsis - he’s always a call away, ready to love you when you think no one else will. and this will be the one time you ask him to spend the night because johnny suh is the only sweetener you need in your bitterness. 

❀ a/n: hello its author doie❀! its based off of the song sugar which is one of my favs ever so i hope u enjoy this smut, rlly this was just me avoiding explicit words lol ps i have never laughed harder in my life when @legendnct​​ (ily hannah) asked me if i was J O R N Y when i told her i was writing this at 4am 

The honey dripping, rush of candy goodness, and sugar high of a man --- Johnny Suh. He’s like walking on sunshine, no other cares in the world can harm him, and with a bright happiness that promises anything worth fighting for.

He stands six feet tall of sunflowers that turn up to the clear blue skies and soak up the positive energy needed for growth. Johnny Suh, the man that has sugar addicts craving for a slice of his attention; Johnny Suh is the epitome of goodness and virtue.

And the puzzling, estranged question of why you are his subject of sweetness is beyond any galaxy and he’d never tell a soul his reason behind his many dazed gazes, or if they even had much meaning to them. Johnny Suh is the one boy that wears his heart on his sleeve, but holds your’s at his fingertips.

There have been many countless encounters of long and, some unfortunately short, nights of sleeping with bodies that only add to the list of people you’ve kissed. But to have consistency in that aspect? Quite hesitant, to say the least.

While you are able to tolerate a random one night stand with no necessary remembrance of the individual’s name, to give your vulnerability and consistent attention to one person is asking for too much. A flawed characteristic of yours is falling in love too easily.

The hookups are meaningless, quick fucks to fill the evening and rid the irritable desire of lust. The muscles involved exclude the heart because there is no opportunity to fall for someone if you are only going to part ways right afterwards.

Yet, the one remarkable night with Johnny turned into several nights which led into your current relationship with the glowing sun. The one thing you had wished to steer away from --- a friend with benefits.

There was no metaphorical gun to your head, you weren’t forced to sign a contract, there were no ridiculously restrictive rules. No boundaries to hold you back.

When there is no fencing around the edge of a cliff, is that grounds for people to free fall? Regardless, your lack of self control and demising loneliness had you jumping and falling into Johnny’s comfort. The golden boy is someone hard to come by, and you’re not foolish enough to turn down this once in a lifetime chance to be intimately acquainted.

But as you continued to see him, there was an unconscious decision to stop your other random flings. It felt like you already had someone to fulfill the ache, someone to spend your nights with. If you needed him, he’d be there. So, unknowingly by choice, you made yourself exclusive to him, even though Johnny did not decide to do the same.

That shouldn’t bother you, right? But it does. The worst part is that it’s no one’s fault but your own. Johnny’s harmless actions affect you because your feelings allow them to. As much as you ignore the fact you two are nothing more than friends with benefits, the annoying drumming of your foolish heart reminds you of your denial.

While you’ve always had a bitter palette, the dash of sweetener never hurt anyone. He never hurts anyone, with his best efforts. And the intent should have been made clear, that your nightly hookups are an unhealthy coping mechanism. Too much sugar has your glucose levels derailing and seeking out the one person that lights up your endorphins.

The love for Johnny stems from his warmhearted character. His bubbly, goodwill nature that has him overextending himself for people who take him for granted. An extroverted, head-turning personality that you can’t despise and look away, instead are easily attracted to.

Johnny is kind, he’s thoughtful, yet entirely complex as a human being with a fair share of cloudy days. He is simply someone you want to get to know because he makes the atmosphere a safe space and he reads like an open hardback book.

Everyone has a small crush on him, it would be a complete tyranny of your feelings to deny it. Some infatuations are bigger than others and you’ll shamefully admit that you fit under this group of individuals.

On another lonely night, you wonder if he’d be at your will and call, if he would drop the world to come make you feel better. One moment, you are staring at his contact name and imaging the deep voice answering with his signature greeting. The next, you’re actually hearing his voice on the other end of the receiver and panic settles as it’s too late to cancel the call.

“Hey baby, what’s up?” The nickname sends a crown of hearts swirling around your temples. However, he sounds rushed, like he had been in the middle of a strenuous activity.

A nervousness has stammered words falling from your lips, and you’re too incoherent for even your own mind to understand. Johnny chuckles lovingly, and the slight rustling that distorts the background has you imagining that the phone is pressed between his cheek and shoulder. “Collect your thoughts, babe. I’m ready whenever you are.”

A heavy notable sigh erupts into Johnny’s ear, but he doesn’t pull away from the device. He’s all ears, attentive and patiently waiting for you to speak, despite having company on his bed.

“I need you. Can you come over?” If only pride wasn’t so hard to swallow, the question would have flowed much smoother. As if your heart grew hands, it chokes your throat from the inside and you’re preparing yourself for the rejection.

Truthfully, he isn’t obligated to come and there have been rare nights where he declines your offer. But your hope holds onto the slipping strands and the tension of your nerves have fists forming and eyes squeeze shut.

Johnny takes a fast peek at the girl already in his sheets, mindlessly and effortlessly scrolling through her social media. There is a hint of sadness in your voice that he can’t let go and while that’s usually not entirely uncommon, he can tell it took a lot for you to call tonight. So, he finds himself pulling up his sweats and a clean shirt over his head.

“Be there before you know it.” And the clench in your throat relaxes, along with the other parts that had your nails digging moon crescents into your palm and wrinkles forming at your tight creases.

And with a sweet goodbye, he hangs up the call and politely offers to take the girl home as he makes his way over to your place. And you’re dosing yourself in puffs of fruity scents and cleaning up the runny mascara around your under eyes.

With no words exchanged, Johnny knows every way to heal you and dawn a warmth that coats your darkest corners. All you have to do is open the door and let him in. His strength has you lifted from the ground, lips hungry to devour your softness.

A few fumble steps, he reaches your room at ease and gently lays you on your neatly made sheets. Johnny is consistent, no missed beats when it comes to loving you, and without a fail, he always takes a moment to himself to step back and admire your beauty. And your priceless shyness is also an added delight to the scene.

Each article of clothing is discarded and left at different areas of your small room, kisses lining your worst parts to you, but the best parts to him. When you can’t love parts of yourself, Johnny loves them for you and makes you whole.

“Were you in the middle of something?” It did not become aware to you of the possibility that you had interrupted something else, or someone else. And even if Johnny did choose to see you over spending time with them, you have the decent courtesy to make sure he is okay with his decision.

“Nothing important.” You’ll never be able to read him or notice any lies he tells. His smile is enough reassurance, and your question is quickly forgotten when his fingers dive into your wet flower. He uses his thumb to soothe circles around your growing bud, making your whole lower half blossom with trembling ecstasy.

His lips leave soft reminders to love your thighs, your legs, to not overlook their importance: they carry your graciousness into new ventures. Then, he pushes them wide open as he bends your left knee and your right dangles over his sturdy shoulder. The tight grip on your hip is bound to leave marks the next morning, along with the dark love bites he leaves across your canvas.

But his thoughts are focused on the meal ahead, your sugary juices coat the plush of his tongue. He remembers exactly how you like it, where melodic sounds hit the silence in gasps or groans. He suckles, he licks, he kisses your bead in a speed that has his brown locks tangled in between your fingers.

He drinks up more than your wetness, but also the pure image of your fucked out expression and the twists of your reacting body. He wants to surpass your limits, max you out until there isn’t a hint of melancholy in your tone anymore. To remember, to remind, to recall your happiness through heightened pleasure.

At the announcement of your high, he enters your spasming hole with rubber already on and groans at your walls squeezing around him, which halts him in place. However, the dragged movement of his length hits your sweet spot, your orgasm prolongs into a rapturous euphoria and you’re no longer in control of your body.

Johnny’s toned arms hold you close to him. The chemistry in your gazes has your heart pounding faster than his hips. As ruthless as each thrust is and each push moves you an inch upward on the bed, Johnny’s eyes are still kind and loving.

His fluttering kisses are delicate and nurturing. The marks resemble a healing touch that will settle you enough for the next day. For the night, he rids any angst that corrupts your mood by loving you when you think no one else will.

Together, your bodies fall into one another with a bite of elation as he finishes into the protection and your walls hug around him for the last time tonight. Even when your bodies disconnect, the feeling of fullness lingers and you wish to keep this for as long as you can. No more emptiness, not right now.

Perhaps it's the daze of your orgasm, but your hand reaches for his wrist to stop him from making his exit so soon. Selfishly, carelessly, honestly, this will be the one time you ask for him to spend the night. You can’t stand seeing him go, not at this instant. You refuse to spend one more night alone when your heart longs for him to be by your side when you fall asleep.

While the big heart of his beats speechlessly at your request, he lays down to draw you into his toned chest and pampers your forehead with honeyed pecks. Like many times before, no words need to be exchanged for him to know the remedy to your somber.

Possibly, the scene with Johnny caressing your chin and tracing your smile lines is all too perfect for your imperfect reality. And him whispering and wishing a happier narrative for you is more than what you had asked for. Nonetheless, he’s very good at it, mentally noting the fact that he’s probably done the same to other hookups or broken friends.

While you can get used to this form of aftercare, the guards you put up tell you that this is a one time thing. So, you’ll take and indulge all of Johnny’s affection and false love for the next few hours you had left of the night.

Nevertheless, even sweetness can be an overpowering flavor when consumed in tremendous amounts. And you wonder when you’d grow sick of his candied sugar or if you’d just forfeit your health to keep indulging more into your addiction. A sickly saccharine question of your own will be the pit of your downfall: do you love me?

[juletheghoul]

Mysticus Chapter 4

Ezra x F!Reader Soulmates AU

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Slow-burn (I yearn™️)

Masterlist Chapter 5

You were exhausted.

You were all exhausted; you sat in the passenger’s seat while Ezra drove, fighting tooth and nail to stay awake. You could feel how tired he was and it scared you to fall asleep, you wanted to stay awake with him.

“I’m starting to suspect that we might not make it to a motel any time soon.” He spoke softly, careful not to startle you.

“Let’s just pull over somewhere, I just need a few hours and so do you.” You murmured.

“I would be agreeable to that Birdie, there’s a rest stop coming up in a few miles.” He said as he reached in the back for one of his sweaters and put it over your legs.

The next thing you knew, you were parked in a brightly lit service station and you were falling back. He had the secret smile as he lowered the back of your chair so you were reclined.

“My sincerest apologies Birdie, I was trying to make you more comfortable. If you continue on this way your neck will be murder tomorrow.” He was speaking in a low, comforting voice.

“How long have I been asleep? Thanks, by the way – god, you’re right – my neck isn’t feeling too great.” You winced as you stretched out.

“About an hour, here, turn around Birdie.” He carefully guided you so that you were sitting facing away from him. You were confused as to why until he put his hands on you. You let out a groan as he massaged your neck and shoulders; his hands were glorious and you couldn’t bring yourself to be ashamed of the noises you were making. You could feel the secret smile on his face but as you felt yourself turning to putty in his hands, nothing seemed to matter. His hands were so big and warm and he rubbed your shoulders with the perfect amount of pressure.

It was doing things to you, you knew that this was the most relaxed you’ve been in years. At a particularly breathy groan he chuckled slightly and it shot straight to your core. You pushed it away.

He moved his hands down a little and kept massaging your back, not happy with the grip; he lifted your shirt slightly. You felt a moment of panic but there was nothing predatory in the way he touched you. He sensed your panic.

“Nothing to worry about Birdie, driving constantly is taking it’s toll on our bodies.” He said it so sincerely, you let the nerves go and continued to melt.

“I feel born again.” You said it in a calm breathy tone which made him laugh.

“Glad to be of service.” He sounded so tired.

“Turn around, let me do you now.” You smiled happily at him. You felt him hesitate momentarily but at your insistence he turned his back to you.

“You’re going to get the star treatment now, you watch.” You felt energized after his massage and eager to make him feel as good as you felt. You rubbed his neck and shoulders, taking care to use the right pressure.

It was his turn to groan.

The noises he was making were borderline sinful, and knowing it was you causing them made your stomach suddenly fill with butterflies. As you rubbed his neck, you noticed that it was getting harder and harder for him to stay upright but seemed to be making a valiant effort.

“Ezra, you’re falling asleep. We should set up the trunk so you can stretch out.” You pulled his shirt down and went about shifting some things around in the back. You moved the dog to the front seat and gently guided him to the back.

There was just enough room for the two of you, might not be the most comfortable but it would definitely be better than sleeping folded up in the front.

You were too tired to worry about his proximity to you in that moment and after you made sure the doors were locked, you fell asleep almost instantly; his massage hadn’t energized you – it had knocked you out.

---

There was something tickling your neck, were you dreaming? You swam up out of sleep at the feeling of it. It took you a couple of moments to remember where you were, but you felt the tickling again – then you realized what it was. Ezra was pressed tightly to your back, softly breathing in your ear. His arm casually thrown over your middle.

You knew it wasn’t on purpose, but there was something that made you wish it was. You didn’t exactly know when you’d developed feelings for Ezra but they were clear as day now with him wrapped around you. You savoured his warmth, trying hard to keep your breathing calm so as not to wake him up. It was difficult to keep your heart from pounding with him so close, and when he moved slightly and tightened his hold on you it felt as though your heart might burst. You cherished the thought that he would seek out your warmth in sleep, even though he might not be aware of it. You fell asleep again.

This time when you woke up he was lying on his back and you were curled around him, your head on his shoulder and both your arm and leg thrown over him. He was your personal body pillow it seemed. his arm was tucked under you and rubbing your back softly, it was dizzying how lovely it felt.

Your eyes shot open when you realized he was awake and quickly made to get up off him.

“Sorry – I must have-“ he cut you off.

“It’s no problem Birdie, I genuinely don’t mind, I confess that I’m enjoying the warmth.” He smiled serenely at you as you tentatively settled back on his chest. It made you smile to think he liked you laying on him.

“What time is it?” you noticed it wasn’t quite daytime yet, had to be close to dawn from what you could tell. The lights at the rest stop had been turned off, everything quiet and calm. The dog was curled up on the front seat sleeping peacefully.

“I cannot be sure of the time just now - how did you sleep?” You could hear and feel his voice, your ear pressed against his chest and the rumble was the most soothing thing you’d ever felt. It felt as though the sound seeped into your bones.

“Not bad if I’m honest, it’ll be nice to find a motel to shower in soon though.” You automatically matched your voice to his, it felt wrong to speak loudly in this light. He continued to rub your back softly and just as you thought you might fall asleep he spoke again.

“Would you allow me to read your palm Birdie?” You could hear the secret smile in his voice, and you unwillingly shifted so you lay side by side, giving him your hand. The one with the mark.

He held it in his hands tracing the mark lightly with his finger. You could see him comparing it to his, a curious look came over him. You thought it could be a look of recognition, but you couldn’t be sure.

“What do you see?” you asked as you both stared at the matching marks.

“Well Birdie, I see the very same thing you yourself saw in my palm. Your other half, or soulmate, whichever word you choose to describe it; waiting for you.” You thought he sounded a little sad. He kept your hand in his, kept tracing the mark.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” He frowned at your words.

“Yes, I do Birdie, I didn’t in another life, but I do now.” He would not look at you. Your heart was in your throat, you felt as thought you were going to crash into something. Moving lightning quick into some immovable force and it scared the hell out of you. The words were on your tongue but you bit them back. He spoke to distract you, your panic seeping into him.

“There was a story my Grandmother told me as a child, it was about Greek mythology and their beliefs about our humble origins. When humans were originally created, they were monstrous things, four legs, a head with two faces and fearing their power; Zeus split them into two separate parts. Condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves. My grandmother told me a great deal of stories.” You imagined him as a child listening intently to his grandmother, you knew then where his love of reading came from.

“That’s a sad story, what if you don’t find them?” He brought your hand down onto his chest, with his resting on top trapping part of you close to his heart.

“That would indeed be sad.” was all he said.

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

Tag-list: @foli-vora @frannyzooey @freak-nasty-thick-dick-mando @marydjarin @thirstworldproblemss @cannedsoupsucks @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs

[sunseteyes]

THE BOSS — KAI CHISAKI

—an au where kai is not a killer, but a lover

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ starring: kai chisaki (overhaul)

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ word count: 1.5k words | themes: pre & post world war II. yakuza au. fem!reader. mentions of women discrimination (not that harsh but still). fluff with a bit of angst (if you squint)

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ request: Hi this is my first time asking so i wanted to request a jealous chisaki kai fluff if that’s okay with you...heheh...bai —Anonymous

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ rozé’s voice: this took me awhile but here it is!! since i still have no banner for kai, i decided to do this in my new banner format! what do you guys think?? does it look nice??

the moon was out and the sun was being swallowed by the horizon, saying its goodbye for the meantime as it circles its way only to rise again by tomorrow morning. his eyes glared up on the sky, the orange hues of the sun’s rays reflecting upon them as he waited, the clouds emitting a different shade other than pure white as a result of how the light resonate well with the other contents of the sky.

beneath the comforts of his home, kai found himself drifting into a river of thoughts, wondering where could you have been.

after the world war II, it became difficult to not let the fear inside of kai be eliminated, even if he was sure that you’d be able to make it through the day anyway. after all, you were not just an ordinary yakuza woman.

you were the woman of the group—the boss.

the group was originally your father’s, being the previous boss that ruled everyone and lead them into a success that gave them the ability to be confident to put their trust into him. the boss—your father, he unfortunately passed away and in turn, the responsibility was given to the sole member who carries his very own blood and genes, his only daughter—you.

kai could briefly recall the moment your father had taken him in as part of the group and he eventually met you, who was well-loved by the other members, sooner by him. he believed in your leadership skills and how you coordinated well with others thus, he supported you when you suddenly became a leader in just one day.

during those times, many believed that maybe he should be the one who should be the boss, not a woman. at least even if he was someone from outside, he was a man. however, as soon as he heard of it, he came to you and told you yourself that;

“i believe in you.” kai’s own voice echoes inside of his memory, one that contained a scene where he confronted you one day while you were greeting him like you would every day, whenever you can.

“hm? did you say anything, kai?”

“i believe in your skills in being a good leader.” he faces you then, exactly by the time your face switched into something he couldn’t read. it was one of the things that attracted kai to you—the fascination of being unpredictable. it thrills him; sending jolts in his veins to the tips of his fingers and toes, as if you were a lightning bolt that struck him and kept him impaled with your effect on him.

your smile—it was one of his weaknesses, and in that moment, kai imprinted that image in his mind, tattooing it religiously like a madman.

“thank you kai, i really appreciate you saying that.”

for the first few days of being the boss, kai was glad that you were coping, and that you weren’t letting anyone or anything hinder you from doing your responsibilities. however, that didn’t last much long for the topic of having a husband was brought out by one of the veteran members of the group—those who believed that there should still be a male leader that would keep the stability of the group, as if you weren’t doing that already.

kai only watched from afar as men approached you gradually, statuses from every part of the group coming by with the intention of getting your hand for marriage. as a large group, there was a huge reputation that you should uphold. thus, no one ever approached kai to push him to take you.

he was merely an orphan boy that the boss saved and gave a shelter to. he was nothing more.

when the world war II happened, it was the time you dated another yakuza leader. kai could remember how he felt the crunching in his chest when it happened. the hatred beneath his glares, the hisses in his tone, his temper always setting fire despite being under the rain—he could not stop them,

but since he couldn’t do anything but watch, he lets it be.

it was proved difficult when he saw your exhausted face one day and by that time, he just knew that you weren’t happy with the relationship.

day by day, it was as if your energy was being sucked off by the sun, always robbing you of your smile, the lively glow on your eyes, and the hue of life on your skin. slowly, kai could watched everything unfold.

his chest tightens of the dread of just approaching you, who was currently with your significant other. he needed to give you daily updates since he was basically the one you trusted most out of everyone else in the group, but as he was about to slide open the door to your office, the voices reached his ears.

"you look so tired, don't you think it's time to rest? let me do the paperwork for you."

"no, it's fine. these are my responsibility, you don't have to offer me such a thing." base on your voice alone, kai knew there was something hidden behind it—something only he knows.

so despite the churning on his stomach when he enters the room after being granted entrance, he looks at you on the eye and let the words slip out of his mouth without any other sign of hesitance.

“i think you should take their opinion, boss. it will be best if you rest for awhile if you don’t want to make it worse.”

there was a certain harshness in his tone and he’s quite sure you could sense it, yet despite of it all, you looked at him with the same gentleness that you do every other time, no sign of remorse or irritation that could have told him that something put you off.

it took seconds before you answered—seconds of your significant other glaring daggers at kai, most probably with how he might have ruined a moment that shouldn’t be shared to any other, the sense of their small bubble being popped by a sharp object such as him.

and even without thinking twice, it doesn’t scare kai if he were asked. it actually swells his pride more with how much insecure the other was at his mere presence. and it seems that faith has him on their side as the situation unfolds further.

“maybe you’re right.” you sighed, the noise of the chair dragging onto the wooden floor echoing in the room as you stood up. the person by your side guides you as you walk to the door yet you stopped in front of kai, offering a flustered smile that tells him countless of words that your mouth couldn’t speak of when you say, “thank you, kai. i’m leaving everything to you for now, i apologize. i’ll make it up to you.”

kai then realized that day how stronger the thumping of his heart was than the ache that it felt when he saw you with another person that was not him.

when the relationship broke, kai expected it, and he felt the need to step up when you were being pursued by the same person to get you back to them.

“thank you, kai.” you say to him with the same look that you’d always given him, an exhausted chuckle leaving your lips, “you’ve always looked after me. what can i ever do without you?”

without thinking, the words left his lips without restraint, his mind already set upon the goal no matter how much there was an unlikely others would think it could happen.

“marry me, (y/n).”

he saw how your eyes widen and look straight into his, your entire form frozen and surprised, even the pen that you had between your fingers were up on the air, its ink about to fall down onto the paper if it wasn’t moved away.

kai remained still, his expression firm and serious, his mind already decided and confirmed that he wouldn’t ever regret his question whatever your answer would be. on the outside, his arms were closed into fists, his short nails digging into his own skin from how tight he was gripping his own palm. it was even far worse with how his chest has a pounding heart that rings on his ears and affects the vein on his neck, a line of sweat by his hairline that he was having a difficult time not to raise his hand and get his handkerchief to wipe it off. he had never been this nervous before, nor does he think he will ever do in the future. this moment will remain imprinted on his mind, no chance of ever redeeming it back again.

the touch on his cheek brought him back to reality, his gaze finding yours that looked at him in a way you’ve always did.

“what have you been thinking, love?”

his own hand grasped your own and he sighs, the memories of before slowly fading away as he relishes on the feel of your presence, giving a sense of peace in his chest that surely nothing else could change. nothing should, not now that he has you.

fin

regulars: @kacchanori @chickynn @todominica @brinthie @sparkleswritings @bitchtrynafck @patricia-ceballos @giyuus-wife @kawaiinishii @moonlightaangel @mrs-kuroojinguji @meliorist-midoriya @minibobabottle @deephasoceanmagic @liliannyah @millie-mint

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ do feel free to send an ask/dm if you want to be included or if there is a specific fandom/character you want to be specifically tagged into!

[kjack89]

Ooh, prompt for "I never stood a chance, did I?"

ExR (ish), Grantaire x folks who are, unfortunately to him most of all, not Enjolras, modern AU. Not sure any of them ever stood a chance. 

To say that a hush fell over the assembled crowd in the back room of the Musain when Grantaire walked in holding the hand of an unknown guy was probably an exaggeration, but not by much. All eyes were seemingly on both of them as they made their way to a table, and only picked up again when both sat.

Courfeyrac, always one for the latest in gossip, quickly headed over to where Joly and Bossuet were sitting. “Who’s the new guy?” he asked, sitting down next to Joly. 

Bossuet shrugged. “Dunno,” he said unconcernedly. “Grantaire hasn’t deigned to introduce us yet. Probably afraid we’ll scare him away.” He sniffed, clearly insulted. “As if he isn’t capable of that on his own.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” Courfeyrac said, glancing over at Grantaire and his new beau with a look of mild curiosity. “So how long do you think this one will last?”

Joly just snorted, not even bothering to look up from his phone. “Five dates,” he said, a mix of grim and resigned. “It’s always five dates.”

“You never know,” Bossuet said bracingly, ever the optimist. “Maybe this one will be different.”

Joly gave him a look. “Five dates,” he repeated flatly.

“What’re we betting on?” Bahorel asked, leaning back in his chair and interjecting himself smoothly into the conversation.

“We’re not betting on anything—“ Joly started, but Bossuet cut him off.

“Over/under on how long Grantaire and his new lover will last,” he said, nodding in Grantaire’s direction. “Line is 5 dates.”

Bahorel gave Grantaire and his new man a quick once over. “I’ll take the under.”

Joly scowled. “We’re not betting.”

“I’ll take those odds,” Feuilly said, not even bothering to pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping, offering his hand for Bahorel to shake.

“Same,” Bossuet said with a firm nod.

He looked pointedly at Joly, who rolled his eyes. “I’m sticking with five. It’s always five.”

“Fine,” Bossuet said, sticking his tongue out at him. “But when I win, I’m saying ‘I told you so’.”

Joly didn’t look worried. “And when I win,” he said, “I look forward to taking your money.” He took a sip of his beer before adding, “Easiest twenty bucks I ever made.”

----------

Exactly four Les Amis meetings later, Grantaire turned up dateless. “Don’t tell me you broke up with him,” Bossuet said, a little desperately.

Grantaire shrugged. “It just...didn’t work out.”

Joly met Bossuet’s eyes, something like satisfaction in his expression. “Oh no,” he said. “That’s too bad. We really liked him.”

He didn’t sound remotely convincing, but Grantaire didn’t seem to notice, just shrugging and watching Enjolras stand up at the front of the room. “I’m sure you’ll survive,” he said, a little vaguely.

Bossuet leaned over, surreptitiously sliding a twenty dollar bill to Joly. “I know, I know,” he muttered. “You told me so.”

Joly just shook his head, pocketing the money. “It’s always five dates,” he said with a sigh.

----------

The five date rule – as Joly called it, though Grantaire stubbornly insisted it was more of a five date guideline than anything – started because of Enjolras.

Grantaire had been casually seeing a perfectly lovely woman who had seemed, at least that far, willing to overlook his many glaring flaws, and brought her to a Les Amis meeting for their third date. And then their fourth. 

And it was on their fifth date that Enjolras, who had never quite grasped the concepts of ‘casual’ or ‘subtle’, had remarked, a little sourly, “I’ll take it she’s going to become a regular attendee, then?”

Needless to say, she never came back after that.

Joly postulated that the cycle went something like this: Grantaire met someone and managed to convince them to agree to a date. On said date, Grantaire was his most charming, and funny, and it was enough to secure a second date, and then a third, which was usually when he brought them to a Les Amis meeting. The third date, of course, by the unwritten rules of the universe, was also the date where sex happens. After having sex, Grantaire panicked because this person wasn’t the person he would actually like to be having sex with, and desperately initiated another date in hopes that he’ll convince himself to have feeling for this person instead, and thus there was a fourth date. The fifth date was one final attempt to convince himself that this could work, and they parted ways after that.

Grantaire, on the other hand, maintained that said cycle took far too much forethought, and he had never once been accused of thinking that far ahead. Instead, he told anyone who asked that he just got bored after five dates, and when he found someone who captured his interest, it would last far longer.

But it was, of all people, Combeferre who nailed it most succinctly.

“It’s because of Enjolras,” Combeferre told Bossuet late one evening when Grantaire and Joly had gone to get refills after discussing Grantaire’s latest disastrous dating attempt. 

“What do you mean?” Bossuet asked, curious, and not just because Combeferre normally considered himself above the whole nonsense of Enjolras, Grantaire, and the never ending dance they both pretended not to notice they were doing.

“It takes five dates for Enjolras to notice that Grantaire’s been dating someone,” Combeferre said simply. “And once Enjolras notices, Grantaire has no need to keep the charade going.”

Bossuet considered it for a moment. “Do you think he knows?”

Combeferre arched an eyebrow. “Enjolras, or Grantaire?” Bossuet shrugged and Combeferre sighed. “Grantaire might, though he would undoubtedly deny it.”

“And Enjolras?” Combeferre gave him a look and Bossuet chuckled lightly. “Fair enough.” He lifted his beer to take a sip before remembering it was empty and setting it back down again. “So who’s going to tell one or both of them?”

“Not it,” Combeferre said instantly, and Bossuet smirked.

“Looks like it’s gonna be Joly’s job.”

Combeferre shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But you’re the one who has to tell Joly.”

Bossuet’s smile disappeared. “Goddamnit.”

----------

But then there was a woman who made it to six dates.

And then seven.

And even Joly had to admit that maybe he was wrong about the five date rule.

Combeferre wasn’t so quick to give up, just watching Grantaire with narrowed eyes as he held this woman’s hand. “What do you think of her?” he asked Enjolras in an undertone.

Enjolras blinked as he looked up from the journal article he had been reading. “Who?” he asked.

“Grantaire’s girlfriend,” Combeferre said, looking pointedly in Grantaire’s direction.

Enjolras’s expression froze. “Oh, uh, Fiona?” he said, a little too vague to be accidental.

“Floréal,” Combeferre corrected. “Though I’m pretty sure that’s a nickname.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Not a great nickname.”

Combeferre scowled. “And not exactly my point.”

“Then what was your point?” Enjolras asked, matching his tone.

“It’s about the fact that Grantaire seems like he might actually be getting serious about someone.”

“And?”

Combeferre arched an eyebrow. “And I can’t imagine you’re thrilled about that.”

For one long moment, Combeferre was certain that Enjolras was going to deny it, or feign ignorance, or shrug it off in one of a million ways he had in the past. But then he sighed and set his pen down. “He deserves to be happy,” he said quietly.

Combeferre just looked at him evenly. “So do you.”

Enjolras managed a smile and held up the journal article. “I have a protest to plan. You could say that I’ve never been happier.”

“Bullshit.”

“That’s unusually abrupt, especially for you.” Combeferre didn’t so much as twitch and Enjolras sighed. “Fine, but I’m not the one who likes to brag about the size of my vocabulary.” He paused, looking over at Grantaire, his expression darkening slightly. “But I am. Happy, I mean. I love my work, and Grantaire…”

He trailed off and Combeferre shook his head. “If you think Grantaire loves this woman—”

“I don’t,” Enjolras said quickly – a little too quickly, and he looked away, his cheeks tinged slightly pink. “But maybe he should.”

It was Combeferre’s turn to debate between honesty and denial., but in the end, he just shook his head, his expression unreadable. “If that’s really what you think,” he said coolly.

Enjolras shook his head as well and went back to reading through the journal article. Or pretending to, at the very least, though he couldn’t help but look up at Grantaire several times. 

And needless to say, neither he nor Combeferre were particularly surprised when, a half hour later, just when it looked like Grantaire and  Floréal were getting ready to leave, Enjolras glanced up at him. “Are you leaving?” he asked.

“That was the plan,” Grantaire said, cocking his head slightly as he looked at Enjolras. “Why, what’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing,” Enjolras said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “I was just, um, I was hoping to borrow you. To critique my speech. If– if you don’t have anything better to do.”

“I don’t,” Grantaire said instantly, before realizing what he had said and coloring. “I mean…” 

“Go,” Floréal said with a small smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I think we can handle one night apart.” She kissed him on the cheek before grabbing her coat and heading out. Grantaire watched her leave for only a second before looking back at Enjolras, a small, slightly crooked smile spreading across his face as he did.

“So where do you want me?”

----------

Floréal looked resigned as she sat down next to Grantaire on the bench he had asked to meet her at in the park the following day. It had been where they first met, and she glanced a little ruefully at it before telling Grantaire, “I suppose it’s poetic, in a way. Ending things here, where they began.”

Grantaire winced. “Is it that obvious?”

“The ‘we should talk’ text did a lot of heavy-lifting for you,” Floréal said with a half-smile. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t see this coming before that.” She hesitated for a moment before asking, “I never stood a chance, did I?”

Grantaire sighed and looked away for a long moment before shaking his head and looking back at her. “If it makes you feel better, you came the closest.”

“But not close enough.”

Floréal didn’t sound upset when she said it, but Grantaire still looked pained. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

She shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said with a little laugh. “I think I knew all along.” She considered it for a moment. “Honestly, I think that was part of the appeal.”

Grantaire frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” She trailed off before shaking her head again. “There was always an end date on this, and that meant I didn’t have to worry about commitment. After all, you always belonged to someone else. I could tell, even if I didn’t want to believe it.”

“I resent the implication that I belong to anyone,” Grantaire said lightly.

But Floréal didn’t rise to the bait. “Fine, maybe not you, but your heart at least belongs to someone else.”

Grantaire’s expression tightened. “Well, there is that.”

Floréal laughed again and patted Grantaire’s knee. This was a lot of fun, Grantaire.” She paused. “Well, maybe not this conversation, but the rest of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him a look. “You said that already.”

Grantaire didn’t smile. “I wouldn’t choose this, you know,” he said, his voice low. “If I had a choice.”

Floréal shrugged. “You can’t choose who to fall in love with.” She gave him a pointed look. “But you can choose what to do about it.”

“What are you saying?” Grantaire asked.

“I’m saying maybe you should try to focus on the five dates with the person you actually want to be with, the five dates that would actually lead to more.”

Grantaire made a face. “It’s the one date that I’m worried about,” he told her honestly.

“And that is no longer my problem.” She stood, and Grantaire hurried to stand as well. “Best of luck, Grantaire – I mean it. I wish you nothing but the best.”

The smile he gave her was genuine, if a little rueful. “Same to you. I wish whomever you find will give you a lot more than five dates.”

“And I hope whomever I find will love me as much as you love Enjolras.”

Grantaire huffed a laugh and ducked his head. “So do I,” he said quietly. He gave her a little wave before he started in the opposite direction, his feet automatically taking him in the direction of the Musain and the inevitable five dates with the next placeholder until he was finally ready to see if he actually stood a chance of his own.

[gallickingun]

last chance || b.k.

SUMMARY: After All Might’s demise at the hands of an unlikely hero-turned-villain, the world unfurls into chaos. Villains run rampant, heroes are dying in the streets, and you are left with a rowdy group of renegades to seek out the legendary Ground Zero, a vigilante that you’ve only encountered through ghost stories. After narrowing down his sightings to one central location, you are sent out to beseech him for help, if he even truly exists in the first place.

PAIRING: Apocalyptic Pro Hero!Bakugou x Renegade!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, violence, smut, etc. WORD COUNT: 7.3k+

FOREWORD: For all intents and purposes, we’re going to pretend that All Might hasn’t lost his power, even after handing it off to Deku!

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

Author’s Note: This is my submission for the bnharem nsfw collab, apocalypse edition! I was shocked that I was able to snag Bakugou on my first round of collaboration, and I’m so stoked to read all of the other fics! The masterlist can be found HERE. This might feel a little OOC, but hopefully it makes sense by the end. It is an AU after all. 

“The Symbol of Peace is dead.”

You pull the bandana further up around your mouth and nose, the ash in the air seeping into your lungs, clouding your vision as the debris strains your breathing. Your ankles ache, mile after mile threatening to grind your bones to dust.

“It would seem we never knew the true power of All Might’s quirk, now known as One for All.”

A thickness swells up in your throat, your eyes blurring with tears, and yet you keep walking. You push through the thickets of overgrown foliage, slashing away with the machete you usually keep tucked against your hip. Crying will do nothing to help you, not now. Tears are for the weak.

“He had passed on his power to a successor, a young student named Midoriya Izuku.”

The darkness of night helps to hide you from those who want you slain where you stand. Your black clothing keeps you but a shadow amongst the trees, concealing your identity to anyone who might gaze upon the horizon. Even though you are alone, your mission keeps you company.

“The young boy became an amazing Pro Hero, climbing the charts quite fast once graduating from Yuuei High. And then, something happened.”

You grit your teeth when you see your destination ahead – a large cliff, covered in moss and dense, lush kudzu. There is a cave carved into the side of it, hardly able to be seen from the distance with which you are currently separated from it. And yet, you’ve been dreaming about this place for years, ever since the overture.

“It would seem that young Midoriya Izuku, also known as Deku, has killed the Symbol of Peace.

All Might is dead.”

The weight of the world settles on your shoulders at the memory of the news broadcast. It is like this new path you’ve gone down has formed you into some sort of Atlas, a woman in charge of holding the world together from the shadows, as if it may fall apart if you falter for even the slightest of moments. Your knees ache and your back is slick with sweat, but somehow you manage to shoulder the burden and keep walking, galaxies treading in your wake.

After all, finding Ground Zero is your responsibility.

“We need him.”

You brush your hair from your eyes, looking down at the map strewn out in tatters on the tabletop, “No one has seen him, not really. He’s practically a myth, a legend. Even if he’s real, what makes you think he’ll help us?”

The redhead beside you slams his fists together, the echoing sound of stone impacting stone reverberating in the room. You wince at the sharpness of it, but combined with the determined expression rooted within his features, you feel a renewed sense of purpose settled into your spine. You straighten up, curling your hands to fists, and match his manifestation of conviction with a grit of your teeth and tilt of your head.

“You’re right, Kirishima,” you point to the central location on the map, the one you’ve been investigating for what feels like years, “Ground Zero will be there. And I’m going to convince him to help us.”

The stone bites into your blunt nails, drawing blood that makes it even more difficult to scale the side of the structure. You knew this would come, so the makeshift climbing gear strapped to your waist keeps you secure as you continue to lower yourself down.

At the mouth of the cave, you see a small overhang, just far enough past the opening for you to land. Once you’ve gotten close enough that you know you won’t fall to your death into whatever disastrous demise may greet you thousands of feet below, you drop onto the ledge. Your knees wobble, ankles turned at just the right angle that they absorb most of your fall.

The opening of the cavern is dark; ominous smoke leaking from the front of it, furling around in midair. Your body shudders, a chill sending a fresh wave of goosebumps over your skin, and for a moment you wonder if you should retreat.

Kirishima’s crimson eyes, hard set and piercing, are all you can see when you close your eyes. His voice rings in your ears, reminding you that this is what you must do, you have to find Ground Zero. He is the only one capable of taking down Deku.

You swallow, bracing your spine and curling your fists, forcing yourself to take the first step forward. There is a curtain of vines separating the inside of the cave from you. You reach forward, curling your fingers around the thick, verdant tendrils, and push them to the sides so you may walk through.

Every single nerve within your body vibrates with the knowledge that you may die here in this cave, alone and forgotten. Your lower lip wobbles, but you stamp down the negative emotions and rather channel them into something akin to confidence. Once you’ve passed through to the other side, you release the vines and find yourself shrouded in darkness.

It takes a moment, but your eyes adjust eventually. You can make out the walls of the cave, glistening and jagged, and you use the reach of your arms to press against the rocky surface, guiding yourself further down the winding path. It is strange when you feel a substance much more powdery beneath your touch, and when you pull your hand away to smell it, the scent reminds you of soot.

Sweat rolls down your spine, tickling your skin, but you do not have the patience nor the ability to redirect your attention to it, for fear of what might happen when you refocus to something less important. You hold your breath, trying to listen as best you can for any and all sounds echoing within the walls of the cave, but all you hear is quiet.

Your imagination begins to wander as you take each step, furthering the horrific ends you’ve conjured up for yourself within the confines of your mind. The chill of the cave in tandem with your sweat creates steam from your body, rising high and bringing forth a bout of humidity that gives your lungs more difficulty.

Turning a corner, you feel the air begin to get warmer. You force yourself to take short breaths, bringing oxygen to flow back through your blood as it rushes through you, thundering in your ears. The sound does little to quell the panic rising in your throat, like a billow of smoke suffocating you as it rolls through your body.

Fear grips your heart when you hear the first sound.

You stop, turning your feet in case you need to bolt in the opposite direction. Your eyes are widened, pupils dilated in the dark to try and accommodate. It does not repeat itself, but rather alters, when you hear it again.

“Tch.”

The human-like nature of the sound brings about a whole new level of anxiety, lightning strikes underneath your skin as reality settles in. You lick at your lips, the dryness of your mouth ever present when you prepare yourself for a speech. You continue down the cave pathway, the faint glow of orange beginning to color the walls, giving you more light to see your feet in front of you.

Eventually you are able to stumble through the cavern on your own now, without the guide of your hands on the rock on either side of you. Shallow breaths fill your lungs, erratic breathing making your shoulders shake in anticipation. You lick at the seams of your gums, begging your mind to call forth a beautiful string of words that will convince this legendary vigilante to once again rise up, with the backing of your renegade fighters, to take down the villainous once-hero Deku.

You come up on the furthermost part of the cave, the base of it opening up and rounding out to provide the hideaway with a spacious enough cavity to serve as a living space.

Your eyes are drawn to every inch of the room, starting with the wall where weapons are strung up like trophies. Chiseled into the stone are hollows in the shape of guns and knives and grenades, acting like shelving for the tools of destruction. Beneath it is the fire pit, burning high with flames, licking up at the air and peeling away what little oxygen remains. You find it harder to breathe here, mostly in part to the depth of the cave and the ongoing fire, stealing the breath from your very lungs.

Then your eyes find him, his back to you, settled on a log that will most likely be used for firewood at a later date. Your tongue feels like a sandbag in your mouth and you can’t force yourself to produce enough saliva to make up for the smoke in your throat.

And then he rises.

He is every bit as beautiful as they said he would be in all of the stories. Tales of bulging muscle and tall stature, hands that save the world with each flex of his knuckles, scars littering his body like a map, or like veins of pain running through slabs of chiseled marble.

He turns, and his eyes seem familiar.

You take a hesitant step forward, captivate by his serious stare. The rivulets of crimson and amber swirling in his irises make you want to drown in a lake of fire, burned at the stake for the sake of his cause. Your body cannot resist him, so you draw closer, further into the heat, begging yourself to become a slave to it so long as it means you can continue to find him in the flames.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You are fumbling for words when he speaks again, “You’re wasting my time, baka. I’m not sure what about the sight of a secluded, secret cave gave you the idea to waltz in here like you own the damned place, but I’m kind of busy. So leave.”

The way your eyes roam around his abode, settling on each small space and dissecting it for everything that it is worth, unsettles him. He steps closer to you, blocking your vision with his wide shoulders.

“It doesn’t look like you’re very busy.”

The words are blurted from your mouth with little forethought, but they have you both reeling, your hands slapped over your lips as if you could take them back with simple action. The man stood in front of you shifts into some sort of attack position, hands curled into fists and the air begins to smell sickly sweet.

“Fucking bitch,” he bites the words as they exit his teeth, narrowing his eyes to you until they are but slits, “Get the hell out!”

“No, no!” You are flailing now, the impending doom of your failure to bring him back with you turning your stomach into knots. You shake your head, reaching out to press your hands to his chest, “Listen, please, you are Ground Zero, are you not?”

The sound of his own name echoing in the cave gives him pause. He tilts his head, ashen locks falling over his line of sight. You notice his head is buzzed at the base, nothing but blonde stubble left behind, however the top of his head is covered with pale locks of spike hair, as if he himself is a bomb ready to be blown at all times.

“I don’t know who the hell told you where to find me, but I’m not the guy you’re looking for.” He smacks your hands away with the back of his wrist, turning to stalk back to the fire. Once he settles on his stump again, he pulls another skewer of meat from a pack off to the side, rotating it over the fire to begin roasting it.

All you can think is how much of a let down this entire trip has been. You have walked for miles, for days, in order to hunt him down. You have hidden in jungles and abandoned buildings, and almost been caught by several villains with quirks you almost could not overpower on your own.

“Kirishima spoke so highly of you,” your voice is faraway, like you are on another plane of existence, looking down on him from above, “I thought you’d be more heroic than this.”

At the sound of your friend’s name, the man’s head tilts, eyes shifting as he looks over his shoulder at you, “Kirishima? Eijirou?”

“Y-You know Kiri?”

You take a cautious step forward, unsure of whether he believes Kirishima to be a friend or a foe. His eyes are lost, somewhere between here and there, unable to focus on any one thing as he rolls the name around on his tongue, tasting the distant memories there while they play out against the cavern walls for only his eyes to see.

“Kirishima was my-” he pauses, gritting his teeth together as his knuckles turn white around the skewer, “…he was my friend.”

The man stands to his feet, discarding the half-cooked slab of meat into the fire, “If Kirishima sent you, then things must be bad.”

You nod, striding forward until you are just close enough that his body heat is intoxicating, and the scent from earlier, the one that makes your head spin with saccharine promises, fills your nostrils until you cannot make out anything else.

“We need your help,” you say, voice wavering in the middle, “Deku has started to search for every hero, every renegade, and he’s murdering them. I came to bring you back to the rest of those who are still fighting. You are a legend, if we have your help, there’s no way we’ll lose.”

A wry smirk adorns his mouth, quirking his lips upward, “Kid, I don’t know who told you I was a legend, or that I’d be of any help, but I’m out here for a reason.”

“Just come back with me,” you plead, resisting the desire to wrap your fists around his tank and pull, “we need you.”

There is a hesitant look in his vermilion irises, something that tells you he is still hiding something. But, he straightens his spine anyway, a deep breath puffing out his chest, “I always did like to kick Deku’s ass.”

You cannot contain the beaming smile on your face, even when you turn on your heels to begin walking out of the cave and back to the light.

Which keeps you from seeing the dejected look in his eyes.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

Weeks of planning the perfect attack have brought you and Ground Zero closer.

Although now you know him as Bakugou Katsuki.

When he first reunited with Kirishima, and his presence was made known to your rag-tag team, you were shaken at the realization that legends are people too. Even in his vigilante times, Bakugou still held that same spark that lit his flame throughout the duration of his time at Yuuei, much of which he spent with Kirishima by his side.

“Holy shit, man!” Kirishima reaches around his shoulders for a hug, which Bakugou hardly reciprocates, “I can’t believe Ground Zero is you!”

There are moments where you catch his gaze lingering on you – when you are cooking dinner, when you chop firewood – and of course your eyes find him too. He trains shirtless most of the time, body on display as the sweat rolls down his body. His knuckles are bruised and his body is battered, and yet he continues to get up every day and start all over again.

You do note that you have not seen him use his quirk, not since he arrived at your renegade hideaway. It seems to be in reverie of everything going on, but from what you remember, Bakugou Katsuki was not a shy man, never one to keep himself from the spotlight. It is why he is the only one who pushed himself hard enough to compete with Deku, and to stay as his rival.

When you ask Kirishima, he just shrugs it off, “He probably doesn’t want any attention. Would you, if you felt like you had run away when the world needed another hero?”

So you co-exist. He near you, and you near him. Always orbiting, but never colliding.

There are times where you allow your affections to slip. When you’re passing him by, a gentle palm on his hip to alert him of your presence. When he reaches above you to pull a weapon off the shelf, his hand finds purchase at the base of your spine, as if steadying himself even though he is one of the sturdiest men you have ever seen.

There is a moment, a drunken haze, that leads you to believe he might even kiss you, however it is gone before it has the ability to flower into anything more.

Time passes, months that feel like years, of tracking and sleuthing and killing. There is murder on both sides, and you have both suffered losses.

One night he finds you, sitting on the beach, your tears glittering like starlight on your cheeks.

“This is war,” he says, squatting in the sand, “none of us is innocent.”

You sniffle, rubbing your arm against your face to rid it of your transgressions, “And what about those who want to be?”

Bakugou reaches forward, a careful palm gliding over your cheek as a new bout of tears springs forth like a leak. You can’t see the sad smile on his face through your tears, your vision glassy and clouded, and he is thankful that you cannot spot his weakness. He brushes the tears away and turns your head with the gentle flick of his wrist, “We’ll get there when we get there.”

You want to crumble, to falter and fall into a million shards of glass, and he knows this. He must, because there’s no way that the pressure of the lives of the rest of the world does not eat away at one’s soul until there is nothing but barren earth left. You circle your hand around his wrist, leaning your cheek into his palm so you can feel the heat of him and find comfort in his touch.

“What if we never get there?”

You can’t look at him, not when your scars are on display. Your heart wrenches in your chest and the pain is like a thousand cuts littered across your body until you are nothing but bleeding wounds. In your mind, you’ve succumbed to the sea of red, drowning in it, choking on it.

Bakugou does a strange thing then. He presses his other palm to your waist, drawing you forward so he can kiss the smooth skin of your forehead, “Don’t be an idiot.”

And then he turns to leave.

Your forehead burns like a blister with the echo of his affections.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

The time finally comes.

After months of research and loss, there is a plan.

“We know where he’s hiding,” Kirishima points to a central location on the map, releasing a breath as he looks up to Bakugou, “the guards will change shift at midnight, and that’s when you’ll attack. We’ll be on the ground to distract any other, smaller threats, but we’re counting on you to take him down in the end.”

Bakugou shoves Kirishima, but he falters himself, eyes unable to focus on any one thing, “I know, idiot. You didn’t bring me all the way out here to take my victory from me.”

You smile at the scene, catching his gaze as he turns to look back at the rest of the room. There is a crack in his armor when he sees you, confidence melting into something else, another emotion you can’t quite pin down. And you’re not sure if you really want to.

The rest of the meeting is all logistics, something you have already heard a dozen times, so you find yourself wandering along the coastline, the night air washing like a balm over you, sea salt in your lungs when you breathe. Your feet are barely in the water, but enough for it to lap up around your ankles with foam when the waves crest to shore. You hold yourself around the middle, as if you might be able to keep your broken pieces from shattering if you squeeze tightly enough.

Tears of salt match that of the ocean as the droplets roll down your cheeks, hanging on your jaw until they are too weighty, and then they fall into the seawater, melded together as if they belong. Your fingers ache, digging into your biceps to give yourself some sort of anchor while you watch the moon and stars shift in the night sky.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The words are reminiscent of the first time you met, all those months ago. They make you smile, a gentle huff of a laugh escaping your lips, even if the gesture does not quite reach your eyes. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, arms still wrapped around your torso, the jagged edges of your soul sinking in deeper the more you try to hide your faltering pieces.

“Thinking,” you answer quietly, soft voice almost overwhelmed by the waves.

Bakugou is drawn in closer, as if you are the sea, a siren calling to him from the beyond, and he strides forward until he is parallel with you. His eyes watch the waves, but the pull is to you, and he can only resist for so long.

“It’s just Deku,” he is trying to reassure you, reaching out to rest his palm on your neck, sifting fingers through the hair at the nape of it. “I won’t lose to him, not again.”

This brings your attention to his eyes, your body turning so you can approach him head-on, fear wracking your body like a storm. You gaze up at him, jaw quivering under the stress of your teeth grinding against one another, “Why did he do it?”

His hand glides from your neck to your jaw, tilting your eyes upward so you cannot look away from him, in spite of how difficult this conversation might be to have. He has not spoken of his childhood rival for what feels like an eternity; airing out his burdened confessions is but a foreign concept. He would rather keep them bottled away within the cage of his ribs, until the poison slowly dredges through his veins and he can fall away into some deep sleep brought on by death.

“No one could have expected it,” Bakugou starts, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as he speaks, like the ministrations may give him the groundwork to have the conversation, “but One for All had too many wielders, had grown too powerful. Deku’s body couldn’t contain it and still stay sane.”

Bakugou looks frustrated, his brow tugged so his forehead wrinkles. You reach up to brush your thumb over the creased skin, “I’ve heard the stories. That the call to power was too strong, and he never told anyone because he was afraid of being weak.”

“Izuku has never been weak.”

His voice is ragged, as if glass has been lodged into his throat to inhibit his speech. Bakugou turns his head so you cannot see the emotion welling up in his eyes, “All Might should have seen it, but by the time he caught it, Deku had already gone mad. He snapped All Might’s neck on live television, the fucking bastard.”

The heaviness of the situation sits on your shoulders and you wonder if Bakugou has ever felt the burden of Atlas; you recall the significant burden weighing you down when you were first sent to retrieve him. Your mortal body wanted to crumble beneath the importance of your mission, you can’t even begin to fathom the overwhelming guilt he must be riddled with every day from the moment he wakes until he falls asleep.

“Then he came after the rest of us, one-by-one. Todoroki was next, then Uraraka.” Bakugou swallows the thick, pent-up emotion settled in his throat like barbed wire. He steels his gaze, even though it is only focused on the moon. “Kirishima was able to take a group of heroes and hide out when Deku came for me.”

You recall the fight like a movie playing on the backs of your eyelids. Bakugou and Deku fighting head to head, lightning and explosions igniting the swirling storm the unfurled around them. Pouring rain and debris flying, small tornados brought on by the use of Deku’s quirk, destroying the nearby buildings until there was nothing left.

Bakugou’s voice is heady, hands fallen from your face as if he no longer deserves to touch you. He takes a step backward, the roaring of the ocean giving him a pause, as if he were listening to the water for some sort of encouragement to continue his tale, to keep fighting.

You can’t help but wonder if losing the proverbial fight against Deku has tarnished his soul much deeper than he would ever admit, if his body has been at war with itself for years, unable to choose a side, unable to relent.

“I fought him for what felt like hours. Whatever One for All had done to him, corrupted his mind, broken his spirit,” Bakugou shakes his head, a snarl on his lips, “that wasn’t Deku that I was fighting. That was someone else.”

His breath hitches, “I-I’m not sure what the fuck possessed him to do what he did next, but he took-”

Bakugou’s throat bobs and his eyes flit from you to the water, unable to look at you in the face as he gnaws on his lower lip. The words must be too harsh, a pain running much further than skin deep. You know that his soul must be bruised, the very core of him broken beyond recognition.

“Took what, Katsuki?” you ask gently, reaching to tug his chin back so he is looking down at you, “You can tell me.”

Bakugou’s breathing is labored, quick, a mixture of frustration and anguish pressing down on his throat like a pair of hands, encasing his esophagus in a tight grip. He shakes his head, “He, uh- he let me go.”

It sounds disingenuous coming from his mouth, as if he’s forcing a lie through his teeth, his voice grating against his gums like metal. You reach out to touch his arm, but he sloughs you off with a quick movement, taking a step and pushing you further. Tears glisten in his eyes, but he does not let them fall; he cannot lose the battle with his body too. He looks up to the moon and lets loose a feral growl, crumbling to his knees and digging his hands into the wet sand, like tearing into it might provide him some sort of release.

“And then I tucked my fucking tail and I ran. Like a goddamn coward.” Bakugou’s jaw is rippling when he snaps his attention to you, eyes ablaze with red fire, “And that’s the hero you all claim to have needed. I wasn’t a hero, I was a fucking pussy. I was weak.”

Bakugou rises from the water, a murderous glare in his eyes, “And now I’m done being weak. I’m going to finish what I couldn’t before, I’m going to kill the bastard.”

You have let him vent his personal failures into the air, but now it is your turn to speak. Circling your fingers around his wrists, you pull yourself closer to him, as if the two of you are bound by an invisible thread.

“You’re not going alone,” you tell him, voice sure. You stand rooted in the ground, feet dug deep in the sand, “I won’t let you.”

He rolls his eyes, blowing a breath out of his nose, “And you think I’ll let you? No fucking way.”

The words sit on your tongue, burning like embers, syllables you’ve been stoking for months as you’ve grown closer to him. Your body rises up on your toes on instinct alone, eyelashes fluttering shut as you take him in one last time. You grit your teeth and a breath shudders from your lungs, shattering your heart like glass.

Your fingers traipse up his torso, climbing over the mounds of muscle that he has worked so hard to perfect. You feel the heat of tears well up in the back of your eyes, your vision blurred as you try to memorize everything about him in the short time you have left. When your palms reach his cheeks, fingertips dancing against warm, tanned skin, you can’t help but to tug yourself closer.

He can barely protest before you have melded your mouth to his, arching your back so your chest is flush with the broad plane of muscle in front of you. Bakugou hesitates, but just as you are about to pull away and profusely apologize, his arms snake around your waist to yank you closer. Your hips roll into his reflexively, finding the hardened length of his cock almost instantly.

Bakugou’s kiss is bruising, a heated ferocity driving him forward to part your lips at the seams, delving his tongue between your teeth at the first chance he receives. You moan at his affections, your hands threading through his hair, pinkies finding the stubble of his undercut while the others sift between blonde locks.

Tears are pushed from your eyelids, and he feels them against his cheeks as he kisses you. Bakugou slips his hands under the thin fabric of your tattered shirt, warmth spreading from the base of your spine outward to every extremity.

“I won’t lose you,” you manage between breaths, forcing the words out despite the possibility of his rejection.

Bakugou does not stop loitering affection over you like it were his job just because you show a moment of vulnerability. Rather, he’s spurred on by the admission, his hands digging deeper into your muscles now, most likely leaving bruises in their wake, and his teeth and tongue are merciless on your mouth.

The palms of his hands slowly drift down until he has cupped your thighs, his body folded just enough to give him a better angle to pull you up into the air. You hold in a squeal, unwilling to alert the rest of the camp, quickly wrapping your legs around his waist.

He breaks the kiss as oxygen begs his airways to open up once more, heaving breaths making his chest expand with sharp inhales. Through gasping breaths, he shakes his head, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You’re not sure how best to beg him to take you for all you’re worth here on the beach, but somehow you must silently communicate it, because he finds a secluded place and lays you down there, your back dug into the ground, but you are rather uncaring to it all. Your hands can’t find enough of him, insatiable in your efforts to map him out to memory, burning the impression of him into your mind so you may never lose him, even if something tragic were to part the two of you forever.

Bakugou’s fingers make quick work of the button of your shorts, delving his hand inside to brush at the bare folds of your core, already slick with arousal. He chuckles, nudging his nose over your neck, “Prepared for this, were you?”

A laugh is cut short by a whine, his teeth sinking into your jugular, sucking harshly on the skin there. Your hands find his shoulders, blunt nails bludgeoning the skin of his shoulders so he is seething into your body, curses flying from his lips as if they might brand your flesh if he whispers them hotly enough.

You whimper his name as he sheathes his fingers within you, two knuckles stretching your inner walls, scissored fingers making you throw your head back. Your body does not feel like your own, every wanton moan and twitch of your muscles in response to his salacious ministrations, reactions that you cannot fight, even if you wanted to.

Giving in, you reach down desperately, clawing your nails at the waistband of his cargo pants, uncaring as to how you get your palm underneath his underwear. Bakugou uses the hand not buried in your pussy to grab you by the wrist, pinning your hand over your head.

“You’re a needy little slut, hah?” Bakugou tightens his grip and speeds up his pace, earning him a wriggle from your body as you try to fight back. He smirks, teeth and gums on full display as he glowers down at you, “Don’t you worry, baby, I’m gonna give you my cock. Be patient.”

You whine in response, tilting your head to try and capture his lips again. Bakugou finds you halfway, his mouth parted so you can begin mapping out the curves of his teeth with your tongue. You kiss him as if your life may depend on it, like the time you are sharing may end at any moment.

You kiss him like he may die tomorrow.

There is fervor and passion and admiration conveyed with each smacking of your lips, your noses brushing when you try to angle yourselves to become closer. All the while, his middle and fourth fingers are working you forward into the throws of pleasure, lightning striking your core whenever his fingers brush up against your glutinous walls in just the right manner.

“Katsuki, please,” you beg of him, dragging your nails over the corded muscle of his shoulders. You can feel yourself slipping already, the impending doom of what is to come giving your body more urgency.

Bakugou growls when he feels your cunt clamp around his fingers, the thought of his cock within your tight hole making him dick twitch. You buck up when the head of his length brushes your thigh in his arousal, seeking him out despite the fullness you already feel from his digits pumping up into your heat.

Your whole body is shaking with the threat of your impending orgasm on the horizon, brought on by his disastrous fingers urging you forward. You cry out for him, wanton and begging as you pant his name repeatedly, rocking your hips with the rhythm of his fingers. Bakugou’s eyes roam your body as he leans back from you, gaze immediately drawn to the bounce of your plush chest. With each thrust of his fingers, your body quivers, and he knows he won’t be able to last apart from you for much longer, regardless.

As his fingers slowly peel from you, a whine tears your chest wide open. Tears drip down over your cheeks, a mixture of emotion and erotica giving the sound much more conviction. Bakugou feels the reverberations of your voice in his chest, stirring him to brush your silken slick along the length of his cock, pumping his shaft a few times before repositioning himself above you.

Bakugou rolls his wrist so the tip of his dick butterflies your pussy lips. You pant at the exhilaration of it all, your cunt fluttering as he pulls himself away from you only to bring it all back. His teasing strokes make your head spin, eyes barely able to peel open to look up at him. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, and Bakugou leans forward to tug the muscle between his teeth, earning him an animalistic howl from the back of your throat.

The plea from you gives him the last push he needs to rut forward and claim you in one fatal stroke.

Your hands sink into him like hooks, eyes screwed shut as he starts to suck on your tongue. Bakugou’s breath spills over you like a wash of heat, sending a shudder down your spine. He uses his hands to grip you by the thighs, yanking you closer so your hips are flush as he sinks all the way into you all over again.

“Ka-” you can barely make a sound with the way his mouth has destroyed yours, suffocating you until you are lightheaded with the thought of him. As you struggle beneath him, Bakugou releases you in favor of leaning back to watch as his cock separates your walls and fills your cunt until it stretches to fit his thick girth.

You are a blubbering mess the moment he allows you space to breathe. Your hands can’t find enough of him to paint with your touch, nails dragging thin, angry red lines into his thighs, and your throat only knows how to say his name.

“Good girl,” he chuckles, watching you come undone beneath him, “I can’t wait to feel you come all over my cock.”

His dick is rutting into you at an impeccable pace, the tip of his cock brushing against your walls as he twitches from your tight pussy. Bakugou digs his fingers into the skin of your thighs, likely bruising them with the intensity of his grip, pushing your knees back until they are pressed against your chest so he can fuck into you from above.

You lick your lips, thin rivulets of drool seeping out of the corners of your mouth, “Please, Bakugou, I-I wanna come.”

The desire to rip your arousal from you until you cannot speak in full sentences gives him a fiery drive, his hips slamming into your ass as filthy words fall from his lips. You can feel his cock bottoming out within your cunt, thickening with each stroke of his hips as he grows closer to the end himself. You beg for his spend, for him to coat you until you are dripping with his seed, the mixture of your arousal and his pre seeping from your lips and furthering the wet sounds that echo whenever his balls slap against your ass.

“You wanna come on my cock, yeah?” he asks, voice dithering the longer he’s within you. You are begging him now, your back arched forward so you can seek him out with wide eyes and pleading palms. He soaks in the affections, your hands on his face and in his hair, your lips finding purchase on whatever part of his body you can reach.

A snarl makes his throat shake and, if possible, he rips into your even further, growling voice speaking into your ear as you fall back against the ground at the sheer force of his hips, “Then fucking come, slut.”

His words are all you need to push you into the next plane of existence, where a shattering orgasm racks your body. You convulse around his cock, the newfound tightness as you milk your own release pushing him over the crest as well. He drives his cock as deep into you as he can, your hips flush at the juxtaposition of your sex as he spurts up into your core. You feel the heat of his release, the twitch of his cock, and your limbs grow numb from effort.

Bakugou leans forward so he is balancing himself on his forearms, nosing over the swell of your chest and the column of your neck, small, chaste kisses littered over your skin like stars. He sighs, nudging your collarbone, “You’re not coming with me tomorrow. I won’t lose you too.”

Your heart sings at his admission, and your spirit wants to argue, but when he kisses you again, you can’t find it within yourself to tell him otherwise.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

“All right, man,” Kirishima claps him on the back, leaning against the brick wall of the alleyway.

You can tell that there is much more he wants to say, but Bakugou has never had much patience for any sort of sappy confession, so all that passes between them is a nod of understanding. You, on the other hand, are careless in your affection, launching yourself forward to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth, uncaring for the onlookers unbeknownst to your time together.

When you pull away, there are tears in your eyes, but you force the words between your teeth regardless, “Don’t die on me.”

Bakugou’s eyes are sad, holding such a dark color in his usually bright irises, “A real hero always comes out on top, no matter what.”

Usually it is said with much conviction, but this time, it sounds like he is trying to convince himself more so than anyone else. Your hands palm over his face, committing him to memory one last time before he turns his back to you, headed towards the end of the line, unknowing as to which side he may end up on this time.

As soon as he steps out onto the pavement, he’s greeted with the familiar laughter of an old friend.

“Oi, Kacchan. It’s been too long.”

Your heart leaps into your throat and Kirishima has to hold you back, hidden away in the shadows. You look at him over your shoulder, eyes blown wide as your pupils swallow your irises, “H-He was supposed to be alone.”

The look in Kirishima’s eyes is haunting, a desolate gaze turned on his best friend. He tightens his jaw and breathes heavily through his nostrils, an answer never given as he watches on in horror at the scene in front of him unfolding.

“I thought I told you to get lost,” Deku speaks, voice confusingly innocent despite the feral look in his eyes. A cackle parts his lips and you’ve never seen Bakugou this quiet during a fight, “But, then again, wouldn’t a fight between the All Mighty Deku and a Quirkless Kacchan be entertaining?”

Your whole world turns sideways.

Bakugou’s words from the very beginning replay on loop in your mind as your breathing corrupts your own lungs, shattered and shaking as your body coats itself in sweat.

“I fought him for what felt like hours. Whatever One for All had done to him, corrupted his mind, broken his spirit,” Bakugou shakes his head, a snarl on his lips, “that wasn’t Deku that I was fighting. That was someone else.”

His breath hitches, “I-I’m not sure what the fuck possessed him to do what he did next, but he took-”

Bakugou’s throat bobs and his eyes flit from you to the water, unable to look at you in the face as he gnaws on his lower lip. The words must be too harsh, a pain running much further than skin deep. You know that his soul must be bruised, the very core of him broken beyond recognition.

“Took what, Katsuki?” you ask gently, reaching to tug his chin back so he is looking down at you, “You can tell me.”

Bakugou’s breathing is labored, quick, a mixture of frustration and anguish pressing down on his throat like a pair of hands, encasing his esophagus in a tight grip. He shakes his head, “He, uh- he let me go.”

Bakugou Katsuki is quirkless.

Now more than ever you want to dart out into the street, to throw yourself down like a sacrificial lamb for the slaughter. Whatever it takes to keep Katsuki safe. Tears blur your vision and anger scars your heart, marring up the organ until you cannot feel it beating within your own chest.

Bakugou turns his head, vermilion eyes seeking you out in the darkness of the alleyway. He smiles, for the first time in full, and offers you one final look at his body completely intact before he returns his gaze to his childhood rival, hands turning to fists at his sides as he gets into his fighting position.

“So pathetic, Kacchan.” Deku looks Bakugou in the eyes as he ignites his quirk, green lightning dancing around as a storm begins to brew. 

He holds up his hands, palms open-faced as his skin crackles, the sweet smell of saccharine turning to ash in the air. Colors of orange and yellow cast frightening shadows along the length of the street, a familiar power exploding on the cusp of Deku’s fingers.

“And now you die.”

-

a/n: i don’t think that went how anyone thought it would! it’s a lot different from anything i’ve ever done, and i’m not fully happy with it. but thank you for reading, if you got this far!! 

[melancholymaz]

Enceinte

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader 

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, Age gap, panic attacks, angst ending in wholesome fluff.

Summary: AU where women can naturally fall pregnant from other women. 

Disclaimer: This AU idea is not original, however the plot is 100% my idea any similarities to other works is not intentional. This may be a series, depending on how well this first part goes. 

You couldn’t breathe, your chest feels heavy desperately chasing air. You clutch the edge of your bathroom sink, fingers turning white from the force. You’re crying, that much you know. Your knees go to jelly, causing you to crumble to the ground, your eyes catch the object on the floor and you couldn’t hold back the tears from falling now. 

“Miss L/N it seems you are experiencing a severe panic attack, would you like me to call for help?” You faintly hear FRIDAY call out to you, you violently shake your head as you clutch your chest tightly.

“N-No FRIDAY, I’m f-fine.” You whisper weakly, resting your head back against the wall of your ensuite. You shut your eyes tightly, taking in deep breathes to try and calm your heart down before it bursts. The morning goes into the afternoon before you move from the spot on your bathroom floor, you pick up the test, moving it around in your hands as you take in the result. 

Positive

How did you let this happen? You and Natasha weren’t a couple, not officially. You made sure to be careful. You weren’t always needed on the field, as you were in charge of the weapons and technology, but you were still classed as an avenger. How would the team react? 

Oh god what am I going to say to Nat? You rub your face as your eyes catch yourself in the tall mirror in your bedroom, noticing your belly was just that tiniest bit bigger than usual. How did you not notice? Why did it take vomiting nearly three times a day for you to notice you couldn’t remember the last period you had? Yours and Natasha’s relationship wasn’t ideal for this situation. Sure you both don’t see anyone else but each other, and you never denied not being together, the team pretty much calls you a couple but the two of you never had the conversation saying that you were 100% official, you were only 22, a good age gap between the two of you. What would the press think? they’d find out eventually. You’ve always dreamt of the day you found out you were pregnant with your first child, but you were expecting to be married and not apart of a group of heroes always working with dangerous objects. 

“FRIDAY?” You call out, absentmindedly biting your nails. 

“Yes Miss L/N?” The AI replies instantly. 

“Can you please let Dr Cho know that I’ll be coming down to see her, and that it is strictly confidential?” 

“Yes Miss.” 

-

“Well Y/N, It seems that you are 8 weeks pregnant.” Dr Cho gives you a sympathetic smile, you having already explained your situation to her. You sit on a table watching as Cho goes through the results of the test you took an hour earlier. 

“8 weeks?” You frown. “How big is the...” 

“Around the size of a raspberry, baby has started growing lips, nose and eyelids. Would you like to hear the heartbeat?” Dr Cho asks, lightly taking your hand in hers as she sees the information process in your mind. 

“No thank you Cho, That’d be all.” You couldn’t, not without knowing what you were going to do, if by chance Natasha is happy of the news, you’d feel too guilty if you heard the heartbeat for the first time without Natasha. 

“Then you’re free to go, good luck Y/N.” You thank her and walk out her lab, making your way back to your room to think of a way to break the news to Natasha. 

“FRIDAY, can you please send Natasha to my room? Tell her it’s urgent.” 

“Right away Miss L/N.” 

-

You pace back and forth in your room, a million things running through your mind as you try and think of a way to tell the love of your life that you’re pregnant with her child, at the worst possible time. You hear her signature knock on the door before she steps into your room shutting the door behind her. Natasha flashes you her sweet smile, one that only you get the privilege of seeing. You force a smile as tears come to your eyes, your mind screaming at you that this could be the end of your relationship. Her green eyes scan your face in concern, already seeing the hesitation and fear in yours. 

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” You relish in her voice, soft and gentle. You wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, taking comfort as her strong arms hold you just as tight, giving you the comfort you obviously need. You pull away to look at her, really look at her, and your heart beats loudly in your ears as you watch her watch you with nothing but love in her eyes. You grab her hand, lightly pulling her to sit on the long chair that sits at the end of your bed. You take a deep breathe as you grab her hands in yours. 

“I’m about to tell you something, and I just want to say, that if you want to call it quits then I completely understand and that I’ll figure it all out.” You start, looking down at your entwined hands, not daring to look up into her eyes. 

“Y/N, Look at me love.” Natasha lightly grips your chin and tilts it, your teary eyes staring right into hers. “It would take a hell of a lot for me to leave you, we may not have made it official official, but you’re the love of my life and I’d do anything for you. I’m in it for the long run.” 

You swallow with a nod, her hands cradling your face. You shut your eyes, mustering up all of your strength to blurt out the next sentence. 

“I’m pregnant.” You whisper it so quietly, but you know Natasha had heard it by the way her hands slightly loosen on your face and how her eyes widen with shock before reading your face for any trace of dishonesty. Her bright green eyes start to tear up, still watching you intensely. 

“You’re pregnant?” Natasha whispers so softly that if she were to speak any quieter you wouldn’t have heard it. She looks like a scared small child, and you can’t help but want to hold her as tight as you could. You wipe a stray tear away from her face as you nod softly. 

“8 weeks, I found out this morning, Cho confirmed not long before I asked you to come down.” You watch as her lips turn upwards slightly, more tears now falling freely from the both of you. 

“You’re pregnant. We’re gonna be parents.” She starts to repeat over and over, her smile getting bigger and voice getting louder each time, by the end she’s up and jumping in excitement. 

“You’re happy?” You ask hopefully, your negative thoughts slowly going away. 

“Happy? Baby i’m ecstatic! The love of my life is pregnant with my child!” Luckily the walls are thick, because she was yelling out the news, and you weren’t ready to tell the team yet. Natasha pulls you up and tackles you in a hug, lifting you up from the floor in excitement, laughing loudly in happiness. When she puts you on the floor she takes your head in her hands once again, giving you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen before giving you passionate kiss. 

“I love you.” You whisper when you pull away, your own giant smile on your face. The unnecessary worrying and thoughts long gone. 

“We’re gonna have the cutest kids.”  Natasha gushes excitedly. 

“Well, baby’s already has eyelids, lips and a nose, and even has little limbs ready to grow little hands and feet.” You tell her, reciting what you had researched after you got back from seeing Dr Cho. Natasha’s smile grows larger before she kneels on the floor, lifting your shirt to press a kiss to your stomach. 

“We can’t wait to meet you, little one.” She whispers, before standing to give you another passionate kids. “When can we hear the heartbeat?” 

“We can go see Cho if you’d like.” You reply, laughing lightly as her eyes light up before grabbing your hand and dragging you out the door in excitement. 

A/N: and that’s it!! let me know if you’d like me to make this a series of one shots of the pregnancy!! 

[blouisparadise]

Here are some of the amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of September. We hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Hard Candy Dripping On Me (Til My Feet Are Wet) | Explicit | 1997 words

Louis gets fucked on a plane. That’s it.

2) Fucking Nightmares | Mature | 2151 words

Louis has a nightmare. Harry comforts him.

3) You Could Take A Lick (But It's Too Cold To Bite) | Explicit | 2469 words

“You look kinda thirsty.” Louis croons softly.

Harry leans back in his chair and tilts his head to the side. His eyes are covered by the pair of expensive shades, but Louis feels his eyes drifting down his backside as he lays on his stomach.

“Why don’t you bring me a bit of that ice cream, darling?”

Louis and Harry have fun in a summer day.

4) Interview With The Vampire  | Explicit | 4135 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Robert Pattinson.

Working at an alpha magazine wasn't always easy for an omega like Louis, but he's just landed his biggest interview yet with an A list actor who has asked for Louis especially. Unfortunately, the interview is with Rob Pattinson, the biggest pain in the arse alpha on the planet.

Inspired by Rob’s interview in GQ Magazine and not actually about vampires

5) Conozco La Vida | Teen & Up | 4761 words

Note: This fic contains no explicit smut, but since it’s omega Louis, we’ve included it. 

"I have a son," he declared, there was a very thinly veiled layer of hesitation.

Harry was unaware in the direction which this conversation was heading but chose to stare at the man instead.

"He is an Omega," he dropped the pivotal piece of information.

Harry's attention was hooked now.

"He has been raised in an Omega convent all his life, he hasn't been in the presence of any Alpha who isn't his immediate family."

"I am still waiting for you to make a point."

"You could take him as an Omega."

Harry did not react, his face remaining perfectly free of betrayal of any sort of emotion and leaned back upon his chair, his leg crossed upon his knee. "You are selling your son to me?"

6) It’s Hard For Me To Go Home | Not Rated | 4890 words

Don’t call me baby again.

7) So Baby, Let's Keep It Secret | Explicit | 4638 words

“I’ll leave with you,” Harry said after a beat, sounding sure of himself.

“What!? No!, you can’t leave with me, Harry, you have a life here. You have a job and friends an-”

Harry kissed him in the middle of his rambling. “Which means nothing if I don’t have you.”

Into You Music Video AU.

8) ZOMOS | Mature | 5659 words

Is it easy to forget everything and start afresh? Is it easy being served with hateful glances and insults when all you wish for is to be loved? Is it easy to make it seem like everything is alright when in reality your world is crumbling into pieces with every breath you take?

Is it easy to be the omega who is unwanted by their alpha?

9) Your Biggest Fan | Explicit | 9075 words 

Just like everyone else, Louis has a few habits that he can’t seem to break. Guilty pleasures, rather. His nails are perpetually short because he can’t quit biting them, the bottom of his shoes scuffed from tapping his foot constantly. Sometimes his leg gets a cramp from bouncing it so often underneath his desk. That isn't too bad, he reckons, just some average teenage coping mechanisms.And also, occasionally, minor instances of theft.

10) Making A Splash | Explicit | 9557 words

“You want this?” Harry muses, fisting his cock as he drags his hand lazily up his thick length. Louis eyes the motion and nods his head absentmindedly. “You want to show everyone at this beach how much of a slut you are for Daddy’s cock?”

“M‘your slut,” Louis immediately replies, inching closer, inching closer with his eyes glued on Harry’s glistening cock, precome shining under the sun as it dribbles out his slit.

Harry grins widely and stops the movement of his hand to grip himself at the base again, pushing Louis’ head down. “Show everyone how much of a slut you are.”

11) Hung Up High in the Gallery | Mature | 14006 words

When Harry’s best friend, Louis, comes to support him at his art show, he decides they need to do some celebrating afterwards. How fast do the lines between friends and lovers get blurred ... or better, get painted?

12) My Home Is Your Body | Explicit | 15341 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

He had seen who had made his senses go haywire. His ex was in the front row, five feet in front of him. He felt his eyes on him even as he mechanically made his way to the end of the runway, hoping to God he didn’t look like a maniac. Everything was a blur. He somehow managed to walk the rest of the way without falling or emoting anything. Why was he HERE? Of all places.

...where Louis is a successful omega model and the last thing he expects is his ex to become the co-partner of the new company he works for....

13) There's Nothing Like It (Nothing At All) | Explicit | 15471 words 

Note: This is a sequel to this fic.

His hands are outstretched on the mattress like he’s reaching out for something, reaching out for Harry. It makes his heart swell, almost bursting with affection and love. He only waits a bit longer before reaching over to turn off the light and pulling Louis to his chest, smiling when the omega immediately sighs in contentment, nuzzling into his skin happily.Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow, they’ll talk about it.-Or, Harry isn’t ready for things to change, and the end is just the beginning.

14) Seven Simple Words | Explicit | 15535 words

It’s not like he and Louis were a couple. No, they might have been a lot of things—best mates and colleagues with a seemingly convenient friends-with-benefits arrangement—but never a couple. It wasn’t Louis’ fault he didn’t feel the same way and couldn’t reciprocate Harry’s feelings in the way he’d wanted, the way he’d needed. Harry had allowed himself to get in too deep, his entire being aching to be loved back by the object of his affections. But in love, as in life, you don’t always get what you want.

15) Works Like A Charm | Explicit | 18061 words

Ever since Louis joined the team in fifth year, a few facts have become set in stone.

One: Louis is the best chaser in Hogwarts.

Two: Harry is the best beater in Hogwarts.

Three: They do not get along.

So it’s really unfair of Liam to think that forcing them to spend time together as Louis recovers from his injury will make them the best of friends. The last thing Louis would do is get along with that git.

16) The Way This River Runs | Explicit | 27417 words 

It’d be so easy to just open his mouth and plead with Harry, to scream I’m sorry until his voice disappears, but he can’t. Be it his pride or his ego or his insecurities, he just can’t do it. The worst part is that he knows Harry would probably forgive him.

But Louis doesn’t want phony forgiveness. He doesn’t want Harry’s soothing words and pity embrace, thinks he might just break altogether if he was offered them. He feels like he’s made of glass recently and it’s to the point where he kind of wants to tip over the edge, just to see if he’d shatter. Just to see who’d be there to pick up the pieces if he did.

17) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41041 words

Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

18) Falling Out Of Fashion | Explicit | 42123 words

Harry Styles has been the established face of the Grimshaw House of Design for two years. It’s a prestigious and coveted modeling contract Harry took away from once-famed supermodel Zayn Malik. With the model transition Grimshaw’s designs went from a more urban, Zayn-forward aesthetic, to a Harry-favoring flowery, flowing femininity in the Grimshaw designs for men.

So when Harry sees a dress Grimshaw made for a famous Marvel actress, “only a tease”, Nick says, of the evolving look, Harry knows Grimshaw is shifting his aesthetic.

Harry wonders if he can pull off the look.

19) Three Days In February | Explicit | 189346 words

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

Ridiculous amounts of banter and angst, a lot of Harry and Louis alone together, a healthy dose of OT5 friendship, and one very magical weekend.

20) Boss Bitch | Explicit | 386901 words

Harry had always wanted to work for this successful mafia; the mafia that everyone knew, everyone feared. Led by none other than the pahntom

"L'eue Courante", whom everyone knew existed, but had no other clues who this person could be. The only thing known was a high heel the phantom once left.

So this person had to be woman, Harry assumend. And man, was he wrong.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[lavenderlucy]

4x9 AU Part 3

Here’s the third and final part of my 4x9 AU. This takes place immediately after the end of the second part. Caroline has just confronted Klaus after she found out that he killed Carol. This part features only Klaus and Caroline (just how we all like it). If you’ve been following along, thank you. These three drabbles were my very first time writing anything and I’ve had so much fun.

Part 1 is here and Part 2 is here

4x9 AU part 3

Their moment of peace was broken when Caroline saw Klaus fighting internally with himself. He looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to speak. She knew whatever he had to say would pop the perfect bubble they had been in for the past few minutes. He parted his lips to speak and tightened his grip on Caroline’s arm and face, afraid she might run from him.

He licked his lips, sending a jolt through her body, and spoke, “How did you find out about Lockwood’s mother?” His voice was even and soft, like he was trying to calm a scared animal. Caroline thought about lying, but knew he would see right through her.

“Tyler told me this morning.” She whispered. She knew the gravity of what she’d just done. She told Klaus that the boy he wanted to kill, the boy she was supposed to love was just a few miles away. The guilt of her admission weighed heavily on her shoulders. She turned her head to the side so she wouldn’t see the look of murderous intent she thought she would find on Klaus’s face, but it never came. Klaus turned her face back to face him and brushed his thumb over her lips like he was trying to touch all that he could before the spell they had both been under was inevitably broken.

“Please don’t kill him.” Caroline pleaded with tears forming in her eyes.

“You can’t save him, love.” Klaus wiped a tear that had slipped out of Caroline’s eye so softly that she thought she might start sobbing. How could he be so gentle with her and want to kill Tyler at the same time? There were so many sides to Klaus that Caroline had only just begun to learn.

Caroline was going to ask a second time for Tyler’s life to be spared when Klaus continued speaking. “I thought he would have had the good sense to run and be following the wolf girl across state lines by now. Those two seemed quite enamored with one another last I saw them together. I stumbled upon them in the mutt’s garden after your pageant. I would have been surprised when she sold him and his pack out to me last night had I not lived as long as I have.”

“You knew they were together?” Caroline asked in a small voice, her eyebrows furrowing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Klaus knew that Tyler really had been cheating on her, that she still thought their display just a few weeks ago had been a ruse, and that she really had no idea Hayley and Tyler weren’t acting. He had hinted at it before their fake breakup, but she didn’t want to look too closely at her boyfriend and they way he looked a little too comfortable in Hayley’s presence at the time.

“Would you have believed me?” Klaus asked with hesitation and what Caroline thought might be vulnerability in his voice.

“Maybe,” she admitted softly, looking up at him. “I think you’re the only person in this whole town that’s never lied to me,” she added before she could stop herself. Her own honestly shocked her. Klaus, the big bad hybrid, had been more of a friend to her than anyone else in Caroline’s life. Klaus started to pull back from her and Caroline moved her hands to his chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt between her fingers.

“Please stay here. With me.” She whispered so quietly that Klaus would not have heard had he not had hybrid hearing.

Klaus moved even closer until his lips were hovering over hers. One hand was still cradling her face and the other had dropped to the curve of her waist. Caroline’s heart was pounding loudly in her chest and she couldn’t look away from his deep blue eyes. He was close enough that she could smell his body wash, the scent washing over her. His nose brushed hers lightly and her gaze fell to his mouth. Before she could talk herself out of it and move away Caroline surged up on her toes and pressed her lips firmly against his. Klaus was frozen in shock for a few seconds at the feeling of Caroline’s petal soft lips against his before he responded. He moved the hand on her waist to her hair and gripped her soft locks between in fingers. His hold on her was desperate, like he thought she might slip away at any moment. Caroline let out a quiet, involuntary moan at the feeling of Klaus’s lips moving over hers. Klaus took the opportunity to let his tongue enter her mouth and slide along hers. Caroline moved her hands to cradle Klaus’s face and pulled him impossibly closer to her. Their chests touched and Caroline gasped. She felt like her entire body had been electrified by his touch. Somewhere in the back of mind she knew she shouldn’t be doing this, that Klaus was the bad guy, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care when the way his body was pressed up against hers felt so right. Caroline didn’t know why she hadn’t started kissing Klaus sooner if this is what it felt like. He tasted like expensive whiskey and something so uniquely him. Their kisses turned more passionate and Caroline found herself being pressed even further into the wall behind her. Caroline dropped her hands to Klaus’s shoulders and then wound her arms around his neck. Klaus moved the hand in her hair back to her waist and squeezed tightly before trailing his lips from her mouth to her neck and placing bruising kisses on the skin he found there. He ran his tongue along her pulse and bit lightly with his blunt teeth. He soothed the spot with an open mouthed kiss.

“Klaus.” Caroline moaned. She felt like she might pass out from the feeling of Klaus’s lips and tongue on her neck. Klaus moved his lips to her collarbone and began to taste her, determined to hear her say his name again. Caroline tugged his head back up to hers by his hair and covered his lips with hers once again. Kissing Klaus was addictive and Caroline hadn’t had enough yet. Caroline bit his full bottom lip and he shuddered, a low groan coming from the back of his throat. One of his hands slipped down to her neck, holding her in place, while the other slowly made its way down from her shoulder to her breast. Klaus squeezed her through the fabric of her light sweater, making Caroline press herself eagerly into his hands and release a breathy moan. Klaus ran his thumb over her nipple through her bra before letting his hand continue downward until he met her hip and squeezed. His other arm banded around her lower back and pressed every part of their bodies together. The feeling of Klaus’s body on hers was making Caroline completely forget why she was here in the first place. She knew her cheeks were flushed and her panties were growing damp. Determined to give as good as she got, Caroline pushed Klaus back slightly and ran her nails down the sides of his neck and down his chest and stomach, stopping just above the waistband of his dark jeans. The feeling of her nails made him groan and push his tongue past her lips with renewed fervor. Caroline tugged Klaus closer to her by his belt and spread her legs slightly. Klaus took the hint and moved his hands to her thighs and lifted her so she could curl her toned legs around him. Caroline’s arms moved to wrap around Klaus’s neck and she moaned loudly at the feeling of his need for her pressing into her inner thigh, so close to where she wanted him. She inwardly cursed the jeans they were both wearing.

Their heavy breathing filled up Klaus’s foyer as they continues kissing and running their hands all over each other. Caroline shifted slightly and rolled her hips into Klaus’s erection, the zipper of his jeans rubbing pleasurably against her clit. The action made them both moan. She threw her head back to catch her breath and Klaus began peppering her neck with kisses and licks. He grabbed her ass and pressed his cock that was straining against his jeans back into her denim covered center.

“Kla-aus!” Caroline’s cry broke in the middle. She had never felt the kind of desire that was coursing through her body before. Caroline circled her hips as best as she could in her position to chase the delicious friction that Klaus was creating against her.

Klaus lifted his head from Caroline’s neck and rested his forehead against hers. His eyes were full of lust.

“I want you, Caroline.” He ground out, arousal evident in his tone. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Caroline didn’t think she had ever heard anything sound as sexy as Klaus saying her name in that moment. The way his tongue curled around the syllables in it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Then have me.” She uttered, voice breathy and full of want, before she could think of all of the reasons why she and Klaus shouldn’t be doing this.

Klaus bit back a groan at her words and licked into her hot mouth once more. His hands pushed under her sweater with purpose and moved up to her ribs until his fingers skimmed the line of her bra. His hands felt so good on her feverish skin. Klaus pushed his thumbs under her bra just enough to touch the undersides of her breasts. Caroline felt like she was overheating and would explode at any second. She didn’t know sex could feel like this and they hadn’t even gotten that far yet. Klaus pulled back from her lips, staying close, and looked her in the eye. His lips were kiss-bruised, pupils blown and rimmed with gold, his hair was a mess from where Caroline ran her hands through it. He looked wrecked. For her, she thought, and that gave her so much satisfaction. The influence she had over Klaus had always made her feel powerful and sexy, not that she would admit that to a single soul.

“Are you sure, love?” Klaus asked, voice deep and gravelly. He was barely holding on and Caroline knew that he might not be able to control himself if they went much further.

“Yes. I’m sure. I want you, Klaus.” Caroline panted out, putting them both out of their misery. A part of her thought that maybe she was giving in too easily, but she just couldn’t help herself. As terrible of a person as it made her, she wanted him. All of him.

If she thought that Klaus would take her answer as a green light to rip her clothes off, then she was wrong. He pulled back even more from her and his gaze turned hard and suspicious. Caroline could barely keep up with his sudden mood swing. He removed his hands from under her sweater and put her back down on the floor before taking a step back from her. Caroline’s face fell and she felt the sharp sting of his rejection. Her mind instantly told her that yet again she was not enough and she never would be.

“Klaus? What’s wrong?” Confusion and insecurity filled her voice. Never in a million years did Caroline think that Klaus would be the one to pump the brakes on sex between them. She had felt his want for her, she had seen it in his eyes. Did he suddenly realize she wasn’t worth it?

“How do I know that your friends didn’t send you here to distract me?” Klaus spat at her.

“Kla-“ Caroline began.

“How do I know that you aren’t desperate enough to fuck a monster in exchange for your pathetic boyfriend’s life?” He interrupted crudely.

“What? No! That’s not what this-“ Klaus still would not let her speak.

“You’ve taken part in every plot against me and I have no reason to trust you!” Klaus’s wolf was pressed up against his skin and his eyes were flashing between gold and blue. Caroline could tell he was trying to control himself and avoid fully lashing out at her. Maybe he did want her. Maybe he wanted her too much and was afraid he was being tricked again. After all, what he just said was true. Caroline’s heart fell when she realized this.

“Klaus, I swear I’m being honest with you. I’m here because I want to be, not because I’m trying to distract you or bribe you with sex. I’m not in love with Tyler anymore. I just don’t want to see him dead. Please believe me. Please don’t kill him.” Tears were now running down her cheeks. Caroline realized that she really didn’t love Tyler. She had been holding on to him out of obligation for most of their relationship, but now she was doing what her heart wanted. Her feelings for Klaus scared the hell out of her, but she couldn’t deny herself any longer. She couldn’t ignore the way she felt when she was with him. She had to see where this could go and right now she wanted things to go upstairs or at least to the nearest sofa.

“Why? He betrayed me. He betrayed you, love. He had the sun right in front of him and threw it away. And then he turned all of my hybrids against me.” Klaus gritted out. He was still fighting to control his wolf.

Caroline rolled her eyes at the last part and stepped forward until she was right in front of him. She was pretty certain that none of this would have happened if the were-slut hadn’t talked Tyler into it, but that was a conversation for another time.

“Yes! He cheated on me and he tried to kill you, but you killed the other hybrids and his mother! You’re even!” She shouted in his face, chest heaving. She wasn’t asking him to like Tyler or even forgive him. She just wanted him to spare him for her. She just wanted to be able to continue to get to know Klaus without the shadow of Tyler’s impending death hanging over them. If Klaus would just get out of his own way they could move forward, together.

They stared heatedly at each for a long time before Klaus let out the breath he had been holding, looked up at the ceiling, and spoke. “Tell him to leave town tonight and run. I’ll give him a head start. If I see him again after that, he’s dead.” He looked back at Caroline, eyes sharp and desperate for her approval. The suspicion was gone from his gaze. Caroline knew what this compromise had cost him. He chose her over revenge. He chose her. She gave him a small smile.

“Thank you.” She said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I need to go tell him now and officially end things. I don’t want anything standing between us.” She added before turning to walk to the door. As much as Caroline wanted to resume the foreplay that would lead to the hot hybrid sex they were about to have, she knew that this was the right thing to do.

Klaus grabbed her hand and spun her back toward him. “I’m not a good man, Caroline. I don’t think after a thousand years of darkness that I could even try to be. I know who I am, what I’ve done and what I will do. I’m not good,” he repeated, “But I will be good to you. Can you accept that?” He was still clutching her hand like his life depended on it. His eyes bored into her own and she could see that he was being genuine.

Caroline gave him a small smile and leaned in closer to him, bring her other hand up to hold on to his shoulder. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I know who you are, Klaus. I’m just asking you not to hurt me or my friends. If you can do that for me, then I can accept you. Every part of you.”

Klaus brought her hand up to his lips and placed a searing kiss on her knuckles before speaking. “I won’t hurt your friends unless they move against either of us.” He said lowly. Caroline nodded at his condition and smiled brightly at him. She placed a heated kiss on his lips and then slowly pulled herself out of his grip and walked back to his front door before he could reciprocate.

“Caroline?” Klaus called after her as her hand touched the doorknob. She turned to look back at him over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

“I would very much like a chance to take you on a real date. One away from Mystic Falls and your friends.” His voice gave away his vulnerability. His hand were in his pockets and he looked nervous.

“Pick me up tomorrow at 7. No flowers and nothing that involves leaving the country.” She responded and flashed him a smile.

He smiled back at her, dimples on display. “As you wish, sweetheart.”

Caroline couldn’t help the butterflies that erupted in her stomach at the sight of his devastatingly handsome smile. She playfully rolled her eyes at him, lips still turned up in a smile, and turned back to walk out of the door. Caroline had no idea how she and Klaus were going to work, but she was excited to try. She shook her head at herself and unlocked her car. She had a cheating boyfriend to officially break up with and force out of town. As she drove out of Klaus’s driveway she also wondered what the hell she was going to tell her friends.

[cinnaminsvga]

🌸 social media au where y/n posts a fake boyfriend application on twitter as a dare but ends up seeking something real in the long run (aka how to fall in love the zillennial way) 🌸

A/N: I know I said this update wouldn’t be written, but I decided to fix the little drabble I already had written and... It’s not as bad as I thought and now I’m moderately happy with it. Anyway... We’re entering angst city babey so please put on your seatbelts because we are SOARING! || W.C. 1.8K

prev // part 18 of ? // next masterlist here.

[updates every 6PM PST]

After sending his last text to you, Namjoon is only slightly surprised when he sees your caller ID flashing on his phone screen. When he looks at the time, he notices that it had taken you less than a minute for you to call him, no doubt ready to scream your head off at his outrageous suggestion. Admittedly, he knows that his idea might be a little outside of your comfort zone, but he believes you can do it. If his people reading skills are even remotely average, then he’s sure that it’ll work if you just—

“KIM NAMJOON! HOW IN THE WORLD DID YOU COME UP WITH THAT CONCLUSION?” Your voice is loud enough to burst an eardrum, but luckily, Namjoon had already expected your volume and had held his phone an arm away. In his nine-ish days of knowing you, he’s somewhat accustomed to your theatrics, though you’re still no match for Hoseok’s excited shrieks.

“Hello Y/N,” Namjoon hums, sitting up groggily from his bed. It’s a bit too early to go to sleep, but he supposes that your panicked screams are going to keep him up a little bit longer. “I feel as though you’re overreacting a little.”

“A little?” You scoff loudly, and Namjoon can imagine you pacing circles in your room. You did always seem a little fidgety when you two went out together. “Namjoon, you can’t just expect me to go on a date with Jungkook—“

“Why not? You guys go out all the time, don’t you?” Namjoon points out, smiling slightly at your exasperated huffs.

“Well, that’s different! Those were platonic hangouts! Just bros being bros!”

“Then change the context a little bit. You don’t have to ask him to be your boyfriend just to go on a date.”

“Namjoon, I know you’re a smart man but I don’t think your math skills are all that great,” you say brusquely. “That doesn’t add up! If I ask him on a date, then he’ll know I’m into him and—“

“And that’s a bad thing?” Namjoon interrupts, raising a brow. “Y/N, we both know you’re being a little unreasonable right now.”

You splutter for a moment, but you find that you’re unable to retort. Namjoon smirks, continuing, “Y/N, I know you’re worried that Jungkook might get swept away now that he’s quote-unquote ‘single.’ I get it. But if you’re not going do anything about it and suffer in silence, then he’s definitely going to leave. Besides, I already told you that he probably likes you back, judging from how jealous he got. You could probably even ask your friends and they’d tell you the same.”

You snort. “God, I’d rather die than talk about… love stuff with those freaks I call friends,” you cough out a laugh, muffling the sound before it can continue. Namjoon knows you’re a bit conscious of your “unflattering” snorts, but he just finds them cute. A lot of the things you don’t like about yourself are cute in Namjoon’s eyes. “I can’t even imagine going to any of them about this… They’d just bully me and make me do something I don’t want to do!”

“Isn’t that basically what I’m doing right now?” Namjoon laughs, giggling even harder when he hears your tired groan.

“Yeah, but you’re nice. Unlike those meanies,” you say. Namjoon hates to admit it, but he does appreciate being special to you, even if it’s over something trivial like this.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do,” Namjoon starts. He can hear you humming in agreement, but he doesn’t stop there. “But, it is a suggestion. Seeing as how you don’t have any other idea how to solve this mess, I’d say go for it. What’s the worse thing that can happen?”

“Um? I get rejected? Hello?”

“You don’t have to let him know it’s a date, you know.”

“What do you mean? Namjoon, you should stop speaking in riddles because I honestly don’t have enough brain cells for this, clearly.”

Namjoon sighs. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… What if you fake date him?” When you don’t reply immediately, Namjoon is quick to keep talking. “Not that I’m asking you to stop fake dating me! What I’m trying to say is… Maybe try to rekindle the rumor that you and Jungkook are dating? He doesn’t have to know it’s a date, so long as everyone else thinks that you two are.”

“I… I guess?” You sound unsure, though Namjoon admits it’s kind of a long shot to begin with, not when you wouldn’t know the last thing about being subtle. He kind of wants to throttle you, in a gentle way. It’s honestly frustrating to see you like this, and he just wishes he could… Make the problem go away.

That would be easy. If Y/N just stopped pining after Jungkook, then he could just come in and—

His thoughts skid to a halt, nearly slapping himself to keep from going down that road again. Look at him, trying to help you with your mess when even he can’t get a handle on his own emotions. What is going on inside my head, he thinks sadly to himself.

“Listen, it’ll be really easy! All you have to do is text him and say, ‘Hey, wanna go have dinner with me tomorrow?’ but bring him somewhere nicer, perhaps? Then take a photo of him all dressed up and looking boyfriend-y and post it on Instagram. I’m sure that’ll shut people up.”

“Namjoon, I don’t know if you’re aware, but Jungkook’s definition of ‘dressing up’ is combat boots, a hoodie, and his god-awful backpack the size of Africa. He looks like a nerd.”

“I mean, you kinda dress alike…” Namjoon mutters, and he’s thankful that you don’t hear his slight slip-up. He clears his throat. “A-anyway, I’m sure it’ll be fine? I think it would be more suspicious if he wore a suit and tie or something. So long as you guys look cozy and comfy together, I’m sure people will take the hint. If worse comes to worst, I can maybe slip something to Johnny and he can retract his statement or something.”

“I hope to god that isn’t the case,” you say. Namjoon nods, before realizing you can’t even see him.

“Right. Well, I think everything should work out perfectly. Just ask him to some popular couples restaurant. Maybe the nice Italian place in Hongdae? Something more romantic, not necessarily fancy.”

There’s a pause on your end for a moment causing Namjoon to sweat a little, wondering if he might be overstepping. He does genuinely want to help you, though he hopes he isn’t actually weirding you out somehow. He’s not adept at handling love problems as much as he’s trying to appear to be, since he’s mostly using the romance novels he had read during his teen years as his sole source of reference. This is what I get for not dating for so long, Namjoon thinks, grimacing.

“Namjoon.” You break the silence, your voice quieter than before. Namjoon has to strain his ears a little, pursing his lips as he waits for your response. “Are you…”

Namjoon tilts his head. “Am I?”

Namjoon hears you hesitate, stuttering syllables over his phone speaker like you aren’t quite sure how to ask your question. “Do you remember when I asked you a few days ago if you were sure you don’t actually have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah?”

“I just… I don’t know how to say this without being weird, but I just want to say you’re great. Like,” you huff out a laugh, incredulous. “You’re just… The perfect package? You’re so kind and so sweet and it’s just? Almost mysterious how you don’t have someone special to call your own yet.”

Namjoon smiles wryly to himself, head bowed as he stares at his wrinkled bedsheets. “I suppose other people don’t feel the same way.” He tries forcing out a laugh, but it sounds a little strangled. His chest feels tight, strangely. Hopefully, you don’t notice.

“No, I highly doubt that! You’re literally the perfect guy. Any person would be lucky to have you as their boyfriend.” You sound almost indignant, like you can’t imagine anyone ever thinking badly about him. He almost wants to laugh, but he tightens his hands into fists instead, digging his nails into his palms and leaving crescents in their wake.

“Well then… I guess that makes you lucky to have me, then?” Namjoon nearly slaps his hands to his mouth, a cold tingle of embarrassment mixed with fear running down his spine. Did he really just say that— “What I mean is, erm…”

“N-no, I get you.” You’re giggling, but—is he imagining it?—you sound a little nervous to his ears. If he thinks hard enough, he can almost imagine you blushing, bottom lip trapped underneath your teeth. “I guess I am lucky to be your fake girlfriend, huh? Even for just a few weeks?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes out the word, guilt washing over him like waves. Here he is, feeling things that he shouldn’t be, over a girl who was never his to begin with. There are seedlings in his chest, barely anything to write home about. But he knows—a gardener can see the garden even before the flowers have bloomed. Each day he spends with you is another day they get a chance to grow, and he’s afraid he’ll soon be overrun, unable to handle the forest that is bound to erupt. “Just a few weeks,” he echoes, unable to completely hide the sadness from his words.

“I guess I am just being melodramatic about everything, huh?” you say. It takes a moment for Namjoon to even remember what the two of you had been talking about, so caught up in his thoughts that he has to pinch himself back to reality.

“Think of it as a funny story to tell your grandkids,” Namjoon says.

You laugh, and Namjoon can feel a seedling sprout its first leaf. “Yeah. Definitely. God, I can’t even begin to think about kids… Not when I can’t even ask him out on a fucking date.”

“You can do it, Y/N.” Namjoon whispers. He flops back down onto his bed, eyes half-closed as he stares at his cracked ceiling. If he breathes quietly enough, he can hear the sounds of Seoul outside his windowpane. If he stops breathing altogether, he might be able to hear you across the city, your socked feet padding towards your bed, curling up into your own blanket.

“Thank you, Namjoon. Really.”

For what? Namjoon leaves that part unspoken. “You’re welcome,” he says instead. He drops the call, feeling a little emptier than before.

[bookwyrminspiration]

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

summary: Everything seems like it’s going to be okay, but they’re definitely not okay. 

Chapter 2: The Shift

Word Count: 7.8k

warnings: Mentions of pulling/scratching at skin in response to unwanted physical sensations. Mental spiraling/being overwhelmed. A few medical scenes, but nothing very different than what’s in the books. And as always, swearing.

taglist: listed at the end beneath the cut, but let me know if you want to be added or removed! 

Definitely curious to see what you all think, ngl...

ao3 link here

or read beneath the cut 

Every single cell in their body was alive--and dying. Each one was burning, shredding itself, unmaking itself and throwing the pieces back together. Their heartbeats were a fraction too quick, each pulse of life a fraction too strong. Each inhale coated their throat in acid and singed its way through their lungs. There was no light. There was no sound. But it hurt hurt hurt so loud, so bright.

The very essence of their mind had been bruised and battered and it was fighting with everything it had but there was nothing to fight. Except itself.

Consciousness was a whirlwind of ups and downs and upside-downs and each time they tried to reach it they were thrown back. Back where? They weren’t anywhere. They were their cells, each amalgamation of their parts could be seen in the way their mind had melted into their inner being.

They could not be separated.

Not yet.

Wait.

The pain was palpable now. It was not the soothing, unending, comforting, searing pain as they watched their mind tear itself apart.

This was real.

This was pinpricks and needles and smoke and ash and scratches and bruises and blood.

Wait--

Sophie couldn’t breathe over the sound of the footsteps passing by in the halls. Eyes open, she couldn’t see, everything hazy blotches of light and dark and color. Then it wasn’t.

Strange. She must’ve blinked it away, not that she remembered blinking. Her consciousness was cotton and her brain was fuzz, the edges of her vision still uncharacteristically undefined, but that wasn’t on the forefront of her mind.

Nothing was.

Noise registered vaguely in her mind, but she couldn’t discern the sounds from each other, voices and whispers overlapping each other like shuffling cards. Static coated everything, the ringing in her ears, the ceiling lights, the sharp flashes of color darting around her field of vision.

A hand passed in front of her face and her eyes trailed after it, but she couldn’t keep up, lagging a second behind.

Breathe.

She needed to breathe. In and out. Again. Again. She forced her lungs to find their rhythm, the pain grounding her and sharpening her mind. Her blood was magma rushing beneath her skin, but each forced exhale made it slightly more bearable.

She was awake.

The noises--voices, she knew now--had fizzled out, the anxiety palpable in the air, the room waiting with bated breath. The hand passed in front of her again, and this time her eyes followed. “She seems to be doing better,” someone murmured, and it took her a long second to realize that she was the person being discussed.

Her lips parted slightly as she turned her head, eyes sliding to the figure seated next to her, eyelids unnaturally heavy. Spots of color danced in her vision--the lights fixed to the ceiling had temporarily blinded her--and the room shuttered between blurred and clear for a few seconds before she blinked it away.

“How bad,” she rasped, and the figure--Elwin--jerked, eyes snapping to meet hers. Her voice had been barely audible, but it was far too loud in this taut silence.

Someone let loose a sigh, so thick and loaded and fraught with relief she nearly winced, and then fingers laced with hers--she hadn’t even been consciously aware she had hands--squeezing tight.

Edaline’s fingers flitted against the skin of her cheek, brushing stray hairs out of her face before pressing her palm to her cheek. Sophie leaned into the touch for a moment before looking back towards Elwin. He still hadn’t answered.

He cleared his throat as he readjusted his glasses, hair frazzled as though he’d run his fingers through it. “I must say, you all are definitely fighters.” His smile cracked at that, but he quickly regained composure and continued. “I’m not sure exactly what you were exposed to, but it did some nasty damage--which I can reverse,” he quickly added, not that she’d been worried. Elwin had performed miracles before, this time didn’t have any reason to be different.

Something about what he’d said caught her attention though. She mulled it over for a brief moment before it hit her.

You all.

Her friends.

Fuck.

Hissing through her teeth, she propped herself up on both elbows, Edaline adjusting the bedsheets around her. She still hadn’t said a word.

From her new position, she could see the entire room, the Healing Bubble--Keefe’s affectionate nickname for the space had stuck. Dwarves had a tendency to build rooms as though they were bubbles, pockets of air trapped beneath the dirt, never to rise. The Healing Bubble was rounded, cots spread around the room, other adjoined rooms serving as both storage and alchemy labs--a close recreation of the Healing Center back at Foxfire. Close. But not quite.

She blinked hard. This was not what she needed to be focusing on at the moment.

Because all around the room, her friends lay unconscious in the cots. Each of their faces pallid and expressionless, none of them moving, not even restless twitching.

Alden and Della were seated between Fitz and Biana, Juline and Kesler beside Dex, bodyguards stationed throughout the room near their charges, each of them looking at her. The relief was palpable on their faces; so then she looked alright she supposed, but she certainly didn’t feel it.

The movement--sitting up--had agitated the sludge in her veins, burning as it coursed through her. Something--probably pain--must’ve shown on her face, colored orbs beginning to flash, a frown pulling at Elwin’s features; she ignored the lights.

This time she cleared her throat before speaking. “What happened?” Still rougher than she would’ve liked, but it would do.

“You nearly got yourselves fucking killed, that’s what,” Ro answered. Sophie waited for further explanation, but none came.

Slightly irritated, she tried again. “I passed out for a while and I’d like to know what happened between the time I fainted until now. Perhaps someone could start with why we’re all back underground in the Healing Bubble--my memory seems to be missing a few spots.”

Silence.

“You kids certainly have a way with words.” Sophie’s head snapped towards the doorway, watching as Mr. Forkle walked up to her, stopping a ways away from her cot. Grady was behind him.

“Hey, kiddo,” he whispered, rushing forward and wrapping his arms tightly around her, holding her as though afraid he might break her. She must’ve looked rough, then. The thought dispelled her irritation for a moment, and all she could do was grip him tightly, only letting go when she heard Mr. Forkle shifting his weight as he waited.

Turning her attention towards him, she tried not to fiddle with her bedsheets.

“What happened,” she asked again, Mr. Forkle opening his mouth to answer when another, darker voice cut him off.

“The fuck is going on.” Tam had propped himself up on his elbows, face pallid as he swayed slightly. Sophie’s shoulder’s dropped a fraction, the pressure of being the only one awake fading now that Tam was conscious with her. Which was...strange. She didn’t want to think about that right now.

Elwin was hovering over him, flashing lights around him but saying nothing, knowing they were both more interested in whatever the hell Forkle was about to say.

“Mr. Tam,” he began, seeming unperturbed by the interruption. “As I was about to explain to Ms. Foster, I think it would be best if we waited for this discussion until all of you are...capable of having it.”

“The fuck does that mean,” Tam deadpanned, words slightly slurred. Honestly, she would’ve laughed had she not been so irritated at the moment.

“It means,” she grumbled, crossing her arms, “that he’s not going to tell us because we’re the only ones awake right now.” She glanced at him for confirmation, and he nodded just once, but it was enough. A haze of anger started to cloud her mind, but she wound it into the knot in her chest with a sigh, wincing.

“Well, that’s bullshit.”

She agreed and said as much, but Mr. Forkle seemed to have been expecting this response, still entirely composed, although if she didn’t know better she could’ve sworn there was a flicker of hesitation in his expression.

There were so many people in this one room, the sounds of their breathing filling the moment of silence in a way that made her ears itch, raking claws down the column of her spine until she could no longer contain the shiver that coursed through her. Edaline squeezed her arm once, rearranging the blankets as Sophie shook off the daze.

“Are you really going to make us wait? Seriously?” Disdain dripped from her voice, disappointment pooling around her fingers as her mouth tightened, glaring at him.

“If you don’t tell them, I will,” Ro announced, examining her nails and pointedly not looking at him.

He sighed, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin for a moment before glancing around, reading the room. “While I would prefer you didn’t, I don’t think it will be necessary. It appears we won’t be waiting for the rest of you kids very long.” He gestured towards where Biana was laying, hands held in front of her as she vanished spastically in and out of view, blinking ever so slowly, head bobbing slightly as her fingers fluttered rhythmically in the air.

Sophie’s heart beat erratically for a moment, another stitch of reassurance mending her frazzled consciousness together. Tam had woken, so had Biana. Everyone would be okay. Everyone would wake up and be perfectly fine--if a little bruised--and they could regroup. This was just a minor setback.

She’d been hurt worse and come back from it, this wouldn’t be any exception. This wasn’t even that bad--just some aches and pains. This was minor.

She reminded herself of this over and over, and it became easier when a muffled groan came from Fitz’s bed as he propped himself up, as the temperature rose a degree with Marella, as the sweat danced up their backs as Linh rose, as the lights flickered for a moment with Wylie, as Dex mumbled spastically beneath his breath--completely indecipherable, but that wasn’t the point--as solid transparency coated Maruca’s fingers, and as that familiar green wave rolled through the room, Keefe the last of them to wake.

It took no more than a half-hour--excruciatingly long for Sophie and Tam, but just long enough for the others to get their bearings and for Elwin to check them over, giving them the clear.

“It’s actually...strange...how well you’re doing.” He frowned, finishing with Keefe as he snapped the final ball of light away. “All of you.” He added, seeing the immediate concern for Keefe. That...wasn’t better.

“What do you mean?” Sophie asked, examining her hands as if she could somehow see through to the cells the way Elwin did. Was there a problem? How could there be, he said they were doing well, hadn’t he?

He waved his hands about for a moment, as if trying to physically take his words back from the air. “Not that it’s a bad thing. In fact, I’m rather glad that you’re all doing so well. Your cells look...slightly traumatized, but otherwise bright. I guess I just...expected more damage considering--” he cut off, glancing at Mr. Forkle before giving them an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I don’t think I’m supposed to say.”

Keefe groaned, flopping back in his cot. “Not you too! It’s bad enough with just the Forklenator keeping us in the dark, but now you join him? Not cool.” While his phrasing left something to be desired...Sophie had to agree. She’d waited long enough to know about something she was involved in, shouldn't she have been the first to know? Shouldn’t the adults have been asking her what happened?

He shrugged, then Mr. Forkle cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “You kids have certainly waited long enough, but I insist we all reconvene down in our common space.” He raised his hands to placate them before they could protest. “You’ve all been laying in the same clothes in the same cots for a few days; I think you may want to attend to some personal care before we continue.” Sophie closed her mouth, realizing just how soaked her shirt was, how stagnant her tongue tasted.

As much as she’d love to jump right back into being productive...she’d also love a proper shower. She could see her friends thinking the same. And Elwin seemed to think they were good to go.

“One hour,” Mr. Forkle continued. “Nothing will change drastically in a single hour. Especially not after that stunt you kids pulled.” He smiled slightly, teasing them now that he knew they wouldn’t fight back.

Holy fuck she wanted a shower.

The pouring water was scalding enough that Sophie’s skin had begun to turn red, steam curling in the air and fogging the mirrors visible on the other side of the room. The smooth black rock beneath her feet seemed alive with the flickers of light from the dancing sconces adorning the ragged walls, reflected specks of color in the sheen.

It fell in a near-silent waterfall from the flat spout a foot or two above her head. It reminded her of those videos she’d seen as a child--laminar flow. The water falling so smoothly, so consistently it appeared almost solid. This was one of the moments where the dwarves' fondness for bubble-like shapes came in handy, she realized as she watched the water flow down the gentle curve of the floor towards the center of the space, guided by the room's natural curve.

The Bath Bubble--another one of Keefe’s names that had stuck--was possibly her favorite place to be nowadays. The room itself was spherical--hence the name--completely hollow except for the ragged column rising from the center of the room. The dwarves had worked alongside hydrokinetics to turn it into a functional pipeline, water flowing through the center and diverting out into the dozen waterfall-like streams her and her friends were standing beneath. And indeed it felt as though she could feel Linh’s soft charisma in the gentle flow.

Sophie tilted her head back, letting the heat pour soundlessly over her head, bubbles streaming down her back. There was a faint pitter-patter as she moved, the water droplets that diverted off her body made a faint splash. She could hear the same pattern of droplets in the stalls next to hers--a friend on either side in a stall of their own, although the dark glass panes between them kept her from seeing who, exactly, she was beside. It was a way of giving them privacy, she supposed.

A dozen stalls of the same size, same structure, with the same toiletries--although Dex always seemed to have a different soap of some kind--all spread around that center column.

It had seemed...strange at first, to say the least. She’d gotten so used to the luxury of her own amenities that she’d forgotten what it was like to share. Now they shared almost everything and had become closer than ever because of it.

The common space, bedrooms...and shower.

It wasn’t quite the same as back home, but she’d come to love it. The casual reassurance that the people she cared most about were just moments away; they were there, she could hear them.

Her fingers had begun to prune, she realized as she rubbed them together. A vague memory flickered in the back of her mind as she eyed the wrinkles, a time she’d heard that pruned fingers were just your body’s way of adapting its grip to work underwater. Curious, she stepped slightly out of the torrent and pressed her fingertips against the wet glass to her side.

Her fingers clung to the surface, a surprising strength in the grip. She could feel her eyebrows raise and then scrunch once more and her mind began whirring.

How ironic, she thought, that it all depends on the circumstances--using it the right way. She shook herself out of it, reaching for her bar of soap.

Who knew the Mysterious Miss F could get even more cryptic, Keefe teased, and she realized with chagrin that she’d accidentally spoken into the mindbubble.

Oh. Shit.

Faint laughter echoed throughout the room, not quite at her, but definitely because of her. It seemed all the blood in her body decided that it wanted to be in her face, and she turned the temperature of the water down to help cool her off. It had minimal success.

I don’t know about you guys, but whatever shit we were exposed to in that place doesn’t feel like it wants to come off. Biana’s voice rang out next, thankfully giving Sophie something to focus on that wasn’t her own mistakes. But she frowned as she realized Biana was right.

She’d been so focused on the feeling of the water, her pruning fingers, that she hadn’t bothered to pay attention to the rest of her body.

It was as though a thin film coated her body, itchy in the way your skin was after a soap bubble popped on your arm.

A film over every inch of her skin, permeating her pores and clawing its way through her cells--well, she supposed she was being a bit dramatic. But it was hard not to worry.

Elwin said we’re good, she reminded everyone, and she could almost hear them repeating it to themselves, small echoes laced with slivers of doubt and terror.

Grabbing the soap off the rack--honeydew this month--she tried to lather the film off, using her hands, then a washcloth, and finally trying to scrape off the top layer of skin with her fingernails.

When her arms were laced with angry red nail marks, she finally had to admit that it wasn’t going to come off anytime soon. Well, she transmitted, a bit perplexed. This is probably a temporary thing. Like ink. If you get it on your fingers, it lingers for a while and takes multiple washes to get out.

Everyone seemed all too eager to agree, chalking it up to something that just needed time. Sure, it was slightly unnerving, but if they just waited it out, the problem would disappear entirely.

It was foolish, she knew, but she couldn’t handle the idea that anything was seriously wrong.

“Did you fuck with the soaps again?” Ro asked, wrinkling her nose slightly. They were all gathered in the common area--or bubble, if you were Keefe--ready to get back to their...forceful inquiries. It took her a moment, but she realized the question was directed as Dex--who was equally as confused.

“The soap? Did I--uh, no. Why?” He stammered, brow furrowing. Honestly, it was kind of hilarious how confused he looked, but he shook himself out of it and repeated, “Why?”

“Your scents are off.”

There was a moment of silence--I mean, there was no proper way to react to being told you smell strange. Biana ran her fingers through her hair, bringing it close to her face and inhaling slightly. She frowned, seemingly also confused--at this point, everyone was confused about everything, which was getting to be rather annoying.

“Damn, we really can’t catch a break,” Keefe cut in, once again, and he glanced at her for a moment too long to be casual before cracking that crooked grin. “If you wanted to mess with us, couldn’t you have come up with something a bit more...I don’t know--interesting?” His tone was light, but there was an unmistakable tension in his shoulders, a hollowness in his eyes as his feet swung back and forth from his perch on a high stool.

“She’s right,” Sandor said, stepping forward with a frown. He came up right behind Sophie, sniffing like a rabbit before exhaling with force. “All of you, you smell different. And it’s not something your noses would be able to detect.” He directed the last part at Biana, whose hair was still pressed to her nose. She dropped it with a frown, absentmindedly scratching her nails over the skin of her arms--marred with red lines just like Sophie’s.

“It’s nothing bad,” Grizel quickly added, seemingly melting out of the walls. “You just smell...off. But you shouldn’t worry about that.” Her smile was almost too easy, too reassuring, but Sophie really didn’t want anything else to think about, so she found herself smiling back.

“Elwin said we were good,” Keefe said, also scratching at his skin; angry red marks covered his neck and disappeared beneath his shirt--she hadn’t been the only one to try and scrape off that film. Even now she noticed she was scratching at the exposed skin on her wrist and forearm, but she shook her hands out and forced herself to focus.

“Will someone finally tell us what happened?” she asked, calm and collected. Her eyes met Mr. Forkle’s, who’d been standing at the edge--could spheres even have edges?--of the room, watching them.

She raised her eyebrows, gesturing for him--anyone--to start talking.

He straightened, looking right back for a moment before turning to address them all. “Well, as you kids have probably figured out, the mission didn’t go according to plan--”

“No shit,” Tam mumbled, and a chorus of amused exhales sounded throughout the room.

Mr. Forkle took a breath, then continued. “You did succeed in setting off a good portion of the planted explosives. However, something went wrong and you didn’t get out in time. Luckily, Dex’s failsafe worked, so no one died or was seriously injured--because of the explosives at least.”

“There was a failsafe?” Mr. Forkle sighed as he was once again interrupted--but this time by Marella. She, too, was covered in self-inflicted scratches, and as her fingers dropped from her shoulder they left a particularly nasty trail of lines as she turned to look at Dex, who seemed slightly embarrassed.

“It was just supposed to be a backup, so I didn’t mention it,” he said, wringing his hands--covered in scratch marks--as he tried not to meet their eyes. “The trigger for the explosives was connected to my personal device, so I added another feature. If we were still within a dangerous range, then the ones within a set radius wouldn’t go off with the others. It didn’t disable all of them, only the ones that put us at risk.” He raised his hands placatingly as if worried they’d be upset with him because they hadn’t exploded.

“That would’ve been nice to know beforehand.”

“Sorry.”

Mr. Forkle cleared his throat before anyone else could speak. “Are you done? Yes? Alright. When you didn’t return by the planned time, we began the emergency retrieval.” Oh, right. They’d come up with a backup plan to get out before they’d even left. Amidst all the chaos, she’d completely forgotten about everything that wasn’t immediately in front of her. Her face heated slightly, how could she have forgotten?

“Using the temporary crystals, your bodyguards leapt in--with Grady there for the actual leap--found you, and leapt back. Of course, the process of leaping underground took a significant toll on them, and they also underwent treatment when they arrived back.” Sophie nodded along as he spoke, impatient. She’d already known all this; she’d even been the one to suggest using the unmapped stars as a backup plan.

Mr. Forkle looked towards the bodyguards, and Sandor started filling in the rest of the details. “We found you all unconscious in one of the vat-filled rooms, but the place was a mess. It seemed one of the shelving units had gotten knocked over, and multiple different vials had broken and mixed together--you all in the center of it.

“We didn’t have time to do anything but get you out of there, the place was still unstable after the blast. So we took you to Elwin immediately, where he treated you for several days until you awoke this morning.”

“Right, we could’ve guessed as much,” Marella cut in, impatience clear on her face. “What happened to the building?” she demanded. “We were knocked out right as the explosives were triggered, so we don’t know what happened and no one’s fucking told us.”

The silence in the room was palpable, and all the adults glanced between each other. Sophie huffed impatiently, her temper shortening by the second--and the itchiness wasn’t helping. What the fuck. How hard was it to give a clear report on what their team themselves had fucking done? Unbelievable.

“Why aren’t you telling us,” Sophie demanded, more statement than question.

“We understand that a lot of hope was riding on this mission--” Tiergan began from the corner, and her head whipped to face him--she hadn’t even noticed he was there, but she cut him off.

“Bullshit. This is all bullshit. Cut it out.” She was being more cross than she needed to, and she knew it, but she couldn’t think clearly through the itching. Her fingers drifted to her neck, absentmindedly shredding at the skin there as she continued, ignoring the shocked faces around her--she’d apologize later. “We want a clear answer. You obviously don’t know what happened to us in the facility, but we also don’t know what happened with the mission. You know--the reason we went into the facility.

“We know it wasn’t completely successful--we have the injuries to prove it, you had to resort to Plan B to get us out, so don’t cut around the chase. We don’t need the build-up. Not all of the explosives went off--but some did. So what’s the damage? How many of the explosives were actually triggered and what damage did they do? And give us a fucking clear answer for once, please and thanks.”

Her tone had been too sharp, too grating--she could see it on their faces; the way Grady’s hardened and he opened his mouth as if to reprimand her, remind her that they were all in the same boat; Mr. Forkle’s frown as he looked her over as if he didn’t recognize her; Edaline’s mouth fallen open in shock, eyes wide; Sandor’s crossed arms as he looked down at her--she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself, scratching more than just her neck now, desperately scrubbing at any accessible skin she could reach.

Why is it so...ITCHY. She didn’t know who’d transmitted it, maybe it’d been her. Maybe it’d been all of them--because they were all scratching, clawing, tearing at their skin.

Someone was talking--multiple someone’s--but she couldn’t hear much over the roaring of her skin stretched too tight against her bones, jerking and dancing and trembling beneath her fingers against her will. Her head bowed until it rested between her knees, shifting her shoulders blades as the heat in her body began to concentrate, spread, travel, like tiny rivers of lava searching against her skin.

“....Elwin….something’s…...tearing themselves apart…” was all she could discern through the scratching. Her fingertips became wet, something dripping down her skin, warm and slick--blood.

She’d drawn blood with just nails on skin.

And then she wasn’t in her own skin anymore.

Her shirt was soaked with ice, cool liquid poured over her back and sticking the bandages to her skin--ice to combat the heat. Sophie laid on her stomach in the cot, each of her friends around her, each of them back in the Healing Bubble.

Their heads were at the ends where their feet would normally be, so their faces were all closer to each other, as opposed to against the wall.

No one had anything to say, could even think of something to say, so they lay there on their stomachs, minds linked but quiet, buzzing with wordless thoughts as the heat in their backs continued to flow and ebb.

Ow, someone said dryly--Fitz, she realized a moment later.

It burns, Biana added, groaning as she shifted in her cot. Her face was coated in a sickly sheen of sweat and tears--and Sophie could see fresh scratches mingled in her scars.

Not as much as that scolding Foster whipper out earlier--I always knew you were feisty, but that was new. Keefe grinned at her as he said it, but she could see the grimace beyond it, the worry shadowing his face.

Her face burned--and not from pain--as she played over the memory in her mind. She’d lost control of herself in the pain and lashed out--and hadn’t cared.

Still didn’t care, if she was honest.

Everything she’d said was true, each quip had been her blunt opinions and desires, her frustrations. She just hadn’t meant to say it like that, but maybe it would convince the adults to stop being so avoidant and distant, to include them upfront for once.

Somehow, through all the trials and tribulation of the past few months, they’d remained secretive, stubborn, still trapped in this idea of superiority. Thinking the right approach, the right morals would get them through anything. It was bullshit--and she wanted them to know it.

Not that that had been her main priority when she’d started trying to peel her skin off with her bare hands--they all had. She’d been too in the moment to notice it, but as she’d hissed and scolded the adults and frantically scratched at herself, her friends were doing the same, only quietly, hazy, detached.

She’d taken the focus away from them, and it had taken a few moments longer for her friends' bodyguards to realize their charges were tearing themselves apart too.

Hmm. Oh. Yeah. That was an accident. She said quickly, realizing she’d never responded to Keefe’s comment, had gotten wrapped in her own mind. Dex and Marella snorted at her, all too aware of all the times she’d gotten distracted.

You were right, though, Maruca said, smiling slightly, looking just as wan as Biana--actually, no one looked good. You should yell at them more often; they listen to you.

I can’t believe we blew up a building, Linh whispered, and she buried her face into her cot as she shifted, reaching an arm behind her to scratch at the soaked fabric of her tunic. I just wish we’d gotten the whole thing at once.

Sophie nodded her agreement. Mr. Forkle had come in earlier to finally give them the report. His quiet, grave tone and his glances towards her had her looking away, embarrassed--no one would forget her little outburst anytime soon.

He’d been curt, to the point. Partly because of her, partly because Elwin was in the room, wrapping soaking cold bandages around their backs.

It had been...underwhelming. Anticlimactic. An entire outburst for one simple conversation.

Part of the facility was destroyed, buried in its own rubble beneath the ground, but not all of it. Not all the places they’d wanted to hit. Not enough to ruin the place like they’d intended. The plan had been to destroy all the “breeding”--they were man-made, so she didn’t know what to call them--parts of the facility, stop the flow of creatures from the source. Permanently damage the place in a way it couldn’t recover from.

Getting stuck in the facility threw a wrench in that.

Not only had some of the explosives remained dormant, but they’d discovered parts of the facility that were worse than they’d imagined. Sure, they’d gone in mostly blind, but they’d thought they had a general idea of the place. Turns out, nope. They’d need a thorough scouting of the inside of the building before they could bring it fully to its knees.

And none of them were in any shape to do that right now.

If it’s any consolation, at least there won’t be as many creatures coming from there now; we did do something. Fitz’s voice was soothing in her mind, and she flushed even brighter as she realized she’d subconsciously lowered her defenses and everyone had seen her replaying the memory.

You’d think being a telepath would give her better mental defenses, Marella teased. Sophie would’ve said something back, gotten them away from the conversation, but she watched Marella’s eyes flare slightly as her body tensed, teeth clenching together. Even though Marella was better at keeping private than Sophie, she still understood. She was trying to distract herself, and Sophie was an easy target--and one who wouldn’t mind.

She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a door opening off somewhere she couldn’t see, but she knew who it would be before the absurdly colorful tunic came into view.

“How are we feeling,” Elwin smiled down at them all, the light not quite reaching his eyes. “And answer out loud please,” he teased. “I can’t hear all that internal telepath stuff you guys do. I don’t even understand how you and Fitz managed to figure that out, but it’s certainly impressive.”

They didn’t quite know what to say to that.

“Oo-kay,” Elwin said, picking up on the silence. “Let’s start with Sophie then. Still hurt?”

She nodded, then realized she should probably say something out loud. “Yes. My back burns, even with the numbing and pain relief--although that did help. It’s bearable now.” He nodded, snapping his fingers a few times before realizing he hadn’t put on his glasses.

He sat down next to her cot, pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose before snapping once again. A bright ball of neon blue came into being above her back, and Elwin frowned down at her, looking through her.

“Is something wrong,” Dex asked, though he sounded strangely muffled. Glancing at him, she saw he had his braided bracelet in his mouth, biting down on it as he spoke--to keep from gritting his teeth. So he was in pain too, she guessed. “Fuck,” he whispered a moment later, which confirmed her suspicion.

“I don’t know what I’m seeing,” Elwin admitted, looking toward Dex and seeing the same pain Sophie had. “I think I’ll need to up your pain meds, though.” He walked around the room as he said it, stopping by everyone as if confirming what he’d already suspected for each of them. “The soaked bandages aren’t doing as much as I’d hoped.”

“And? Do you know what’s causing it?” Wylie asked.

“I have some theories--but before you ask, not enough for it to be worth sharing.” He glanced back at Sophie. “And I’ve got something else I need to do with you first.”

He disappeared into the adjacent room--where his supply was kept--but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong wrong wrong.

Anyone else creeped out? Biana’s voice was quieter than normal, and she scrubbed a hand down her face, pulling at the skin as she tried to distract herself from the burning on her back.

Elwin is. Keefe answered. He’s so worried it started fogging up the room. I can’t feel anyone else’s emotions through the haze.

The tension in the room grew, almost palpable by the time Elwin reemerged, levitating an assortment of bottles and vials and rolls of bandages behind him.

“Who wants to go first,” he asked, cracked smile betraying the all-consuming worry she couldn’t unsee now that Keefe had pointed it out.

“For what?” multiple voices chorused.

“Taking off your shirt.”

They all blinked. He continued.

“I’d originally planned to leave the bandages for a while longer, but it seems I might’ve missed something my first time around, so I’ll need to remove them to see that. Right now you’re all wearing your shirts, so I can’t get to them. I’m only one physician, so one of you needs to go first.”

“I’ll do it.” Tam had propped himself on his elbows, but his eyes were on Linh.

Linh, whose breathing had become uneven with worry. Whose eyes were slightly too wide, lips too thin, face too pale. Too subtle to see unless you knew what you were looking for--and Tam did.

He looked to Sophie for a moment and started, not realizing how close she’d been paying attention; he scrunched his nose at her before looking to Elwin.

Elwin rolled with it. “Okay. Sit up. Shirt off.” Tam complied, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot, slowly removing his tunic and looking studiously at the ground, as if he could convince himself there was no one else there. They all looked the same, but her breath was still stolen for a moment.

His entire torso was wrapped in thick, sopping bandages, covering him completely from armpit to waist. But there was something...off...with them. They didn’t sit right against his wan skin. They seemed frumpy, almost. Digging into his skin at odd angles, stuck in other places.

Elwin frowned for a split second before continuing. “Face the wall for me,” he said, and Tam turned his back to all of them. “I’m going to remove the bandages.”

The room was silent except for the slow peeling of the wet bandages suctioned to the skin, everyone trying and miserably failing to pretend they weren’t watching. Elwin moved slow, peeling them away from the skin little by little, trying his best to be gentle. They’d stuck themselves to the skin like a bandaid.

His fingers faltered as Tam’s back was finally exposed, breath catching as he stopped all together. Sophie couldn’t stop herself from gasping, jerking upward as she saw his skin--and she wasn’t the only one; terror laced every face in the room.

At the pulsing amalgamation of black veins spread across his back.

What, Tam’s voice demanded, echoing throughout the mindbubble. He couldn’t see the horror his skin had become, the undulating black slipping in and out of the surface of his flesh, moving like some untold map inked upon his back.

No one could muster the words--but they couldn’t hide it from their thoughts either.

He inhaled sharply as he saw his own form through Sophie’s eyes, wide and frozen, fixated on that unnatural black.

“Alright,” Elwin said, shaking himself back into himself. “Clearly the bandages didn’t work as they should’ve.” There was no hint of anything in his voice, just clear determination and aloofness and he thought through the next steps. “I’m going to assume something similar if not identical has happened to the rest of you, so follow his example. Shirts off.”

Everyone complied in silence, and Elwin made his way around the room, removing their bandages. It was strange, seeing him in action. So often she was unconscious while he worked, and she decided right then and there she preferred it that way. With no tension, no anticipation as she sat there, waiting for the verdict. Then, she’d wake up and everything would be in order--or at least on track with a plan.

Not now.

Not as with each of her friends Elwin found another convergence of veins spread across their backs. Marella’s back was angry and red, scolding to the touch and letting off steam; Biana’s skin flickering in and out of view, threads of invisible flesh weaving between visible; Wylie’s glimmering and shining unnaturally, faint light emanating from his skin; each of them more and more unbearable until Sophie was closing her eyes and leaning her head between her legs, counting counting counting the seconds until this would be over. This would be done. This would be gone.

This wouldn’t last. She wouldn’t believe it. Whatever happened, this would end and everything would be better. She just had to wait it out. She would wait it out.

Finally, Elwin reached her, the last one in bandages. She couldn’t breathe as she faced the wall, his fingers pressing briefly against her skin before he began the process, already knowing what he would find.

Peel.

Rip.

Tear.

The bandages fell away, the pressure easing--but images of her back filled her mind from the perspective of her friends. Her skin was distorted, stretched and pale across her back, pulling with every minute movement as she finally had a visual on where the burning sensation originated.

Elwin said nothing for a long moment, surveying the room before speaking. “I’ll figure this out, don’t worry. It looks like the pressure on your backs from the bandages aggravated something, causing a severe reaction. For now, I think your skin needs to breathe, so we’ll leave them off for now and reassess in the morning. They were just to help with the burning sensation anyways, which we can treat differently. I don’t want to mess with anything else right now; your skin is too damaged.”

He made as if to look out a window, then remembered where they were, how deep underground, and glanced to the light fixtures instead. Dex had helped with them, lighting systems that corresponded with the time of day and brightness aboveground, a simulated sun in every room. They could be overridden, of course, if you needed light at midnight you wouldn’t just be left to flounder about in the dark, but most people just went along with the natural course of light.

The light at the top of the Healing Bubble was currently overridden, and Elwin tapped his imparter a few times before it switched back, the room becoming a deep, dusty purple-blue. He tapped one more time and faint flickers of white appeared on the walls, spattered across their faces and the ground, a projected sky full of constellations.

Linh sighed, leaning back in her cot before wincing, switching to leaning back on her hand and taking the pressure off the skin on her back.

“I know it’s pointless to ask for some of you,” Elwin began as he walked towards the door, glancing at Sophie. “But do try and get some rest. I’ll be in here if you need me--might pop out for a few minutes if I need supplies--and I’ll update your parents and bodyguards, alright?”

They all nodded, but it was Dex who said, “Can you...can we not do visits? Please. Just...not yet.” Elwin’s face softened at that and he nodded, then he was gone.

And their backs still burned.

Something was breaking--no, broken. No. Something was going to break.

She wasn’t there, but she was.

Before her spread a hall of mirrors, impossibly tall, stretching into infinity, soaring above her and cascading beneath her feet--did she have feet?

She stood in the center of the hallway, the mirrors extended to either side, no end in sight.

Was there a noise?

No. Yes.

She couldn’t tell.

But the foreboding sense, the dread, that was real. That was there, and it was growing stronger. Each moment she existed there among those mirrors was another moment that something grew closer. But what?

What was coming closer?

What was going to break?

Where did the--

Sophie jolted upright, blood rushing from her pounding head as she tried to maintain her balance--and failed, toppling back onto the blankets and pillows.

She laid there, still as stone, for longer than she’d meant to. If she didn’t move, nothing could find her, she was hidden hidden hidden. Nothing would break.

Something itched at her back, incessant and demanding as she laid there, trying to ignore the feeling. They hadn’t needed to call Elwin before they’d all fallen asleep--although it’d taken her a while. She didn’t want to need him now. She was so close to believing everything was going to be okay. So so close.

She didn’t want to let go of that.

Beside her, Marella twitched in her cot, her fingers grasping at the blankets, small sparks shimmering at her fingertips, brow furrowed, breathing heavily as though stuck in a nightmare. Sophie didn’t want to wake her, didn’t even have the mental capacity to realize maybe she could.

Her breath came too fast, her head too light as she lay there.

She sat up, trying to escape the foreboding feeling of just sitting there, waiting there. It had very suddenly become less comforting than it’d been only moments before.

Something was wrong.

Something was

wrong

wrong

wrong.

Sophie stood, grimacing as her body tried to correct itself as she tilted side to side, head still spinning. She blinked a few times, and the room came into sickeningly clear view, down to the motes of dust swirling in the air.

She blinked again and the effect was gone.

Again, and it reappeared.

Sophie spun, the forms of her friends asleep in the cots staying in focus despite the movement, searching searching searching for, she knew it was here--there.

The mirror.

Tucked to the side, covered with a bolt of fabric, she pulled it out, resting it between Keefe and Fitz’s cots, tearing down the covering.

She pressed up close to the surface, pulling at the skin of her face as she looked into her own eyes, trying to see what she knew knew knew she wasn’t imagining.

Wide, terrified eyes stared back at her, scanning and searching for something, anything, watching the flickering projected constellations move across her skin. All she saw was herself, standing before the mirror in the clothes Elwin had given her, given all of them. The tank top was the same bland cream of the shorts, courtesy of the gnomes, who had helped mass-produce different things at the expense of individuality. There was nothing...her about what stared back. She knew she knew there was something she was missing--there.

A gleam. The light caught in the whites of her eyes and she could see the glossy film coating her entire eye. She blinked, willing it to disappear, and it was gone.

She did it again.

The film came back, and with it, frightening clarity. She could see everything, down to the individual strands of hair floating about her face.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t hear over her heartbeat pulsing in her ears. She put a hand to her chest, all her skin numb except for the fire dancing its way across her flesh. She couldn’t feel anything. No sensation. She may as well have been a bottomless pit instead of a person.

Wait. That heartbeat in her mind...that wasn’t hers.

She turned to face the room of her sleeping friends, blissfully unaware of her all-encompassing panic, watching with dawning horror as she realized it was...all their pulses, ringing in her ears alongside her own.

Out of the corner of her eye, movement caught her attention, something thin and shining, and she whirled her head around to face it, face the mirror.

The world tipped itself upside down at what she saw, the two stumps poking out from her shoulder blades, exposed by that mass-produced tank top.

They sat there, moving with her as she breathed too quickly, as though they’d always been there.

Purples blended into small blue feathers, creating stability at the base, and beyond that stretched something so thin, small vein-like patterns reaching out out out, a film between the shapes it created, like a--

Wing.

Like a wing.

Sophie fell to her knees before the mirror, the air stifling.

Those were wings growing from her back.

Taglist: @loudnerdfest  @rainbowtay-11 @cadence-talle @pyrokinetic-loser @ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog @itstiger720 @loverofallthingssmart @cowboypossume @jolieharkness @wings-of-hell-and-beyond @shellyseashell @blossomjenniie @akotlcblog @imaramennoodle @booknerdddddd