#something without gore or angst!!! unheard of

[sp4ceboo]

As Selfish as Love: Merman!Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

genre: merfolk au, fantasy au, merman!bakugou x witch!reader, strangers to lovers, bakugou x f!reader, smut and angst and fluff

summary: in a world infested with purgers of magic, neither a clandestine witch nor a lone merman can remain safe for long.

tw: 18+, smut (afab reader, p in v, bkg has a merman cock, marking + biting, oral f receiving, fingering, crying during sex but not like you think, unprotected sex, creampie), violence, blood, death, vivid gore, grief, reader treated as a tool by evil ppl, random worldbuilding, questionable medical knowledge, kinda plot heavy, other stuff i don't remember

wc: 19.8k

For years, all you’ve known is darkness.

Chained by the wrist to a ring in the wall, swaddled and asphyxiating in the blackness of the brig - it is there where your closest companion has become the dark. It is the absence of light: not only because they do not deem you human enough to spare lamp oil on you, but because the kiss of the sun has been reduced to a foreign concept, a distant, syrupy memory.

Every morning when that door opens, letting light leak in and crawl painfully between the cracks of the roughly hewn floorboards like an intruder, you repeat your name back to yourself, remind yourself who you are - a witch, a survivor, a person at the end of their tether but that all the same does what they can to keep the shadows at bay.

For the darkness is not just the absence of light: it is the absence of hope, and if you let it take you, your very substance will dissolve and you will sink beneath obsidian waves and melt away without a sound. They will have won.

This is something you will not allow.

White knuckled, you hold onto memories of the past the way a drowning man clings to driftwood. They swirl in the currents of your mind, fickle things. Sometimes they are so tangible you can feel the grass beneath your feet and the bracing wind of the highlands on your face even in the still, humid air of the brig, sometimes they eddy away before you can catch a glimpse.

You were barely a woman when they caught you, when they tore you out from where you’d been rooted to the earth, ripping through the stitches that held your life together. You were young, and you were naive and ignorant. This would not have happened if I had been as I am now, you think, but as you are now is shackled in the belly of a ship built for the single purpose of hunting merfolk.

They hunt to purge. Their so-called divine has commanded the eradication of magic, and so that is what each and every child is trained for from birth. The land has been rife with their conquest for centuries, making witches such as your kind unheard of, yet the sea for all its worth has lain mostly untouched until recently.

You are jealous of the merfolk. The magic must come easily to them, because they have not had to suppress it out of fear - it seethes in their blood, potent as an ocean storm, imbued within their essences as salt is in seawater. For this, they are feared, and for this, the hunters are more so hellbent on their extermination.

Over your years spent in the hull’s constant night you’ve learnt that your captors are the most celebrated hunters of their time, held above everything but their leader and their divine. They are revered among their people, and that is why they are allowed to chain a witch in their brig and force her to heal wounds sustained from hunting the undeserving - because they are strong enough and honourable enough to not be corrupted by your magic.

There is nothing honourable about the way they treat you.

Though you are human as they are, you are lower than an animal to them. They have no care for your limits - oftentimes, you are pushed to heal and heal and heal until you are exhausted, and yet you refuse to succumb when the darkness calls, because each time you meet their eyes, without fail, you see, buried deep within, is fear.

They fear what is unknown, what is not under their control, and every time you refuse to break when they beat you just for entertainment, every time they push you almost to death yet you survive, you wrest back an inch of control. You are needed, and that is something you will use one day, when the time is right. For now, you collect those sparks of fear in their eyes and let it feed the fire nestled within your soul that fends off the growing dark.

It is a day like any of the other days. Stirring in your fraying blankets, you wake up to the sound of the crew’s strident voices, and as it is sometimes, you almost forget that they are cruel and stained by their own wrong doings because for now, there is no talk of blood shed, just breakfast. You hate that they can seem so normal with so many innocent lives on their hands.

The day very quickly progresses into the type you have come to dread.

They neglect to bring you your daily portion of bread and water, nor the echinacea you had asked for more of, and it can only mean one thing - a hunt is on. Already, you can feel the unruly lurch of the ship as it skims over the waves, picking up speed. The crew’s voices become louder, crowing and eager, and you despise them so deeply your heart twists and becomes an ugly thing in your chest.

Almost imperceptible, you can hear the rattle and hiss of ropes as they ready their harpoons. This part is the worst, where the darkness closes in so near that you can feel its cold touch brush up your arms and its breath ghosting over your face. Sometimes you hear the anguished cries of the merfolk, sometimes the whoops and victory cries of the crew are loud enough to drown it out. You don’t know which is worse.

After will come the wounded, grinning still and soaked in blood of two kinds - theirs and their victims. You are always numb to it by then, turning a blind eye to the crimson dipped trophies they grip in dirty hands: lopped off fins and strips of scales, sometimes small enough to be a child’s.

How they can butcher beings as beautiful as the merfolk and think it the right thing to do, you do not know.

It makes you sick to your stomach, that somehow you have become their accomplice, stitching their wounds with your magic, saving their lives so they can kill again. You vow that one day, you will strike back, but what good can you do now, trapped in the bowels of a boat that was designed as a vessel for murder?

You have to try. You have to survive, if just to try. You are yet to come up with a method for escaping past what you have already attempted, but if you do not, more lives will be lost, more bloodshed that you had inadvertently aided. Right now, on deck, the patterns for it to happen all over again are falling into place.

You’re sure that this time will be no different.

And so you wait for the injured to come, almost defeated if not for the hard, bright little ball of hate settled in your throat. You wait, and you wait, listening to the strange thumping above that you can’t decipher, and still they don’t bring you their wounded. Neither comes their usual sickening shouts of triumph - you wonder if the merfolk managed to escape. You hope desperately that they did.

Listless, you turn your head as footsteps approach. There are more than normal. You can’t count exactly - five, maybe six, and they all walk with a strange irregular gait as they approach the brig.

I hope the merfolk put up a magnificent fight, you think as the key scrapes in the lock. I hope that taught them; you know it never does. The more damage the merfolk do while they fight for the lives of their mates and children, the more they are damned as unnatural and beastly and deserving of the fates that are doled out to them by men.

With a rusty squeal, the door swings wide, and with it comes the same influx of light that always spills greedily through, stinging your eyes and making them ache - the doing of a tiny, wayward star moulded from precious lamp oil. You blink away the tears that well up at your lash line, testament to your accustomation to the dark, and then blink again.

Back when you took the warmth of the sun on your face for granted, you lived too far inland to ever see one in the flesh. You were still a witch under the disguise of a healer, though. You’d heard tales, seen artists’ renderings and gorey body parts wrenched off as sick memorabilia.

None of those could have ever come close to preparing you for the sight before your eyes.

A merman.

Deep in enemy territory - so deep, in fact, that all those surrounding him, bar you, have murdered more than dozens of his kind each. He is on a galleon rammed bow to stern with killers. And yet, despite it, he has not fallen victim to the purge. Yes, there is a splintered harpoon sunken into his side, yes, he is limp and broken, but even so, shallowly, his chest rises and falls.

He breathes. He breathes, and even that is beautiful. The lamp’s light reflects off his scales; he is mainly jet black, but broad swathes of orange run across the length of his powerful tail like they were drawn with the loving stroke of a painter’s brush. In parts, they darken into a ruby red that glitters and winks as the lamp light dances.

Or maybe that’s just blood.

There’s a lot of it. It soaks into the sheet they strain to carry between them, pools in the dip his weight makes, streaks in smears down his chest and face, coats his hands and is embedded under his sharp nails. You hope that all of it is not his, that he made them regret whatever they must have done to get a merman vulnerable enough and far enough from his pod to capture him.

Deep lacerations cut all along his chest and tail, and one of the spines that extend from his sail-like dorsal fin is bent in a way that must mean it is broken. A smattering of scales reach wide across his shoulders and back and down his arms, some of them twisted and bent out of shape. Your eyes fall to the harpoon buried just below his hip, and you feel the bite of your nails digging into your palms.

“Heal it,” commands the man holding the corner of the sheet closest to you. “We’ve been ordered to bring back a merfolk to be studied. It must be in peak condition.”

You frown as they begin to manoeuvre all three metres of merman into the brig. Studied? They must be looking for a weakness to exploit. After all, merfolk succumb less easily to flesh wounds than humans - the magic of the sea resides in their very bones.

A hand fists the front of your shirt and you’re jerked forward. You can feel the hunter’s foul breath on your cheek, feel the violence roiling just below the surface of his skin, and yet you cannot tear your eyes from the merman until you’re struck across the face. Reeling back, you raise your head to look at him, a hand flying up to cradle your jaw where it has begun to swell.

“Are you deaf? What are you waiting for?” he spits.

Your brain is still stuck on the fact that there is a merman before you, alive on a ship full of specialised mermen killers, but your body has gone through these motions many times before and brings you to kneel by your patient so fast your chain jingles crassly in the relative quiet, your hands already working to gather herbs for a poultice that will slow the bleeding.

Glancing over your shoulder, you see your captors filing out of the door, the last of them grumbling and wiping his hands on his trousers as if being near enough to hit you had sullied him. Realisation dawns abruptly on you.

They’re leaving you alone with the merman.

“Wait,” you call.

Disquiet grows in your stomach. As much as you hate the life forced upon you, serving as a tool for men who would not hesitate to kill you if you ran out of worth, you have gotten used to it, and this merman at your feet has disrupted your delicate equilibrium, tripping you as you balance on a knife’s blade.

You have never had problems with thinking fast in a pinch. You are a healer, you are accustomed to endless wells of blood and snapped bones sticking through skin. Conversely, you are not accustomed to the sight of a half conscious merman taking up the majority of your floor space, a single fingernail on his hand no doubt potent with more magic than is contained in your whole body.

Your tongue is slow, your mind slower, but you force the words out, emboldened because whether he likes it or not, this merman is leverage for you. There is no one else on board that could save him.

“I will need a lamp indefinitely, while I’m in the process of healing.”

You realise how important the health of this merman is to their study because the hunter holding the lamp brings it over with no words of criticism, just the curl of his lip when you draw near enough to take it from him.

Its metal is warm in your hands, and you cup it in your palms - a little sun that clears the clinging shadows from the brig like they’re cobwebs. Carefully, you set it on the floor next to you, just outside the border of the canvas the merman lies upon, sitting back on your heels as the door slams shut.

You stare at the merman for a weighty moment. If it did, there’s no telling what organ the harpoon may have punctured - do his intestines extend all the way down his tail? Or are they in the same place as a human’s, and his tail is just muscles, like legs would be?

Never in your life did you think merfolk anatomy would have any significance to you. Even if you’d thought it did, there wouldn’t be any books for you to study on it. A hysterical, jittery laugh builds in your throat, wringing itself from you when you spot the strange slit - for lack of better words - that sits just below where his skin turns to obsidian scales.

The nervous sound breaks the silence, jolting you into action. Never mind his anatomy, he’s still bleeding out. Somehow, you need to get that harpoon out of him: the hunters don’t clean them off once they’ve used them, and if you’re not vigilant, infection will get him before whatever they’ve got in store will.

Determinedly, you scoot closer to his lower half, stretching out a hand to test the area around the wound. In preparation, you will your healing magic to rise to the surface, and it fizzles at the surface of your palms, warming them.

Your fingertips have barely brushed over his scales when pain slashes across your cheek.

The merman jerks away from you so hard that he cries out, and you wince as you see the wound pull wide, blood oozing out from where it gapes. Gingerly, you touch a hand to your cheek - one of his spines had glanced off your face as he’d moved away, its tip sharp enough to shed blood.

Any human patient would have lost consciousness moments after being hit by the harpoon that’s buried in his tail, and if by a miracle they hadn’t yet, the pain caused by what he just did surely would have knocked them out. Inexplicably, he’s still conscious, blood red eyes glaring at you with blatant distrust.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to look closely at his face before - you’d been too busy ogling his tail. Spikey, sandy hair casts a shadow over his eyes. They glow, carmine and half crazed, no doubt with the same agony that pinches at his face and curls his lip, revealing sharp canines that he bares at you, twin ivory warnings.

A rattling, hissing sound emanates from deep in his chest when you attempt to move closer again, his dorsal fin undulating in an obvious threat display. You can tell it hurts him; the spine you’d noticed before is definitely broken, the parts of the fin around it drooping and limp. He growls when he catches you looking.

You really, really don't know what to do.

Your skin prickles, the hairs on the back of your neck rising. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you were left alone with him. Aside from the obvious hostility, his face is effectively blank; there’s nothing in his gaze except the primal instinct to survive, and the unspeakable, offensive terror of a wounded animal backed into a corner and trapped there.

There’s no getting through to him with words. You remember the night you were ripped from your cottage by the hunters, the way you clawed and screamed until your voice was gone and your nails were torn and bleeding. You know what it’s like to have the adrenaline coursing through your veins so fast it burns, you know what it’s like to feel the anger and fear blend together in your chest until it strips away your humanity and you’re reduced to nothing more than a feral, wild eyed animal.

Slowly, you get to your feet, your chains rattling. He growls, making that hissing sound again, and despite his size, despite the muscles straining in his chest and the magic you can sense in his form, he looks small. You grit your teeth. The shock is beginning to wear off, burnt to ashes by a roaring fury that licks up your throat and fills your lungs.

You wonder if he had a pod. You wonder if they got massacred before his eyes.

Ignoring the trembling of your hands, you scoop up the piece of dried fish that remains from yesterday’s meal. It’s the only food you have, so you turn and offer it to him - when he doesn’t hiss immediately, you slide it over to him on the dented tin plate it had been on.

Tentatively, the merman picks up the fish, his nose very obviously wrinkling. As he examines your peace offering, you notice his hands are webbed up to the lowest knuckle and are a little larger than a human man’s, the fingers longer and the nails considerably sharper.

Relief fills you as he begins to chew at the fish, and you retreat to your pile of blankets, sitting down and half facing away to give him as much privacy as is possible in as small a space as the brig. You begin to make a poultice for him, crushing the herbs between your fingers because you’re not allowed a mortar and pestle and depositing them on one of the dishes you have lying around.

Once you’re done, you turn back to him. The edge in his eyes has softened a touch, and when you scoot over to settle closer to him, he doesn’t make a sound, instead just leaning away a little, watching you warily. Warningly, he hisses when you lift your hand, his red eyes flashing.

“I’m going to have to touch you to put this poultice on,” you tell him. “It will reduce the bleeding and might alleviate the pain.”

He twitches but remains silent. You wonder briefly if he even understands - people don’t talk to merfolk these days. They either run or they kill. For all you know, he might speak some ancient language of the sea that you have no hope in understanding.

You scoop the poultice up in your fingers and lean forward, aiming to ease him in by angling first for a smaller wound situated just over a hip bone on a human would be (you’re not even sure if his equivalent qualifies as a hip seeing as he lacks legs).

“Don’t,” he snarls, his voice guttural and rasping, like he hasn’t uttered a word in years.

Fumbling, you almost drop the dish. You guess that answers one of your many questions - he can speak your language, although you presume one word doesn’t really express fluency. For a moment, you consider telling him that they’ll no doubt beat you for not healing him, but it seems rather insignificant since it’s nothing they haven’t inflicted on you before.

Sighing, you sit back on your heels and look at him, defeated. He regards you with those same crimson eyes as before, but they’ve cooled considerably and hold traces of scathing criticism you find you aren’t the fondest of.

You begin to realise that he’s not going to give you any explanation as to why he doesn’t want you to treat him. He doesn’t trust you, most likely - you haven’t given him any reason to think otherwise of you, rather, you’d gawped openly at him. You’re not surprised he hasn’t taken a liking to you. You wouldn’t either.

So you retreat back to what has now become your corner of the brig, since the other three are taken up by the length of his tail and the doorway. On a whim, you prepare yourself a turmeric tea; it’s anti-inflammatory and you know you’ll be needing it sooner or later.

It takes a day, but one of the hunters barges in, light sneaking in past the outline of his silhouette. You don’t know any of them by name, nor would you want to, but you do know that this particular one is the first mate.

The merman hasn’t let you near him still, and although at points his eyes are closed, you’re worried that if you try to sneak up on him, he’ll move away again and tear open the parts of the wound around the harpoon that have partially closed up. The perimeter of blood soaked canvas beneath him has slowed its expansion but still grows.

It’s amazing that he’s survived this long while still losing blood. You presume merfolk must be rather resilient, unsurprisingly - the sea is no easy place to live in, nor is it made any easier by its recent infestation of merfolk hunters.

“Did you not hear your orders yesterday, you useless bitch?”

Passively, you look up at him as he looms closer. “I did.”

“So you don’t want to cooperate, then,” he snaps. “Do I have to encourage you?”

You don’t get to answer. A fist full of scarred knuckles collides with your nose, and your head snaps back, white exploding across your vision as the hunter shoves you backwards. Your back hits the ground and before you can even think of scrambling away, you’re kicked hard in the ribs.

You don’t try to resist it. You’ve learnt it’s better to take it than to fight and make him hit harder.

Red hot pain shoots through you when the tip of his boot catches your chin, clacking your teeth together. You cry out as your blood fills your mouth, streams from your nose, stains his knuckle bones. Hands up in a pitiful attempt at protecting your face, you curl up on the floor, as small as you can. Your ribs throb, your chain trapped awkwardly beneath your body.

You’re still balled up with your arms over your head long after he slams the door behind him. You ache all over, and your lower lip is trembling treacherously. Tears press at the backs of your eyes so you squeeze them shut: you’re not going to cry.

You need to get up.

You need to down that damned turmeric tea you made, just to feel the ginger burn as it slips down your throat.

When you open your eyes, the merman is staring. You grimace as you heave yourself to sit upright, the metallic taste of blood still coating your tongue and curdling until it’s sour. His face is unreadable, shuttered and devoid of any emotion. He doesn’t speak, although that isn’t exactly atypical.

“Well, now you’re not the only one bleeding all over the floor,” you mutter, unable to keep the resentment from your tone.

You turn your back to him as you set your nose with a grunt, letting your magic flow through your fingers and knit your flesh back together. Running a hand over your ribs, you check if any are broken, but when none are, you don’t heal them up; you’ll need to save your energy. The hunter didn’t bring food for you, and you doubt he’ll be bringing you any more until you treat the merman. That could take anything from an hour to a week.

Falteringly, you glance over your shoulder. He stares off to a place far away, a place you cannot see. A scowl furrows his brow, and you sigh, wondering if he thinks of the sea and the freedom that was torn away from him the way it was for you.

Curling up on your blankets, you pull one over yourself, rolling to face the wall and shutting your eyes. Loud in the darkness, your stomach growls, and you twitch but ignore the urge to look over your shoulder and stare accusingly at the merman - you too would not trust a human if all their kind had brought him was pain.

Your ribs hurt. It is alright, though. You’ve fallen asleep through worse.

When you wake, the first thing you do is crouch down beside the merman to check his wounds. The rattle of your chains makes him open his eyes, and you see that his face has paled, the alertness in his gaze dimmer now the adrenaline has worn off. As is becoming clear, he’s more resistant to injury than humans are, but there’s a worrying amount of blood saturating the canvas sheet beneath him, and you doubt he’ll make it much longer without help.

If he lets you near, what you’re going to have to do is far from ideal. The hunters’ harpoons are barbed and vicious, but you can’t exactly keep it in, and you can’t exactly cut it out without risking more blood loss. You’re just going to have to yank on it and hope it doesn’t destroy anything too vital on its way out.

“I’m going to have to take the harpoon out,” you tell him measuredly, gauging his facial expression.

He simply stares at you, his face blank but for the slight pinch of his brow. Shadows bathe half of his face; there is barely any lamp oil left to burn. The little flame flickers and sputters, letting darkness dance up the close walls of the brig, and if you do not hurry, you may have to treat him in the dark.

Slowly, you lift your hand, letting it hover over the splintered end of the harpoon. Tension bleeds into his body, the set of his jaw tight and his hands fisting as if he’s bracing himself, but he doesn’t growl or flinch away. Expectancy and resignation lurk in his gaze.

You don’t like that he won’t say anything in response even though he’s proven he can talk. You can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you gather your materials: the poultice from yesterday, a roll of bandages, a thick strip of worn leather. The latter you give to him, sighing when he turns it over in his hands, quizzical,

“Bite down on it,” you instruct him as you roll up your sleeves. “Either that or it’ll be your tongue.”

He frowns, but does as you say. You glance up at him to check if he’s ready. The hard lines of his body stand out, taut as a bowstring. He looks brittle, as if he might break and crumble into dust the moment you touch him.

Years ago, when you healed children’s scraped knees and the broken bones of men who had fallen from their ladders while fixing leaks in roofs, you had the words to comfort your patients. These you lost to the eternal darkness of the merfolk hunters’ ship, and these you wish to find again but cannot.

Instead, you murmur a quiet warning as you kneel by his tail, wiping your sweaty palms off on your trousers before getting a strong two handed grip on the end of the harpoon. Under your breath, you count down: three, two, one. Pull.

It makes a squelching, sucking noise as it comes out. You cringe but keep on tugging - if you stop now, it’ll be worse for both of you. He cries out, voice ragged and spilling over with agony, his tail arcing off the floor, and you feel the movement in the way the harpoon jerks in your hands with the bunching of his muscles.

All of a sudden, the resistance disappears. His tail fin slaps against the floor as he goes limp, both his and your heavy panting filling the room. You’re left with the splintered harpoon in your hands, a chunk of flesh and a twisted scale still clinging to one of the bloodied, rusted spokes. He spits the strip of leather out and it lands near your knee.

Carefully, you set down the harpoon and begin applying the poultice straight onto the weeping gash in his side, spreading the rest over the bandages which you bind tightly around his tail. Leaking from your fingertips, your magic suffuses across his skin as you work; you can’t heal him accurately without knowing much about his inner workings, but it should help to stave off any infection.

He shelters his face in the crook of his elbow, and though he tucks his other hand tightly to his chest, you can see the way he trembles.

You give him his space by swiftly moving on, busying yourself with his other injuries. You splint the spine in his dorsal fin, ignoring the way his hands shake and gently placing the arm crossed over his torso by his side so you can use your magic to clean and close up the various cuts and slashes littering his scar flecked body.

His scales seem to be damp, even though it’s almost been a full twenty four hours since he was brought in. It must be seawater somehow, you decide, or a sweat-like substance that keeps his tail wet enough when he hasn’t been in water for a while. He doesn’t look the most comfortable: he’s probably not used to having to support his own weight without the buoyancy of the waves.

There are little scars all over him, his skin a map of cicatrices, but the one that catches your attention is raised and jagged, spanning from the middle of his sternum to his navel. You touch your index finger to the centre of it, and he inhales sharply, flinching away.

“Sorry,” you mutter, pulling back, half expecting him not to hear you.

He’s silent for a while, ignoring your apology, but then comes a begrudging: “Thank you.”

Though he won’t see it - he’s still hiding his face from you - you shrug. “You should never have been hurt in the first place.”

He’s quiet again, lying still enough for you to imagine him dead if not for the rise and fall of his broad chest. You slouch, the energy having leaked from your body in order to mend his. The lamp finally gutters and winks out, leaving in its absence a tiny pinprick of light, a vanishing ember at the wick’s tip, buried in ashes.

When you tear your gaze away from your expired little sun, you’re confronted with a pair of blazing eyes. Pinned on you, they glow in the darkness like two pools of blood, but you find their luminosity strangely comforting, like Arcturus and Betelgeuse to a sailor: stars to lead you on your course.

“You are a witch, are you not?”

You jump at the sound of his voice, rough around the syllables but measured, as if he rolled them around on his tongue before he spoke. The scarlet light from his eyes dims a little as they narrow (you’re not sure if that’s meant to convey amusement or distaste) and you become aware that maybe he can see a lot more in the dark than you can.

“I am,” you confirm, still squinting at him - to no avail.

“Why do you not fight them, then?” He demands, his tone darkening. “Surely you cannot like it here.”

You scoff. “Of course I don’t like it here. You think I like the way they beat me?”

He’s silent, and though you still cannot see his face, you sense his scowl.

Sighing, you reign yourself in. This merman comes the closest to being an ally than all the others that have entered the brig, and you cannot squander this. He may not trust you, and you may be ignorant and ill informed of his kind, but you both have a common enemy, and though he may not like the thought, you are similar enough: the raw energy that flows through him is the same that you harness to perform your magic.

“I could fight, but there is nowhere for me to go if I escape the ship - there is just the sea,” you explain. “In the end, they are scared of all those associated with magic, even the witch they keep chained in the dark. The moment they deem that the risk I pose outweighs the use I have to them, they’ll kill me.”

He’s quiet again while he processes what you’ve said. “And what of me, witch? Why have they not killed me yet?”

“They want to study you,” you reply, wincing at how harsh your voice comes out. “I think we’re quite far from their lands - a few months’ travel, maybe - but it’s hard to tell.”

“What - ”

“Enough questions,” you cut him off. “My turn.”

A plethora of questions crowd your mind, but as you think of the merman in front of you, you find that they can wait, because although he must have stories of the sea that you’d only dreamed of hearing, and although magic you could learn endlessly from is threaded through his being, he is primarily, before anything, a soul. He is a soul: a soul with eyes that make the permanent night you are lost within just a little more manageable.

You will have to find out whether the kraken is real or not later; you will ask him about selkie skins afterwards.

Instead, you ask him his name, and tell him your own.

Bakugou, he grunts in response before turning his head to face the wall, clearly ending the conversation. Frowning, you stare at his back - or where you presume his back is, in the darkness - and mull over the name he provided you with; you are certain he has given you the one he gives to strangers. You suppose that is what you are.

Pulling absently at your chain, you sit with your back to the wall, your knees to your chest, and think about the merman, about Bakugou. For a moment, you are seized by the absurd belief that his most grave injury is a bleeding heart, but that cannot be true, for he has not said anything that indicates it. Questions find their way to your tongue, but you let them stick there, stifling them before they deign to interrupt the silence.

Neither of you move from your positions until the door opens, revealing the first mate. Squinting, you rise to your feet, a muscle feathering in your jaw as he purposefully kicks Bakugou in the shoulder, lifting his lamp high so he can see the bandages you’d applied.

“I’ll need a top up on lamp oil if I’m to continue the healing process,” you announce. “And we’ll need food and water. He’ll have - ”

You hesitate, glancing over at Bakugou, but he just lifts a shoulder and makes a face of disgust that you know isn’t conscious. Deliberating for a moment, you wrack your brain for any clues about merfolk diets.

“Fresh fish,” you decide. “And crabs. The bigger the better. Also, he’ll need a tub big enough for him, filled with seawater.”

“Watch the way you address me,” the first mate snaps, taking a step forward.

You shrug. “You wanted him healed, didn’t you?”

Your first two requests come within the next few hours, appeasing the increasing hollowness that had resided in your stomach and sending the shadows inhabiting the brig retreating up the walls and into the corners of the room, but the tub doesn’t come until two days after. It is barely watertight, plugged with tar and made from rough sawn wood.

You haven’t exchanged words with Bakugou since you asked his name and he gave you one, though you find yourself on the receiving end of his red eyes more often than not. He’s silent as the hunters bring the tub in, as they fill it with pails of seawater, as they leave and slam the brig’s door behind them. He’s silent, even as he slips into the tub and into a thin slice of his home.

And then, after a moment, he turns to you, and there’s something painful and cutting and cynical in his eyes.

“You know, the water doesn’t speed up the healing.”

You nod. “I know it doesn’t. You were uncomfortable.”

His eyes blaze. “What do you want?”

You regard him, regard the intensity of the fire in his gaze and the way his chest heaves. His tail fin hangs out of the tub, but even so, water swills over the side and splashes onto the floor like it can sense his agitation. Loudly, the links of your chain clank against each other as you cross your arms. 

“I do not want anything, Bakugou.”

He narrows his eyes. “All humans I have known but one are cruel, witch. You wish for me to owe you something.”

“I don’t,” you reply, noticing the strange look that creeps onto his face. “Who is this human you hold in such high esteem?”

A distant look erases the furrow in his brow, and you get the sense he is no longer talking to you when he speaks again: he is lost in some place far away, a place coated in the golden sheen that tints all good memories. His voice turns soft as he brushes his fingers over the scar on his chest.

“His name was Izuku,” he murmurs. “But I called him Deku.”

“Deku?” You echo, your voice crudely loud all of a sudden.

A flash of grief slashes across his features like lightning on the high seas, there and gone so fast you almost don’t catch it. It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly shutters slam down behind his eyes and his expression melts away until his face is blank and cold. Regret sinks heavy in your stomach.

You wince. “I’m sorr - ”

“He’s dead,” Bakugou growls.

He doesn’t speak to you for three days. There is a certain rawness in his blood red eyes that makes you gentler as you change his dressings and reapply your poultices. He looks at you as if he hates that you are healing him instead of leaving him to die, so you avoid his gaze, staring instead at the scars that cover him like warpaint.

You get the sense that he is mourning this human he told you of all over again, and you cannot help but see the weight of it in the tension of his body and wonder if you could alleviate the pain.

On the fourth day, he shuts the vulnerability away somewhere deep inside of him, buried far enough beneath other things that he can pretend it never even existed. Yet you remember it, still vivid and fresh in your mind as you lie curled up on your side, watching the lamp’s flame until your eyes burn. He breaks the silence by clearing his throat, his gaze fixed on you.

“Witch,” Bakugou says softly. “How did they catch you?”

You glance over at him. “I was young and foolish and alone. It’s easy to snatch a girl from her home under those circumstances.”

“You have been here for years, then.”

“I have,” you sigh. “I tried to escape once. That’s why I’m chained down.”

“A weaker soul would not have survived this darkness,” he remarks solemnly. “You are strong, witch.”

You look down at your hands, watching your fingers fidget to and fro in your lap. Your tongue is frozen in your mouth - you had not spoken properly to someone in years before he was captured, and his behaviour confuses you. No words come to mind that express how grateful you are for his acknowledgement.

“Thank you,” you settle with in the end.

He hums but other than that remains silent.

Later you discuss with him the possible logistics of an escape. He explains to you that he cannot channel the magic the way you can, but that he is soaked in the magic of the sea; he is unable to use it for spells because it is innately part of him, enhancing him beyond human capabilities. Together, you come to the conclusion that you must get off the ship before you arrive at the hunters’ lands, or your chances of freedom will have narrowed to almost nothing.

An actual method of subduing or injuring the hunters enough to allow an exit route evades you, though. After all, you are chained to the wall, and there’s no easy way of moving Bakugou - he is, evidently, far too heavy for you to drag around all by yourself.

Uneasy silence falls over the brig. You stare at the lamp again: with it, your ability to see has been restored, along with a piece of your humanity, but now its light seems to illuminate how small a space you are contained in, how strong the chain binding you to the wall is.

As you drift off to sleep that night, you find yourself gripped by the fear that Bakugou will never return to the sea, and instead, they will inflict unspeakable torments upon him.

You will be the one who kept him alive for them. You will be the one who he grows to hate, because you had the chance to let future pain pass him by, but you saved him, and by doing so, you failed to spare him from their torture. And while they cut him open and study his insides, you will be somewhere far away, still risking yourself to heal their most elite, almost as if they are beloved to you.

The thought gnaws at you as the weeks pass. Blood no longer soaks the bandages wrapped around his tail; his dorsal fin is almost healed. He is gaining strength, more rapidly through your magic, and it is clear he has shaken off death many times before if his scars are testament to anything. In particular, the one on his chest draws you: though it is long healed, you can tell it was deep.

He almost died back then, too - the scar tissue around its edges is strange, lumpy and malformed as if he was kneaded back together by a child who saw his flesh as nothing more than clay harvested gleefully from a river bank. Even so, the shape of it is familiar. You know you shouldn’t pry. You remember the way he flinched away when you first touched it, but you ask, anyway.

“Bakugou,” you ask him once you’ve finished changing his bandages. “What did you do to get a merfolk’s blade stuck in your chest?”

He snarls. “All you do is fucking dig, you shitty witch.”

“I - ”

Hissing, he swipes at you half heartedly, and you stumble backwards, dodging his fist and almost tripping on your chain, caught off guard by the agitation in his eyes. Stunned, you gape at him. The fury is vehement on his face, evident in the grit of his teeth and the tremor in his hands as he grips the side of the tub; you can tell he despises how he is trapped in here with you, fending you off with the sting of his words.

You open your mouth. You’re not certain what you’re supposed to say, other than an apology that he will shake off easily, but you hope that words will form on your tongue. He levels his gaze on you, and this time, within it dwells an overwhelming sorrow that stops you short.

“Don’t try,” he whispers. “You cannot change the past.”

Brow furrowed, you stare at him. You take in the pain carved all over him, and this, you realise, not his scars, is his warpaint - he holds it close to him, like a cloak of inwardly turned, savage blades, reminding him to keep his distance. It is present in the bow of his head, the slump of his shoulders, a weight so heavy it threatens to rend his flesh from his bones.

You get to your feet, and in the lamp light, the single tear that rolls down his face is turned to solid gold.

Balefully, he looks at you, yet he holds still as you reach out and smooth it away with your thumb. A rawness resides in his eyes that you wish you could soothe as you catch the next tear that spills over, gently as if he is made of porcelain.

“You need not bear the weight of your world on your shoulders, Bakugou.”

Your words wrench a sob from him. His fingers curl tight around your wrist, tearing your hand away from his face, silently weeping as he grips you so hard you begin to lose feeling in your palm. You watch as the anguish in his eyes evolves into anger, harsh and brittle and bleak.

“Get away from me,” he spits, voice strangled, and yet he does not release you, so you perch on the side of the tub and make a show of not looking at him so he is not alone in his privacy.

It’s then that you realise that whether or not he likes it, you have gotten through to him. In the month that goes by, sometimes he is cold and aloof, keeping to himself, and sometimes he allows you close enough that you can feel his warmth. You find you savour his company when it’s there.

His wound is fully healed, a pink scar bordered by healing scales, and his dorsal fin spine is back in working order. You check up on him still, every other day or so, careful to monitor them in case you have somehow healed him wrong, careful to keep your regular intersections with him, because although you would never admit it to him, he is amusing, and he keeps the darkness at bay.

You are unsure what he thinks of you. Sometimes, he smacks you upside the head with no real force, and you dare to label it as affectionate. He gives you the name which he gives to those that mean more to him than strangers, too - well, you wring it out of him.

(“Bakugou, what’s your name?”

A scoff. “Witch, have you hit your head?”

“We both know you’re not obliged to answer, so if you’re not going to tell me, spare me the insults.”

Pause. “Katsuki. It’s Katsuki.”)

There are times when he has nightmares, too. You surmise that most of them are about Deku, and that the scar branding his chest, the one made by a merfolk forged weapon, is linked somehow to this dead human. Incomprehensibly, he mutters in his sleep, snarling about krakens and storms and sometimes even witches, but it always leads back to Deku.

Sometimes he protests against him, speaking a language you do not fully understand, cursing and thrashing so hard you fear the tub will splinter, while sometimes he proclaims his love, his voice slurred as he slumbers, but each time, without fail, he begs: forgive me, Izuku, forgive me, Deku, I’m sorry.

Katsuki is unaware of what he gives away in his sleep. Often, he settles down quickly after raising his voice, but sometimes you look over to see him stiff and terrified and shake him awake; he then jolts upright, the water sloshing out of the tub as he reaches for you, his stricken eyes searching yours for something you do not know the identity of, but he always finds.

He does not let you go, not ever. At these times, you lean or sit by the tub and let him crush your fingers in his grip.

He never speaks of it in the morning.

You would not hide from him what you have learnt, nor the feelings that grow treacherously in your heart, but you are too cowardly to tell him of either. It is certain that he loved Deku, and that maybe Deku loved him too. What was it like, you often wonder, to have loved Katsuki?

When he holds onto you, still half lost in the dark lands of his nightmares, you think about it. He would have been less guarded, a young merman not yet covered in scars; he would have given Deku his name immediately, for he would not have learnt that he needed to be wary of humans. Still, he would have fought for him until the end with the same ferocity he would fight for his own heart - because Deku was his own heart.

And Deku, you imagine Deku saw people as they really were. You imagine Deku with bright eyes and a brighter smile, with a face that all his emotions could be read off as easily as a book. He must have been good, persistent, if Katsuki had fallen for him. Soft, even, but tough when he needed to be.

They fit each other, no doubt.

You feel guilty, as if your speculations are invasive, rummaging around within Bakugou’s heart where he has not let you set foot. Mercifully, he can pin his red eyes on you as much as he likes, which he often does, but he will not hear your mind.

Now that he is healed, that is how you pass your days, exchanging words with him when either of you wish to, while you wrestle with the unspoken in your head and while god knows what happens behind his eyes. It is normal for silence to fall after a conversation - it is not awkward, but not comfortable either. It is pensive, it is familiar.

And today, it is shattered by screams up on deck.

Katsuki perks up, his keen ears picking up things your dull ones cannot, and he tilts his head, listening intently. You do not have to hear what he does to know what is happening: there is the sound of clashing steel above you, the all too familiar war cries of the hunters. It is not often that the merfolk are prepared for the hunters as they pass by, but neither is it impossible.

The ship lurches, harshly enough that some of the water in Katsuki’s tub overflows. You wager it must be a whole pod, then, maybe two, and you glance over at him, wondering if he knows who they are, wondering if -

“Are they yours?” You blurt.

“Huh?”

“Your pod,” you clarify.

Bitterly, he scoffs. “If the merfolk wanted to rescue me, they wouldn’t have waited months.”

You freeze. The detachment in his voice does nothing to hide the betrayal beneath, and ice begins to crawl up your spine, for he addresses them as the merfolk, not as his kind, his people. Harshly, you swallow as you start to understand that the hunters would never have been able to capture a merman if he wasn’t alone.

“You don’t have a…” You trail off, feeling far too inadequate and stupid to continue.

“My pod renounced me the moment they learnt about Deku and I.”

A picture forms in your mind, of a Katsuki who lost his family because he gave away his heart to a human - of a Katsuki to which the sea was no longer home, but a huge expanse of alone. Horror closes over your head like cold water as your eyes slide down to the scar on his chest.

His pod didn’t stop at just renouncing him.

You had always hoped that beings whose very essence was rooted in magic would be fair and just as the tales said. Your hope had always been that the merfolk would see that humanity was not united in the purging of them, that they would spare you if your path ever crossed theirs. Never did you think they would be so blind as to turn on one of their own for something as reliant on fate as love. You are a fool.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and it comes out almost like a sob.

“We are no better than you are,” he replies.

His voice is so devoid of hope that it cuts you to the quick. You open your mouth so say more, to try and fill that emptiness inside him if you can, but your words are stuck in your throat and before you can force them out the door flies open, banging loudly against the wall and almost extinguishing the lamp’s flame.

Three gravely wounded are deposited in front of you and then the door slams. Silently, you get to work, sealing the deep slashes to their flesh more carelessly than you should be - but with Katsuki watching, you feel sullied, a betrayer who works for the purgers of magic. Their blood coats your tingling palms, and yet not in the way you wish it could be.

You have just finished the last when four more are dragged in, and you’re hit hard across the face and ordered to work faster, which signifies only one thing: more are coming. As blood wells up in your mouth, you hope that the merfolk are victorious, even if it means sinking the ship and letting you drown within.

Hate rises within you again, searing and acrid like smoke clogging your lungs, but this time it is different. You hate them for what they have made you; a tool, a means to an end. The determination you nurse in your heart is unimportant as long as you do what they say, and yet you cannot defy them, and this is what you hate yourself for.

Prickling sensations begin to claw up your arms as you heal. You are lost in it, the blood and the battle and the patients, and you swear you see the same faces twice: hunters who you healed once coming back more injured than last time. Your energy dwindles like a dying flame and you dip into your reserves when you recognise the violent light in the hunters’ eyes.

You cannot ask for a break. They already bay for blood and death; what more is yours but just another magic using bitch’s?

You are being bled dry. You are no longer aware of your surroundings, just the halting of the flow of blood beneath your hands and the wheezing gasp of your breath and the rattle of the chain locked around your wrist.

They have not been attacked like this in a long time. You almost forgot how fast the darkness closes in when you send out your energy through your palms to knit flesh and skin back together again. Spots cloud your vision, and futilely, you swat them away. Muffled, Katsuki’s voice hums in your right ear, but you do not understand the words he utters.

Your hands tremble. You pitch forward, slumping over your newest patient.

A hand fists in your hair. Knuckles press into your jaw, far harder than a lover’s touch and yet it feels like it in the way your head lolls slowly to the side. It takes time, but pain radiates through your skull, vibrating your teeth and sharpening your focus, and then you can hear yelling, yelling for you to wake up, yelling for you to carry on or they’ll kill you -

There are so many of them. So many hunters with frenzied eyes and blades that shine where they are not coated in innocent blood, and they are hurt and they want to return back to the battle and you must abide by their demands. The air is too thin as it whistles in and out of your lungs. You cannot think.

You press your palms to the blood slick abdomen of the next man placed down before you and do as they say. Your mouth is dry, your head pounds, your eyes won’t focus, and yet, you do as they say, you always do what they say.

What a fucking coward you are.

Letting them push you farther than you ever would let yourself go. You’re right on the edge, right over the edge, clinging onto the side of the perilously vertical cliff face even as the mossy stone crumbles beneath your fingers and threatens to make you fall down down down. But still, you heal. Your body performs numbly what your mind cannot take any more.

All of a sudden, there is not an open wound for you to heal or guts to force back inside a torso, there are just crimson soaked planks and a raised voice. Loud. An incensed, raised voice, cursing and roaring. Can’t you see she’s almost gone? They shout, earsplitting enough to make your head pound. She can’t heal you fucking bastards if she’s dead!

Bakugou. No, not that name. It’s… Katsuki. Katsuki making all that racket. You don’t know when it happened, but now your cheek is pressed to the rough planks that make up the floor. There’s blood everywhere. Some more splatters to the ground and you notice that the din isn’t being made by Katsuki any more. Your eyes are hazy as you lift them upwards and see a hunter raise his fist again.

“Kats,” you slur. “Watch… watch out…”

The lamp goes out, which is strange, since the oil got topped up this morning. You pay it no mind, though.

You’re too tired.

You wake surrounded by water. For a moment, you wonder if the merfolk won, and if somehow you managed to get tossed off the boat and into the sea, but then you move your leg and it hits something hard and vertical which must be wood. Peeling your eyes open, you find you’re in… the tub? Katsuki’s tub?

Lifting your head, you’re met with a pair of concerned red eyes. One is almost swollen shut, and blood has crusted down the side of his face from a wound in his temple, yet he smooths his hand soothingly over your upper back, watching attentively as you come to.

“You’ve been out for just under two days,” Katsuki says. “You need to eat, get your strength back up.”

Your memory begins to trickle back, and with it floods a torrent of shame: you always told yourself that you survived out of spite, out of the belief and conviction that one day you would hurt them enough to negate all the healing they made you to do, but it was all a pretence. You were scared and so you took the easier road of complacency, and it has caused the deaths of hundreds of merfolk.

It is without a doubt that if you had healed even just a papercut more, that if Katsuki had not stopped them, the life force within you would have winked out, and you would have died. Death had loomed right over you, brushing boney fingers over your face, and even now, it lingers.

You are burnt out, exhaustion weighing on you as if a whole mountain rests on your back. Worse is the fear, revealed in the blinding light, shackling you, for you are its slave, and you cannot shake its hold off you.

Your face crumples. “I am spineless, for letting them use me so. I am a coward, a - ”

“They give you no choice, witch,” Katsuki remarks. “Do not put it on yourself.”

You shake your head. “You cannot ask that of me. How many lives have been lost because I obeyed when the hunters told me to save them?”

Bowing your head, you sob. Fatigue envelops you, the chain around your wrist unspeakably heavy, and you lean heavily against Katsuki; he holds you like you are precious, handling you with care so that the pieces you have shattered into do not fall apart and scatter onto the floor. He tips up your chin, forcing you to look him in those eyes of his as he wipes away your tears.

“What was that you told me, as I wept like you do now?” He asks. “You need not bear the weight of your world on your shoulders. That was what you said to me.”

Nodding, you feel more tears leak out when you squeeze your eyes closed. He strokes your hair, and you hide your face in his chest and wish you could do forever, for he is warm and he is far gentler than you ever imagined he could be. You are tempted, but he nudges you and chides you, reminding you that you will feel much better once you have eaten.

Wobbly as a newborn fawn, you climb out of the tub, Katsuki steadying you with a hand on your arm. Wrapping one of your blankets around you like a shawl, you retrieve a hunk of bread to gnaw on before planting yourself on the tub’s rim, loath to be any farther away from him than you have to be.

Though hunger worries insistently at your insides, sending tremors through your hands and weakness in your legs, you force yourself to eat slowly; you cannot risk wasting any of the food by throwing up. Katsuki rests his forearms on the sides of the tub, watching you with a keen gaze that you cannot read. You become more aware of the purpling bruising across his face and reach out without thinking.

He catches your hand before you can tap into the slowly replenishing well of magic inside of you, his fingers circling your wrist before he lets them slip down and lace with yours. Something ignites behind his eyes, and you find you are mesmerised - you lean closer to see how the spark dances.

“Katsuki,” you breathe, and then your lips are on his.

He tips his chin up to lean into you, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you closer to him, so tender that it makes your chest ache. You could stay like this for eternity, simply doing nothing but tasting the salt of him on your tongue and savouring the sweet, sweet scrape of his canines over your lower lip; he is all that matters, all that is.

Slowly, his hands come round to cup your shoulders, pressing you closer to him, and so you feel the moment his grip falters and he stiffens, feel the way he recoils from you as if you have burnt him, and you can do nothing to prevent it. You’re propelled backwards with the force he jolts away. Though it is only a few steps, you feel the gap between you yawn wide, stretching into an uncrossable chasm.

“No,” he chokes out, shaking his head. “No, not - not like - ”

Abruptly, he falls terribly, terribly silent. Stunned, you touch a hand to your mouth; your legs buckle, and you throw out a hand to steady yourself against the wall before sinking to the floor. It feels as if you are drowning.

Katsuki does not love you - how can he, when he fits with Deku like they were made for each other? You were wrong to hope for anything else, wrong to give in to what you wanted, because you have torn open old wounds that never properly healed. It is no longer significant that he does not love you, for you should have seen that already; what matters is that in your blindness, you have ripped him open.

You’re beginning to realise that it was not the lamp that kept the shadows back, but him. It is only natural that you are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, only natural that you were too weak to resist flying straight into the fire. This time, it is not only the moth who gets hurt.

You are left alone with your thoughts. Time passes, as it always does, but you pay it no mind. However hard you try, you cannot bring yourself to meet his eyes. You are numb, numb to the slow rock of the ship as it cuts through the waves, numb to the sounds of the crew at their battle stations again, numb to it all now that it is undeniable: you love him.

He cannot love you.

Wearily, warily, you raise your head when the door opens, revealing the first mate, soaked in blood. Crossing the room in a few strides, he stands before you, chest heaving, a frantic sort of desperation contorting his face as he tightens his hand around the hilt of his sword and glares at you.

“The captain is near death. We drop anchor home in a fortnight. I will be put in command if he does not survive, and if this happens, I will make certain that you come upon a death slower and far more painful than his.”

You do not answer, nor do you pay any mind to his threats. You can sense Katsuki staring in your direction, the feeling of his red eyes on your skin unmistakable: no doubt, he has heard what you have. We drop anchor home in a fortnight - a fortnight until Katsuki is delivered into hands who seek to study him, to slit him open while he still lives and examine his insides and the way his heart beats, ensnared in the cage of his ribs.

Just like that, you know what to do.

You wait silently until they bring the captain to you. The first mate did not lie when he said the captain is near death. Sweat creates a sheen on his brow, and though his eyes are open, he is barely conscious, for he has been sliced open from gullet to navel by a merfolk blade. Briefly, you touch a fingertip to the lip of the gash, ignoring the pained moan it causes and the disquieted mutters of the other hunters.

If you were superstitious, you would deem the wound too similar to Katsuki’s to be anything but fate, but you do not believe in such things. Instead, you put your trust in the strength of good steel and the sharpness of a tongue. Yes, you know what to do, and you will do it.

The chain fixed around your wrist is not broken, but it does not have to be. You are free to do what you wish, because before you is the captain, and he is leverage. There is no fear left in you, no shame to hold you back as you look up at the first mate; he opens his mouth, about to ask why you do not jump to heal his captain, but he pauses when he takes in your cold smile.

“Free the merman, and then I will heal him.”

A silence falls. They are left with no other choice but to do as you say, and they know it. The first mate’s hands ball into fists, a reminder to you of what will come once Katsuki is let go and you heal their captain, but it does not concern you any more. None of it is of concern to you, only his freedom.

“What the fuck did you just say, witch?” Katsuki spits.

His voice jolts the first mate into action. He heaves you to your feet by the front of your shirt, seething, and punches you squarely in the nose. Something cracks. Your head snaps back, the air knocked from your lungs when he drives his knee into your stomach and lets you crumple to the floor by his feet. Gritting your teeth, you glower up at him.

“Come at me all you like,” you hiss as blood pours down your face. “It will not save your captain.”

He crouches down before you. You do not listen as he shouts at you, because you see it in his eyes. He knows you have them all backed into a corner, he knows you’re aware he will not risk the captain’s life. Over his shoulder, Katsuki urgently mouths something to you: do you know what they will do to you because of this? They will do worse than just kill you!

“Let them,” you reply, and as you gaze at him, you smile again. To the first mate, you say: “Bring me up on deck. I want to see.”

The first mate hurls you away from him, barking orders at the other hunters, but all you hear is the crash of the waves outside and all you taste is the nectar of victory on your tongue. You watch, still smiling, as they grab Katsuki and drag him from the tub. He fights, of course he does, screaming your name and slashing at the hunters, but there is but one of him, and he is unarmed.

Cursing, the first mate unfastens your chain from the ring in the wall, wrapping the length of it around his hand and jerking you forward with it, pulling you to follow him through the ship. There is murder written on his face and in the curl of his lip, and you let it slide it off you like water from a sea bird's feathers.

He throws open the hatch, and for the first time in years, you see the sun. Slowly, you step into the light, and the salty breeze tugs playfully at your clothes and hair, fresh and briney and strong, pulling tears from your eyes. All around you is empty space, just blue sea and blue sky and the wind that dances gloriously between them as far as you can see.

The air is invigorating and crisp in your lungs. Hesitantly, you take a step forward, then another and another, seeing the way the sun plays on the water’s surface, scintillating as it warms your cold skin. It is as resplendent as you remember it.

“Witch!” Katsuki cries, shaking the hunters’ hands off him. “Why? Why would you do this to yourself?”

There are countless ways you could answer him. Instead, you take him in one last time, his spiky ash blonde hair and his crimson eyes and the way his scales glitter under the sunlight. You do this for love: if you can’t give him your heart, you will give him his freedom.

“Go,” is all you say, and though tears stream down your face, you smile.

“I will not forget you, witch,” he replies, voice thick. “I swear it.”

Running to the side of the ship, you cling to the taffrail and lean forwards to watch as he dives overboard. He slices through the water, the amber of his tail bright as he goes, further from you with each passing second, and your breath catches in your throat - he is more beautiful than you imagined he would be in the light.

As he crests a wave, he looks back at you, and you see the shimmer of his scales and the graceful arc of his dorsal fin one last time before he twirls in the surf and dives. With that, he is gone, and you are alone again, yet you do not fear what is to come.

A hand grips your shoulder, nails digging sharply into your skin. “Enjoy your peace, you thankless bitch, because once you heal the captain, all you’re going to know is pain.”

You turn to the first mate and laugh in his face.

He loves you.

Bakugou Katsuki fucking loves you.

He loves your deft hands, careful despite their calluses and nimble despite the chain around your wrist. He loves the smell of you, herby and laced with petrichor. He loves the brightness dancing in your eyes when you laugh. Most of all, he loves your sweet soul: the fierceness woven into it like second nature, the blaze of your heart when you stand up for what you believe in.

He was stupid for pulling away from that kiss. You had fit your lips to his, and suddenly panic rose in his chest, and he jerked backwards as if ignoring his heart would silence it; he was scared to love another human, scared because last time it led to pain. His fear had hurt you, and this is his regret - that he was the one to cause the slow dimming of the light in your eyes.

There are countless other things he regrets. He should have trusted more easily, he should have fought harder as they yanked him out of that silly tub and away from you, and he should never have left you by yourself on that ship with those despicable hunters.

He didn’t tell you he loved you, and now he is scared he will never get the chance.

He has left you in a den of beasts. Deku would never have let this happen if it was Katsuki in danger. Deku would have found a way to get him out. In fact, Deku did, he saved him instead of himself, and now Deku is gone, and he fears his heart is not strong enough to lose another. He does not want to lose another.

That serene little smile on your face as you watched him go - it haunts him, fucking burns itself into his retinas, because you knew. You knew precisely what you were doing, when you bargained with that hunter’s life, and you knew exactly what they were going to do to you for making them let him go.

You must be hurting right now. You must have been beaten within an inch of your life. You, who broke down the walls he rebuilt, brick by brick, after Deku was gone - the same walls that Deku himself tore down too. Katsuki is beginning to think that their foundation has always been flawed, or maybe they crumbled like Jericho simply because you shine brighter than the sun on the waves, and he could not look away if he wanted to.

He has been tailing the ship for little over a day. Keeping out of sight and in the shadows is easy; he has felt the sting of their harpoons enough and he will not risk an injury when getting you away from them is the priority, yet he can’t help but resent the way he must hide. There is no other way, though. Currently, he has no plan, and he must bide his time.

Katsuki was never the most patient, but he has no choice but to be patient since he has no sword and no allies. It is plausible that he could scuttle the ship by himself, but he can’t risk it with you chained inside and possibly unconscious.

But then he sees it - a shape in the distance.

It is an isle, small enough that it could sustain maybe one hamlet of people, and rather plain, with rocks that make up a small cliff on one side and a sandy beach dotted with rock pools on the other, a thicket of trees spanning the distance between. One could call it nondescript, but there is nothing nondescript about it to Katsuki.

He has bled out on that golden beach. He has fought to protect his own life and the life of another in the waters near that isle, and he has failed. He has wept on that shore, wept enough to cleanse the blood soaked sand beneath his newly fixed body that held his newly broken heart.

That isle is where Deku washed up, half dead, a decade ago. It is where he watched from afar as this green eyed, freckled human nursed himself back to health, and where he watched from a little closer as he learnt that humans were more than what they are portrayed as in the tales of his pod.

He understood many things on that isle: what love was - the touch of his lips to a man with unruly green curls and an infectious smile, and what betrayal was - when his pod found out and the waters were tinted red because of it.

Just like that, he knows what to do.

Hidden in the underwater caves below the isle is a monster that slumbers until a soul dares to wake it. The humans call it a kraken, but the merfolk leave it unnamed, for it is too great to be reduced to a simple moniker. He has seen it once before, through the haze that descends over one close to death, and felt as its power stymied the lifeblood that poured hot from a wound spanning from the middle of his sternum to his navel.

Both he and Deku had lain on the beach after his pod ambushed, both bleeding from fatal wounds. He had been too fucking weak to get to the kraken first, and so Deku had been the one to sacrifice himself and give himself to the monster so Katsuki could live, when it should have been the other way round.

This time, though, he is strong enough.

He remembers slipping back into the ocean with his freshly healed wound so the saltwater of his tears mixed with the sea, unable to understand why Deku would leave him. Now, he understands all too well, and he will not fail to protect the one he loves again.

Summoning the kraken means no going back. After waking it, the summoner is transported into the kraken’s form, and they have a limited time within it before the kraken reaps its payment - the summoner’s soul. It will shatter their spirit and ensure they cannot return to their body.

Katsuki dives down deep, breaking away from the ship and swimming ahead of it to find the gaping mouth of the cave that the kraken slumbers within. He is far down enough that the water is murky, frigid as it weighs heavily on him, the sun a weak pinprick of light suspended somewhere above him that does nothing to pierce the gloom.

The entrance is curtained with seaweed, the cold fronds  caressing his skin as he slips past them. Nestled in the darkness, it lies there, slumbering: a behemoth shadow, looming as high as the cavern’s ceiling and filling its width like the berth of a warship docked in a seaside hamlet’s harbour.

As he swims towards it, he realises he has already had his last glimpse of you through his own eyes. The last time he will see you, he will be fighting to keep hold of himself before he loses his soul to the kraken, and then it will just be bottomless darkness until it is summoned again. You might not even know it is him inside the monster.

It doesn’t matter - a lot has ceased to matter to Katsuki. He can no longer deny that he loves you, and with that epiphany comes another: you knew what the hunters would do to you when you bargained for his freedom, and yet you did it anyway, with no fear of the consequences. Now, it is his turn to put his life on the line for you, and though he may lose it, you will be free.

He will never feel the sweet touch of lips again, but that’s alright. He hopes that you will find another to make you happy, another who will make your heart soar and help you forget him. They will be to you what you were to him: a light to scare away the shadows, a star in the night sky to guide you, even if at times, just like him, you believe you do not wish to be guided.

Katsuki pictures your face as he draws near to the kraken.

Its flesh is odd beneath his palm - slippery and uncomfortably cold. Pressing his palm to its skin, he wills it awake, and it obeys him alarmingly fast, an eye as big as his head snapping open and rolling around until it fixates on him. An abyss of a pupil sucks him in, beckoning him forward to a place that will be the last he ever visits.

Though he knows his body remains still, he feels himself fall forward, sucked towards the magnetic emptiness within the kraken as if it aches to be occupied. For a moment, he resists, pure instincts making him struggle against it, but he forces himself to let go. Sensation briefly forsakes him.

When his vision is restored, he finds that he is looking at his body, limp and vacant. Already he can feel a difference in the water, the sharp tang of fear drifting toward him on currents that hadn’t been there before as creatures begin to flee, aware that something ancient has been roused from its sleep.

A tempest is brewing.

Katsuki - or a version of him that no longer is really Katsuki, but instead a wrathful monster caller - cannot see the dark clouds amassing above, but he knows they are scudding across the blue skies to taint the high midday sun, and it is his doing. Cruel winds accumulate in the shadows cast by his thunderhead, and he can hear the sharp snap of canvas and the raised voices of a crew readying their ship for a storm.

Unfurling a tentacle, he curls it around his old body, careful not to crush it, and reaches up high enough to deposit it on the beach. He begins to move the kraken out of the cave, dislodging pebbles that would have been boulders as the bulk of its body manoeuvres through the exit.

In a way, he is disconnected from the body that is his now; there is empty space that he is not large enough to occupy, like he has donned a garment made for a merman the size of a mountain. It is strangely silent inside this huge vessel, although he is not alone. Shadow wreathed souls lurk in the corners of his mind, and he knows they are disgusted by him.

He is not surprised. Historically, the kraken have been summoned only in the utmost peril. To the merfolk, the kraken are as sacred and as old as the sea, called upon in the wars of old, when the magic beings of the sky were eradicated. Despite being only scattered shards of themselves, the past summoners look down on him, because he does not summon to seek the solution to mighty matters.

For the second time in a lifetime, the kraken is being summoned for a cause as selfish as love.

There’s an awful symmetry to it, really. He imagines the way they must have abhorred Deku, a dying human who did not use the kraken’s power to destroy, but to knit together the wound of a simple, unnoteworthy merman.

Faces contorted beyond recognition flash before his eyes and hands claw at his sides with nails as vicious as knives. They want blood, they want a whole fleet to rip through and ruin. He tells them that they will have to settle with one ship, and they cry their discontent in his ears, their voices rough and rasping, like rusting metal on stone.

He has not broken the surface of the water yet. His body prowls many leagues down, but still, he spots the shadow cast by the ship, and the moment he does, his vision narrows, blurs, and he sees winking lights on board: the lives of the crew, twinkling and tantalising and begging to be snuffed out.

The kraken jets upwards and breaches, spraying up a wall of water, and though he does not command it, he bellows a war cry, the sound so bloodthirsty and wild it almost sweeps him up and incapacitates him. The shadow souls close in, fragments of vengeful souls garbed in shadow, greedy and eager to see him torn apart, and he shakes them off, wrenching himself from their grasp with all his strength.

A twinge pinches at his side, and he glances down to see a volley of harpoons glance off his hide, leaving shallow gashes in their wake. The crew swarm on the deck, their terror sour as he breathes it in and savours it. They are but ants, small and irritating with their measly weapons and made to be crushed and devoured -

He seizes the mast and uses it to rock the ship from side to side, fighting to keep the visions of blood staining the water red away from him. Too fast, his control is slipping, and he feels the souls swarm around him, filling his field of view with darkness until all he can see is those tiny flames that he must put out. There is something he wanted to do, something he needs to do -

Selfish, the souls hiss in his ears, trying to sink their hateful claws into him again, and he agrees with them.

He loves, and therefore he is selfish.

It is no bad thing.

The storm clouds gather over the ship, roiling and rumbling with thunder. Lightning strikes, a bolt of white fury that splinters the deck and extinguishes one of the little lives on board, producing a delighted cackle from the souls at his back, but he ignores them. He knows what he must do.

“Bring me the witch,” he roars.

His voice comes out warped and foreign, the words of men coming out strange and misshapen on his tongue, but the crew understand enough, scuttling to obey, desperate to believe he may spare them if they give you to him. The grip of the souls tightens, squeezing at his throat - he has spent too long in their presence already, and they nip at the edges of his mind, stealing away parts of him when he isn’t looking.

He realises with a jolt that he does not remember his name any more.

It is fine, though. He will join the souls in their namelessness soon. They are a cacophony in his head, and he can no longer hear anything but them, the burn of their claws threatening to tear him apart and shred him the way they are already torn apart, but he barely cares.

The little gnats bring another up and present it to him. This one shines brighter, suffused with a magic the souls cannot wait to devour, and they encourage him forward - surely he too will enjoy the honeyed taste of this offering? Plucking it off the ship’s deck, he brings it to his eye level, and his shadow companions clamour for him to crush it, but he hesitates.

It looks at him like it knows him. In its weak, tiny voice, it yells something that gets lost in the howl of the winds, but even so, it makes the souls shrink back, receding enough for him to remember that this little thing he holds is important. Important for what, he can’t recall, but it is important all the same.

Kicking its legs, the small being beats its fist on his tentacle, still shouting. He leans closer, wincing as the shadows scratch and tear at his back, trying to draw him away again.

“Katsuki!” You scream.

He jolts. It is you, his little, beloved witch - you are why he is being so selfish, summoning the kraken just to save one life. Peering closer, he notices that you are bruised all over, and suddenly the storm worsens overhead, crackling as bolts of lightning stab down like vindictive knives and the wind tears at the ship full of aghast hunters, tossing it violently among the waves.

Carefully, he places you on the beach, next to a body that used to be his. You scramble towards it, limping, and he turns away, looking back towards the ship and the lights it is infested with that still need to be destroyed. Anger comes easily to him, because these are the ones that have marred you with bruises.

The shadows close in again.

Roaring, he tears at the ship, rending it in two and crushing those that leap overboard, yet the souls are never appeased, never satiated. It feels as if power leaks out the seams of his spirit and if he does not let it go it will destroy him from the inside, but he knows he cannot let go. He needs to hold on, to hold himself together, for something that drifts further and further out of reach -

It is as if he has been tied to the bottom of a sea trench for so long, drowning in darkness, that the surface is just a fanciful thought. He does not remember the sun’s sweet face, nor the sound of your voice as you called out the name he has lost again. They sink their teeth into him, ready to tear him apart.

He struggles. He will not go without a fucking fight, he will not let them have him before he has tried valiantly to swim upwards to the sun, where the shadows will not survive.

But the light is so far from him. It floats away every time he strives to be closer, or maybe there are hands holding him back, ripping him open and tethering him to the blackness. They cling to him, shrieking in his ears, sinking curved claws into him and refusing to let go, ready to reap the kraken’s payment.

He is losing himself.

And then - a hand, gentle, touching his face. Emerald eyes fill his vision, wide and lovely, and suddenly he is able to ignore the souls and their blaring dissonance, the pain in his side fading away into nothing. There is a soul that still remains named here, mixed in with those who have been rent apart by hate.

“Kacchan,” the soul says earnestly. “You must fight it, Kacchan.”

“Deku,” he sobs, leaning into the soul’s warm palms as he wipes his tears away. “I’m sorry.”

Deku smiles, and Katsuki weeps, because he looks so proud of him, as if he is worth an eternity spent trapped within a kraken alongside shattered souls that only wish for chaos and destruction. He weeps, because here are Deku and Kacchan, back together again, but they cannot stay this way forever.

“I understand,” Deku whispers, and his touch heals Kacchan once more. “I understand you love her. You need to fight, you need to return to her and love her like you want to. I died so you could live, Kacchan. Let go.”

He looks down and sees the way he clutches onto Deku so hard he is white knuckled, while Deku cradles his hands in his scarred ones, softly as if Kacchan is fragile. Trembling, he loosens his grip, and he feels the light draw closer, the sun’s rays warming his face. Something tightens in his chest when he finally allows himself to release Deku, but it hurts in the manner of stitches pulling taut inside him and binding him together again.

One last time, he looks over his shoulder, to where Deku watches as he goes, smiling brightly, shining like he is a star plucked from the night sky. His brilliance holds the shadows back, rendering them powerless. He pays them no mind, though - his viridescent eyes are lit up and fixed only on his Kacchan.

Deku says something, but the sound of his voice is drowned out by the crashing of the waves and the winds of a dying down of a storm. Still, Katsuki knows what he said by the shape of his lips: I love you. Smiling, he takes a final look at him, at those unruly green curls and those sweet eyes and bright smile, and then he turns and is bathed in light.

The kraken sinks again beneath the waves, but Katsuki does not sink with it.

You know it’s impossible, but you sense the moment Katsuki is back in his body. You’ve heard the tales of the kraken, and you know he should have been taken from you, but there he is, present in the weak pulse of his heart beneath your palm and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Shallow cuts have appeared all over his body, remnants of the damage of the hunter’s harpoons.

His eyes are open, but barely, and he blinks slowly, fighting to keep them fixed on you, giving you only glimpses of familiar crimson. There is a strange looseness to his awareness that must come with the recency of doing the impossible, but still he grips your hand desperately, struggling to stay awake long enough to force words out.

“I - I lo - ”

Before he can finish, his voice cracks and he coughs. His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to start again, but you smile, tears blurring your vision as you press a finger to his lips and hush him, and thankfully he relaxes under your touch, curling closer to you and seeking shelter in your embrace. Once he is rested, he will have all the time in the world to tell you whatever he likes.

What matters is that he is here. That in itself is beyond even a miracle. 

Almost disbelieving, you cradle him to you, pressing your forehead to his as tears you cannot stop spill down your face and mingle with his blood. You are bone tired after repeatedly healing your own cracked ribs and fractured wrists, but you are whole enough for now - you won’t waste your energy on your own bruises while he still hurts.

So you hold him against your chest, sweeping your fingers delicately over the deeper of his cuts to seal them. The sky has cleared, the storm clouds departing as fast as they arrived, and the sea is dipped in ruby by the bleeding sunset. It lacquers the wet sand with the glow of dying embers as the incoming tide smooths over where the storm had churned it up, erasing the mark left on the island as if this afternoon had never happened.

If it were not for Katsuki in your arms, it would be like the kraken never came.

You glance down at him. He seems at peace, though worn and battered, as if he has reconciled something deep within his heart; he has closed his eyes, simply leaning against you with his face pressed into your side, his warm hands tucked just beneath the hem of your shirt.

You cannot help but smile. Because of him, you are free. No chains bind your wrists, no threats limit you in what you decide to do next. You are not sure where you will end up later, but for now you intend to fall asleep beneath the open sky, beside the one you love infinitely more than any life you might have had and even this new life he has fought and bled to give you.

When you drift out of your dreams - just simple, golden things full of a contentment that lingers past waking - the tide is high, the ocean lapping at the sand at your feet. The moon is almost at its highest point in the sky, depositing a residue of silver on everything around you.

Katsuki stirs in your arms, and when you glance down, you are met with the twin beacons of his eyes, luminous in the dark and full, brimming and spilling over with unspoken things that leave a deep ache in your heart. Trembling, he grips your hands, and you lace your fingers with his, brushing your lips over his knuckles and stroking his face as the tears begin to flow.

He cries like he is mourning. You wonder what he saw while his soul donned the kraken’s skin, how poignant it must have been to wrench these fitful sobs from him. Cupping his face in your palms, you wipe his tears away, and he clings to you to keep you close while he bares his newly healing heart to you; it is wrapped in the past’s scars. He shows you the rawest parts of him, and you soothe them as best you can with your healing hands.

There is no magic to this cure, though. It is just the love that burns within you, consuming you so entirely it makes you shake. You did not know it was possible to love like this, but the proof weeps in your arms, a merman who summoned the kraken and somehow conquered it so he could make it back to you.

“Tell me,” you whisper, tracing the strong lines of his face with your fingertips.

Curling his arms around you, he hides his face in your neck. “Deku stood with me against the dark inside the kraken,” he replies softly. “He held them back so I could come back to you. I - I thought I had lost him forever, when he summoned the kraken to save me.”

Carefully, he brings your hand to touch the scar stretching down his chest, and you outline its edges, comforted by the warmth of his body and the steadiness of his breathing beneath your fingers. You would be happy to stay like that forever, linked to him by your skin on his and the synchronised beat of your hearts.

“He told me to fight so I could return to you,” Katsuki murmurs. “So I could love you.”

Your breath catches, your voice sticking before any words come out. He is blunt and honest as always, but this time, he is without his walls, without his guard up, open and vulnerable for you to lash out at him if you wished to, but he trusts you will not. Still, you hesitate, your throat constricting.

“I… I didn’t know him, or what he was like, but I know I can’t be him to you,” you falter. “I cannot be Deku, Katsuki.”

You do not expect your voice to come out so small, so timid. Neither do you expect the overwhelming tenderness that fills his eyes - no one has ever looked at you like that, as if they really see the whole of you, the blemishes and shadows on your soul and they love those too.

“I don’t ask you to be like him,” he replies. “No one will ever be like him. No one will ever be like you, either. I love you because you are you, not because you are him.”

“Katsuki,” you breathe, unable to swallow down the tears welling in your eyes.

“You know I can’t give you the life you deserve, either,” he continues, voice thick. “If you tie yourself to me, you tie yourself to the sea too, regardless of if you like it or not.”

Searchingly, you look at him, and it feels for a second that as you meet his eyes, you know the whole ocean, down to its unexplorable depths, down to every grain of sand and every critter it shelters and sustains. In that moment, there is a total, utter understanding within you - you would love him whatever the condition.

“I would tie myself to the most pitiful of the things on this earth if it meant I could love you, Katsuki.”

“I too, witch,” he replies, and a fond little smile pulls at his lips. “I would summon that kraken a thousand times if it meant I could win your heart.”

You laugh, out of pure joy more than anything else, and he laughs too, rolling in the sand so he can prop himself up on his elbows. Flopping over, you adjust yourself so you can rest your head against his stomach, lifting your eyes to watch as he tips his face up to the sky, letting the stars reflect in his gaze, as if he holds the galaxies of the universe in each pupil.

Your fingers find his as you stare up at the moon where it hangs highest in the sky now, full and silver as the stars. A new moon: symbolising fresh starts and new beginnings, or maybe even the waxing of a love that was planted in the darkness of the brig of a ship soaked in blood, nourished by nothing but the weak flame of a lamp and swift hands knitting flesh back together.

A familiar prickle trails coyly down the side of your neck, and the sound of sand whispering against itself reaches your ears as Katsuki shifts beneath you, lightly skimming the high tide’s surf with his tail. You are not ready to leave the easy silence you’ve made yet, so you bask in his presence and his warmth a little longer.

The moon has just begun its descent when you turn to face him. He’s just looking at you, looking and looking and looking as if he can’t get enough. You smile, aware of the fresh edge in his gaze that was not there before, the string binding your soul to his pulling delightfully taut.

“You’re as beautiful as the ocean,” he mumbles, fiddling with a lock of your hair. “More beautiful than the ocean. But in a different way, you’re…”

You grin. “Worse?”

“Worse,” he agrees, smirking, but he looks at you as if you breathed life into his seas. “Much worse.”

Time stops for a moment, and you sit up, bringing your face close to his until your breaths mingle - you cannot help but let his crimson eyes consume you, heart and soul. You linger there for a moment, the air crackling between you, both of you waiting as if to see who will give in and pounce first.

Bringing his hand up, Katsuki lets his fingers slide under your jaw, lifting your chin so you are merely a hair’s breadth away. He fills your senses; you can feel the warmth of his body, the roughness of the calluses on his fingers, the feather-like brush of his breath against your cheek, smell his briney sea scent, hear the swish of sand as he shifts infinitesimally closer. A lethal spark gleams in his eyes, tying you in helpless knots.

You lean forward and claim his lips.

It draws a quiet groan from him, and suddenly you are beneath him in the sand and his hands are all over you, grabbing handfuls of you and shucking the damp material of your shirt up and over your head so he can touch your skin. The way he looks at you, with those stirring embers that tug at something low in your stomach, reduces you to a sailor under the influence of a siren’s song - he is irresistible, he is magnificent.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him ever closer, licking into his mouth as if you might find the god’s nectar hiding beneath his tongue. He nips at your lower lip with those keen canines of his, and you cannot help but buck your hips as the tide swirls around the both of you.

Chuckling, he skims a palm over your thigh, pulling your leg up to hook over his hip. It brings your clothed core right against the length of his hardening cock that has emerged from the slit in his tail; you stifle a moan at the feel of him, grinding agonisingly slowly down on him and sighing as he trails wet kisses and purpling bites down your throat.

Katsuki licks at the spot under your jaw, and this time, at the second graze of his teeth against your skin, your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at it and squeezing another sweet noise from him. You keep your hands threaded through his ash blonde locks as he licks at the valley between your breasts. Meticulously, he marks your plush flesh with the imprints of his teeth, laying his claim on you.

When he reaches your stomach, he mouths at your skin, nipping playfully just over your hip bone before he raises his eyes to meet yours. They are heavy lidded and sultry, and they stir the fire building in your core as he toys lazily with the waistband of your trousers. His fingers are casual as they curl beneath the fabric.

“Let me taste you, witch,” he implores.

“I cannot argue when you look at me like that,” you reply, breathless. “Nor would I, anyways.”

That is all the consent he needs before he is helping you out of your remaining clothes, almost ripping them in his hurry to have you on his tongue. His hands slip beneath you, gripping your ass and guiding your legs over his shoulders, and there he pauses. Yearning blazes in his crimson eyes, and then he dips his head and puts his mouth on you.

You gasp his name. Your hands scramble for purchase before you bury them in his hair again, yanking to encourage him further, and he responds by sucking harshly on your clit, making your hips jump and buck into his face. He groans into your heat, and the vibrations of it make you see stars.

Slowly, he pulls back, glancing up at you, and the sight of him is enough to make you moan: his eyes are glazed, fervent, worshipful, and your slick drips down his chin, the moonlight making it seem like liquid diamond. Bewitched by him, you choke out his name, and he smirks and slips two fingers inside you. Your legs begin to shake when he pumps them slowly in and out of you, bending them at the knuckle so he can hit that spot inside you.

The friction enraptures you, mounting in the pit of your stomach and winding up tight, and your thighs close around his head, clenching as Katsuki pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Turning his head, he sucks at your skin, marking you there, too.

You balance on a knife blade’s edge.

Abruptly, he slides his fingers out and your pussy clamps down a second too late; already, you open your mouth to lament it when he bends his head and replaces them with his tongue. Your words dissolve into wretched moans; you grind your hips against his face and lightning spears through you when his nose nudges at your clit.

Pleasure rises within you, a gradual, swelling thing that sneaks up on you in the unhurried nature of his movements. You can feel his smile against your cunt. You can feel the light burn as he grips your flesh, anchoring you to him so you could not pull away and part him from the taste of you even if you wished to.

You cry out his name as you come.

Katsuki nestles you close to his chest as you come down from your high, kissing your face as the aftershocks send shivers down your spine. Tenderness resides in his eyes, right beside a longing that makes you melt into him, weak with ardour as you slip your hand between your sea damp bodies to curl your fingers slyly around his cock.

His lips part as you jerk him, and you cross the small distance between you to bite at his lower lip, sucking it into your mouth and swiping your tongue over it as you feel him grow impossibly harder in your palm. Ridges swell down his length, flushed a coruscant orange that blurs down into obsidian at his base.

Tipping your head back, you look him in the eye. “I - I need you inside me, Katsuki.”

The words are clumsy on your tongue. You do not know how to articulate the pressing need to feel him, to not know where you end and he begins, to collide with him right there on the beach of this island that houses a kraken, to get lost in the salt on his skin and the eddy of the sea at your joined hips.

Lowly, he curses, treating you as if you are holy as he spreads your legs and settles between them, gripping the curve of your hip with one hand as he lines himself up. You press your lips against the warm bronze skin of his shoulder, sighing against him, urging him forward, urging him closer, a blissed out sound slipping from you as the ridges of his cock push past your entrance, the stretch nothing short of divine.

At last, he is sheathed fully within you. His hips kiss yours, and he remains there, pulsing hotly within you, the pleasure on his face bordering on pain as your cunt bears down on him, yet still, he will not move. Jaw clenching, he squeezes his eyes shut, and a hoarse groan tears itself from deep in his chest.

Panting, he bows his head, and when he looks up, tears rim his lash line, glittering like individual crystals dipped in the light of the stars. One rolls down his cheek and plops down onto yours, and you raise a hand to caress his face, raking your fingers through his hair to push it back from his forehead; he leans into your touch, turning his head to kiss your palm.

Slipping your hand round to cup the nape of his neck, you bring your mouth to his. Delicately, Katsuki kisses you before pulling back to press his lips feather-light to your eyelids - he lingers there, his breath fluttering warmly against your skin, his thumb drawing circles on your cheekbone.

Again, he kisses you, and it is only then that you taste the salt of your own tears on his tongue.

Your soft, raw sob echoes across the beach, and you dig your nails into his wide shoulders, urging him to move. With a gasp, he begins to rock his hips into you, and it breaks you apart. You keen, pushing back into his fluid, achingly unhurried strokes, scrabbling at his back in an attempt to bring him closer, to let him consume your very being.

Right there on the sand, under the moonlight with the seafoam lapping at your sides, he fucks into you, slow and deep, trembling and crying above you, and tenderly, you kiss him again. The roll of his thumb over your clit sends thrills chasing down your spine. He dips his head, burying his face in your neck, and fiercely, you hold him to you.

“Mine,” Katsuki whispers, and his teeth sink into your skin.

Something snaps inside you, and the fire in your gut blazes. Your cunt clenches hard around him, vice like around his cock, and you feel him twitch when your velvety walls clamp down on him, feel his soft exhale and know that he too knows the burn of the inferno in your core.

“Please, Katsuki,” you whine. “Harder.”

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice rasping in your ear, and suddenly you are empty.

Before you can protest, he flips you over, pressing your back into his chest and you reel, momentarily blinded by the night sky stretching high and wide above you. He is solid beneath you, and he knocks the breath from your lungs when he surges up into you.

You can feel all of him. Ruthlessly, Katsuki pounds up into you, as if he is desperate to taste the sea salt on your skin and inhale your scent and never let you go. Your body jerks with each thrust, your voice cracking as you cry out his name, the new heady angle of his cock inside you leaving you writhing, lost in the bliss he wrings from you.

His tail thrashes in the surf as he fucks up into you. You are limp in his arms, trembling all over as your back arches - he squeezes your breasts in one hand while the other settles between your legs, his skilled fingers working over your clit to kindle a mind shattering type of euphoria within you that renders you boneless and speechless, your jaw slack.

Your head falls back on his shoulder, your eyes falling shut as you moan, your pussy constricting tight around him. A hand circles your throat, squeezing lightly, and you mewl, your cunt unashamedly spasming at the feel of his calloused fingers about your neck.

“Let the moon and stars witness how I pleasure you, my love,” he snarls.

Your eyes roll, your toes curl. Somehow, he fucks up into you faster, harder, and his cock hits places that cause your vision to white out, the relentless friction of his ridges on your walls enough to make you sob and claw at the arm he uses to keep you in place. Distantly, you can hear yourself begging him, pleading for him to go harder, deeper, to not stop, to ruin you.

You scream Katsuki’s name as you come for the second time tonight. Uncontrollably, your thighs shake, and your cunt convulses around his cock; you can feel him slowing his thrusts, letting you ride out your high, but despite the overstimulation building in the tautness inside your stomach, you grind against him.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Want - want you to come inside me.”

Your words elicit a groan from him. “Fucking filthy, aren’t you?”

Helplessly, you whimper in response, your pussy fluttering as he hammers up into you. He swears as he comes, spilling hot inside you, the sweet sound he makes muffled when he bites down on your shoulder. Both of you lie there for a moment, catching your breath, before gently, he manoeuvres the two of you so you lie on your sides, careful to keep himself deep in your heat; he is warm against your back.

Katsuki splays a palm over your stomach, holding you close, and you lace your fingers with his, sighing happily as he begins to pepper kisses over your back. You can feel the upwards curve of his lips as he smiles against your skin.

“Are you alright?” He asks, nuzzling the nape of your neck.

“Better than alright,” you confirm.

You remain silent for a while longer, happy just to lie there cocooned in his arms and the quiet wash of the ocean; you can feel the pulse of his heart against your back, steady and comforting. A hushed, steady noise comes from him, a satisfied noise, almost a purr. His cock is beginning to soften inside you, its ridges coming down - you both groan as he slips out, moving so his length is tucked against the curve of your ass.

“How did you know it was me?” He asks suddenly. “When I summoned the kraken.”

You squeeze his hand. “I saw you in its eyes. You know, I couldn’t have missed it if I tried, especially not when you yelled for the hunters to bring me to you. I heard it all the way from below deck.”

He laughs, and you shuffle closer to him, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“I didn’t even know the kraken was a real thing,” you tell him. “I wasn’t scared, though. I knew I’d be safe when I saw it was you.”

Katsuki scoffs. “You’re horrendously sappy, witch.”

You laugh, pushing your ass back against him. “I think you like it, merman.”

Laughing, you roll to and fro in the sand, with you grinding on him as he grips your hips and tries to wrestle you into submission. Eventually, he manages to incapacitate you by holding you tightly against his chest, dipping his head so he can whisper hotly in your ear.

“Keep that up and I’ll have to fuck you again,” he grits out.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” you challenge.

Giggling, you wriggle out of his grip and plunge further into the shallows, just catching him muttering something about insatiable and damn witch before he dives in and streaks after you, his dorsal fin cutting through the water. A hand closes around your ankle, and you squeal, flailing as you shake him off.

Clumsily, you take off towards the rock pools, wading through the sea water as fast as you can. You know Katsuki will catch you (you’re not exactly opposed to it - you’re running into the sea rather than out of it, after all). Again, he makes another grab at you, and you romp with him in the waves, grinning as you fend him off by splashing water at him, squirming out of his arms again.

In the end, he grabs you around the waist and traps you against one of the tide pools, the rock rough against your back as he smirks down at you. The sight of him above you is enthralling: droplets run down his chest in rivulets, rolling down the grooves his muscles make, and the moon hangs the sky behind him, crowning him with a halo made of silver. Your mouth waters.

Taking your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, he brings his face close to yours. A shiver runs down your spine. His red eyes fill your vision, glowing in the night, hypnotic and burning with craving so devout it borders on veneration.

He smiles. “Caught you.”

Katsuki takes you again, against the rock at your back. Afterwards, you lie there, spent and tangled together in the waning moonlight until you grow hungry again and you straddle him, mesmerised by the sight of him staring up at you, pleasure twisting his features as you ride him. You fuck and make love until the sun begins to rise, and it is only then that the two of you are finally sated.

So there you lie, held in his arms and the sea’s embrace - and inexplicably, you find that you do not regret all the pain you suffered at the hands of the hunters, because if it was not for them, you would never have been in that brig to heal him. Inside you, something blossoms within your soul, young and fresh and beautiful as the new moon, and it spills forth from your lips, a whispered confession pressed to his skin like a kiss.

“I love you, Bakugou Katsuki.”

Cupping your jaw, he brings his forehead to yours and murmurs your name. “I love you too.”

Katsuki glances down at you, where you are curled into the curve of his side like you were made to fit him, and he feels his failing, tired heart bloom once again. You have healed him in ways that run deeper than just his flesh.

He looks in your eyes, and when he does, the sea looks back.

You are his home.

A/N: by the way guys, afterwards they travel somewhere cool and the reader sets up a lil witchy abode by the sea and the villagers come to her for cures and half of them are lowkey a bit terrified of her mermaid husband but it doesn’t matter because she still gives really good remedies and he hasn’t eaten anyone yet and sometimes she and bakugou go out in their boat and attack hunter ships for funsies

also here's a picture i found off pinterest which i kind of imagine his tail being like except it's a bit more rigid and the dorsal fins are more spiney and longer, also there's more black and less red

taglist: @freakingsparkydreamer @d1orhaz3 @msjaeger @mellasimp14 @eyesforbkg @cottagedumpling @silkdolli @teeesthings @raksstuff

[burntoutangel]

A guardian angel who’s been with her charge for years. They practically grew up together, and ever since she realized she could see her, they’ve both been there for each other. Keeping her safe from the dark, telling her jokes on boring car rides, supporting her in transition. They’re like best friends or sisters, and even if they Angel isn’t around 24/7(everyone needs privacy now and then. Girls do, and even angels do), she’s only a name away.

And so she’s not entirely surprised when she’s called to chat on her charges smoke break. Manifesting her form in a grimy alley behind the shitty restaurant she’s been working at, calling out a few lines about the virtues of patience and humility, and how she should really quit smoking. What is a surprise is her girl grabbing the back of her neck and muttering “Angel, I need some *real* relief right now. Not just pretty words”. They’ve never touched like this before. And her voice has never been so gravely and full of… want. And so the angels first experience today in the physical world is her bare knees grating against the damp and grimy concrete, hands against the faded concrete, whimpering and grinding her hips as her charge, the girl she’s been with for years, uses the hand not holding a cigarette to fuck her throat until the angels nose is buried in her crotch~ it smells like sweat and precum and grease and smoke, this is far beyond what an angel, especially a *guardian* should do but fuck it just feels so good

The five minute break seems to stretch to eternity until a final shove hilts every inch of tired, underpaid girldick into her angelic throat, and the angel has her first whimpering shuddering pathetic orgasm at the feeling of her humans cum coating her mouth from throat to tongue, dripping the last remnants of it onto her eager lips. “Fuck honey, that was amazing. Look, my shifts about to start again but. You teleport to our place when im done, and I’ll make it up to you ok? Thanks for always being there for me” her girl says with a soft kiss to the cheek before turning quickly into the back door of the building, almost managing to hide her neon blush in the process

It takes a fair few minutes for the angel to collect herself. Dusting off her bruised knees, shyly licking the last of the cum off her lips and hands. Trying to get any remaining ash or dust off her robes. That was definitely more than a guardian was allowed to do. But she hardly cares. All that matters is the thought of her charge coming home and fucking her senseless again ❤️

[staruus]

𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐞 ✩°｡⋆˚⁺

𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐞 - S. Gojo

SYPNOSIS. You and Satoru are one of the very few sole survivors of an apocalypse that broke out. After 5 years of surviving, you are sent to track down Satoru Gojo. You both are entwined by fate, names written in the stars. But that doesn't mean you both are fond of each other. What happens when the universe begins tangling your story with his?

GENRE: Fluff + Angst, TLOU au WARNINGS: Smut, smoking, mentions of drugs, violence, gore, cursing, death Pt. 1 - ??? WC: 7.5k + Read on Wattpad! User: GenyaMyBeloveddd

Masterlist

The apocalypse.

5 years ago, if someone told you that an apocalypse would eventually break out, you would've laughed in their faces. Since there was simply no way it could ever happen. Especially a zombie apocalypse.

Those were simply just myths fed to children for entertainment or frightening purposes. It wasn't real. Zombies aren't real.

They are non-existent creatures you would see in video games, or read in your books. But it actually didn't exist. They were simply just made up by the human mind that was desperate to find an escape route from reality. Since imagination was the weapon in the war against reality. In the depths of darkness, where shadows reside, creativity would always blossom, as a beacon to guide the human mind. It was a refuge, a divine sanctuary, where dreams are born, and reality intertwines.

These creatures couldn't exist, because you can't revive the dead. They were just figments of one's imagination.

Once someone's heart stops flowing, their soul is no longer. A zombie was a living being without a soul. A living being who yearned for blood, and "brains". No living being could walk, eat, or breathe without having a soul. It was simply impossible.

Until, it was.

What was once a myth and a thing of fiction, a fairy tale thought up for the entertainment of children, now had struck the world with a fearful blow.

Slaughtering humanity to a dreadful low.

Who could've ever imagined such a thing? That a zombie apocalypse would come true. The living dead, a thought of pure fantasy.

And now, our world is filled with agony.

The zombie apocalypse broke out in Japan. At approximately 12:04 am on May 23rd, 2025. It spread out all the way to Asia. Like a virus that was hungry for human flesh. A destructive virus that wanted nothing but blood and death.

And these weren't your childhood fantasy zombies. These weren't the ones you would hear from your childhood. These weren't the ones that weren't able to walk in sunlight or anything like that.

Because they could. And they weren't slow — they were fast. Dangerous, out for blood like a predator searching for prey. Death filled all of Asia, as rotting corpses were found all over the continent. The smell of blood and death would never leave one's nose.

The world had decided to turn their backs on Asia, in fears of spreading this deadly virus to the world. Asia was left alone to rot and die. All the people were left to be forgotten as if they were some type of failed experiment in a lab. Silent cries went unheard, the world's back turned, and hearts hardened, as the apocalypse dawned.

Now, here you are. One of the few sole survivors of the apocalypse. There's a group called the SNK. The head leader, Kenjaku, owns it. This community is one filled with survivors of this wretched apocalypse you're in. It was 2 years ago when you asked to stay here. One of the members, Fushiguro Toji found you lying in the woods – right at death's door.

You were injured, with a large wound on your waist, and were going to die of blood loss if you didn't get it treated. Luckily, Toji found something interesting about you and brought you back to the camp.

But before you could be an official member, Kenjaku had to make sure you could actually contribute to the community. You see, everyone had to have something valuable to be a part of this residency that Kenjaku had made.

And luckily for you, he deemed you as worthy to be a part of his "Society". Since that is what he called it. Even though you are sure that Kenjaku is a man full of pride, you still respect him. After all, he is the whole reason you are alive right now.

Now, you work as one of his hitmen. That is how you contribute to this community. Whenever Kenjaku tells you to search for someone, you do it. If he tells you to kill someone, you do it. You are the consequences of your actions. Kenjaku is the judge, and you are the executioner. Being a hitman was not something you wanted to do – but it was better than being a farmer.

And now, you are on your bed – in an abandoned hotel. Your room can be considered "luxurious" by apocalypse standards. Even though it only has a bed, a bathroom, and a table. It was better than the shitty apartments others got. Those apartments reeked with the smell of piss and old blood.

The sun rose, and the rays of sunshine hit your face, hurting your eyes. Your eyes fluttered open, as you got off your bed. You stretched your arms, as a yawn escaped your lips. The room was fairly clean – in apocalypse standards, of course.

Yeah, the walls were a little old, with paint peeling off of them, and a hole in the wall. It was there before you got it. The floor was slightly dusty since no one ever bothered to properly clean it up. The bathroom had some running water – even though you were 99% sure that you shouldn't even be using the water. The shower curtains eventually got moldy, so you had to throw them out. But it was better than camping in the woods like you were accustomed to.

Your door's locks didn't work. You guessed it probably broke down a few years ago – before the apocalypse even began. But overall, considering where most people lived, you had it good in a way. The community had made walls. These walls were filled with barbwire, metal gates, and some scraps that people could find.

Despite looking shady, the walls were strong and managed to hold off any runners or stalkers. Since those were the most common around your area.

All of a sudden, you hear a faint knock on the door. You immediately turn your head over to your door, and your whole body pauses. Your breath comes to a halt, and you wait to see if the person behind the door would speak, or reveal themselves.

"Y/N, open up." A deep and hoarse voice ordered from behind the door. You immediately recognized whose voice it belonged to — Toji's. You walk towards your nearly broken-down door and open it.

When you open the door, Toji stands in front of you, with a hand on his hip. He had a scar on his lip, black hair, and dark eyes. You raised a brow and looked up at him. "What is it?" Toji never came over to your hotel room unless he would ask for a favor, or Kenjaku had ordered him to carry out a message to you.

"Kenny needs you," Toji announced with a husky voice, as he scratched the back of his neck with his hand and his eyes darted around the hallway filled with empty and abandoned hotel rooms. Toji had a high rank in the SNK. He was practically Kenjaku's right-hand man. Whatever Kenjaku told him to do, Toji always did.

"Kenjaku? What for?" You inquired, as you narrowed your eyes at the tall male. Toji's eyes landed on you, and he shrugged. "I dunno. He didn't tell me yet." Toji answered as he looked down on you before he stepped aside. "C'mon. He needs ya like right now." Toji rushed. Your eyes widened as you nodded. You wondered what could be so important that Kenjaku needed you without warning. Normally, he would at least give you a heads-up before meeting with you. He was an organized man – so him behaving like this was somewhat strange.

You grabbed your white shoes that were stained with dirt and gravel, as you hastily tied your shoes. Once you were done tying them, you stood up and exited your hotel room. You shut the old door behind you and began walking with Toji as you guys headed over to Kenjaku's office.

Kenjaku's office was clean and tidy — which was surprising considering everyone in Asia was currently living in a shithole at the moment. You glanced at the old elevators and then glanced at the stairs. You hardly doubted that the elevator worked anymore. It was old, and it was probably jammed.

So you would rather take your chances with the damn stairs.

You and Toji walked up the stairs until you eventually reached the front doors of Kenjaku's office. You both glanced at one another before Toji nodded at the guards. The guards knew who you two were, and immediately nodded back to Toji before stepping aside and opening the large doors.

There, revealed Kenjaku in all of his glory. The office was luxurious, as he remained seated on his chair at his desk. The desk was polished nicely, and the walls didn't have paint peeled off — but instead looked clean and tidy. And behind his desk, was a clean window with a view to the entire community.

You don't know how he managed to keep his office this clean – considering the condition Asia was in right now. His back was faced against you and Toji — and you could only see the back of his chair. You could smell the smoke in this room, and it made your nose scrunch up in disgust. "Y/N," Kenjaku voiced. You snapped out of your thoughts and fixed your posture immediately when he called your name. You remained silent for a few seconds, before answering back. "Yes?" Your voice was hoarse and shaky — almost as if you were scared.

Kenjaku remained quiet, as he put out the cigarette on the ashtray, before tossing it to the trashcan next to him. He sighed, before finally turning his chair around – revealing himself. His eyes landed on you, and then he glanced at Toji. It looked like he was thinking about whether or not to keep him at the moment.

"Toji, you can stay," Kenjaku muttered. Toji glanced at you, and then glanced at Kenjaku and raised a brow. It was obvious he didn't have a clue what was happening right now – and he was lost just like you. After a few moments of silence, Kenjaku spoke again.

"You are probably wondering why I called you here." Kenjaku voiced, as he looked at you, his eyes locking onto yours with a cold gaze. A shiver ran down your spine, as you gulped. You decided not to say anything since you didn't even know what to say.

Kenjaku then laid eyes on Toji. "I need a favor. From both of you." Kenjaku began. His eyes darted back and forth to the both of you, as he had a small grin on his face. He leaned back on the cushion of his chair, and hanged his arms on the armrests.

"Y/N, I need you to bring me a man called Satoru Gojo back alive. I know I don't normally ask for them to be brought back alive, but this time I need it." Kenjaku spoke with a stern voice. Bring who back alive? A man named Satoru Gojo? Who's that?

Your brows furrowed, as you looked at Kenjaku. You were confused – who was this man? Why did Kenjaku want him back alive? Did he do something to Kenjaku? I mean, you never heard of that name before — so it was definitely a shock to you. You looked at Toji, and then back at Kenjaku.

"And for you, I want you to be taking care of Y/N's part while she is gone. Other than that, you are dismissed." Kenjaku told Toji, as he locked eyes with him, he gave a dismissive wave to Toji and sighed. Toji had a stern and cold look on his face — it wasn't his normal casual or laidback look. Did he seem upset? What for? He was probably upset at the fact he'd have to be doing more service hours now. Which, anyone would be upset over that, to be honest.

"Yes sir," Toji mumbled under his breath before turning around and walking out of the office. You watched him as his figure slowly disappeared into the hallway before he took a turn and escaped your eye's view. You turned your attention back to Kenjaku, whose attention was solely on you and you only.

"Satoru is a tall man, roughly around the height of 6'3. He's got white hair and obnoxiously bright blue eyes. He's hard to miss. He is also a part of the Yamamoto faction." Kenjaku informed you – as he gave you a brief summary of what the guy called "Satoru Gojo" looked like.

The Yamamoto faction was all the way in Tokyo. The SNK was in Kyoto. You were hoping that Kenjaku was about to tell you that Satoru Gojo was located in Kyoto at the moment. You couldn't imagine walking all the way over to Tokyo. Not to mention, Tokyo had the most infected and had the Yamamoto faction members. The SNK and Yamamoto faction were not on good terms.

Sparks between the two had been flying ever since the apocalypse started. At first, the Yamamoto faction was located in Kyoto but had eventually relocated to Tokyo, of all places. You were confused about why they would relocate to the place with the most infected, but then again you didn't care much.

"He is located in Shinjuku, Tokyo. I am giving you food, weapons, and clothes while you are on this journey. Once you bring him back, you will be greatly rewarded. You are set to leave in approximately five days. Is that clear?" Kenjaku explained, as he got up from his chair, and walked over to you.

He stopped right beside you and gave you a side-eye. "Are we clear?" He asked, his voice was cold, and hoarse as he talked to you. Probably from all those damn cigarettes he smokes. You wondered how he hasn't gotten lung cancer at this point yet. He smokes more than fifteen every day for crying out loud.

You paused, as you thought about your answer for a few seconds. Is it really worth it to go all the way to Tokyo, for one man? To the area that reeks of death and the infected? What if you die trying to find this man? What if he kills you? This is bullshit. But you can't do anything but simply comply with Kenjaku's orders. Since after all, you are forever in debt to him. Everyone in this community is forever in debt to Kenjaku. He gives them sanctuary, food, and safety. It's like he's seen as a divine entity — even though he is nothing but a simple mortal on this earth. No different from the rest of you. You cleared your throat and sighed.

"Yes sir." You muttered as you nodded your head. A smile formed on Kenjaku's lips, as he stepped back, and looked at you with a cheerful expression on his face. "Alright then! Better hurry! Pack your bag, but make sure to leave room for the stuff I will be giving to you. You'll need it." Kenjaku chimed, as he walked back to his desk, and sat down on his chair.

"Make sure to rest well. Gojo is not those ordinary weak men I normally send you to deal with. He's way more." Kenjaku informed with a sinister smile on his face as he rested his chin on his hand. You sighed and nodded. "Why does this man mean so much to you? What is so special about him? He's all the way in Kyoto — shouldn't we just let the infected take him instead?" You offered, furrowing your brows in frustration at Kenjaku's cheerfulness.

The man never had to get his hands dirty. It was always his hitmen or others doing it for him. He never had to pick up crops from the soil, never had to clean his body from the dirt, never had to deal with hands soaked in blood, he lived up here, in his office, bossing others around.

It annoyed you – but you were grateful anyway. If it weren't for him, you would've bled out and died. Or worse, one of the infected would've had their way with you. You would rather slit your own throat than get killed by an infected.

"Tsk. He's a criminal, Y/N. I want him here, and I want him to face the punishment for his actions." Kenjaku stated, raising his voice slightly as you glared at him. Whenever Kenjaku wanted his victims alive, they would be around a city or two away, but not a whole fucking state. How could you possibly contain a whole grown-ass man? Not to mention, he's 6'3. Way fucking taller than you. How would you manage to keep this beast in its cage? No doubt this beast wasn't going to let you drag him along – he was going to defy against you, obviously.

"Since when were there laws in the apocalypse? Let's be honest here. We're all just barely making it by. We all are doing whatever we can do to survive. There are no laws anymore." You snapped, as your hands balled into fists and your nails dug into the skin of your palm.

Kenjaku's eyes widened at your rebellion against his orders. You always followed his orders and never defied him. So why are you doing it now? Normally, he would've punished anyone who talked back to him, but you were one of his most valuable hitmen, so he was letting it slide.

"Oh don't get me started on that bullshit! If someone takes something from me, I'll take it back — or I'll punish them for it. Would you just let someone easily take something that rightfully belongs to you all because "there are no laws" in the apocalypse? No." Kenjaku stated, as his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed. Even though it seemed like it, he wasn't that angry. He had a high tolerance and wasn't quick to anger.

"You see, this is the reason you almost died, Y/N. If Toji didn't find you, your body would be rotting under the soil right now. I thought you changed, I thought you learned. But apparently, you haven't. You haven't changed at all and it's annoying. In the apocalypse, you can't just let someone take something from you all because they are trying to survive. Because remember, you are trying to survive too. Every fucking crumb of food, every grain of soil, and every drop of water is valuable in this damn apocalypse. And you need to realize that." He yelled, as he slammed his hands on his desk and abruptly stood up from his seat.

You immediately took that as your sign to pipe down and shut your mouth. After all, he had more power than you anyway. More people followed him anyway. Who would follow a hitman such as yourself? No one. Because you are no one.

In this apocalypse, in this world, if you don't have power, you are no one. You don't matter. You could simply disappear and who the hell would go looking for you? No one has time for that. In the end, you die alone.

You frowned, as you made it very evident in your facial expression that you were not happy with this task he had ordered you to carry out. But you have to do it anyway. Or things won't end well for you.

And you had to admit, he had a point. Every small thing was extremely valuable. A single bullet, a crumb of food, a medkit, anything that was limited was now valuable in this apocalypse. You wish you could reverse time and cherish the time when you didn't have to scavage for food, had your hands stained and soaked with blood, and had to wash the dirt and dust off your skin every day.

Five years ago, you couldn't even imagine killing a man. Now, you've taken many lives with your hands like your a damn reaper or something. It made you sick — but in some sick and twisted way, it was comforting.

It was comforting knowing you still served some type of purpose, even in a situation like this. That you had a role that you needed to fulfill. Even though it was a horrible role, what else could you do? There are no laws, no one has morals anymore, or decent human tendencies.

You looked away from Kenjaku, diverting your eyes away from his. He always had a way with words. He always knew what to say to people. And he especially knew what to say to you.

"Fine. I'll be ready in five days." You muttered, before turning around and walking away, as you slammed the two large doors shut on your way out. You stomped away from his office, as you went over to your room.

TIME SKIP

DAY 1

It's been five days. And you've started your journey to Tokyo around six hours ago. You're used to the walking, even though it is somewhat annoying. You've walked through the abandoned buildings — and through the forests that were always a pain in the ass to come across by. Mainly because it was difficult to see your surroundings and make sure no infected were secretly stalking you.

Kenjaku gave you multiple guns, with multiple bullets that can last you around three months if you're wise. And he gave you clothes, food, and water that can last for about two weeks. You also, unfortunately, had to witness Mahito snickering from behind as he watched the irritated expression on your face as you accepted everything Kenjaku gave you.

Gosh, you hope that man-child gets killed by a bloater or something. What does he even contribute to the community again? You can't remember. His significance is that to a mosquito. They have no value, yet they are annoying little pests who leach off of others for survival.

13 more days to go until arrival.

DAY 6

This fucking sucks. You want to drive a spear through Kenjaku's heart to set you up for this torture. Your legs are sore, and you are extremely tired. You have been walking non-stop. You've only set up camp for two days so far. Other than that, you've been walking for the other four days. Non-stop.

Right now, you're taking residency in an abandoned grocery store that is unfortunately nearly empty. At least there is food and water that you can restock on.

DAY 9

Fuck this.

DAY 12.

You've almost died. Twice. One to almost falling off a damn cliff and the other to a stalker while you were setting up camp on day ten. You're running low on water and food. You're starving, and you've been desperately searching for clean lakes or ponds to drink out of. You have scratches all over your legs, and your hands are bruised from the amount of climbing on rubble and the number of times a thorn has cut you.

That reward better be fucking worth it, Kenjaku. Or else, you're going to turn that man inside out.

DAY 13.

Words couldn't describe the joy you felt the second you read the word on a sign that spelled out "Shinjuku, Tokyo". You looked at the sign, as a bright smile grew. You hurried over to the city of Shinjuku, with a relieved look on your face. You walked around the city, with a bright smile on your face. You were so glad that after thirteen days of pure torture, you finally got here. You kicked the rubble under your feet without care, as you hummed a soft tune. In the corner of your eye, you noticed a large grocery store that was stocked to the brim with food. Your mouth drooled, as you hurried over to the store.

Hopefully, the Yamamoto Faction doesn't find out about this place anytime soon — because this can last you for months. Maybe even an entire year. You walked inside the store, as the sound of glass crunched under your foot, and your eyes searched through every aisle.

You walked around the grocery store, without a care in the world as you searched the store in case they had any foods that you favorited. You were sick of eating soggy rice and stale bread for the past two weeks.

Your hand grazed through every item, as you found a food something that piqued your interest. Pocky sticks, that were strawberry flavored. Your eyes widened, as you immediately grabbed the box from the shelf and opened it without any hesitation. You bit down on the strawberry-coated part of the stick, and let out a satisfied hum. Gosh, you haven't had these in years. You walked around for a few more minutes before you finally finished the entire box and tossed it on the ground somewhere. Now, you were searching for water. Your eyes scanned across every aisle until you found a refrigerator. You opened it, and bingo. Water.

This is your lucky day. It's like the heavens were rewarding you for two whole weeks of hard work. You felt like they were congratulating you, for putting up with Kenjaku, and this shitty past two weeks. You immediately grabbed the bottle and opened it as you chugged down the water.

Surprisingly, the fridge was still working, which kept the water nice and cold. You missed this — you missed having refreshing water every day without worry. You missed having to just get up from your chair and get a bottle of water. You missed your old life so much.

And would do anything to get it back.

Craaaaaaaack.

You froze immediately. Your eyes widened, as you immediately tore the plastic bottle away from your lips and turned around. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your eyes scanned the area. You dropped the water bottle on the floor, as it soaked the epoxy floor. Your hand immediately reached toward your pants, as you took out a pistol from your pocket.

You turned off safety mode, and held out your pistol, with your finger on the trigger. You heard your heart pounding in your chest, and the blood rushing through your body. You stayed as still as you could — so you wouldn't be able to miss any sounds that would echo through the empty store.

"Fuck!"

A voice muttered. You slightly lowered your gun, but not too much. It was a person. A human. Even though you would prefer to have no one here at the moment, it was better than having an infected here. You stepped forward and walked to where you heard the voice come from.

You decided to remain silent since this person probably didn't know you were there. They wouldn't have cursed so loudly if they knew anyway. You made sure your footsteps were slow, and that you made the least amount of noise as possible.

You made sure you wouldn't step on any shards of glass, or trip over any cans of food that were lying on the floor.

You then heard footsteps. Loud and careless footsteps. You were certain this person didn't know you were here now. You followed where the footsteps came from, and made sure to keep your distance and peek over the isles from time to time.

"Shoot. No chocolate flavor? Ugh, strawberry will do then."

The voice complained. It was a male. You sighed, knowing you'd have to keep your distance. Most men in the apocalypse were physically stronger than you, so you always required your weapons to help you fight them.

You tipped your pistol up. You knew which aisle they were in since you were there just a few minutes ago. You stepped closer and closer to the isle, as you hid behind the shelf. You took a deep breath and did your best to build up the courage to face the unwelcome stranger.

You closed your eyes and took a deep inhale. You held for a few seconds, before exhaling. You looked at the pistol in your hands and decided to do it now.

You stepped forward, and pointed your gun, as your finger hovered over the trigger. Your body faced forward, as you raised your voice. "Hands in the air! Now!" You shouted as you revealed yourself to the man.

But, your eyes widened when you saw who it was.

Tall. White hair. Blue eyes. Wait this guy was really fucking tall what the hell?

You looked him up and down. He was wearing a white tank top, that was stained with dirt, dust, and gravel. He had dirty grey sweatpants and a black jacket wrapped around his waist. He had a strap on, which belonged to a rifle that looked like it was kept in pristine condition. His hair was messy, and his eyes were really damn blue. So this was Satoru Gojo.

You noticed he had a scar on his bicep, it looked like it came from a knife or something sharp. His eyes landed on you, and he immediately dropped the box of pocky sticks from his hand and reached for his rifle that was hung around his chest.

"You touch that gun and I'll shoot your hand off!" You warned, with a loud and authoritative voice. Satoru stopped immediately, as he lowered his hands to his side. "Really? In a grocery store? Can we be civil about this at least?" Satoru joked, as a smirk formed on his face. He obviously wasn't taking this as seriously as you were. And he was surprisingly calm for someone who was being held at gunpoint.

You shot a glare toward his direction, and shook your head disapprovingly. He pouted, as he threw his hands up in the air and shook his head. "Aren't you just a bundle of joy?" He muttered, as he kicked the box of pocky away from his foot and muttered a curse under his breath.

"On your knees." You demanded. Satoru raised a brow at your demand and rolled his eyes before getting on his knees as he scoffed. "You know you could've just asked for head—" You immediately cut his sentence to an abrupt stop as you slammed the magazine against his jaw.

You could already tell what type of person he was. He grunted as the magazine made harsh contact with his jaw, and his face snapped to the side. Blood dripped from his lip, as it landed on the dusty floors. His eyes narrowed at the blood that was bleeding from his lip, and he shook his head to the side.

"You know, you really shouldn't get close to someone who's about a whole foot taller than you." Satoru groaned as he wiped the blood from his lips. And in an instant, you felt hands grab your arms, and throw you toward the shelves.

A yelp escaped your lips, as you almost pulled the trigger, but you reminded yourself Kenjaku wanted this man brought back alive. Your back made harsh contact with the shelf, as canned foods landed on your head. You felt a sharp pain in your knee, and a curse escaped from your lips.

You ignored the pain as you immediately looked at Satoru, who was about to run. Your eyes widened, as you immediately latched onto him. He tripped over his foot when you did, and you both fell to the ground. "What the fuck—" Satoru was cut off by a swift punch to the jaw by you. He groaned before he kneed you in the stomach.

You felt like someone just took the air out of your lungs from how hard he kneed you in the stomach. Your hands gripped the pistol even tighter. The genuine urge to put a bullet through this man's head was growing stronger than ever now. He tossed you off of him and bolted.

Your eyes widened, as you watched him get up and run out. You immediately got off the ground and followed after him. You looked around and grabbed a shopping cart and pushed it, as it crashed against Satoru's back.

His body slammed against the wall due to the shopping cart, and his back hurt a little from the contact with the steel. He fell to the ground, and he immediately looked at you with a panicked expression on his face.

You wasted no time in getting on top of him, as you slammed the gun against the side of his head. You knocked him out. His body fell limp, and his eyes shut. Your eyes widened, as you immediately checked on him, making sure you didn't accidentally kill him or something. Since it wasn't the first time you hit someone in the head and accidentally killed them.

A trail of crimson stained his white snow hair, as it trailed down to his cheek. You panicked, wondering if you hit him too hard. You checked his blood flow with your fingers, as your fingertips grazed against the skin of his neck, and right under his jawline. You could hear the beating of his heart pumping blood in his veins. A relieved sigh escaped your lips.

You took your bag off your back and unzipped it. Your hands hastily searched through the bag, until you found a rope and bandages. You grabbed the rope first, as you walked over to Satoru's unconscious body and gently laid him out on the ground.

He was lying on his stomach, as the blood dripped onto the floor. You immediately grab both his wrists and put them together. You began tying them, making sure it's not loose. Once you secured his hands, you sat him up against the wall. You grabbed the bandages and kneeled.

You wrapped the bandages around his head, specifically where the wound was so he wouldn't bleed out more. You didn't want to clean up after his mess. Once you were done, you placed the rest of the bandages back inside the bag and crouched down.

You can't carry him. He's way too big. So you'll just wait until he's conscious. You guessed he'd be knocked out for about fifteen minutes and under — since the damage wasn't that severe. You couldn't help but notice his features though. He had impossibly long lashes, his skin was pale, and you also couldn't help but notice his dimples. He was handsome and had a mix of charming and handsome features. You frowned. It's a shame that he's a jerk. You stood back up to your full height and walked toward the fridge. You opened it and grabbed a cold water bottle.

You returned to your original position and pulled up a chair next to Satoru's unconscious body. You leaned back in the chair and sighed. You'll wait for at least ten minutes, and if he doesn't wake up by then you'll splash some water on him.

TIME SKIP

It's been ten minutes. You saw his body twitch from time to time, but he's still not awake. You sighed, and opened the water bottle, before standing up and walking in front of him. You tipped the bottle down, as the water streamed out of the plastic bottle, and soaked his entire upper body.

His eyes immediately opened, as his body jolted from the cold water. "Shit! What was that for?" He barked, as he shot a glare toward your direction. You stopped pouring the water over his head and drank the rest that was in the bottle. "How many fingers am I holding?" You asked as you held out four fingers from a far enough distance.

He blinked at you, and his jaw slacked. "Are you serious?" He inquired, looking at you in disbelief. You couldn't tell if he was about to laugh or yell at you. You glanced at your hand and then glanced at him.

"Yes, I'm serious! Shut up and answer the damn question already!" You ordered. You were getting slightly embarrassed that you were asking this question since you normally don't do this type of stuff and it was somewhat humiliating.

"You're holding 4 fingers up, ma'am." He answered, with a smirk on his face. You sighed in relief, as you threw the empty plastic bottle at his face. His nose scrunched up in annoyance when the bottle hit his face, as he watched it roll to the floor.

"This is unbelievable. We're supposed to be increasing the population, not decreasing it." Satoru remarked with a matter-of-fact tone of voice. You rolled your eyes and shoved both your hands in your pockets. "Maybe don't do stupid stuff and you wouldn't be in this position." You advised, your voice was laced with sarcasm as you raised a brow at him.

"What did I even do— wait, why the hell am I tied up?" Satoru questioned, as he desperately tried to wiggle his wrists out of the rope. You blinked at him a few times and watched him desperately try to wiggle out of his confinement. There was no use in trying to escape — but you wanted to see how long he would try to attempt to escape before he'd realize it's hopeless. "So you don't escape."

He looked at you as if you were crazy. He smirked and shook his head. He's got a tendency to shake his head a lot. "Okay, first of all, I'm humane. I don't point my gun at every breathing organism on this earth." Satoru stated, clearly dissing you in the process.

You grimaced at him, before standing up and running a hand through your hair. How would you be able to get this man all the way to Kyoto without any complications? It was a nearly impossible task.

"It will be easier for the both of us if you shut your mouth. It's a long way to Kyoto." You suggested. You grabbed your bag from the floor and put it back on your back. You look him up and down, before sighing. You almost hoped you wouldn't find him so easily, because then that would mean you could stay here a little longer and regain the energy you lost from the past two weeks.

"Kyoto? Why the fuck do we have to go to Kyoto— oh. Ohhhh. You're with that asshole aren't you?" Satoru seethed, as his eyes narrowed, and his face reddened. His blue eyes filled with rage. He looked visibly angry and wasn't as calm and laid back as he was a few minutes ago. Your eyes widened at how easily he managed to figure that out. But then again, it didn't take that much brain power to correlate the signs.

"Yeah. What about it?" You put back the chair in its original place and walked up to Satoru who was sitting on the ground, with his back leaning against the wall. "I'm not going to him! Your out of your mind if you think I'll let you drag me to my fucking death!"

Yeah, you figured it wasn't going to be easy. You kneeled down to his level and made eye contact with him. "I'm not his biggest fan too. But unfortunately for the both of us, things don't always go our way." You muttered, before grabbing the collar of his tank top and forcing him to stand up.

Satoru groaned, as he stood up to his full height and towered over you. He was also embarrassed he was getting manhandled by someone who was visibly weaker than him in terms of physical strength. He rolled his eyes and stood next to you. "This is embarrassing. Shoko is never going to let me hear the end of it." Satoru mumbled under his breath. He winced all of a sudden and inhaled sharply.

You looked at him and furrowed your brows. "What? You look constipated." You asked as you turned your body to face him. He looked down on you, and his jaw clenched. "Well, thanks to you my body is a bit sore. Especially my back." He informed. You raised a brow and walked behind him. You slipped your hand under his hands that were tied together. You lifted his tank top and spotted a bruise on his back. He probably got that from when you pushed the shopping cart onto his back.

"You're a full grown man, you'll live." You pulled his tank top back down and walked in front of him. He blinked at you, as his eyelids dropped. "You know, I don't think I can walk all the way back to Kyoto like this, hm? I think we should stay here for at least a week or so, yeah?" He suggested, flashing you a charming smile. He leaned down to your level — holding eye contact with you. You couldn't tell if he was trying to charm you or mock you.

As much as you needed to follow orders and head back immediately, you didn't want to walk all the way back to Kyoto at the moment. You were still tired from all the walking. You sighed and nodded. "Fine." You complied, as you shook your head. He stood back to his full height and grinned. "Yay! Y'know, I would hug you right now, but..." He nodded his head toward the restraints, trying to suggest you to untie him.

You snorted and laughed. "Yeah, no. I'm not stupid." he frowned.

"Worth a shot." He muttered.

You both walked out of the grocery store, as your eyes scanned the city of Shinkuju. There could be other Yamamoto members around here, so you had to be careful. Satoru followed behind you. He noticed how tense you were, but didn't bother to do anything about it at the moment.

You both walked in silence for around twenty minutes, before Satoru spoke up. "Gosh, this is so annoying. It's getting dark. Let's just go find somewhere to set up camp for the day." Satoru demanded, as he purposely shoved you when walking next to you.

You glared at him, but couldn't deny he was right. You guys needed to find somewhere to relax, and somewhere that was relatively safe from any infected. You looked around Shinkuju when all of a sudden you noticed an apartment with many floors. "There." You smacked Satoru's arm to get his attention and pointed in the direction of the apartment building. He raised a brow and frowned. "That place looks unsanitary." He commented. "You look unsanitary." You muttered under your breath. His lips parted, and looked at you as if he was offended. "Hey! I heard that!" He informed with an overdramatic voice.

"You were supposed to." You mumbled.

You both went into the apartment complex and looked around in each room to see which one was the least dirtiest. Eventually, you guys found a room on the fourth floor. You stepped inside and sighed with relief. Satoru looked around, with a frown on his face. "This place looks horrible." He added. I mean, he wasn't wrong. This place was definitely not your first choice when wanting to spend the night somewhere. But it was better than being exposed.

You fell onto the couch and sighed. It was the first comfortable place to rest so far in the past two weeks. During those two weeks, you were sleeping on the ground, or rubble. "Better than the room that was infested with maggots." You suggested. He nodded, muttering the words "fair". "Wait— are you sleeping on the couch? I think I deserve to sleep on the couch. I'm the one with restraints!" He argued as he looked at you in disbelief. You rolled your eyes at his whining. "You haven't been the one walking for two whole damn weeks just to be here." You snapped. He opened his mouth to say something but decided not to say anything.

"Bitch." He mumbled as he sat down on the ground. You glanced at him and gave him a side eye before standing up. You placed your bag on a table and opened it. You searched inside the bag, before finding a rope. His eyes widened, and his brows knitted together.

"Woah! Absolutely not! The ones on my wrists aren't comfortable at all. What makes you think I'm letting you tie me up again?" His jaw clenched, as he shot you a cold glare. He was definitely going to give you a hard time.

"Relax, it's only so you won't escape at night," You enlightened. You walked to his ankles and tied them together quickly. They weren't as tight as the ones on his wrist, because the only way he could free his wrists was if you cut them with a knife. But you weren't going to tell him that because you are 99% sure he would freak out. "Yeah, thanks for the faith." He grumbled in an annoyed tone as he watched you tie his ankles together. You stood up once you finished tying, and got back on the couch. You closed your eyes and sighed.

You could finally rest. 

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[lewdmommie]

-Wisteria- 🌺

Rengokuxreader smut/fluff 💗

Warning🎀(18+, Smut, language, praise kink, Degradation kink, heavy angst, rough sex, slight gore, choking etc…)

-Request are open-

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Flames. Wild and bright engulfing everything in its wake, an uncontainable beauty fierce enough to befall a thousand men. There he stood peacefully at the center of destruction even more gorgeous than the last time your eyes graced him. A somber look rest’s on his gentle face, thick cherry blood drips onto the burning grass beneath him staining the earth with sin. Low demonic laughter rumbles the dirt shaking the world around you.

“Who are you! What do you want with us!” You shout.

“Akaza…” the voice breaths menacingly.

The Hashira’s saddened expression fails to falter as you scream out for him.

“Rengoku!” his name claws at your throat as you call out to him with every ounce of will in your heart. ‘He can’t hear me’ you think, confused and afraid. Dark roaring clouds roll across the sky ,dimming all traces of moon light. Thunder rocks the earth and sky but there is something else, another sound…A whistle …a train maybe?

The train whistles in the clouds, wheels spinning and chugging along.

“y/n.” Cutting your eyes away from the scene above, you meet his gaze. Tears stab the corners of your eyes, there was blood…so much blood. The once clean white fabric of his Hashira robe now clung to what was left of his torso, sticky and scarlet.

Despite being so fatally wounded, he smiles softly settling the knots in your chest. How could he comfort you in such a time like this, The Hashira always put others first even when faced with death. Holding out a red stained hand, he beckons you forward. It is impossible to breath as salty droplets flood down your cheeks, all you wanted was him.

All you needed was to have him in your arms and for everything to be okay again. Was it selfish to reminisce on all the times you’d held that hand, walking through the gardens of wisteria. Strolling hand in hand past the endless plots of vermillion flowers, laughing till your sides ached. You could still feel the warmth of his lips when he kissed for the very first time, just as the flowers bloomed under the stars.

“Please don’t leave me!” You sob, falling to your knees infront of him. Both of your hands cradle his own, holding on with all of the strength you have left.

“Do not cry, My flower.” He coos, peering deeply into your tear-filled eyes. A soft warm light illuminates from his bloody palm and from it, a beautiful ruby wisteria Blooms. The lovely sight tore the beating heart right from your chest, how could something so delicate cause such agony. A warm calloused hand rest lightly on your tear stained cheek, thumb wiping away each new drop that falls.

“I will always be with you flower, whenever you feel alone set your heart ablaze and I will follow the light leading me back to you” before you can speak a bright light engulfs the Hashira, small sparkling specks of light breakaway from him carrying each one to a place unknown. Jumping onto what remains of Him, you wrap your arms tightly around him attempting to hold everything together, muttering pleas that go unheard.

“Please please I love you, you can’t do this…I cannot do this without you, RENGOKU! you have to hear me! Please hear me!” You wail clinging onto what was left of him.

“I will always love you, my wisteria” the wind whispers as he fades into nothingness.

~

“Shhh relax my love you’ll send me back to the land of dreams swinging your fist like that” the fiery warrior chuckles, pulling you in tighter. In a panic you bury your face in his bare chest inhaling deeply, if only you could bottle the sweet scent of Kyojuro Rengoku. Sunlight dances radiantly off his flaming locks, a sight only you had the pleasure of beholding each morning. Everyone else saw the polished heroic Rengoku but you… you got the untamed and free spirited warrior. You had him in ways the village fan girls could only fantasize about in their wildest dreams. Being the object of affection to the most popular and handsome Demon slayer in the corps was no easy title to hold. Jealous women can be cruel, always whispering amongst themselves in envy. That never bothered you though because you had something they all yearned for wrapped around your little finger.

“I-I had a unpleasant dream…” you mutter nuzzling closer to his warmth.

“Another nightmare? I’m so sorry my flower, would you like to share with me?” He kisses the top of your head lovingly.

“There was a train…and a monster, you were there too!…bleeding out…Dying” you trail, voice cracking at the last word.

‘A train…I never told her about the upcoming mission how would she know that…’ a look of concern washes over his handsome face as he thinks to himself.

“Dying?! Me! The strongest Hashira to ever exist! How silly your imagination can be darling!” He laughs loud and hardy, completely brushing off the notion.

“T-the monster, it had a name Ak- hmm what was it something with an A … Akaza I think” the laughter ceases immediately the grip on your waist tightens.

“Where did you hear that name?… Has someone in town been discussing that demon if so tell me now so I can report them to the corp…” he rambles frantically.

“No one-I heard it…in my dream” you explain sitting up in your shared futon pulling the blankets up to cover your exposed chest, you look down at him brow furrowed with concern.

“Akaza…an upper rank three demon, we’ve been tracking him for a while, just recently we caught up to him in hopes of putting an end to whatever he has been planning with Muzan…their transport routes have been through train…the Mugen Train.” He confesses staring somewhere far off.

‘The Mugen train… that must be the train from my dream’ you conclude internally.

“Do you remember when we were little kids and I’d always get mad at you for telling me your dreams because they’d always happen? As if you’d jinx them into reality… like when you dreamt my pet chick would die and the next day a huge bird came and snatched her right up?” He question’s frantically, you nod recalling the many misfortunes you’d predicted.

“Y/n what If it wasn’t a jinx…what if it were already meant to happen…you just seen it first.” He insist.

“What do you mean? Are you saying I’m some sort of witch?” You giggle.

“I’m saying…you have a gift. In a world of demons and Magic it wouldn’t be impossible.” He sighs avoiding your eyes.

“W-well…I saw something terrible I would never want to come to pass… you died, as clear as I am seeing you now I watched you slip away from me. That can’t be true! That can’t be our future!” You exclaim fighting the lump in your throat. The room goes silent for what felt like an eternity, a silence louder than any scream.

“I leave for such a mission Tonight .” He breathes.

Time stops. The world is no longer spinning, the waves no longer crashing, even the brush of the wind has gone quiet. The futon shifts from what you assume is Rengoku sitting up next to you in bed but you don’t see him. You don’t see anything through the blur of tears. A comforting hand rest on your thigh pressing into the plump flesh.

“This is good…we know how things would have ended if you’d Accepted the mission…now you can stay here…with me?” You cry finally meeting his golden eyes.

“How things will end, my flower…” he says matter-a-factly.

“What? W-what are you talking about? You’ll die! This is suicide!” You sob grabbing his face in your shaky hands desperately.

“This…is my duty. To serve and protect as a Hashira till the day I die” he states proudly.

“I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you go I swear on my last breath I will hold you captive.” You huff snaking your arms around his neck firmly.

“They need me. My life in exchange for so many more, it would be my greatest honor.” He whispers.

“I need you.” Your words cut him deeper than any blade has.

You’re all he’s ever wanted, since the day you split your rice ball with him As he sat crying at the playground all alone. Bullies cornered him making fun of him for not being strong like his ruthless father. They teased him, pulled his hair, threw him to the ground while calling him all kinds of horrible names. Little did they know a young feisty village girl who loved to pick fights was making her way to the playground that day. Taking a large fallen stick from under the town’s oak tree, you beat those bullies senseless. Swatting them away from Rengoku like the flies they were. That day he experienced love for the first and last time in his entire life.

“ Do you think I want to leave you? I have to ensure your safety along with the rest of humanity! When I look at you I see my whole life ahead of me. I see our children playing in the front yard, I see us dancing among the wisterias our old bones aching with each step, I see us living out our days together. None of those things can happen if I don’t try!” His voice cracks.

“That can’t happen if you aren’t here with me!” You shout.

“I’d rather you have a full beautiful life with another man than risk your entire future out of my own selfishness!” You kiss him. There’s no thought or reasoning behind it, your body simply moves on its own accord. The kiss is passionate and hungry, your lips mold together in perfect harmony. Breathing was no longer a priority as your lungs begin to burn with need. Large scarred hands dig into your love handles hoisting you into his lap, your thigh’s straddling either side of him. As you Pull away for a mere second to gasp for air he takes full advantage of your parted lips, invading your mouth with his warm skilled tongue.

Just as you begin to pull away once more, the hand leaves your waist sliding up the length of your spine, goosebumps prickle beneath his calloused finger tips. He grips the nape of your neck taking complete control over the kiss, It’s greedy and messy, filled with desperation. Your hips find a steady rhythm, grinding against the growing length resting against your dripping slit. Rengoku’s head falls slightly back, eyes closing in pure concentration, The feeling of your warm arousal coating his strained member nearly made him cum right then and there.

Suddenly you’re on your back staring up into glossy tangerine orbs, with gentle hands he cradles the back of your head from the sudden impact. His breathing is jagged as you part your legs inviting him closer, without breaking eye contact the Demon slayer nestles comfortably between your thighs, throbbing tip teasing your slick entrance.

“Please I can’t wait any longer” you pant thrusting upward urging him inside.

“You’ve always been such an impatient girl” he growls grazing a finger over your swollen bud. The weight of his body created a pressure firm enough to hold you in place, giving him full access to your soaked hole.

Back arching off the bed, an audible gasp falls from your lips as two thick digits slide inside of you. The Hashira wastes no time stroking your pillowy walls, petting the deepest parts of your sex. He groans low and raw as your nails dig roughly into his already scarred back, This action unlocked something within him…something feral.

A dull pain shoots to your breast as he nips lightly at the smooth skin, leaving marks you wished could last forever, marking you as his. Using the tip of his tongue, he paints circles around the perimeter of your stiff areola, close enough for you to feel every warm exhale of his breath.

“P-please” you cry fisting his fiery strands.

Everything stops. To your dismay he pulls away, even halting the fingers that’s been dancing inside of you just seconds ago.

“Let’s see how badly you really want it…touch me one more time… I stop. Only obedient girls can be rewarded, can you be good for me?” A whimper squeaks from your parted lips as he patiently awaits your answer. He smiles adoringly at you taking in every detail of this moment, wanting to remember every line and curve that created your lovely face. Nothing made him harder than seeing that half lidded ‘fuck me’ stare. You nod quickly, balling the sheets in an attempt to subdue your impulses.

“How can I say no to a face like that” he praises pulling out his fingers achingly slow, admiring the way you clench around him. Without hesitation he licks every drop of your nectar from his fingers, leering intensely into your fluttering eyes.

Replacing his fingers, he pushes past your wet folds, immersing himself in your slippery heat. He towers over you, holding himself up with one muscular arm, using the other to roll your taut nipples between his fingers.

“Fuck you’re so tight” he breathes, gently flicking his hips forward, pushing deeper inside. Your hands fist the blankets as you stretch around his girth, taking all eight inches of him. Despite wanting to completely rail the shit out of you, he pauses pressing as far as he could inside of you, his hips swirl ,massaging your gspot. Your hips buck begging him to continue hitting that sweet spot. Tears sting the sides of your eyes as that familiar feeling bubbles up in your stomach. Rengoku recognizes that squeeze all too well, he slides back before ramming back inside. He thrust in and out of your sopping cunt, the steady sound of clapping and squelches fill the space around you.

You were sure the sheets would rip by how tightly you gripped them holding back screams of pleasure. Veins bulge from his built arms as he ruts into you, using the amount of stamina he’d use in battle. He wanted to destroy you far more than any demon he’d ever faced.

“You’re so gorgeous with my cock inside of you” he groans palming your thighs as he rails into you with more force than before.

“I’m so close” you cry clamping tightly around his strained member.

“Please Flower , hold it for me… let’s cum together” he pants fucking into you hard and fast. You’re right at the edge teetering back and fourth, he raises up looking down on you with lustful eyes. A scream catches in your throat as he folds your already bent knees to your chest. Despite him being fully submerged inside of you, this position pulled him in even deeper and he loved it. Taking advantage of this new position he fingers your stiff clit, the pace of his strokes never changing.

The slight pull of your muscles didn’t matter as long as he kept pleasing you, kept fucking you, kept loving you.

“P-please let me cum it’s too-ah fuck” you moans eyes rolling back.

“It’s too-too what…don’t tell me you’re to cock drunk to speak darling.you know what I want to hear” He teases pumping into you.

“Please I-I’m begging…too much…uhn fuck” you swear, back arching from the bed.

“I love the way you beg” he breathes, brows scrunching with concentration. His strokes become needy and uncalculated as he chases his orgasm. With one final thrust he smashes his lips to yours shooting hot strings of cum inside your spent pussy. In the same moment your big O comes crashing down, vibrating every cell in your body.

Saying fuck the no touching rule you embrace him, holding on for dear life as your arousal comes flowing ,glazing his twitching cock. You lay there both breathing heavily reveling in the magic you’d just made.

“Caw caw” a raven colored crow sat perched on the window seal, a white scroll clutched in its claws. The warrior kisses your forehead before gently slipping out of your grasp. Shamelessly he stands fully nude walking towards the crow, retrieving the message. Instantly his smile falls leaving behind a look of pure despair.

“…It’s time” he mutters avoiding your pained eyes.

“Come back to me.” You recite voice cracking.

“Always…I love you for eternity” he states.

“Eternity isn’t long enough…Do you promise to find me?” You question hugging your chest.

“Set your heart ablaze and I will follow the light leading me back to you” a single tear falls blurring the ink engraved scroll.

[cherryjuicegf]

the spaces where our garden grew wild

He cuts through the branches, desperate, but they grow back, thicker and thicker and almost hiding that raven hair, that red doublet behind their leaves. He grunts and shouts and pants and his sword rips the air like paper. He sees them again. Or is he?

Black, isn’t her hair? A chain.

Red, isn’t his doublet? Blood.

Oh, he’s too busy, too focused on the thorns. Of course he would, they have hurt him too much by now not to notice them. Yet he doesn’t hear the voices anymore. He doesn’t hear the screams. He doesn’t hear his name. 

And when he does, it’s too late.

or

A study in gardening.

11.3k, angst with a happy ending, cw temporary character death, blood & gore, nightmares

The sky looks beautiful, she thought. She never did that, didn’t usually stop to look at the sky. It’s admittedly not what she was doing right now either. No, it was not. She just had to look somewhere, to avert her eyes from the road to where the wind blew. So that it dried the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. 

She had shed tears. All the way down the mountain, every step, every tree. Every tear another droplet of trust wasted on the ground. Oh, those were too real. As if to compensate for all the moments that were fake.

Lovers. She was too old to believe this time would be different.

The sky looked indeed beautiful. Red and pink and orange, and the sun, although still not set, painted it with its rays as if they were brushes flowing on blue paper. Red. Her eyes caught movement behind her, albeit far, still, it’s as if she sensed it. The same taste of tears, the same cracking of a heart. She cleared her throat and turned her head, only slightly. Only to catch full sight of the bard standing for a moment there, behind her, his eyes piercing her just like the first daylight pierces through a closed window. Still, he was silent. And the way he looked at her. Just like he always did, yes, with indifference and rivalry. She knew mutual feelings when she saw them. But if she looked deeper, there was something else too. Something new. 

Empathy. Gentleness.

His eyes were flooded. She said nothing though, only stared back at him without bothering to change her harsh look. It was the only one she afforded right now. So he lowered his look swallowing and nodded faintly at her. Like a greeting. And turned around, continuing down the mountain.

She looked at the sky spreading in front of her again. She never expected to share mutual feelings with the bard except for resentment maybe. She couldn’t even if she tried; he was too much of an idiot. She smiled at herself, for some reason. It was comforting, as bad as it sounded. Having someone to hurt with. Despite the thorns.

High on the mountain, the wind blew harder. The Witcher stared at the distance. Deep breaths shaking his shoulders, his nostrils flaring, his heartbeat a bit faster than usual. 

What I am missing. 

Too much. I’m missing too much. 

There they go, there they go.

~~

The night was warm, as warm as an early spring night could be, the last patches of snow still lingering on the roadside. It’s silent except for the chirping of a bird that had forgotten to return to its nest, enchanted by the first blossoms embellishing the trees, knowing that something so beautiful was worth singing for. It’s silent. Except for the whetstone dragged on the sword blade with slow, as though rhythmical with the birdsong movements. Geralt didn’t raise his eyes from the blade. Devoted to his work, knowing that if he allowed his mind to wander, it wouldn’t come back, lost in the paths of his mind, so many more than the one he was supposed to follow. 

He was a Witcher. There was no other Path. 

Yet there was. More than one, more than he dared to admit. And he was too afraid, too broken to follow any of them.

His eyes didn’t look away from the blade. But the mind is a strange enemy, attacking from the inside. From the heart. 

He glanced at a faint scar on his forearm. A small smile, could be a laugh, escaped his lips. One would say it was one of the scars he’d gained on the big hunts, killing a monster unheard of. That’s what the songs said. That’s what Yennefer thought, that night in the tent, as she was peering at his body as if admiring a gallery of outstanding art. It had been no hunt though. No monster. It had been a damn thorn in a healer’s garden, ironic as it sounded. Yennefer had laughed when he told her. Gods, she was so beautiful when she laughed.

“Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher, scarred by a thorn. An unorthodox way to be injured, for someone like you.” She smiled. “What’s next? Are you going to die from a garden pitchfork?”

Geralt huffed and shook his head, imagining a death quite different admittedly. Like the ones of previous Witchers, heroic or not, still defending what they had learned to defend. It’s not like he could avoid Destiny anyway. He would like to. He stared at Yennefer and took a deep breath, letting his eyes wander for a moment only to return to her. “You know”, he muttered, “I’m thinking it would be nice if one day I indeed retired. Maybe as a stableman,” he paused to hear Yennefer’s chuckle. “I’d like to have a garden. A normal life,” he smiled, “one that you’re a constant part of.”

She looked at him, her smile a little fainter now, a playful glint in her eyes. “Are you asking me to retire with you, Geralt?”

Her voice made him melt. He raised an eyebrow. “Only if you want.”

“Well,” she sighed and raised her eyes on the ceiling as if already thinking about their life, “it’s a nice dream. Something to wait for, even if it never comes. And anyway,” she shrugged, “a garden would be nice.”

He took in her scent. Lilac and gooseberries. Of course. One of his favourite scents, and those were barely five. How can I dream of a garden, he thought, when I have one right in front of me? A garden wild and beautiful and fragrant. It had its thorns, every garden does. Some of them he’d grown himself. But he wouldn’t let them get in the way.

~~

He raises his sword cautiously, ready for anything to show up from behind the dense bushes. His steps are slow, silent like a cat’s as if scared that if he makes any noise, he’ll be unable to hear anything else. Anything resembling that whisper he’d heard less than a minute ago, a whisper that, stable as it was, sounded scared, hollow. He knows that voice. Gods, he knows it and he also knows he would hear it calling his name for the rest of his days without ever wanting it to stop. But not like this. Oh, not like this.

A sharp glint catches his eye some meters away from the spot he is standing, something shining on the ground, between the wild branches and the thick foliage that embraces wilted flowers, lilacs and roses, the remainders of a garden once blossoming with care. He approaches. He knows, before he thinks about anything else, like an instinct, he knows. And thinks, gods, how much he’d like to have no idea. 

He lowers on one knee, ducks under the bushes and reaches for whatever is blinding his eyes as if reflecting the rays of a nonexistent sun, a sun that once had been. And as his fingers trace cold silver carved with a shape he’d felt so many times under his fingers, his heart flutters. A black velvet ribbon. An obsidian star. 

Oh, how real it feels.

He hears his name again, flowing with the breeze, only now it’s trembling and suddenly louder and he stands on his feet, sword raised and the branches grow in front of him and he looks around, lost, desperate, encircled by leaves and thorns and bushes and flowers turning red as though painted and he cuts and searches and searches for a way out and then the earth trembles with a familiar voice screaming.

“GERALT!!!”

~~

He stumbled close to Roach, reached for the saddlebag, groaning, arm pressed around his abdomen. He searched inside the bag, caught a small bottle and chugged it for dear life. He didn’t bother returning it to its place, instead, he threw it on the ground and searched inside the bag again for bandages, swearing when the only thing his hand brushed on is a cloth that definitely wasn’t a bandage. He didn’t really care though as his vision blurred in the light of the fire and he pulled the cloth as he fell on his knees, tying it around his abdomen with trembling hands. His breath shortened and if his head hit the ground hard, he was already unconscious to feel the pain.

When he did feel the pain throbbing in his head, he was already met with the first daylight, blinded. He squinted and made to sit up, grunting when he felt a sharp tugging at his abdomen. He fell back again and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. It’s silent. Except for Roach snorting and walking closer to him, lowering her head to nuzzle in his hair, making him huff. It’s silent. And, as hard as it was to admit, there was no other exception.

And how he missed that exception now.

He swallowed, looked up at Roach and put his arms against the ground, trying to sit up again. He did, barely, and shuffled to the closest tree to rest again the trunk. Then he lowered his eyes on the wound. The white cloth had gone red with blood, but at least it had dried. He untied it to reveal a red scar across his abdomen, almost healed yet hurting him still. He sighed, ignored the pain that caused. And made to throw the cloth aside.

Only that he didn’t. 

He stared at it, felt the texture. Silk. He had no reason to own a silk white cloth. Or maybe he had. As he unfolded it, he recognized a white shirt, embroidered with little flowers on the collar. A red stain was painting the front side and some of it reaching the back, ruining it completely. He stared at it, gritted his teeth. His hands were clutching it, tightly, just like he always wished to do. Yet it did next to nothing serving as a substitute.

“Come on, Geralt, it will suit you.”

“No doubt.”

“Do not mock me, you idiot. You have never tried.”

Geralt peered at Jaskier leaning against a tree beside him. His hands were moving feverishly, intertwining green stems, tight as not to fall apart. Colourful flowers were slowly forming a crown, yellow and light blue and a little bit of red, buttercups and forget-me-nots and carnations. It was beautiful indeed and definitely where his attention was drawn on, and not on the skilled hands and strong fingers brushing against the petals. He swallowed.

“Back at home, we have a wonderful garden,” said Jaskier without being asked, as he always did. “Even you would be impressed if you saw it. That’s how I learned to make flower crowns.”He tightened the last knot and sighed, taking a look at his work as if gazing at the greatest painting. Then smirked at Geralt and stood up. “There you go.”

Before Geralt managed to protest the leaves were falling in front of his eyes. He snorted, fixed the crown on his head less than eagerly. Then looked at Jaskier. Well, probably he was wrong before. Now Jaskier looked as if he was gazing at the greatest painting. He felt his cheeks burning. 

He’d never considered flowers for anything else than their abilities and yet, if he was to see that smile on Jaskier’s lip’s again, he would consider them as so much more. He thought he could even let Jaskier show him their home garden. 

It would be a nice meeting point.

~~

“GERALT!!!”

He turns around, terrified, but not as much as the scream he hears now for the third time. Voices and screams and whispers that make him shudder as if feeling their fear. And it’s not just one now, it’s two, and he knows those two voices better than the back of his hand. And how he wishes he didn’t. He walks through thick branches and leaves and flowers that wilt the moment he stands close to them, as if he is the reason for their death.

Oh, he is.

His eye catches a glimpse of red among the bushes and he thinks it’s a rose or any other kind of flower he didn’t give a damn about. And yet, and yet, he stands closer and suddenly it’s not a flower at all, it’s just a piece of clothing, torn and achingly familiar. He approaches, runs his fingertips over it, his heart thumping inside his chest. It’s silk, and red, and although he knows the colour of that specific doublet he also somehow knows that there’s something more on it than the garment’s colour. 

He hears the voices again. And again, and again, as if blowing with the wind that hit him out of nowhere and he looks around and it’s green, branches and leaves and then oh, flowers still alive. He feels a wave of relief for a moment, only to have it drained of him again when he realizes the flowers are buttercups and forget-me-nots and carnations. And the moment he seems to realize it, the flowers wilt.

And anyway, a garden would be nice.

Back at home, we have a wonderful garden.

Figures. He sees figures behind the branches and for a moment he thinks he can reach them. Craves to reach them, hearing their voices call him, screaming, weak, terrified but cold, so cold as if they already come from ghosts. He sees them now, yes. Raven hair. A bright red doublet. Shadows and yet their images are so clear in his mind. The last gaze he shot them, that’s what he sees. The tears prickling in violet eyes, the ones that used to enchant everything they laid their gaze upon. The tightened lips that struggled to swallow a sob, the ones that used to calm the wildest waves with their song. He raises his sword, cuts through the bushes. His skin is torn by thorns. He’s exhausted. He doesn’t care. He has to reach them, he has to.

Blood flows between his feet as he cuts and cuts as though trying to reform a garden grown irreparably wild. It’s not too late, it can’t be. It’s his blood, he thinks, it’s the thorns. They come closer, oh they do, he can reach them, he can grow the garden back beautiful again, he can, he will. He cuts through the branches, desperate, but they grow back, thicker and thicker and almost hiding that raven hair, that red doublet behind their leaves. He grunts and shouts and pants and his sword rips the air like paper. He sees them again. Or is he?

Black, isn’t her hair? A chain.

Red, isn’t his doublet? Blood.

Oh, he’s too busy, too focused on the thorns. Of course he would, they have hurt him too much by now not to notice them. Yet he doesn’t hear the voices anymore. He doesn’t hear the screams. He doesn’t hear his name. 

And when he does, it’s too late.

When he does, he’s kneeling. Crawling. Reaching. Black hair sinking in blood. Violet eyes, wide-open, a moment ago frightened. Now lifeless. He can still smell the lilac and gooseberries. Or does it come from the garden?

A white shirt drenched in blood. Blue eyes staring at him, the void, everywhere, nowhere. If he touches his lips he can still hear the songs. Or is it the voices?

He’s small, shrinking suddenly, curling to himself. Blood. A chain. He’s shaking. Eyes looking at him. Accusing him. He closes his eyes, his ears, whimpering. Do not feel, do not feel. Witchers don’t feel. Witchers don’t feel, Geralt. Who are you? Where are you? What have you done? 

There they go, there they go.

A sob. Then, slowly, hoarsely, desperately, a scream.

Geralt screams and jerks up on his bedroll, shaking in terror.

~~

The sun was shining with a warmth fit as a goodbye from the last days of April. Light poured from the windows, brightening the whole room and Yennefer found herself unbothered to close the curtains. She looked outside the window, let the sun blind her eyes. Sighed. Maybe she should get out more, she thought, as much as she refused to admit it. Get some air, not the one blowing inside the house, getting trapped between walls. She needed fresh air, away from whatever smells Vengerberg brought to each corner, she wanted to go into the forest, sit down, take a deep breath. Rest, for once, or better, give a fitting end to the rest she was getting the past months. 

It’s not that she felt comfortable at home anyway. It was good, having a place to retire for a bit, to remember what it’s like to live like a normal person. Be nothing more than a random lady strolling at the market, at least then she fit there, belonged somewhere, even if it was nothing but a shopping crowd. 

Still alone nonetheless. Unimportant.

She was a fool. She knew she was, as she felt her eyes getting wet and blamed it on the sun. Nobody smart plays fair. She knew that, always did. Still, she thought that maybe, this once, it wouldn’t harm to hope for something more, to play fair, to give life a chance. She shook her head, laughed at herself. She was as foolish as then, picking up a daisy, hoping for something, everything, anything a little girl could hope for. She was a little girl. A child. What else can a child ask from the world other than to be something for it, for someone? Something important. Was she a child, then, still? 

She was not, she knew. Yet, oh how bare had she laid her daisy, and how cruelly were its petals ripped apart and thrown on the air. She had played fair. But Geralt was smart, smarter than her. And nobody smart plays fair.

She sighed again and turned around, sat on her bed. She would go to the forest tomorrow. Today, she could use some sleep. If she managed to get any.

A loud knocking on the door made her realize sleep would wait for a bit. When she saw who it was from the window, she realized sleep was now out of the schedule. She swallowed, waited for a bit. Maybe he would go away. He wouldn’t know if she was there anyway.

Another knock, louder. “Yennefer? Please, open the door!”

Something in her stomach dropped at the sound of his voice. Did she really want him to leave? After all those times she saw how he…

Before he could knock another time, she pulled the door open and stood still, as still as the man in front of her, his hand raised ready to knock and his eyes wide. Like that, in his bright yellow doublet, he looked ridiculous. He is, she corrected herself and raised an eyebrow. “Jaskier.” Her voice was stable. As if she didn’t feel a weight coming off her shoulders.

That same weight seemed to abandon Jaskier’s shoulders as well but he didn’t have the intention to hide it. He let out a loud sigh. “Oh, thank the gods!” He looked around, breathless, and then back at her, for the first time unable to utter any words.

Yennefer frowned in confusion and smirked. “I wouldn’t say the same for you.” She paused, waiting for a comeback to her sarcasm but, as she saw Jaskier just standing there, looking at her as though he was looking at a ghost, she knew something was wrong. And as she noticed the dark circles under the bard’s eyes and exhaustion draining his otherwise bright look, she feared that this something might be more than familiar. She tilted her head. “Why are you here, bard?”

Jaskier stared at her for a couple of seconds as if he had forgotten why he was there in the first place. Then he lowered his look, cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”

For some reason, even before he had finished the sentence, Yennefer had already stepped aside to let him pass. She closed the door behind her and if the food of the spying neighbour was burning on the frying pan, well that was none of her business. She turned around, faced the bard, crossed her arms on her chest, and waited. And oddly, so did Jaskier. But he was never the patient type anyway. He huffed and shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Before she could even reject the thought of asking him what he meant since she didn’t really care, he went close and threw his arms around her, holding her tight. Hugging her. He was hugging her. 

Even more outrageous, she hugged him back. Not because she felt her heart returning to her place. Not because he was the first friendly face she’d seen in months. Not because he was alive in her arms. Definitely not. Only because, as soon as they relaxed a bit in each other’s arms, he started trembling and, after a moment, he buried his face in her shoulder. She frowned but, for some reason, she knew exactly how he felt. Someone to hurt with, she thought. Even if she didn’t show it. She swallowed. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier took a shaky breath and suddenly his arms were gone, he took a step back and wiped his eyes. “Yeah, uh, sorry, it’s just--” He trailed off, his voice choked in his throat, quivered. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. “I just-- I saw you… I saw--”

“Hush.” He felt a hand on his shoulder and another one, guiding his hand away from his face, letting some stray tears fall. Yennefer looked at him and nodded. If she remembered what she saw too and if her eyes sparkled a bit in the sunlight, he noticed but he didn’t have to say anything. She squeezed his hand. “Hush. I know.”

Oh. She knew too well.

continue reading on ao3

tagging some mutuals who have shown interest/might like this 💞 @geraltsays @indelibleposies @contemplativepancakes @restmyheadatnightcontent @broskier @geraltdirivia

[bungou-stray-dingus]

Precious

Pairing : Ranpo x Fem!Reader

A/N : WE BACK AT IT WITH THE SUPER SAD SHIT AND BY WE I MEAN ME! ITS SAD TIME! BIG SAD TIME! Ranpo deserves betters, yes I know, but I just want to make him sad. I’m sorry <3 

T/W : Pregnancy ; Murder ; Torture ; Kidnapping ; Blood ; Gore ; Angst

Angstember Day 11

Every day with Ranpo was the highlight of your life. He was sweeter than the candy he snacked on, he treated you like an absolute queen, and every queen needed her king and he was just that. He would do anything for you, he protected you with everything he had, he absolutely adored you. You worked at the Agency alongside him, an ability user yourself. You were able basically predict the future, but only ten seconds ahead. Everyone called you the Agency Forecaster, as you were able to tell them what someones next move will be, you were an asset to the Agency. When you got pregnant, Ranpo had wanted you to lay off Agency work, deeming it too dangerous for you and the baby, but you loved your job, you loved helping the Agency, and that would be your downfall. 

     Six months into your pregnancy and you were still able to conceal it well enough that everyone at the Agency had no clue. Your clothing was a little baggier but not by much, nothing that was noticeable by the members, and you had went from wearing heels to flats. The baby bump wasn’t much, and although it worried you in the beginning, the doctors had said that everyone’s body was different, and yours just decided to not show as much, but the baby was healthy and okay, and that’s all that mattered to you and Ranpo. 

“I don’t know why you won’t tell anyone about him. Most people would be excited to announce their pregnancy.” Ranpo began the usual conversation that you always had over breakfast. He was always trying to talk you out of going into work, but you were persistent. 

“Of course I’m excited, but you and I both know that if I tell them, they’ll ask me to sit out on cases. I love my job, and... they need me.” You explained, watching his reaction to what you said. He couldn’t argue with what you said, he never could. He knew how much everyone there needed you, but it still worried him. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, defeated by your logic. You reached across the table and grabbed his hand, brushing your thumb across his knuckles. “You know very well that my ability isn’t combative. I won’t get hurt.” 

He nodded, but he still wasn’t comfortable, every second that you were in the office he was on edge. Every time you had to go out on a case, he was a nervous wreck. You always came back unscathed, unharmed, not a scratch on you. You were thoroughly protected at all times, you were just as important to the Agency as Yosano was. It wasn’t just you that he had to worry about now though, you had a child, his child. 

Work started just like any other day. Ranpo and you walked into the office, hand in hand, his other hand was carrying a box of sweets to get him through the day. “Ah, Y/L/N! You, Atsushi, and I have a mission to go on today!” Dazai called from the other side of the office, waving to you as if his voice hadn’t gotten your attention enough. Ranpo’s hand squeezed yours tightly, he obviously wasn’t ready for you to go out so early in the day. He hadn’t had enough time to prepare himself to deal with the anxiety it caused. 

“What kind of mission is it?” Ranpo asked, his hand no longer in yours, instead it was wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his desk so he could set down his sweets and sit comfortably with you next to him while he listened to Dazai explain the specifics. 

“Oh, it’s just some crap with the Mafia. They want to talk about something, they wanted me to bring Atsushi, so I’m sure it’s something about handing him over or there will be a fight. Y/N will be able to let us know if they’re planning on something. Don’t worry though, everything will be fine.” Dazai said it so nonchalant, but Ranpo was losing it over just the thought of you being near anyone from the Port Mafia. 

“I can do that. I’m sure everything will be fine.” You reassured Ranpo, turning to kiss his cheek. He had you sitting on his lap, and at this point, no one in the office was phased by you sitting there anymore. They would be more shocked if you weren’t sitting on his lap honestly. 

He wrapped his arms tighter around you, hiding his face in your back. He mumbled against the back of your shirt, the vibrations from his voice and the warmth of his breath seeping through the fabric of your shirt sent shivers up your spine. “I don’t like this, cinnamon bun. It’s not safe.” 

“We don’t have a lot of time. We have to get going.” Dazai said, noticing the way Ranpo held you tighter. “Y/N will be okay, Ranpo. Atsushi and I won’t let anything happen to her.” He walked over to pat Ranpo’s shoulder, you felt his breath hot against your skin again as he sighed, but his arms loosened from around you. 

“Be careful.” He murmured, casually rubbing his hand over your stomach. The baby kicked against his touch causing you to giggle slightly. You leaned over to kiss him quickly before getting up from his lap, walking with Dazai and Atsushi out the office door. 

The three of you got to the Mafia building, the boys both stared at you, their way of silently asking if anything was going to happen. You quickly shook your head no, giving them the nod that as of right now and ten seconds into the future, everything would be okay. 

Dazai led the way in and you followed close behind while Atsushi stayed behind you. You felt safe with the two of them, knowing Atsushi’s ability and Dazai’s natural charm and the way he was able to sweet talk, you were sure that you were safe and you would be able to go back to the office and be with Ranpo rather quickly. Nothing would go wrong, at least, that’s what you thought. 

The boys ran into the office, both their faces filled with worry and fear as their eyes scanned the office for Ranpo. He was already standing, staring at the door expectantly, waiting for you to walk in behind them. It took him a second to fully register the looks on their faces, that’s when his stomach sank and he had to fight the urge to puke right then and there. 

“I’m sorry Ranpo-san.” Atsushi muttered, bowing in Ranpo’s direction. What did he mean sorry? Had something already happened to you? Were you dead? You couldn’t be, he couldn’t lose you and his son. That couldn’t be the case. You were still alive, he could still feel it, like your hearts were beating as one, and yours was still hammering in your chest. He still had time. 

“You left her! Why would you leave her!?” Ranpo screamed, his voice reaching an octave unheard by anyone else in the room. They all turned to face him, his distress and obvious desperation all had them standing from their chairs. 

“Ranpo, calm down. She’s fine. She’ll be fine.” Yosano attempted to reassure him, but he only shook his head, walking past her to stand in front of Dazai. His height didn’t deter Ranpo, instead he craned his neck, his emerald eyes meeting Dazais brown irises. 

“You know I didn’t mean for anything to happen to her Ranpo. They took her while Atsushi and I were distracted. I didn’t think that it would turn to this.” Dazai pleaded with Ranpo, it was a first, his usual cocky attitude seemed to have disappeared under Ranpos glare. 

“I told you not to take her. It’s too dangerous, and like always, I was right. Now, take me to her.” Ranpo ordered, but everyone’s attention was diverted when Fukuzawa stepped out into the main office. 

“Everyone goes. We make sure to bring Y/N back safe.” His voice was powerful, almost hypnotic as he spoke. There would be no disapproval, no hesitation. 

“Thank you, sir.” Ranpo bowed to the President before turning back to Dazai. “Lets go.” 

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat on the concrete floor, your back against the concrete wall. The entire room was bare aside from the shackles and chains hanging from the walls, the same shackles and chains that they had used to bound you there. You hadn’t struggled, you knew it wasn’t safe for you to do so. The baby hadn’t stopped moving since you had been captured, but you tried your best to hide it and not react to his movements. 

“Your ability is far more useful than the were-tigers. They’re all foolish to not see that. I’ve only known of two other people with an ability like yours, they’re both dead, but not even they were able to see as far as you do.” Chuuya paced back and forth in front of you, his hands behind his back, he rarely ever looked at you, but when he did his eyes were like daggers. “Why waste such a useful ability on the Agency. You’d get paid well here.” 

“It’s not about money. I want to help people. I want to save people. I don’t belong here.” You tried to speak calmly, you didn’t want him to know you were scared, it would only give him more power. 

“That’s what I don’t understand about you and your people. You never actually save people. All the people you say you save, they’re already dead. Most of the time you can’t even bring those people justice without killing someone else in the process. The Agencies body count is higher than ours, but we’re the evil ones?” Chuuya knelt down in front of you, his face was smug, arrogant, his eyes squinted as he stared at you. “You’re no better than us, and we’re no more worse than you.” 

You heard the voice of another man calling from down the stairs, the sounds of explosions going off over top of you. “What’s happening?” You asked, trying to pull your hands out of the shackles. 

“Looks like the cavalry has arrived to try to save you. Don’t worry, they won’t get down here.” He patted your head before getting on his feet and walking towards the stairs. “Come down and watch her. If anyone gets through, you know what to do.” 

                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The group powered through the guards at the doors, Ranpo was flanked on all sides by everyone trying to get him through. Dazai knew exactly where you would be at, he was in charge of leading the way. 

“I swear, Dazai, if she’s hurt...” Ranpo growled. No one had ever seen his so angry, so distraught. He rarely cried, and although he was doing his best to hide it at the moment, everyone could see how glossy his eyes were, he was holding it all in the best he could, but he was about to burst. 

“She’ll be alright, Ranpo. You have to trust us, we’re gonna get her back.” Yosano murmured, her voice soft as she spoke to him. She only ever used that tone with him, it was almost motherly the way she tried to console him. 

They moved deeper into the building, taking down everyone they came across. It was mainly guards at this point, everyone knew that they would be saving the worst for last. “Right over there! Come on!” Dazai called out, pointing to an elevator at the end of the hallway.

The group piled onto the elevator, Dazai pushed to button to take them down, knowing all too well where you were being kept. “This is too easy... They’re waiting for us, aren’t they?” Atsushi asked, but he knew the answer, just as everyone else did. They were all ready though, they would power through anyone to get to you. 

“You all showed up, now that really is something. How much is she worth to you?” Chuuya asked sarcastically. He was leaning against the wall next to the stairs that led down to you, his arms folded across his chest. Hearing him say that made Ranpo want to charge, but he knew he had to hold back, just long enough to get down those stairs. You would be there waiting for him, he would save you, he would bring you back home where you belonged. 

“The members of my Agency are priceless, not one is worth more than the other. We just want to bring her back safe. I’m sure you wouldn’t want any harm to come to the young woman.” Fukuzawa, always the peace keeper said, his voice calm as he eyed Chuuya. Everyone was on the ready though, ready to charge, ready to attack, ready to kill just to get to you. 

Chuuya chuckled, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t harm her, of course not. I’m not that kind of person. There is however, one person here who could care less.” He turned to look at Dazai, one eyebrow raised, his fingers tapping against his arm. “You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?” 

“Akutagawa...” Ranpo and Atsushi turned to Dazai as he said the name. Everyone knew who he was, and now they knew how much danger you were really in. “If anything happens to her-” 

“Yeah, yeah. Spare me the speech. I’m not here to stop you. I’m here to watch him tear you all to shreds.” He moved away from the stairs, extending his arm down the staircase to let everyone through. “Have fun.” 

Ranpo didn’t wait a second before pushing through everyone that had surrounded him, racing down the stairs. They all called after him, begging him to stop, but he didn’t listen, he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to pull you into his arms, he wanted to shield you, protect you with himself. 

The second his feet hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs, Akutagawa had the chains undone, cutting through them effortlessly with Rashamon. You screamed at the sharp dark black masses that entangled you, pulling you up off the floor and close to Akutagawa. Ranpo didn’t move any closer, watching as a blade of the mass trailed across your torso, he watched your body quiver with fear as your eyes locked. 

“A pitiful attempt of a rescue, honestly, I feel kind of bad. Of all the people to send down first, they send you?” Akutagawa almost growled with disgust, like he was disappointed in the lack of fighting that would ensue. “Although... I don’t feel quite that bad...” Akutagawa didn’t smile, there was no hint of malevolence, his face was as straight as ever as he plunged the blade of Rashamon through your chest. 

Your scream was cut off almost instantly, the only sound was the gurgling of blood building up in your lungs as you attempted to breathe. It wasn’t enough though, it was never enough. The blade dragged down, the sound of skin and muscles being torn through filled Ranpos ears, as if the volume was turned up to the highest level. He watched on in both shock and horror as you were practically gutted right in front of him. 

The blood pooled at his feet, there was so much, it splashed against the soles of his shoes as Akutagawa dropped your body to the ground. The other members of the Agency had been standing on the stairs behind Ranpo, they watched it happen just as he had. The anger that emanated from each and every one of them was palpable, it could have been cut with a knife, it was thick and it hung in the air like a storm cloud. 

Akutagawa coughed, staring up at Dazai on the stairs. “I’ve done good, wouldn’t you think? Spare no one, show no mercy, just like you.” He rolled your body over with his shoe, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he looked down at your body. “Two for one.” 

Ranpos eyes grazed over your abdomen that had been swollen with his growing son just this morning, now cut open, the torn muscles and tissues exposing your uterus that was also slashed open. He fell to the floor, his knees splashing the blood, droplets flying up and landing on his face, his shirt, his coat. He crawled over to where your body lay, he saw his son in your womb, small, not fully developed, but he had ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes, his nose like a button, perfect and round, curled up in a ball with his thumb in his mouth. He finally screamed, screeched, slamming his palms down into the pool of blood that surrounded him and you. 

Akutagawa started walking away as Dazai, Kunikida, Tanizaki and Atsushi tried to pull Ranpo away from your body. He stopped on the stairs next to Fukuzawa, looking him in the eye as he spoke. “I’ll let Mori know to prepare for a fight.” He didn’t wait for Fukuzawa’s response before continuing up the stairs, a trail of bloody footsteps stained the floor where he walked. 

“No! No no no no no!” Ranpo fought everyone off, pushing them away as he held onto your carcass. “I can’t leave them. I can’t! I won’t! Let me go!” His screams sounded more like cries. They were choppy, choked off, high pitched, the cries of a broken man, a man who had lost everything in one fell swoop. He had nothing, he was nothing if not with you. Life had gone dark for him, there was no light at the end of the tunnel, only darkness, a darkness that suffocated and blinded him. He would never escape the darkness that was now his life, it would only continue to consume him until he was just an image, no longer the man he used to be. He would never go back to being that man, not without you, not when you were the one who made him the man that he was. 

[themfchase]

raven unit I (m) jjk

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

‒ raven unit. (m) chapter one: gallaticus. ✎  [13k words]

genre: political!Au, taskforce!Au, warcrime!Au

warnings: eventual smut, angst, gore, violence, drug mentions, alcohol mention, graphic description of violence, death.  With your life at risk and several people around you dead, your loyal head of security makes sure your safety is taken care of when he’s out of the picture. Three ruthless, dangerous and deadly men take on the task to protect and hide you, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok and the one in command, Jeon Jungkook.  masterlist. chapter two. So, I would just like to mention I neglected my duties to write the requests sent my way because my good friend @diofulin​ had me thinking of this idea and when I knew it I had written 25k words and was looking at a small series. For what it’s worth, I hope you like it. Comment, reblog and I’ll be posting the nest chapter around Wednesday. 

The first thing you heard was the loud noise of something exploding, the walls and floor shook as the lights of your room flickered. At first, your heart sped up, eyes alarmed as you held onto your desk and chair, looking around. Several things could happen next, and you were way under-prepared for any of the possibilities.  The first being a second explosion, closer even, targeted towards you and you had few possibilities of escaping without injuries.  Second, your room would be stormed with your security team and you’d be rushed out while attacked.  And third, you die.  The diplomatic daughter of the U.S president killed in a matter of seconds while overseas.  All three options had their fair chances of happening, and although you were relieved, it was the second as they barged your door. Inside came a team of seven armed men. You could barely process the shouting and information being given to you while they shoved you out of your chair and into the hallway by the neck.  Although your feet were perfectly fine and you had no injuries, they could barely move as your head of security, Thomas walked crouched down while he pulled you along. You were still in a state of shock, not fully understanding what was happening. The men formed a barricade around you while you ran, all of them with their guns in their hands.  “What’s...” You began, but your voice was too low and not a few seconds after a second explosion came. This time, closer.  The intensity of the blow was enough to make you fall back, the structure of the house you were living shook to the core as if the cement was made out of jelly. Smoke and dust whooshed right after, making the air thick and hard to breathe.  “Miss, can you move?” Thomas yelled, you only then noticed how muffled he sounded, when your eyes found him, alarmed and bulged, you nodded.  Shouts and gunfire all around erupted as you started moving. You could barely make a sound, your brain still unable to process what was happening, although you had an idea. Your body shook, flinching each time someone shot from around your barricade.  You eyed Thomas, you could see the blood trickling down his forehead, into his ear. His face covered in dust as he gripped his gun in his hand.  “T-Thomas...” you whispered, but yet again, unheard. And as if your voice brought doom, the shooting only increased, the man barricaded all around you suddenly falling, one after the other, shot down, dead.  Thomas looked as alarmed as you, bringing his fist close to his mouth to speak into the microphone.  “Blue Jay has been compromised, I repeat, Blue Jay has been compromised!” He shouted, still moving, still trying to get you out.  Your eyes wandered, looking back as you saw the men who made an oath to protect you lifeless. Blood, the crimson red of blood painted all over the off-white walls and porcelain floor. Your head spun back to Thomas when you heard him speak.  “Extraction executed in 0005, all men in their positions!” You knew what that meant. Five minutes for you to leave the premises, it meant that outside, men were waiting to usher you out of here, to save you.  But the gunfire went on raging, the few men still standing shooting back into the smoke. The buzzing that kept on ringing in your head was loud, your heart beating as if it would stop functioning at any given moment and your pants were wet. Your pants were wet. You... Oh. You couldn’t even feel embarrassed, you didn’t even give it a second thought as you were finally met with the cold air of the outside. The screaming, crying, explosions and gunfire was all you could hear before you felt a warm shock go through your body. It hit right below your hips, on your thigh, and extended to the rest of your body. You didn’t give it any attention as you kept moving with Thomas to the black cars that parked extensively around the back of the house. The house was burning. You saw as you finally stopped in front of the door, eyes filling with water in horror. The house was burning.  You had no time to mourn as they shoved you into the back seat, face hitting the leather as the warm feeling on the back of your thigh now turned into a raging ache, making a scream erupted from the dept of your lungs.  Thomas looked at you as your hands reached back to stop the pain.  “Blue Jay has been hit, evacuate immediately!” He screamed to the driver before jumping into the back seat with you, but as he closed the door his body flinched, a groan leaving his lips as he lifted his suit jacket and saw the red flow around the fabric. The gunfire started hitting the car again and again.  “Go, Go, Go!” He yelled, regardless.  And the car was rushing off, tires screaming into the asphalt as you were finally evacuated from the war zone. Or so you thought.  You were screaming in agonizing pain as Thomas clenched the side of his body. He shook, but never let go of his gun.  “Miss, listen to me.” He started speaking, but you couldn’t think of anything else but the pain that took over you, head to toe.  “Miss, fucking listen!” He screamed, and you opened your eyes, looking back at him, breathing as if you were having a panic attack. Maybe you were having a panic attack.  “You have to stay awake, you have to pay attention to what I’m about to say to you because if you don’t you will die, do you understand?” Thomas scolded as he cringed in pain. You nodded, trying to focus but already feeling your mind hazy.  “You’ve been shot. We will only be able to receive medical attention when we get to the military base on the border, so you have to fight to stay awake.” He spoke to you, but also to himself. “When we get there, we will have little time to access your wound before they find out where our extraction point is.” Thomas’ words felt groggy, he was struggling to stay awake. “You will have to go under, they have to think you’re dead, otherwise they will not stop coming for you.” You shook your head, not understanding why this all was happening.  “What’s happening Thomas, wh-what’s happening?” You didn’t notice you were crying, your face dirty and wet as you clenched your own wound as your life depended on it, and it did.  “Eagle has fallen.” Was all he said and the ringing in your ears grew louder. You knew what that meant too and soon your entire body shook as sobs of desperation filled your body. “Miss... Please, p-pay attention, I understand you’re in pain, but you need to listen to me.” You could hear the knot in Thomas’ throat as he spoke. He had been working for your family for so many years now, three months from now it would become eight years. “We’re going rouge now, Miss, you have to stay hidden, I contacted a colleague, he promised to help under the radar, so you have to live Miss, you’re all we have left.” Although he was the one meant to protect you, you could see the plea in his eyes, you were his only hope. You were the country’s only hope. You nodded, a sob choking you up as tears streamed furiously down your cheeks. You tried sitting up, back against the door as you looked at Thomas. His head laid back on the seat and the gun still firm in his hand, you extended your shaking hand, he looked down and took yours, bloody hand gripping your fragile fingers tightly in reassurance.  Then it was silent.  The silence must have lasted about thirty minutes, at least that’s what you thought, gripping Thomas’ hand all the way to your destination while you struggled to stay awake, blood loss causing you to shake and feel cold. As your eyes fluttered shut, you always forced your mind to stay awake, jumping in your seat and looking at the dark road ahead, the driver silent as he drove as fast as it was physically possible. Soon you could see light, a flickering light on the horizon. It was the military camp, your eyes bulging open as you felt like your nightmare was now going to end.  As the car got closer and closer you started shaking Thomas’ hand.  “We’re here...” You looked ahead, your head turning to the man beside you. “Thomas, we’re here!” But he was silent. You looked at him, eyes closed and head resting back. Your eyes came down to your held hands, his grip loose while yours remained firm on his. His grip on his gun that was once like a vice was now gone, the object resting on his lap. You had little time to access what it all meant before the car was stopping and the door swung open before your body was pulled out by force, screams, and shouts of your name echoed in your head but your eyes were trained on the man that had known you since you were 14, the man that had taken care of you, that had risked his family, his life for you, that man that had now died for you. You made no sound as you were put on the stretcher, an oxygen mask being put over your mouth, flashlight coming in contact with your iris You knew you barely reacted, eyes welling up in tears as you were rushed into a secluded tent, between shouts and people rushing around, your body couldn’t handle it anymore, you remembered what Thomas had said; you had to stay awake and no matter how much you tried to fight it you knew that now you could, and your eyes shut as it was once again quiet. 

Your eyes fluttered open, and you saw a bright white light, the air was brushing your hair and you still had the oxygen mask on. Your brows furrowed as your ears functioned, the loud noise of a propeller getting closer as you now understood you were in the air, being brought onto a helicopter. Your eyes shifted to the side. All you saw was the night, and you turned your head, leaving it on the edge of the stretcher looking down at the camp. Your eyes moved a little further as you saw cars and trucks racing towards the camp the sound of gunshots made your body jump, regardless of it being restrained on the stretcher that was being pulled into the air. Soon, you were in the helicopter, your head spun around as you watched the camp be attacked below you and not a second later the helicopter was off into the night and you watched as the fainting lights became red with fire.  Your body remained restrained, a dull ache flowing all over as you not yet had processed all that had happened. Your eyes streamed without your knowledge, looking back up at the pitch-black ceiling of the aircraft. You shook as you cried, whoever was in that aircraft with you was silent, and even if they spoke you couldn’t hear them. They allowed you to feel the ramifications of all that has happened in a matter of hours, and you silently thanked them for it.  An hour went by before you noticed your body was no longer restrained and you tried to sit up, body weak and broken as two hands helped you sit on your good side. You looked at the stranger but couldn’t see his face; a mask and helmet covered it. And you looked ahead at the pilot, same thing. You sat quietly all throughout your trip to wherever it was Thomas had arranged you to go. Your chest constricted. Thomas...  The tears continued to flow like it was a never-ending waterfall, and even if you tried to rationalize everything, you were gone, in a state of shock. The sun rose on the horizon and somehow that made you feel calmer, the anesthetic they had used wearing off as the pain of your gun wound started to hurt.  You looked ahead at the only window the helicopter had, you could see the desert and abandoned buildings here and there. A war zone.  Soon, you were landing in one of them, the aircraft stopping only a few seconds before the door was being pulled open and you saw a man in a suit, thick black glasses and a file in his hand. His hair was going wild with the wind the propeller made.  “Miss Y/L/N?” The man shouted over the noise. You nodded at him and he extended his hand. You took it, being helped by the stranger inside the helicopter on your way down.  Hand coming to the back of your neck and making you crouch down, the suited man guided you into one of the abandoned buildings. As you made your way in the helicopter made its way out. The noise was now gone, only the sound of the desert wind blowing between the abandoned buildings. The mand stopped in a room, a chair, and a table were the only things there. He pointed for you to sit and you did so, hissing at the pain on the back of your legs.  The man sat down on the table, letting the file rest beside him before he sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, stressed. He was older, maybe in his mid-fifties. It was quiet for a while before he finally looked at you.  “Miss, I can only imagine what you have been through in the past ten hours.” He started. He was American, you looked away, flashes of the horrors you had lived coming like a rush into your head. “I assume Thomas explained a little of the situation before...” He pursed his lips and you looked at him, swallowing hard as you knew what he would say. “My name is Phillip Jackson, I served with Thomas a while back for the CIA and on the field. It seems that we have to make you disappear for a while.” You looked down at your hands. Dirty, bloody, shaking. You opened your mouth to speak.  “What happened?” You questioned and heard your voice come out weak, hoarse.  The man sighed again.  “There was an attack on the Whitehouse, an organized attack all over the country, and we have little information about who it’s from and why. The only information is that there were no survivors.” He said. “Miss as much of a patriot as I am, I have a hunch that this was an inside job and you are an asset, so we gotta keep you alive. Thomas was a dear friend of mine and I will put my best men to protect and hide you.” You swallowed and nodded, unable to even access the fact that your family was gone.  “Are you CIA?” You questioned. After all, if this was an inside job, what made you so sure this man was working for the right side of the government.  “No, Miss, I am a private contractor. All my men are former Special Forces, SEAL, Marine, CIA, White Tiger, BOPE, we work with several specialized soldiers from around the world.” He said.  “That means you make money off war.” You argued, eyes roaming your ripped pants.  “Well, Miss, yes, but I in no way enjoy watching innocent people lose their lives.” He argued back, and you looked up again, eyes meeting his. You sighed, this was no time to argue over politics, your life was at risk and if Thomas trusted this man, you would have to take a leap of faith.  “Where am I going to?” You questioned, face scrunching up in pain as the sharp sting from your wound overcame your body.  “I don’t know.” He said and pursed his lips, grabbing the file and handing it to you. You furrowed your brows, extending your hand and taking it.  “I assigned three men, the one in charge is my most trusted agent. The other two are his most trusted agents. For security reasons, I told him not to disclose any information as of where you’re headed and for how long.” You said nothing while you opened the file. Three papers inside, no pictures, just names. None of them American. You looked back up, Philip already understanding your confusion.  “Miss, my men work for money and given that this might be an inside job, I figured it was wiser if I recruited non-Americans for this job in particular. Ones that wouldn’t be easily persuaded into handing you over.” It was your turn to sigh.  “And how are these men being paid to protect and hide me, Mr. Jackson?” You looked back up at him. His brow lifted, side of his lips lopsided in a smirk.  “They owe me.” Was all he said.  You decided not to argue, after all, this was in your best interest. Or so you hoped.  “There is a mattress in the other room, try to get some rest, they will be here by the hour,” Phillip said before he got down from the table and leaned in, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Thomas was very dear to many people and his life’s mission was to protect you, I have no intention of letting him down anytime soon.” He said, and you once again looked down at the open folder on your lap. Three papers, three names. Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, and Jeon Jungkook. You looked back up at him and nodded before you got up in a struggle and tried to walk. It was hard. You held the folder in your hand as you limped your way to the other room. Everything was dirty, dust all over, but you couldn’t complain, you slowly made your way to the dusty mattress and slowly got on it. Laying down finally, you tried to ignore the pain, bringing the file up and reading.  The one in command was the youngest for what you could tell. White Tiger agent, an anti-terrorism unit. After that, he served three times as a special forces soldier for the U.S. before he became a mercenary, going rough. He was charged for war crimes and pardoned by his own government a few years later, then joined Phillip Jackson’s private Operation Unit. Unites build for maximum execution. The other two weren’t far behind, charged with similar crimes but pardoned before joining Phillip. They were all young but seemed highly experienced in the field. Soon your eyes fluttered, resting the file on your chest, you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, the flashes of the horror you have lived playing underneath your eyelids. It felt like you had slept for two minutes.

“Wake up!” Someone said loud and your eyes shot open, a loud gasp being pulled out of you as your body jerked up, resting on your hands. You blinked twice before you could make out the figure standing in front of you. Dark eyes, dark brown hair and a jawline so defined that it could slice you in half. He was young and oh so very attractive. He had no emotion on his face, eyes void of anything, but that seemed so dark that it held nothing but rage and pain. He threw something at you, making you flinch. You looked down at your lap, clothes. “Put these on, we leave in fifteen.” His voice was cold and sharp, and you barely had time to process before he was out of the room.  You looked back down at the clothes, camo. You struggled to get up but did so before you peeled off your ruined clothes. The wraps around your wound were red with blood and you knew you had to change it soon. But you went on, putting on the cargo pants that fit you perfectly and the tight brown tank top. You heard a whistle behind you and you turned around to see another face, different from the one that woke you up. His hair was white, so white that it looked like snow, and his eyes were just as dark as the one from before.  He raised an eyebrow at you, and you pursed your lips. You knew he had probably seen something, but you couldn’t scold him.  “Boots.” Was all he said before he left a pair of black boots at the door and walked out. “Ten minutes!” You heard him shout from the other room. You quickly finished getting dressed, leaving your clothes folded on top of the filthy mattress. You looked at your blouse, it was a rose color, well, now it was dirty, bloody and ripped. You remembered when you and your mother had gone to buy it in Paris in one of your father’s diplomatic trips a few years back, a few years before you had taken on a diplomatic journey yourself, studied political science and represented your country in small discussions here and there in your father’s place. You felt your eyes water again. Your life would never be the same, never go back to what it was. There would be no more Sunday breakfast with your parents or a late-night call from your father to tell you he’s proud of you. You swallowed the lump in your throat, rubbing your hands on your face before you walked out of the room. There stood five men. Philip was talking to the one that had woken you up, a quiet conversation, and when you walked into the other room, eyes lifted in your direction. The man ignored you, going back to speak to Phillip as the blond surveyed your appearance and the other beside him lifted an eyebrow, a knife digging into an apple as he looked back at the blond beside him.  “She looks like shit.” He said a twitch on his lower lip. You bit your lower lip, unphased by his comment. You had no expectations that these men would act civil around you. Sighing, you remained silent, approaching the men. Phillip lifted his hand at the man speaking to him.  “Miss Y/L/N...” He started, and you interrupted.  “Please, just Y/N.” You stated.  “Y/N, this is your unit, they’ll be in charge of your security and in charge of keeping you hidden. Yoongi..” He introduced and the white-haired man lifted his hand, unamused. “... Hoseok...” The one with the apple nodded in your direction, without making eye contact. “and Jungkook.” He looked at the man beside him, the one that had woken you up. He looked at you. Even if you didn’t know that this man was highly skilled to kill, he’d intimidate you. It was as if he was looking deep into your soul.  “This is where I say my goodbyes,” Phillip said, and you gulped. You took a few steps and closed the space between you, extending your hand. He took it, a worried and pitted look on his face. “Godspeed, Y/N.” And you knew that from this moment on, the three men in the room were in charge of you.  You looked back at the one called Jungkook, waiting for instructions, he sighed.  “Are you injured?” He questioned, and you nodded. “Where?” He asked impatiently.  “U-Uhm, back of my left thigh.” You answered nervously.  “What’s the source of the wound?” He questioned again, taking a few steps towards you.  “I was shot.” You said in a small voice.  All three heads turned in your direction.  The one named Hoseok furrowed his brows.  “Aren’t you in pain?” He questioned.  You took in a deep breath, the ache still raging through your body.  “Yes.” Was all you answered.  Everyone was silent, even Phillip. You forgot to acknowledge the other suited man right behind him.  “So, she can’t walk for much, run for much, we’ll have to make camp every ten hours to clean out her wound, how he fuck do you expect me to keep her alive if she’s her own liability?” Jungkook looked at Phillip with annoyance in his tone. You felt as if you weren’t in the room, as if you were just some pathetic, worthless thing and not a human being.  Phillip seemed unphased by his comment, shrugging.  The man looked back at you and once again threw something in your direction. Your reflexes were terrible and of course, the heavy object landed at your feet. It was a backpack, a heavy backpack. You lifted it and put it onto your back.  “We’re moving out. Hoseok, ground rules.” He announced before he was heading out of the building. All men followed suit, except for Hoseok, that walked beside you.  “You keep up, you make no noise, you follow every order. If we say duck, you duck if we say run you run. No hesitation, no second thought. We know who you are and we don’t care, our only job is to make sure you stay alive and well-hidden until this is over. We won’t hesitate in taking violent measures to make you understand.” Hoseok said without looking at you, you limped your way outside, nodding at his words. As you made your way out, there were two military cars waiting. Phillip and the other suited man got in on and Jungkook, Yoongi, and Hoseok in the other. You looked at Phillip once last time and he gave you a soft smile before he was off.  “Come on Miss President, we got no time to lose.” Said Hoseok once again and you made your way into the car. Jungkook was in the driver’s seat, Yoongi beside him and Hoseok in the back with you. As you drove off, sand lifted and blurred your vision, you covered your eyes and coughed a few times before the view was cleared.  It was silent in the car as you drove off into the desert. You just then realized you had no idea where you were. You were lost and your life in the hand of three strangers. You looked out the window, all you could see for miles was sand, and after what seemed like forty minutes of silence, Jungkook looked in the review mirror, taking in your appearance.  “She does look like shit.” He said and the man beside you chuckled. You side-eyed him and scoffed. “I’m right here.” You clapped back.  “Fine, you look like shit,” Jungkook said again, eyes back on the path before him.  “Oh, do I? I haven’t noticed.” You said sarcastically, looking back at him. It was Yoongi’s turn to chuckle.  “She’s got an attitude.” He said and Jungkook hummed in response.  You noticed that they all had a deceived perspective of who you were. For all they knew, you were the president’s daughter. They knew nothing of your life and your struggles, your ideology and what you’ve fought for. You rolled your eyes and looked back out the window. “Where are we going?” You questioned when the car fell silent again. Jungkook didn’t answer, instead, he looked at Yoongi in a silent command. Yoongi turned to face you.  “We have three destinations before the safe house, the first destination is code name, Red Hawk. We have a friend there that can give us shelter for the night, food, water... And a place where you can look like a human again.” Hoseok once again chuckled, and you breathed in. If you had known you would be stuck with three annoying assholes, you might have asked Phillip for his second most trusted agents. “The second destination is code name Seamore, they’ll provide us with a border entrance into Morrocco under the radar, we will have only a few hours to cross without being noticed.” Yoongi looked back to the front. “The third destination is code name, Armstrong. Last resting point before the safe house. I’ll refrain from giving you the exact coordinates in case we’re compromised.” He said, and you nodded. “We’ll have to ditch the car tomorrow and then we have a two-day walk to Red Hawk. Resting periods will be two hours only.” You sighed. You didn’t know if your body was well prepared for something like this, but you had to stay alive no matter what.  You had a long journey ahead of you, a journey you had no idea how long would last.  Soon, it was silent again. You don’t know for how long you’d have been driving, all you could see was sand ahead of you. Eventually, you looked into the backpack they had handed you, Hoseok’s eyes trained on your every movement. There were clothes, the same ones you were wearing, a jacket, two big canteens of water, something that looked like food bars, several. Gauze and antiseptic. You haven’t even noticed you were hungry until you saw the food bars. The loud noise that erupted from your stomach was enough to get the attention of Hoseok.  “Eat one.” He said simply and you shook your head.  “No, we should save these.” You said not looking his way. He scoffed.  “Listen, you need energy for tomorrow, if you’re drained of it today you’ll collapse after a few miles.” He argued, and you looked at him, meeting his eyes. They seemed just as dark as the two other men in the front, yet there was a kindness to them. He seemed almost worried about you.  You put your hand in and took one out, closing the backpack and leaning back again with a wince of pain.  “When was the last time you changed your bandages?” He asked, voice low as the wind hit the car with its high speed.  You shook your head, too many memories invading your thoughts at once before you opened your mouth to answer.  “I haven’t, I fainted before they took care of the wound and I woke up while I was being pulled into the helicopter, right before they attacked the camp.” You said, voice becoming low again. Hoseok looked at the back of Yoong’s seat, pursing his lips.  “12 hours.” You heard Jungkook’s voice. Your eyes lifted to the review mirror. He wasn’t looking back at you. “You have to change them or else it’ll get infected.” He said, and you nodded again.  “Will we stop?” You asked and Yoongi chuckled. “What?” You questioned, brows furrowed.  “You want us to stop the car in the middle of nowhere so you can change your bandages?” Yoongi questioned, turning to you.  You were quiet, looking around as you gather your thoughts.  “Well, I’ll be naked.” You stated and Yoongi shrugged.  “And?” He questioned.  You looked from him to Hoseok and to the review mirror where Jungkook didn’t look back.  Your mouth opened and closed several times, not because you were outraged, but because you knew that you had no other choice. Of course, they weren’t going to pull over so you could have some privacy while cleaning your wound. You shook your head.  “Fine.” You scoffed, opening the food bar and taking a big bite.  It tasted terrible. Bitter and sandy in your mouth. You made a face and Hoseok laughed.  “Don’t worry, princess, we won’t look,” Hoseok said with a teasing voice.  After you finished eating your food bar reluctantly you stuffed the wrapper into the bag and took out the gauze and antiseptic. Your eyes lifted to Hoseok, he had one brow lifted as he looked at you. You squinted at him, lips twisting.  Taking the hint, he rolled his eyes before he was turning his body and looking away. Slowly, you lifted your body off the seat, pushing your pants down. The hiss you gave didn’t go by unnoticed by the three. Yoongi eyed Jungkook, and he looked through the review mirror.  “Did they remove the bullet?” He questioned.  You stopped your movements, your pants rested at the edge of your knees, your once white lace lingerie soaked in blood still on your body. You looked back at him, resuming.  “I don’t know.” You answered him.  “Hoseok.” Was all he said before the man that had his back to you turned, your eyes slightly bulged as he took out a knife and approached you.  “Wait, wait, what are you doing?!” You pushed him away.  “I need to check if the bullet is still there.” He said as if it were obvious.  “What are you going to do with the knife?” You questioned.  “Cute your bandages off.” He said once again as if it were obvious.  You looked back at Jungkook; he looked annoyed. But you didn’t argue, shifting your weight so that you had your ass lifted to the side, where Hoseok could to what he needed to do.  “Nice ass, Miss President.” He teased, and you shot him a murderous look. Looking back at the review mirror to see if you were being put on full display for everyone, you saw that Jungkook had his eyes back on the road, same with Yoongi.  You rested your head on the side of the car before you felt Hoseok grip the edge of the bandages and start cutting through it. Soon, the bloody material was pulled away.  “Ah, this looks bad,” Hoseok said, and you looked back at him. He had a pained look on his face. “I can’t tell if they took out the bullet, but they didn’t sow her up, just staples, I’m guessing that they didn’t take it out,” Hoseok said a Jungkook hummed. “How much does it hurt?” Hoseok looked up at you, fingers gently resting on your thigh and pulling at the skin slightly. That sent a sharp pain through your body and you groaned, hands balling into fists before you were biting on your lower lip.  “Fuck!” You cursed out.  “Shit, I’m sorry.” He extended his hand and grabbed the materials.  “I-I can do it myself.” You said feeling your body hot and your breath quicken, but Hoseok laughed, opening the gauze. “Don’t take this the wrong way but, you can’t. If you’re in this much pain from just that, you won’t be able to do it yourself.” He leaned back, taking off his belt, and you just watched. “Bite on this, it will help” And he leaned forward, hovering the leather over your mouth. You hesitated for a while, before opening your lips and taking it. Your eyes shifted to the review mirror where you saw the dark eyes look straight into yours, you didn’t look away, breathe picking up as you knew the pain you were about to feel would be a lot worse than what you had felt before. And soon, you bit down hard onto the leather, a throated scream leaving you as your eyes shut closed and a shock of pain went through your body. It was so intense you felt your stomach turn, your muscles twitch uncontrollably and that had been just one swipe. At the second swipe, your vision blurred, everything around you turning black.  “I think she’s fainted.” You heard Hoseok’s muffled voice. “She’s out.” And everything was silent again.  “Nah, I don’t think Jimin is that stupid.” You heard Hoseok’s voice, but it was no longer by your side.  “Fine, we’ll bet on it, a thousand bucks,” Yoongi spoke, only he was still where he was before. You slowly opened your eyes, brows furrowing as you noticed you were in the same position as you had fainted into. Head resting on the glass, your pants were still down yo your knees, but now your wound was wrapped in fresh bandages. Your head lolled back noticing that Hoseok was the one driving now, Yoongi still in the passenger seat. That meant that the body beside you was Jungkook and you tuned your head in his direction. He was looking down into a small black notebook with no cover, face serious. You noticed the small scar he had on his cheek, wondering how he got it and if it was in battle. You felt your mouth dry as you swallowed.  “I suggest you pull up your pants.” He said in a low voice without looking at you.  You blinked a few times before shifting.  “Oh, hey, you woke up,” Hoseok said looking at you. “Jungkook told us your code name was Blue Jay.” You looked back at Jungkook. He was closing the small notebook and shoving it into his pocket. You pulled up your pants with a bit of difficulty.  It took you a few seconds before you answered.  “Uh, yeah, Blue Jay.” You said voice hoarse and Hoseok hummed.  “Why Blue Jay?” Yoongi questioned, his head turning in your direction.  You rested your head back, feeling it ache.  “All my family had bird code names, my mother was Cardinal.” You said looking out the window and noticing the sun setting on the horizon. She was Cardinal. She was. “And your father?” Yoongi asked.  You looked back at him, a deep sorrow taking over you.  “Eagle.” You said low.  Yoongi looked back ahead.  “Cliche.” Was all he said.  And you shook your head, your family was all dead. It finally settled in and your eyes welled up, silent tears flowing down your face.  The car went silent as they noticed your silent sobs.  “We’re sorry for your loss, Y/N,” Hoseok mumbled. You said nothing, did nothing, just allowed yourself to mourn your family in silence as the sun was setting.  Your father had always been a respected man, loyal, intelligent and kind. The people loved him deeply. But, he pissed off a lot of big people when he would vet congress decisions that helped the rich when he gave more attention to minorities than to the lobby men and everything good came with a price; you assumed. And your father’s price was his life.  “Why birds?” Yoongi asked quietly in an effort to distract you.  You sniffed, looking at him.  “I... I don’t even know, I was given that code name when I was 14, Thomas never said why.” You answered  “Hm, did you like it?” His voice was calm.  Slowly you stopped crying.  “I never even gave it a thought.” You shook your head.  The small talk was helping, of course, but you couldn’t ignore the silent man beside you.  “I think Blue Jay is nice, but I don’t think it fits you,” Yoongi said.  You raised your eyebrows. “Chose a new one.” You heard the man beside you speak.  Your head turned in his direction, he was looking out the window before he also turned to face you.  “What?” You asked.  “Chose a new one. We can’t call you Blue Jay, we can’t call you by your name either.” He stated.  “And we definitely can’t call you Miss President,” Hoseok said in the front seat. You looked down at your fingers.  You thought about everything that had happened to you so far. You watched your most loyal friend and security die; you watched people all around you die in order to protect you. You were weak, slow, a liability to yourself just as Jungkook has said. You were worthless at this point. Something that brought death and despair.  “Raven.” You said and everyone looked at you.  “Another bird?” Yoongi questioned, and you nodded.  They went silent for a while.  “It fits you,” Jungkook said, looking ahead. You didn’t know if that meant he agreed with your own thoughts as to why you chose the name or if he thought it fitted your aura more, regardless, it hurt.  As you stopped speaking, Hoseok and Yoongi went back to their conversation.  Something about a man named Jimin accepting a job offer that was very underpaid. They argued over his intelligence and eventually settled on a thousand dollars in a bet.  Jungkook remained quiet the whole trip, never sparing you a glance.  At some point, the car stopped so Hoseok could switch places with Jungkook. As the night rolled in, Hoseok slept beside you and Yoongi slept in the passenger seat.  You remained awake, looking at the clear sky, there were so many stars, something you’ve never seen before and you couldn’t help but feel calm. You glanced at the review mirror a few times, Jungkook always focused ahead, you noticed just how attractive he was, not just him, but the other two men too. Deciding to look again, you saw his eyes on you and you looked away quickly. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.” He said in a stern voice.  You rolled your eyes.  “Is being a royal dick a requirement to be part of your unit?” You questioned.  “Oh, I’m sorry, am I being mean?” He said in a sarcastic voice. “My job isn’t to be nice to you, Miss, it’s making sure you remain alive.” He clapped back. “If you’re not satisfied, you can request a new unit when we get to Red Hawk.” At this, you sat up.  “Regardless of who you think I am, you have no fucking right to speak to me that way. If you didn’t want the fucking job, you shouldn’t have taken it.” You argued. “I bet you think I’m just a spoiled rich girl.” At this, he hummed in agreement. “You don’t know shit about me, Jungkook.”  “I know a lot more than you think.” He said, and you went quiet. “You, on the other hand, know absolutely nothing about me.”  “I know more than you think.” You mused.  “Cause you read my file?” He ironized.  “Is this where you tell me your sad childhood story of why you became a special op and I feel sorry for you and tell you your trauma isn’t what defines you?” He pursed his lips.  “Most definitely not, and even if I had a sad childhood story, you would be the last person I open up to.” “Good.” You said, and he chuckled. “What?”  Jungkook lifted his eyes to the review mirror to look at you before he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes changed, going dark as his mouth closed and lips turned into a straight line. You furrowed your brows, noticing the change in his demeanor.  “We’re being followed.” He said in a low voice and a shiver went through your body. You turned around looking through the back glass, but you saw nothing. Yoongi and Hoseok were awake by the time Jungkook had finished his sentence. It was as if they weren’t even asleep. You looked back again, but couldn’t see anything.  “Hoseok?” Jungkook questioned, and the man took his gun, the sound clicking in your head as he looked back to where you were looking.  “Two vehicles, military.” He said and you still couldn’t spot them in the dark.  “Cut the lights,” Yoongi said, and suddenly the car lights where gone.  Your body started to shake, you couldn’t believe you were going through this again.  “What are our exit possibilities?” Yoongi questioned, his own gun shining in the moonlight.  “West is Thunderstorm, East is Gallaticus, we can’t go north now, they know where we’re going,” Hoseok answered.  “Thunderstorm isn’t reliable,” Jungkook answered.  “Fuck, not Gallaticus.” Yoongi cursed.  You had no idea what they were talking about, but you were still shaking in your seat.  “They’re coming in fast, Jungkook, we gotta make a choice.” Hoseok urged.  “Fuck...” He cursed. “We won’t have time to access, we’re going to have to engage,” Jungkook said, Hoseok and Yoongi both looked at him. And you swallowed. Suddenly, Jungkook stopped the car. “Yoongi, you know what to do, Hoseok, get Raven into safety, then come back and cover us.” Suddenly the car doors were opening, and they were all getting out, Jungkook and Yoongi walked to the car trunk pulling out whatever they needed. You pulled your bag with you as Hoseok pulled you further into the night desert. He hid you under a dune of sang, opening your backpack and covering your body with the camo jacket that was inside.  “You stay down, you don’t get up under any circumstances, you are going to hear shooting, don’t make a sound, don’t flinch, don’t cry, I’ll come back to get you when it’s over.” From where you laid on the sand you could see Hoseok run back to them, it a matter of seconds they disappeared and silence took over. All you could hear was the harsh desert wind. Your eyes bulged, you had no idea where they were going to come from; you hadn’t seen anything when you were in the car. Suddenly you saw them, three men all dressed in camo, face covered by a mask and night vision goggles. Approaching the car, they each went to one side. You tried your best to keep quiet as they approached the vehicle, heavy rifles in their hands. You saw everything happen, the man in the back silently shot in the head, body falling down on his knees before his face was in the sand, lifeless, the other two pivoted rushing towards him and the further one groaned before he fell to his knees, Yoongi coming from under the car and stabbing a knife in his head, the lasting man turned to Yoongi faster than you expected rifle lifted into the air, and you saw as a dark shadow came behind him and pulled his boy back, the rifle shooting up to the sky. The sound was loud, the flashes of light beaming into the air. You gasped, but it was over as fast as it had started. Three lifeless bodies laid beside the car, Jungkook was the one that had pulled the man back, his knife slicing through the man’s throat like it was a piece of paper. Suddenly, the bodies were being pulled to rest in front of the car. It wasn’t over yet. They all disappeared again. You remained to shiver in your spot as you watched.  Once again, three men appeared, this time more alert. They quickly found Yoongi, a series of shooting and fighting erupted, Hoseok coming to help as they were unable to use their weapons. The three men that were in charge of keeping you safe fought against the men sent to kill you. Your eyes welled up again. No... No, Hoseok told you not to cry. You tried your best to silence your whimpers, as you watched them fight in the darkness.  Once one man was down, Hoseok ran to help Yoongi. You watched as a sudden relief started washing over you. But, of course, you weren’t that lucky. Two more men approached, and now your unit was outnumbered. The gunshots were deafening. You hid your head, not wanting to watch any longer.  A hand came to rest on your shoulder and you looked up, but you were met with no eyes, just a man in a mask and night vision goggles.  Your eyes bulged, and he aimed the gun at you.  “Jungkook!” You screamed, and you heard a loud gunshot. Shutting your eyes closed you waited to feel the pain, the warmth, whatever was going to take over you, but instead, you felt the wet splatters of liquid hit your face, a body falling before you. It was all quiet again for a few seconds before you felt a hand on you, you jumped back, crawling away and shooting your eyes open, it was Jungkook, he looked back at you with both hands up, his gun in one of them.  “We have to go, come on.” He said and helped you up, you took your things and stumbled back into the car.  “Don’t look,” he said, his grip tight on your arm as he pushed you into the backseat, getting in and hitting the car twice. That was the signal to drive and even if you didn’t know who was driving, either Hoseok or Yoongi you didn’t have the courage to look, Jungkook holding your head down onto his lap with a vice grip on your neck. It took about twenty minutes before someone spoke.  “How did they find us?” Is was Yoongi, he was driving, he was alive.  “Satellite,” Jungkook answered, and you noticed the way his voice vibrated through his body. Your head remained rested on his lap, his hand never moving from your neck.  “We should drive in the dark for a while.” You heard Hoseok’s voice. They were all alive. A relieved sigh left you and Jungkook’s grip loosened, but his hand remained on you. You felt how rough his fingers felt on your skin, his hands were warm and somehow that made you stop shaking. Soon, you were drifting off to sleep without noticing. In your light sleep, you could hear them talking from time to time.  “Jungkook, do you want to drive?” Hoseok questioned.  “No, you two can trade, I don’t want to wake her up.” His voice was soothing. And if it weren’t for your sleeping state, you would have sworn you felt his fingers gently caress your neck, but once again, never leave your skin. 

You woke up with the sun rising, your eyes fluttering open as you noticed you were still nested in Jungkook’s lap. You slowly shuffled, looking up. Jungkook rested his head back against the seat, eyes shut. One hand was still on your neck, the other around your body, resting on your hips. You blushed unwillingly before you felt the pain on your side. You needed to sit. Trying to amble so you wouldn’t wake him proved to be useless because when you looked back up at him, his eyes were open, staring back at you as dark as the night.  “H-hi.” You whispered, throat dry and lips chapped.  He said nothing back. Instead, withdrawing his hands and reaching in front of him into your bag. He pulled out the water, opening the flask and nodding for you to sit up.  You did so, struggling to sit up, and he handed to the bottle.  “Small sips.” He said, and you obeyed.  It was painful, actually. To drink liquid after so long, your mouth ached as you took small sips until the entire bottle was empty. When you were done, he took it from you, putting it back in the bag.  You settled back, looking ahead at Hoseok and Yoongi.  Something had changed after the attack during the night. Further ahead you saw a town come into view and your brows furrowed.  “Is this Red Hawk?” You inquired.  “No, we had to take a detour. This is Gallaticus, we’re taking cover here for a while before we head to Red Hawk,” Hoseok answered.  As the car approached the city, you noticed it was full of people. It was a humble place, but colorful.  There were a few men dressed in black with rifles in their hands, and a feeling of dread took over you.  “Stay down, we don’t want anyone to see you,” Jungkook said, and you laid back down, this time next to his lap and not on it. As the car slowed down into the city, you drove for another fifteen minutes before the car stopped.  “Ok, we’re here, grab your things, let’s go, and keep your head down,” Jungkook said and got out of the car. You followed, looking at the floor. Walking was hard, so you struggled to keep up. Impulsively you extended your hand and grabbed onto Jungkook’s shirt. He didn’t seem to care as he walked into the building. As soon as you were hidden from the city you let go, Jungkook stopped in his tracks, making you almost bump into him.  When you looked back up you were in what looked to be a warehouse, an enormous warehouse. There were the same men dressed in black and armed all around, some curious eyes looking at you and the group of men that had just walked in.  “Ah! You made it!” A deep voice was heard through the area and when your eyes found the owner of the voice, you blinked a couple of times. He was dressed in all black. Black shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. His hair was grayish blond that was held back by a black hairband.  “Taehyung,” Jungkook said, walking towards the man. You thought they were going to shake hands, but instead, they hugged. It was odd, seeing someone like Jungkook show affection, but it was also nice. It made you smile to see their closeness. Taehyung’s eyes roamed to the other two men.  “Yoongi, Hoseok, long time no see.” He said with a large boxy smile on his face and Hoseok smiled back, going in for a hug just like Jungkook, Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Yoongs, I know you missed me,” Taehyung said, pulling the white-haired man into an unwilling hug.  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Yoongi said and pushed the man away gently.  The man chuckled, eyes roaming the group of men before they landed on you, a glint of curiosity shining in them. “And you must be Raven.” He said. Although you knew well, that he knew that wasn’t your name. You nodded, and he took a few steps towards you. “You look tired, hungry and in a need of a warm shower, don’t you think?” He stopped in front of you, lips pursing and eyes kind as if he knew everything about what you had just been through. You couldn’t help but take his kindness in a full blow, eyes welling up and lips quivering.  “Yes...” You said in a breath. “Yes, please.” He nodded.  “Come with me.” He wrapped a hand around your shoulders and you didn’t protest.  As you all walked into a hallway, Taehyung started talking.  “So, I looked into what you asked me over the phone.”  “And?” Jungkook asked.  Taehyung stopped in front of a door but looked back at Jungkook.  “I have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, but you’re going to need help.” He said with a worried tone to his voice.  “What’s the fucking number Tae?” Jungkook asked, annoyed.  “1.5b.” He said.  “Holy shit!” Hoseok exclaimed.  “That can’t be possible.” It was Yoongi’s turn to protest.  “Are you sure?” Jungkook ignored whatever the information meant. “Yes, and I already know that many people like us are in for it.” He sighed.  Jungkook looked at you, brows furrowed.  “1.5b for one hit? Why? What the fuck could she possibly do?” Hoseok was still outraged.  “Shut up, Hobi,” Taehyung said, noticing you put two and two together.  It was a lot of money for you to be killed, you knew that. But it wasn’t about what you could do, but about what you knew.  “I think she knows why,” Jungkook said, your eyes met his dark and hard ones, and Tae was opening the door.  It was a large room with bunk beds. No windows. To the right, there was a door that led to what looked like a locker room shower. Four showers divided by white low walls and on the other side, toilets. As you made your way in with the rest of the group, Taehyung took your bag and left it on top of one bed.  “Ok, sweetheart, I’ll bring you some food and some fresh water, you’ll probably need underwear and some shampoo. There are fresh towels in the lockers.” He smiled sweetly at you and you nodded.  “Why aren’t you that good of a host with us?” Yoongi questioned, walking towards the bunk bed across from yours and dropping his bag.  “Because, one, you’re not worth 1.5 billion dollars, and two, you don’t have soft skin and look as pretty as she does.” He smiled sarcastically at the boy and Hoseok laughed. You felt your cheeks blush, looking away from the men and down to your bag, pulling out the fresh clothes.  “Hoseok, go with Taehyung, get rid of the car and we’re going to need backup if we’re going to make sure we deliver on this.” Hoseok nodded, following Taehyung out of the room. Yoongi looked at Jungkook, having a silent exchange of words with the man before he glanced at you.  “I’ll go check if Red Hawk hasn’t been compromised.” He said and left the room.  You were left there with Jungkook, in silence. Swallowing hard, you took the clothes into your hand, turning around and looking back at him. He was leaning against the doorframe, eyes trained on you.  “You were right.” He said, eyes shifting down.  You pursed your lips, deciding to sit down on the mattress.  “About what?” You questioned, voice low.  “I really don’t know shit about you.” His eyes met yours again. You were quiet, your eyes now hard. “I don’t want to know why you’re so important other than being the president’s daughter, but you should know that I signed up for something a lot bigger than I expected it to be.”  You felt your cheeks burn in shame. You were a burden. You felt like one. A chuckle left you.  “You know what Jungkook if I’m such a hassle, why not let me get killed, maybe that will help with the weight on your shoulders?” Jungkook didn’t show any sign of a reaction, eyes still burrowing into yours as if trying to read you.  “You seem to think life has no value to me.” He said.  “Mine apparently does, 1.5 billion dollars, why not just do it yourself?” You challenged.  He was quiet before uncrossing his arms and taking a few steps in your direction.  You suddenly felt scared. He and the other two men had taken out nine men in the desert with their own hands. You could only imagine how quickly he could end your life. He crouched down, your eyes following his every move as you silently shook. He extended his hand, gripping your chin and turning your head from side to side.  “Go take a fucking shower, you smell like piss and blood.” He spat at you, letting your face go harshly before standing.  Your breath was ragged, eyes raging at him as you watched him take a few steps back.  You got up, walking into the bathroom all the way to last stall. Jungkook stood at the bathroom door, back turned to you.  “You can leave.” You said, peeling your shirt off.  “No, I can’t, you don’t stay alone.” He said, his head turning but not looking at you.  You hung your shirt on the wall, opening your pants and putting them next to it. Unclasping your bra, you felt a sense of relief overtake you when your breasts were free.  Looking down, you noticed the bandaged were bloody, and you knew you were going to need help to get them off. Taking in a deep breath, you sighed, eyes closing in frustration as you groaned.  Jungkook seemed to notice.  “What?” He asked.  “I... I need help.” You said reluctantly. Jungkook turned around fully, looking at you. All he could see were your shoulders and your head, your cheeks were slightly flushed and your eyes on the floor. He walked towards you, your hands crossing over your bare chest. “The bandages.” You said as he stopped behind you.  He was quiet for a few seconds before taking out his pocket knife. The sound of the metal opening made you flinch, the memory of watching Yoongi stab a man in the head rushing back into your memory.  “Hold still.” He said before he crouched down, hand grabbing at the top edge of the bandage and cutting through. The sound brought you the image of him slicing that same knife through a man’s throat like it was nothing, you could still hear the gargling noises he made before he fell lifeless on the sand. Your body started shaking as you were suddenly taken over by fear. When Jungkook was done, you felt him gently peel the gauze off, dropping it beside him. You started sobbing, unable to move as your eyes shut tight. You had lost everyone, you were alone and scared, and your future was nothing but a big question. Everything you had seen for the past three days haunted you like a monster and now, finally, you felt as if it were too much to bear.  Jungkook stood, noticing you violently shake and cry. Gulping down his own sorrows he sighed, he might be rude, relentless and cold, but he wasn’t heartless. Taking a step forward, he took the knife and cut through the fabric of your underwear.  “Don’t worry, I won’t look.” He reassured although you were barely there.  Cutting on both sides, he peeled it off, throwing it along with the gauze. He leaned forward, beyond you and turned the faucet, a hard stream of water hitting your body and making you jump, a loud sob escaping you.  “Sh, it’s ok, it’s just water.” He spoke in a whisper and gently pushed you into the stream. You looked down, allowing the water to run through your body as the white floor stained red with your own blood and unknown blood. Maybe it was Thomas, but you knew it was everyone’s blood. Every single person who had died because of you. Your body only shook more as Jungkook turned you around, eyes trained on your face and never looking down. You met his hard eyes, but they seemed gentle for the first time. Slowly, he leaned your head back, allowing the water to soak your hair, and you closed your eyes.  Taehyung, Hoseok, and Yoongi were all standing by the door at this point, watching everything in silence, in sorrow. You didn’t notice them, and you doubted you would have.  “Focus on me,” Jungkook said, and you tried your best, but you just couldn’t hold back the sobbing and shaking of your body. “Taehyung, can you bring me the soap?” Jungkook asked, bringing the boy back from his thoughts. The boy cleared his throat, walking towards the end of the bathroom and extending his hand, head turned away.  “Thank you,” Jungkook said and finally looked at him. Taehyung had the sad eyes, the ones he knew well enough, held pain and empathy. He looked back at his unit, both men looking down in silent reassurance. They were all feeling their own pain from their own life while they watched your suffering. Jungkook looked back at you, the fragile shaking woman in front of him. Taking the soap into his hand, he gently started rubbing it on your arms.  “You can go now, Taehyung, take the boys with you, we’ll be there soon.” Jungkook’s voice was low and calm, but yet commanding. The man nodded and walked away, leaving a towel on the wall. As he walked away, Jungkook brought your head back down.  “Can you go on by yourself?” He asked, and you nodded, your shaking hand resting over his and trying to take the soap. You clearly couldn’t go on by yourself. “Tell me when to stop.” He said and continued to rub the bar of soap on your arms, then up your shoulders and neck. He watched his hand as you slowly unfolded your arms over your chest and shakingly rested them on your side. The water was warm, not too hot, and the stream was hard on your back. Jungkook gulped, eyes coming up as you slowly stopped crying, but never stopped shaking. “I’m going to have to look.” He said, and you nodded. As he looked back at his hand, he brought it to your front, above your breasts. This was a fragile moment for you and he knew that he would never take advantage of it. He took in your breasts, eyes darkening unwillingly, he went around them with the soap, never touching. Bringing the bar to your other arm, he rubbed it, bringing it back up your shoulder and neck. Every movement he made felt gentle, careful.  “Turn around.” He said in a whisper and you did so, his other hand brushing your hair off your back where he brought the soap and rubbed going down around your behind. At this point, his clothes were soaked from the splatters, but he didn’t care.  The moment you had screamed his name in that dark desert, something had shifted inside of him. It was primal, a screaming voice in his head saying. “I need to protect her.” And it was so loud he couldn’t ignore it. As he watched, you laid on his lap while you slept he saw just how fragile you were, your skin dirty, yet soft, pink cracked lips, small neck, so easy to cut through that he held his hand there, scared that something would. He shook the thought off his head as he crouched down. Rubbing the soap on the back of your thigh and down your legs, he went around and back up, making sure every spot that was acceptable to clean, he would. He shifted to the other side where your wound was, he had to clean around it, he did so, gently hearing you hiss in pain as the bloody water soon turned clear beneath you. As he got up, he brushed his fingers through your wet hair, bringing the soap to clean your locks. He watched as you let your head back into his ministration, eyes closed and body now shaking less. As he rinsed he turned you around again, letting the soap rest on the soap dish in the wall and bring his hand to brush off the dirt and blood off your face. You closed your eyes, allowing his rough thumbs to brush your skin ever so gently. When he was done he took the soap again, putting it in your slightly shaking hand.  “Now you gotta do the rest, little dove.” He said, and you nodded. Turning his back to you, you stared at the wet fabric of the brown shirt he was wearing, it was slightly soaked and you rubbed the soap on the parts he kindly left out, hand still shaking, you slowly calmed down, putting the soap on the soap dish and turning to turn the shower off.  Jungkook turned his head to the side but didn’t look at you. “I-I’m done.” You said in a weak, small voice so low that he could barely hear you. Jungkook nodded.  “Can you dry yourself?” He asked.  “Y-yes.” You answered.  “I’ll get your underwear, we’ll clean your wound and put on bandages when you’re done.” He walked away, leaving you alone for a while as you wrapped the white towel over your body, Jungkook walked back in, handing you the undergarments. He walked back out when you thanked him quietly. It took you a few minutes to realize just how intimate that had been as you slowly dried your body and put on the underwear. A white pair of cotton female underwear and a cotton top. Trying your best to dry your head given your still shaking hands you walked slowly out the bathroom, Jungkook seated on a chair, elbows resting on his thighs. He looked up at you as you limped slowly towards him. He made a motion with his fingers for you to turn around and you did, ass facing him.  “Taehyung brought some pain killers and ointments, it’ll help you heal faster.” He said, and you nodded. “This is going to hurt, so I need you not to faint, you’re standing.” His voice was now starting to sound like it did before. As Jungkook began to clean your wound, you gripped onto the table in front of you.  “Jesus fuck!” You cursed in pain, face contorting as you tried your best to endure.  “I’m almost done.” He said, but the next stab of pain was harder, making you whimper and your body falter. Yet, you held yourself up, nails digging into the wood. “Okay, spread your legs.” He said, and you did so, cheeks hot. You were in your underwear in front of him, legs spread as he slowly wrapped you up. You were naked in front of him a couple of minutes ago, and just that was enough to make your cheeks burn hotter. Even if he had been respectful, only making sure you could clean yourself without having a complete meltdown, you couldn’t help the embarrassment that flood through you. “Turn around.’ He said and on wobbly legs, you did so, his eyes trained on the task in hand. You looked down at him, his hard features were almost soft from how close you were. You shut your eyes, breathing in before you spoke.  “Thank you.” You said. He had just finished wrapping you up and he looked up at you, knowing you weren’t thanking him for just helping with your bandages.  “Even if you think I’m tempted to take on the task and get rich, your death would weigh on my shoulders a lot more than the situation at hand.” He said, eyes on your thigh as he made sure it was properly set.  “I know.” You whispered. He looked up, leaning back in the chair. Clenching his jaw and sighing.  “Do you?” He questioned. Wondering if you doubted his integrity. You said nothing as he slowly got up. “Get dressed, you have to eat before you take any medication.” He said, and you moved to the bed, putting on the fresh clothes in silence. Jungkook never left the room. When you were done you walked towards him and he walked out of the room, you followed.  As you made your way back to the warehouse, Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok were sitting on the floor, some men you didn’t know around them, as they talked a laugh erupted through them as you finally came into Taehyung’s view.  “Fresh and clean.” He said, and you smiled softly at him. Jungkook walked further, pulling a chair for you to sit down, and you thanked him before taking a seat. The air was thick. They had witnessed what had happened in the bathroom, an intimate, fragile moment that wasn’t meant for them, but yet, life as cruel as it was, allowed them to witness your pain. Trying to lighten up the mood, Hoseok cleared his throat.  “We were telling Taehyung about the Jimin thing, he and Yoongi bet against me,” Hoseok said to Jungkook. Jungkook lifted an eyebrow, eyes shifting to Taehyung, he shrugged.  “What can I say, Jimin can be quite stupid sometimes.” He said and everyone laughed, Jungkook included. You noticed how his face looked younger when he smiled, his front teeth jumping out a little and giving him a boyish look, almost as if he were a different person.  “Who’s Jimin?” You asked, looking around at the men.  “Jimin is the head of Red Hawk,” Yoongi said, passing you a hard plastic plate with bread, some chicken and what looked like mashed potatoes along with a hard plastic fork. You started eating slowly, watching as they handed the same thing to Jungkook and the rest of the men. “He’s a soft guy, but deadly, he’s one of the fastest.” Yoongi continued but was interrupted by a cough. “Oh, please, Jungkook, we all know he’s beaten you in speed at training more than a couple of times.” He indulged.  Jungkook squinted at the man, eating his food eagerly.  “Yeah, but I remember that on the field that was a completely different story.” He argued, swallowing down his food.  Scoffing Yoongi took a bite of his bread. The food wasn’t bad, quite the opposite, it was good, but your stomach wasn’t thrilled with hard solid food after so long so you tried to eat slowly.  “You all served together?” You asked, and this time Taehyung was the one to answer.  “Well, us four, Jimin and two others. Jin and Namjoon.” Taehyung said. “We were the best unit on the field, served three times as a unit before shit went crazy,” Taehyung stated. You assumed he wouldn’t add on, and you assumed correctly.  “But we are a family, brothers.” He said.  “Speak for yourself, I despise you,” Yoongi said, and everyone laughed again, even you. Conversation flowed between them as you ate in silence. Sometimes you would glance at Jungkook and he would be quiet, almost as if not taking part in the conversation. His head working a thousand miles an hour.  You had taken the pain medication and soon; it was just a small dull ache that made your head clearer than ever. You heard the men tell stories of when they served and stories about jobs they had gone on. What seemed like hours went by. Soon, the men had brought some alcohol into your circle, dinner being served not long after, and they put a fire lamp in the middle of the circle, everyone coming in and speaking a little about themselves. They all seemed to have immense respect for Jungkook, even if he was younger, it was as if he had lived more, seen more. Eventually, a man you didn’t know spoke up.  “This is fun and all, but I can’t help but think you look really familiar,” The man in black clothing and a rifle on his back said, eyes on you. Four heads turned in his direction and you didn’t need to look to know who.  You opened your mouth to answer, but Jungkook looked at you, shaking his head. The man noticed.  “You seem like you’re very important, how about you tell me your name?” He questioned, a disgusting smile on his face.  “That’s none of your business, Kyle,” Taehyung said in a low, yet threatening voice.  “Oh, it’s not, boss? Because I think you hiding a 1.5 billion dollar worth hit from us makes it my business.” He quirked an eyebrow towards Taehyung. “What were you going to do? Take her away and keep all that money to yourself?” He questioned, you slowly felt your body shake again, eyeing Jungkook and the others. They were all looking at the man named Kyle, dark and dangerous eyes staring at him.  “She’s not here for the hit, she’s here for protection.” Taehyung spat at him.  “Are you fucking kidding me? Not gonna lie, I was wondering why you’d feed her and be kind before you’d kill her, I was thinking you were some sadistic bastard, but now I just know you’re stupid.” Kyle said shifting, the sound of several guns being pulled out and unlocked ready to fire ringed through the warehouse.  “You touch one fucking hair on her head and I’ll put a bullet through your skull.” Jungkook’s voice was laced with danger, it wasn’t just a threat, it was a promise as he clutched his gun in his hand. You watched as Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok all had their guns pointed at the man. Some of Taehyung’s men also had joined in and pointed the gun at him. You were staring back at the man, his eyes now slightly bulged as his arms were lifted in the air.  The man chuckled. It made you shiver in your seat.  “You all are idiots if you think you can protect her from what’s coming.” He spoke, eyes locked on yours. “I might not be the one to do it, but someone will.” He finished.  “Raven.” Jungkook’s voice rang through the silence, his eyes still on the man. “Look away.” He said and your eyes bulged before you turned in your seat, looking the other way and the shot echoed through the warehouse. You flinched at the loud sound, a low thud being heard right after. You shook in your spot, not having the guts to look.  “If anyone else has the same ideas as Kyle, speak now,” Jungkook said, and all you were met with was silence. You heard movement and a hand resting on your shoulder, you looked up at the dark eyes. ‘Let’s go." He said and you got up, his hand rested on the small of your back as he gently guided you back to the room, footsteps followed after you both.  “A little warning would be nice next time,” Hoseok said while you walked down the hall.  “You know he doesn’t pull out his gun if he’s not going to shoot,” Yoongi said, following right behind.  As you made your way into the room Jungkook sat you down. You looked at the three men in front of you, Taehyung joining right after.  “How reliable are your men?” Jungkook quickly questioned, looking up at him.  “He was a new recruit, only a month here. The others have been here longer, they’re smarter than to pull any shit on me.” He said, but you noticed that wasn’t a good enough answer for Jungkook. He looked back at you, head going a thousand miles an hour.  “We’ll take shifts, two at a time, we leave before sunrise, Taehyung and me first.” He said, his eyes finally meeting them. They all nodded. “Get some rest.” He said, and you watched as Yoongi and Hoseok made their ways to the bunk beds. Jungkook sat down on the table and Taehyung on the chair. Both gripped their guns in their hands. You laid back, slightly shaking as you curled in on yourself. Jungkook had killed a man for just mentioning you being killed, he didn’t even think twice, and what Yoongi had said repeated in your head again and again.  He didn’t take his gun out unless he was going to shoot.

[gimmesumsuga]

Sweeter than Sweet (82)

AO3 Link

Pairings: Jimin x reader, Yoongi x reader, Jimin x Yoongi, Namjoon x reader, Taehyung x reader, Jungkook x reader, Jin x reader.

Warnings: Angst, threat, violence and mild gore 

Word count: 6.3

Previous / Next

“Sam?!”  you shriek, immediately regretting your choice in both volume and pitch when your voice echoes loudly in the wide open space in which you’re held.  It bounces back at you off of dirty white walls over and over and over, and you cringe with each and every echo.  Given the predicament in which you've found yourself the last thing you want to do right now is draw any unwanted attention.  Not until you’ve had a chance to speak to the girl sat bound to the chair beside yours, anyway.  

Sam laughs through her nose; a breathy chuckle as she tosses her head back to throw her hair off of her face.  

“Was wondering how long it was going to take you to wake up.”  She twists her neck to face you, smiling wryly despite the way you gasp at the sight of her - at the angry red mark that stretches all the way across her left cheek.  

“Jesus Christ,” you exclaim in hushed tones, “Are you ok?!”  And blase as ever, Sam just shrugs her shoulders.  

“Ah, I’m fine,” she says, completely dismissive of the finger marks that are lining her face.  “You know I'm not exactly the type to come quietly.”  

“I can imagine,” you say earnestly.  Despite the seriousness of the situation, somehow the image of Sam kicking and screaming and flailing her fists still has a smile tugging at your lips, and you’d bet good money on her having given a good slap or two prior to the one she received in kind.  You only wish you could’ve seen it, or that it’d proven enough to save her from being sat her next to you.   

You glance around your surroundings again as Sam sighs, relieved that your earlier exclamation seems to have gone unheard.  

“Who the fuck are these guys?” 

“Hell if I know.”  Sam shrugs again as she shifts on her seat, her wrists wriggling in their binds.  They must be sore by now; your arms are beginning to ache already, bent as unnaturally as they are.  “All I know is I was leaving yours and then suddenly I’m getting thrown in the back of some van, dragged in here, sat down, and told to stay put.”  She laughs humourlessly, glancing down at her lap. “As if I could really go anywhere else.”

“And they haven’t said anything?  Asked you anything?”  

“Not a thing.”  Your brows furrow in confusion, at a complete and utter loss as to why someone would go to the bother of kidnapping someone to not even make any demands.  Will it be the same for you, you wonder? Or are they just biding their time?  

“But why would they-”  As if on cue, your words are interrupted by the metallic screech of a door opening somewhere over the other side of the room, somewhere out of sight.  Heart pounding with a fresh surge of adrenaline you fall silent, and next to you, Sam does the same, quickly facing forward.  

After all the surprises that you’ve faced today, you’d think you might be immune to any more than might follow.  That’s not the case, though. Not when rounding the corner of a pallet of crates appears a face you recognise well - someone that if asked, you probably would’ve referred to as a friend.  

“You’re awake,” Alex observes, his steps a casual saunter as he makes his way across the room with two other men in tow, all three dressed in black.  “Good. I was worried that bump on the head might’ve been something more serious,” he says, though he looks anything but.  

Truthfully, you don’t even remember hitting your head at all.  You suppose it must’ve happened during your unexpected relocation; a reasonable explanation for the dull ache that’s been throbbing at the back of your skull ever since you opened your eyes.  

He squats down in front of you, his head tilting to the side as he watches you watching him, amusement twisting his mouth.  

“What’s going on?” you utter quietly, your brain struggling to come to terms with the fact your former colleague seems to have suddenly turned villain.  Or so you assume.  

“I guess this must all be pretty confusing, hm?”  

It’s strange, really, knowing this man in front of you whilst yet not really knowing him at all.  Alex’s voice is different. It’s lower. More assertive. His hair, too, has changed; the long flowing strands you’d so often seen him tucking back pulled up into a tight bun that makes the face that had once been so friendly look sharp and severe.  

Alex continues to smile in the same sinister fashion, and as he reaches out to smartly tap the curl of his bent index finger to the underside of your chin, lifting your gaze, a sensation like cold water trickling down your spine makes you shudder. 

“Poor little lamb,” he coos without a hint of the tenderness those words should carry.  “So naive. So totally unaware of the world that lies outside your twisted little love nest.”   You stare back at him blankly, gaze flicking back and forth between his crystal grey eyes in search of answers.  Vaguely, you’re aware of Sam next to you telling someone to get the fuck off and the sound of her chair creaking as she thrashes with indignance.  

“What do you want?”  You’re pleased that you manage to keep your voice from shaking despite the anxiety that has your pressed palms sweating behind your back.  Alex, however, seems disappointed by your lack of visible distress so far, sighing in what sounds like an awful lot like disappointment as he releases your chin and steps back, straightening to full height. 

“To put it plainly,” he begins as he tucks one hand into his pants pocket, “I’ve got a bone to pick with your boyfriends.”  With Jimin and Yoongi? Your family? What possible problem could he have with them? As far as you’re aware he’s never had anything more to do with them than brief small talk at the bar - and Yoongi isn’t exactly the chattiest of guys.   

“And what’s that got to do with us?” Sam asks brusquely.  You envy the way she doesn’t even flinch when Alex’s head turns sharply to fix her with a glare, clearing his throat before answering. 

“Didn’t seem smart to go starting a fight on someone else’s home turf.”  He turns his gaze back to you - nonchalant, casual - and the two men at his back exchange a look, smirking in a way that makes your gut roil with nerves.  “What better way to lure them out than with their most prized possession, right?”  

Alex smiles as realisation washes over you like an ice-cold tidal wave, dragging you under its surface and making it hard to catch your breath - to even breathe at all.  You’re nothing more than bait; a worm wriggling at the end of a hook.  That’s what’s going on here. He’s stolen you and brought you here to gain the advantage - to catch them panicked and off guard.

“But why ?  And why’d you go dragging Sam into this?” you ask, unable to withhold the questions that are whirring round and round your brain.   

“Her?” Alex scoffs with laughter as he glances at her, dismissive.  “A case of mistaken identity, I’m afraid. An unfortunate mistake.” One of his lackeys shifts uncomfortably at the dirty look that’s thrown his way, averting his gaze as Sam bristles with indignation next to you.  Anyone would think she’s taken insult at not being deemed worthy enough to steal. 

“Then can’t you just let her go?” you plead, unconcerned with however your desperate you must look as you lean forward in your chair, pain shooting down each of your arms as they’re stretched even further.  Alex is quick to rebuff you, shaking his head as he scratches at the stubble across his jaw, an expensive looking watch revealed as his sleeve pulls back.

“Don’t think so, not now.  Two birds, one stone. Extra motivation and all that.”  He shrugs his shoulders. “Plus she’s really made a nuisance of herself while she’s been here.  Thanks to her, several of my guys barely have their balls intact.”  

You hear Sam snicker and a glance to your left reveals just how pleased she looks with herself, smiling so hard she risks re-opening the split at the corner of her mouth.   

“As for why?” Alex begins, “That goes back a little ways.”

“Ugh, here comes the monologue...” Sam grumbles, her words going either unheard or ignoring as he continues to speak over the top of her.  

“See, when we were hired to take out your two pretty boys we were vastly underprepared.  And yeah, ok, we managed to get some good shots in - do our fair share of damage - but it was nothing compared to what they did to us.”  Alex fixes you in his gaze, eyes narrowing as he takes a step forward and leans in.  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to recruit people in our line of work? Guys who’ve actually got a brain cell to go along with all the muscles?”   

Unnerved by his close proximity, you lean back slightly into the wooden slats of the chair, swallowing thickly.  

“And then when that Namjoon guy left, holy fuck, it got even worse!” he exclaims, making you jump when he suddenly slaps his knees and stands up straight, throwing his hands in the air.  A quick look to your left shows Sam to be just as full of trepidation as you are, her throat bobbing as she wets her lips. “Your guys start working with the feds and now I can’t get shit done.  They're bad for business, and it's about time someone put them down."  

Movement captures your focus, and out of the corner of your eye, you note one of the men turning away from the group for a second or two as Alex continues to speak.  The slender man raises a phone to his ear, murmuring too quietly for you to have a hope of hearing what’s being said.  

"Besides, this is a public service we’re providing.”  You quickly look away as the man finishes his phone call and turns back to the group, moving in close to Alex’s side.  “I doubt the locals would be too happy if they knew their nice little town was infested with vampires ,” he spits the word like a slur, grimacing in distaste, and it’s only when his subordinate leans in to speak directly into his ear that Alex pauses his tirade, listening in intently.  

Bad guys momentarily distracted, you glance at Sam, sure that your expression must be an almost perfect reflection of hers.  Tense. Frightened. She mouths at you ‘what do we do?’ and you hate that all you can do is shrug in reply, as at a loss for what to do next as she is.  

All you can hope is that if and when you surrogate family come and rescue you, they’ll realise this for the trap that it is and be adequately prepared.  Surely you and Sam should be safe until then - if you’re the bait it makes no sense to harm you, right? At least… not in any significant way.  

“Speak of the devil.”  You jump in your seat as Alex suddenly claps his hands together, and when your head snaps back round to face him the smile you find waiting for you is one that’s entirely unsettling; wide as the jaws of a shark and with just as many teeth.  Too busy enjoying the rapid darting of your eyes and nervous wetting of your lips, he doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he orders his men to ‘bring him in’ - a sentiment relayed via another short phone call by the man who originally passed on the message.   

It takes a conscious effort to try and slow your breathing in the seconds that follow; soon light-headed from your panic-stricken panting.  You desperately try to look past your captors towards the back of the room, unsure of who it is you’re even hoping to see. Is it Jimin? Is it Yoongi?  Either way, the fact that Alex’s men seem to have already captured them can’t be a positive thing regardless of your longing to see a friendly face.  

God, please let them be ok.  Please let them be alright.  

You hear heavy doors opening and slamming shut in a great jarring clash of metal, the room falling silent save the echoing footsteps that follow thereafter.  Alongside each clean footfall, there’s an accompanying shuffle as though someone is dragging their feet - or rather, being dragged along - and the sense of unease in your stomach continues to grow with each pace that they draw nearer, ever closer to rounding the corner where you’ll finally be able to see.  

Half pushed and half pulled into your line of sight, you softly utter his name as Namjoon comes into view.  Flanked on either side, there’s a barrel of a gun pressed solidly into his ribs as he staggers forward in their grasp, growling deep when the shorter, unarmed man shoves into him from behind.  

“Namjoon!”  There’s no warmth in Alex’s greeting, no friendliness to be found in the smirk that twists his mouth as Namjoon is pushed to his knees in front of you all, thudding into the concrete.  “Nice of you to join us.” The vampire totally ignores your presence, his focus solely on Alex as he lifts his head and fixes the man towering over him in an unforgiving stare.  

“The pleasure’s all mine.”  Namjoon’s reply is delivered through tightly gritted teeth, and his jaw clenches as his captor decides to nestle his gun right at the base of his neck, directly against his spine.  “Obviously.” Alex chuckles, his head tilting to the side. 

“I’m little surprised to see you,” he admits, and honestly Alex couldn’t have hit the nail better on the head if he’d have tried.  

‘Surprise’ is a little bit of an understatement for how you’re feeling.  Of all the vampires that could’ve appeared through that door, Namjoon was the last you’d have expected, and now he’s here in front of you, you can’t quite distinguish whether or not you’re glad about it.  In the time in which you’ve known him, Namjoon’s been the root of your fears more often than the remedy. In fact, if anyone had asked you prior to him being knelt at your feet, you might’ve ventured a guess that he’d been involved in this plot too; one of Alex’s co-conspirators.   It feels a little disconcerting, then, when you realise that instead of fright, it’s a sense of relief his appearance brings. Perhaps if he knows where you are then the others might, too.  

Better the devil you know, right?  

“I thought you were smarter than this,” Alex smirks, “Showing up here on your own.  No backup, no plan.” He reaches out and takes hold of Namjoon’s sharp jawline, delight shining in his eyes as he inspects the vampire’s shabby appearance.  “Looking like shit.”  

You’re surprised Namjoon manages to restrain himself from biting Alex’s hand clean off with the way he’s glaring up at him, chest heaving with rage.  It’s not even as though he’s restrained, and though you know Alex and his men will have no doubt armed themselves with silver in preparation for this, it still strikes you just how sure of himself the young man must be to risk manhandling Namjoon the way he is.  

The vampire isn’t exactly putting up a fight, after all, so you can’t blame Alex being a tad over-confident.  From the look of his clothes and the way he tripped and stumbled in, the untrained observer could be forgiven for thinking that Namjoon looks sickly - weak - but you know him better than to be so easily fooled.  

Though his outward appearance may look worn, there’s a stark difference in Namjoon’s complexion now compared to the last time you saw him.  Some of the colour has returned to his face, no longer so sunken or sallow, and where once before his eyes were flat and lifeless now they seem to shine with a fire that has your pulse thundering with anticipation of what he might do next.  Like the master of deception he is, Namjoon is lulling them into a false sense of security. You’re sure of it.  

A low, warning growl rumbles from his chest as he yanks his chin free of Alex’s grip, visibly seething as the human laughs and shakes his head in response, completely unphased.  

“I guess even vampires aren’t immune when it comes to love’s foolishness, hm?” he goads, glancing at you with a fiendish grin, and for the first time since he entered the room, Namjoon’s gaze follows, meeting yours.  It’s only for the most fleeting of moments but even that brief eye contact has you feeling as though you need to catch your breath, so full of complicated emotion that your lungs feel as though they’re full to the brim with it.   

You can't deny the hate you feel for the awful things he's done, still frightened by his visage however grateful you might be to see it.  He must’ve continued watching you after your encounter at the bar to know that you were in trouble, a thought that certainly doesn’t sit well with you at all, but... he’s still here.  He came for you - put himself at risk - and you suppose that must count for something, regardless of whatever twisted reasoning might be behind it.  

Alex approaches you; his slow, purposeful steps providing the distraction required to recapture  Namjoon's attention and pull it away from you. Sharp, golden eyes narrow as he watches the young man close in on you, Namjoon's sharp jaw clenching.  

"To have so many of them wrapped around your little finger," Alex muses softly, reaching out to you.  Long fingers trace your cheek, your jaw, unfamiliar in their warmth, and you can hear a growl rumbling in Namjoon's chest so quiet it almost sounds like a cat's purr.  

Without warning, Alex's thumb pushes past your lips and presses down against your tongue, roughly wrenching your jaw open despite your nonsensical squawks of protest and the thrashing of your head.  

"This mouth must really be something special, huh?"  

"Don't touch her!" Sam yells from beside you, her struggles rattling her chair as a scuffle simultaneously breaks out; Namjoon quickly forced back down to his knees by the hands of four men as he'd attempted to lunge, snarling and gnashing his teeth.  

"Fuck you," Namjoon spits out as Alex laughs, amused by the display.  He doesn't let up on the pressure against your tongue, tears of panic welling in your eyes as you struggle not to drool.  "I should've killed you when I had the chance." 

"You're right," Alex agrees.  He pushes his thumb far enough back into your mouth to stimulate your gag reflex before swiftly removing it, smiling to himself as you wretch, tears spilling over and onto your cheeks.  "You should've."  

And it's then that you realise that the loathsome look on Namjoon's face is one you've seen before, back when the two of them had clashed before at the bar.  Suddenly it's like everything clicks into place; Namjoon's animosity towards your coworker right from the offset and his warning that you weren't safe. He'd known who Alex was from the start.  He'd seen this coming, weeks ago.

"You ok?" Sam whispers and you nod your bowed head, not wanting her to worry.  There's a bad taste in your mouth and an ache in your throat, cheeks wet with the moisture that still clings to your eyelashes.  

"What should we do with him?"  You raise your head sharply, all your attention focused on the man who just spoke - the man whose gun remains pressed between Namjoon's shoulder blades.  

"Put him down," Alex replies off-handedly, his back turned as though he's bored of you all.  "It's not as though anyone will give a shit," he adds, and for the first time since you found yourself in this place anger courses through you.  Like red hot fire it scorches through your veins, heart beating so hard you can feel it thudding in your temples.  

How dare he so casually throw away a life like that?  How dare he presume that there's no one left that would mourn him? 

Your mouth opens, about to protest, but before you can speak Namjoon beats you to it.  In the quiet of the room, he murmurs under his breath just loud enough to grab Alex's attention.  He turns back, head tilted.  

"Excuse me?" Alex enquires, stepping closer again.  "You have some final words, is that it?  Pearls of wisdom? Some last declaration of everlasting love?" Namjoon lifts his face from where he'd been busy glaring angrily at the floor, and as he looks up his change of expression has you frowning in confusion, bewildered by the smile that curls his lips.  

"Just one thing," he replies.  The silky softness of his voice seems loud in such a wide and empty room and in the pause that follows you unconsciously hold your breath, waiting to hear him speak again.  

"Well?" Alex prompts, impatient, and Namjoon's smile grows when faced with such frustration, a devilish glimmer in his eyes as they land on you and his lips part, commanding you.  

" Get down ."  

Namjoon's yell is the trigger that sets off the explosion of sound that follows thereafter.  Surrounded by angry shouts and ear-splitting bangs, your body seems to act purely on reflex, obeying Namjoon by ducking your head and screwing your eyes tight shut.  Sam screams in fear next to you and it takes biting down on your lip so hard it splits to keep you from doing the same, your whole body trembling from the sudden adrenaline hit.  

Metal doors slam and there's more banging, more shouting, and the chaos around you is ten times more frightening when you can't see what's going on so you open your eyes and then immediately wish you hadn't when you're greeted by the sight of one of Alex's men meeting his maker right before you; a demise made swift and brutal by the throwing knife that finds its mark in the side of his throat.  You can't help the sound that tumbles out of you when he falls to his knees at your feet, eyes rolling back - a pathetic whimper of fright that no one else will be able to hear.  

Another boom lifts your gaze from that macabre sight and now more bodies are pouring into the room, drawn by all the noise, and amongst them Jin and Jungkook and Jimin and oh god Jimin’s here and he - 

A roar of rage and a flash of motion in front of you, bodies blurring together as one and it's not until they stop rolling across the filthy ground that you realise it's Alex and Namjoon - a flash of silver and teeth bared.  

"HOSEOK!" Sam's yell turns your head just in time for you to see his boots hit the floor amongst the sound of gunfire, Yoongi landing next to him a mere second later with a grace unbefitting of the brutality surrounding them. There's a long knife clutched in each of his hands; weapons he's just about to use when Hoseok beats him to the punch and launches himself at the man who'd dared to approach them, neck broken and long dead before he's even hit the floor.  Yours and Yoongi's eyes meet for just a second, long enough for yours to begin filling with tears.  Relief and terror and love and all of it is just too much for you to even attempt to hold it back, the ache in your throat intensifying for every second longer that you look.  

Hands on your hands jerk you back to reality, jumping in your seat one minute and then struggling the next, feet kicking out wildly until you realise the fingers brushing yours are cold, not warm, and a familiar voice whispers hurriedly into your ear.

"Noona, noona, it's ok," he promises and an unattractive sob escapes you when you feel Jungkook's lips brush fleetingly against your temple as he swiftly breaks you free of your bonds, snapping the thick rope like sewing thread.  Next to you, Sam is being pulled to her feet, her newly freed hands clutching the thick harness straps running down either side of Hoseok’s chest.  

“C’mon, let’s get you-” Alarm registers on Sam’s face as she turns to look at you, and just as Jungkook is wrapping one arm around your waist to lift you to your feet the two of you are suddenly knocked off balance, another body barrelling into Jungkook’s side.  He goes sprawling backwards as you go the opposite way, your hands reaching out to brace your fall, palms grazing on the cold concrete. They take the brunt but you’re not quite able to save yourself in time to keep your head from smacking against the floor, and your vision spots and sparkles as you groan with the pain that explodes between your temples.    

The room rages around you as you blink back the haze.  You fight to remain conscious, forcing your head up only to be overcome with a wave of horrified nausea at the first thing you see; Namjoon just a few feet away, blood smeared around his mouth and dripping from his fingers.  Alex is trapped beneath him, defeated, and your stomach roils at the sight of the rivulets of crimson pulsing from his torn open throat. It pools underneath him, staining his clothes and running into eyes that are still open wide and staring - unseeing. 

Amongst the chaos Namjoon bends to drink, his eyes meeting yours as his mouth nears the source.  The look of terror on your face has him pausing - hesitating in a way he never would’ve done before - but before you either one of you can say a word another loud and unfamiliar sound makes both your heads turn.  

From across the other side of the room flames roar, the streams so vicious that you even you can feel their deadly heat from where you lay, sprawled across the floor.  Both men and vampires are forced to dodge the flamethrower’s wide range as they continue to fight, and as the flames come closer and Namjoon springs to his feet, you soon follow - though you’re not nearly so graceful in motion.  Your head swims as you stagger to your feet, head blindly turning this way and that in search of a friendly face to run towards but finding it hard to pick anyone out amongst the seemingly endless stream of Alex’s men that pour into the room.  

They’re well prepared.   Whether they carry a gun or a knife, each and every one is armed with silver and the knowledge of what it is they’re fighting - of their strengths and their weaknesses.  Useful information, but you can tell that it scares them. You can see it in their eyes. Their attacks are frantic and uncoordinated having been caught off guard and without a leader to direct them, but that doesn’t make them any less lethal.  

“Jimin!”  Yoongi’s voice cuts through the noise and you spin on the spot to find him, eyes landing on him first and then quickly following his line of sight over to Jimin where he’s trapped on the far side of the room, surrounded by three of Alex’s men.  

He’s fighting hard, his expression fierce, but it’s obvious he’s beginning to struggle as the two of them come at him with their long silver knives, blood already oozing from a defensive slash wound to his forearm.  More worrying still is the third - a man with bright blonde hair stood back from the rest with a gun held out in front of him, the barrel swinging to and fro as he tries and fails to take aim whilst Jimin is still moving so fast.  

Outnumbered, though, it won't take long until Jimin’s overwhelmed; pinned down and held in place to deliver a final, fatal blow.  It's a thought that has your stomach in knots, the same desperate look on your face as the one Yoongi's wearing as his efforts to reach Jimin are thwarted by another of Alex's men.  He's forced to stop - to fight - screaming out his frustration as his blade swings.  

Helpless, your eyes sweep the room.  None of the others seem to have noticed that Jimin’s in trouble, too preoccupied with defending themselves - or in Taehyung's case, revelling in the assault.  Seeing him now, throwing himself onto the back of the man wielding the flamethrower and ripping his throat out with nothing but his teeth, you're perfectly able to imagine the menace Taehyung had confessed he once was.  

A punch to his solar plexus catches Jimin off guard and knocks him off balance, crying out as his attacker takes advantage of his falter and slashes open his shoulder, the other aiming for his side.  Injured, Jimin isn't quick enough to recover. They grab a hold of him as he staggers backward, clutching his ribs, and your stomach drops as they force him to expose his chest to the gun trained on him, arms pinned behind his back and a knife pressed to his throat.  

As if sensing that these are his final moments, Jimin’s eyes find yours amongst the chaos.  Helplessness isn't an expression you're used to seeing on Jimin’s face but he wears it well now, eyebrows furrowed and eyes pressing closed as he cries out in pain at the blow he receives to his already injured side.  

It's not a conscious thought that has you suddenly rushing forward into the fray - no grand decision to suddenly be brave.  It's nothing but instinct and adrenaline that drives you toward danger, only vaguely aware of Jimin shouting for you to stop as your fist closes around the barrel of the gun.  You're unsuccessful at yanking it from his grasp but you're an effective distraction at the very least, yelling a war cry as you try to wrestle it out of his hands, any fear for your own safety long since gone.  

You can smell his breath as the man screams at you; stale cigarette smoke that has yellowed the teeth he bares.  His large fingers pry yours from the metal roughly, bending them till you're forced to let go, and he laughs as he lashes out and strikes you with it, the butt of the gun slamming into your jaw.  Pain ricochetes through bone and takes your breath away, barely conscious enough to register just how much of a mistake you've made until you feel cold metal wedged against your ribs and your body goes rigid, an unfamiliar hand gripping your waist tight.

"Stupid bitch," he grunts as Jimin shouts your name.  He's frantically trying to wrestle free of his captors in spite of the knife threatening to slice into his flesh.  You close your eyes, unable to stand the sight of utter panic written on his face.  You don't want your last look of him to be one so miserable as this.  

The barrel of the gun jabs sharply between your ribs and makes you whimper; makes your legs feel so weak that they'd give out if it weren't for your pride. 

If you're going to die, it sure as hell won't be on your knees. 

If you're going to die… you wish you could tell them you love them one last time.  

Bracing yourself, you clench your teeth and press your eyes shut even tighter as the gunman says something you refuse to give him the honour of hearing.  You wish he’d just get on with it. You wish he’d - 

Suddenly, you’re being grabbed - dragged - and when your eyes reflexively snap open it’s Jin’s face you see, the bridge of his nose purpled with bruises.  He barely looks at you, though, too quick to toss you to the side and then launch himself at Alex’s men to spare you anything other than the most fleeting of touches to your cheek; a tender gesture in the midst of such violence.  

It’s Yoongi’s arms that catch you - Yoongi’s arms that hold you back as you twist and turn, completely disorientated.  You don’t even realise it’s him until he forcibly takes hold of your face and insists look at him, eye to eye, and it’s only then you realise how hard you’re breathing; how sopping wet your cheeks are.  

“Jimin,” you choke out, barely able to speak for the fear that grips you, “Jimin, he-”  

“He’s ok,” he coos, his thumbs dirty as they stroke back and forth along your cheeks, smearing black across your skin.  “You’re ok. We’ve got you.” Yoongi tries to pull you into an embrace but you resist, unable to believe the words he keeps repeating without seeing it for yourself.  With a thundering heart, you turn in the circle of his arms this and that and soon see that what he’s been trying to tell you is, in fact, true - it really does seem as though the tides are turning in your favour.  

There are only small pockets of fighting left - loyal stragglers that haven’t yet fled that Namjoon and Taehyung are quickly taking care of with ruthless efficiency.  There’s blood smeared around both their mouths and looking around you see that they aren’t the only ones that have taken advantage of this opportunity for a fresh meal.  Jin’s busily draining what’s left of the man that had threatened your life and you watch with wonder as his bruises begin to fade before your eyes.  

And Jimin… 

Jimin’s safe.  Although bleeding, he’s still conscious, and the room has quietened enough now that amongst the sounds of gluttonous feeding and Taehyung’s whoops of joy you can hear him groan as Jungkook helps him to his feet.  Jimin looks to you, and though his hair’s stained with blood and his body looks near broken as he limps his way forward, you’re still able to summon a smile.  

You’ve never felt relief like this before - never experienced such a swing between high and low in such short space of time.  It has you dizzy. Euphoric.  

“He needs to feed,” you tell Yoongi, so giddy that you’re almost giggling as you say the words.  You slip out of his arms before he can protest, utterly blind to any danger that may remain as you rush forward, not noticing until too late the searching hand of one Jimin’s earlier attackers. 

Clinging to consciousness, he reaches beyond the pool of blood in which he lays.  His fingers close around his comrades gun and he lifts it, selects you as his target and takes aim.  

If someone asked, you couldn’t say where exactly the bullet hit you.  You couldn’t say you saw it coming, either, nor give an opinion on which was worse; bracing for death or having it take you by surprise.  

The pain of it takes your breath away, gasping your inhale as you stagger back from the force of it.  You can’t seem to inflate your lungs, your whole chest burning as you feel yourself falling, but even as you tip backwards Jimin’s face is the only thing that you can see.   He catches you in his arms to cushion your fall and your hands - scrambling, shaking - clutch onto his shoulders as your mouth flails uselessly, silently pleading for help in gasping, gulping breaths.    

You can’t breathe.  You can’t breathe . 

Your focus changes, wild eyes fixing on Yoongi and reaching for him - reaching but he can’t seem to see past the blood that’s dripping from his hands as he lifts them from your side, too shellshocked to speak let alone cry the way Jimin is doing.  Knelt at your side he has the side of his face pressed to your chest, his ear left above your heart as his shoulders shake and heave. As if somehow if he can just focus on your heart he can somehow keep it beating.  

Your fingers twitch with the want to run them through his hair but you can’t seem to feel them anymore.  You’re heavy and weightless all at once, your vision fuzzy and fading around the edges, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear sorrowful sobs.  Jungkook, you think. He’s calling for his noona and hearing it almost makes you smile in spite of everything - in spite of the ache inside your chest.  

Jimin looks up - his face wet with tears and eyes red-rimmed - and it strikes you then how familiar his expression is.  It’s exactly as he looked as he knelt over Yoongi before, in a situation almost identical to this, and you want more than anything to reach out to him and tell him that he’ll be ok.  To run your fingertips along the face you so adore just one last time.  

Yoongi will look after him.  Give Jimin all the love you haven’t had the time to give.

They’ll look after each other, you know that for sure.    

You feel your smile falter.  It’s harder to open your eyes, now, and you feel Jimin shake you, hear him call out your name.  His tears are dripping on your face and his mouth is on yours and you can feel them shaking but he’s slipping away.

He’s slipping further and further away from you and try as you might, you can’t summon the will to stay.  

Are you leaving, or is he?  You’re not sure any more. 

A voice calls out into the darkness as it lures you in, but it’s not your name that you hear - nor is it Jimin’s or Yoongi’s; Jungkook’s or Jin’s.  One word.  Loud and clear as it’s repeated again and again.

The knell of a bell.  

‘Hyung!  Hyung!  Hyung!’  

[tarithenurse]

If I succeed - 14

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Content: Action, angst, gore, badassery. A/N: Apparently it’s Wednesday today... Want a tag? Send an ask or reblog! I’d love comments and feedback – even if it’s corrections on language or whatever. I’m not picky as long as I know my work brings joy too.

(Not my GIF)

14 – Strong where you belong

...   Reader   ...

Subtly shaking the clammy hand on your shoulder off has not worked, and you are too afraid to do something more drastic. Not yet, at least. Jaskier and you are going to get one chance only and it has to be timed perfectly. So you sit.

Biding your time by watching Jaskier play (and sweat bullets) for the little entourage of horny vampires crowding around him; only the leader, Nordbergar, seems to be more interested in you although he remains silent, quietly stroking you with a thumb that sometimes brushes as far as the neck, sending shivers down the spine. Once or twice, your captor leans forward to inhale your scent, reminding both you and Jaskier (eyes bulging with fear as he watches) that these "civilized" people are in fact predators.

Still you sit. Watching the flames dance to an unheard melody that echoes in your bones, the warm hues reflecting in the glasses of wine, echoing as a shimmer in the silks and fancy jewellery.

Long ago, the fire had danced just as prettily before the eyes of a baby girl, making her giggle and fuelling the rhythm until sparks jumped towards the heaven far above the chimney – not that the child knew that part, she just knew the fire was her friend. And so she grew up, finding comfort and entertainment in an element barely controllable.

Now, just like then, you find peace of mind as the heat saturates your skin, almost drifting away with the floating embers until you feel the hand on your shoulder still, nails sharp as talons digging into the joint. Here we go. Every vampires' head whips towards the cave mouth, Jaskier's too and the smile that erupts on his face is one of relief and pure joy.

"Witcher," Leif Nordbergar grates, "we've been expecting you."

"Hm."

It's his answer to everything. This time, it barely sounds human and it makes you look over to see Geralt's eyes black like ink, the thin skin around them similarly darkened while the rest looks ashen. Dead. Regardless of the fearsome appearance, the man standing with the night sky behind him is not one of the monsters he is famed for killing, this is the man you have been waiting for.

Trying not to smirk, you get his attention easily. "What took you so long? You kept us waiting."

Geralt grins in much the same way as a predator stalking its cornered prey would. But you're here now.

...   Jaskier   ...

The bard realizes that his skill as a wordsmith will be put to the test (presuming they survive) when a great river of fire reaches out and flushes the vampires around him aside with the power and their instinctive reactions combined while he himself sits unscathed, although cowering behind the lute with what remains of his wine. Too afraid to move, Jaskier watches as the vampire in charge changes his grasp on [Y/N], nails turning into claws that seem made for ripping through flesh.

“Fools!” he snarls through needle-like fangs.

The bard silently agrees. How can this end happily for all three of them? The panic beats like a storm in his chest and ears, it transforms his limbs to stone making him unable to move at all even as the singed vampires begin to find their footing and circle towards the new threat.

And Geralt? He stands motionless, watching with blackened eyes as he is surrounded. His voice calls out from far away to Nordbergar. “You can leave. Go back north.” An offer refused with a mocking laugh. “Hm. Your funeral.”

Silver gleams as it arches through the air and into [Y/N]’s hand. Metal blades reflect the rush of fire leaping from the pit to distort the Witcher’s shape with shadows as he twists and turns in a violent dance with his sword as a partner, driving the foe aside with the aid of flames. One falls, head rolling towards the cave entrance. Another vampire is pierced through the heart seconds before the figure becomes obscured by a local inferno.

“NOO-” Nordbergar’s objection morphs into a scream of frustration and agony as a smaller silvered weapon impales his wrist, twisting in the dry wound to force the hand away from [Y/N]’s throat.

The scream fades as another blade comes to rest at his neck. No one moves (with the exception of a vampire reaching for her arm which lies a few feet away). All eyes are on the two males facing each other in a tense seize-fire.

“Hmm.”

“Without a leader, the lesser will slaughter unchecked.”

The Witcher does not flinch at the warning. “So you wanna be spared now.”

“Spare my children if you can’t let me live.”

The children in question glance at each other (even the one who now has reached her arm) but say nothing. Jaskier cannot see any fear or remorse in their eyes, only calculative coldness as if they are assessing who is worth surviving. Would the offer each other up?

“S’pose you’ve been giving the orders so far...” Geralt sighs, “which means I’ve no guarantee the rest will listen to your offspring.” Pulling the sword slightly away, the dark grin tugs his lips until his own teeth are revealed. “No. This is what you’ll do.”

[awkward-tension-art]

Gone

Hawks x reader angst, it ends in fluff I promise.

Warnings: gore, death, Hawks has a panic attack, happy ending I swear

Hawks preferred to let CSI agents and detectives handle crime scenes. To many things could go wrong. He’d step in the wrong place and erase a critical footprint or he’d brush his hand over fingerprints on accident. Sometimes heroes handle the investigations of crimes, but they have training and certifications.

Not hawks. He wasn’t made for that type of thing. He’d prefer to take down the hero rather than put the fragile pieces to the puzzle together.

So his surprise was genuine when he got a call from a very grim sounding endeavor telling him to come to a specific location. His surprise had become one of concern when he had flown there, only to find it marked with yellow tape and police officers.

The hellfire hero was waiting outside when hawks had swooped down. Paparazzi flashed their cameras but hawks did his best to ignore them.

“Endeavor? You normally don’t call me to parties like this.” He flashed a smile but the number one hero wasn’t amused.

“Hawks, you need to see something.” He was grim, almost....anxious? The taller man turned and began to walk deeper into the alleyway.

The winged hero followed quickly, anticipation clawing at him, “so....what’s going on?” He tried to fill the suffocating silence.

“It’s (Y/N).”

Hawks stumbled, his heart had stopped dead in his chest, “W-what are you talking about.” Panic and terror seized his entire form, “Endeavor what the fuck is going on?”

He led the blonde man to the back of the alleyway, and the sight was gruesome. Blood painted the walls and ground, the air was thick with the smell of iron. At the center of it was a mangled body, ripped to shreds.

What truly terrified Hawks was that above the body was the words NEXT written in the same crimson as the ground and walls. A picture of you, taken from social media, was attached to the face of the body.

Hawks threw up, leaning on the wall as he emptied his stomach.

He was fucking terrified.

In his horrified state, he pulled out his phone and called you, fidgeting with the gold ring on his finger. Endeavor was speaking to the officers, something about finding who did this. Hawks couldn’t focus on anything other than the dial tone in his ear.

Voicemail.

Without thinking, the number two hero turned and sprinted from the alleyway, Endeavor called out to him, but his words were unheard. he had to get away from the scene. His blood was cold in his veins.

When he broke from the walls around him, the cameras flashed too brightly, the sun was too hot, everything was too....fucking everything.

His body was working on automatic, wings spread and taken to the sky. He had to get home.

You’d be there, you’d be there waiting for him.

Tears pricked his eyes and he wasn’t sure if it was the wind whipping his face or the terror inside his core.

This was his fault. He should have been more careful. He should have kept you out of the media’s eyes.

It’s his fault, it’s all his fault.

Hawks nearly crashed into the building in front of him. Just barely his missed, nearly clipping the corner of the window.

God damnit why couldn’t he fly faster?!

You were ok. You had to be. Just this morning he woke up to you kissing his face. Just this morning you and him had made pancakes, getting pancake mix everywhere in the kitchen. Just this morning he kissed you goodbye and left to work.

When his apartment came into view Hawks spurred his body onward. Desperation was running through his blood as well as the adrenaline.

He landed on the balcony, tripping slightly in his haste to get inside.

The winged hero burst through the door and cried out your name in terror.

“(Y/N)!” He was crying, fear was clawing at his skin, ripping him apart at his muscles, all the way down to his bones. He howled, the panic attack his tried to fight against hit him like a tsunami.

Hawks didn’t know when he sank to the ground sobbing. He muttered your name over and over again, closing in on himself.

He convinced himself that your voice calling his name was a cruel trick from his mind. Even your hands at his shoulders were fake.

You were gone. You were gone. You were gone. It was his fault. You were-

“Keigo!”

He snapped his head up, ears finally registering reality. You were there, kneeling over him, concern written on your features. Your fingers carded through his hair, cementing his nerves.

“Keigo, I need you to listen to him ok?” Your voice, soft and gentle, was an anchor he clung to, “can I hold your hand Kei?”

He wasn’t sure how but hawks managed to tell his trembling body to nod. Your fingers interlocked with his, securing himself to you.

“Can you feel the ground?”

He could. Cold, hard, solid and real.

He nodded again, easier this time.

“Kei, can you breathe with me?” His gold eyes swept over your body before locking on your own concerned gaze.

He did his best to match your breathing. It took a couple of tries, but he managed to find a rhythm and get oxygen flowing through his lungs.

“Can you stand?”

Hawks was numb, his body was unfeeling and cold.

He shook his head.

“Ok. Can I hug you?”

He nodded, and without warning, fell into your embrace. His body locked with yours as he trembled. You combed your fingers through his windswept hair.

“Talk to me. Please,” he mumbled into your shirt.

So you did. You told him about your day, how you met with a couple of friends for lunch and later when shopping for some clothes. You told him how you found a jacket he might like, he’d just have to try it on later. You told him to loved him.

Hawks sobbed.

He thought you were dead, killed because of your ties to him.

You held him as his wept. You didn’t ask, nor did you judge. You simply held him.

It was a good while before hawks was well enough to properly speak. He told you of the crime scene, of your picture, and how he immediately left to fly to you.

“I thought you-,” he choked, unable to verbalize his worst nightmare. His hug tightened.

You thought for a minute, trying to formulate the right words to say to him. Of course you were scared, but you were downright horrified to find your feathered husband having an intense panic attack on the floor of your home.

“I know you’ll protect me. If it makes you feel better, why don’t I go to your agency with you. I can find a way to be useful.” You smiled at him, “you know I’ll do whatever it takes to help you, right?”

Hawks stayed quiet. You at his agency? Were you willing to give up a few days of your own time just so he could ease up? His heart swelled with love and admiration.

“How about I stay here.” The winged hero spoke, finally calmed down enough to think straight, “yea actually that’s a good idea! We haven’t had a lot of time together and I miss my chickadee.”

You giggled at your pet name. There was your hawks, back to himself.

“I’d love that.” You said, pecking his forehead.

Hawks straightened to properly give you a kiss.

One he broke away, he breathed, “I love you. I love you so much.” His grip on you had tightened, and his wings surround you both like a shield.

“I love you too, my hawk.”

[starjeno]

bloom | n.jm | 1

genre: angst, fluff? | hanahaki!au pairing: student!jaemin x female!reader warnings: vomiting/choking, blood, lots of flashbacks summary: jaemin suffers from a special kind of unrequited love — one that makes him choke out flowers. a/n: my first fic! and it’s sad! i have never read the manga where hanahaki originated from, all the information i got was from google. all the flashbacks are in italics :o enjoy!

for the last five years, jaemin’s gone through hell.

it’s not hell in the typical sense — there are no demons that follow him and he isn’t caught up in some horrifying gore-filled scenario. nothing like that. jaemin considers his condition infinitely worse.

as children, he never batted an eye at you. though your families were close, you two never really clicked as your parents thought you would. trips together were dull and classes were even duller. to jaemin, you were just another blade of grass in a field. you didn’t really mind.

“jaem!” you call out, and he whips his head over to meet your eyes. he’s been waiting at this park bench for what seemed to be ages. your lips curve upward at his blank expression, “sorry! did you wait long?”

35 minutes.

“i just got here, no worries,” he smiles. he pauses suddenly as he feels his chest swell with a sharp pain, right above his heart, “i need to use the restroom. one moment.”

jaemin rushes off towards the nearest building, gripping his torso firmly. he feels an upward flow and makes it to an empty stall just in time to heave. light pink apple blossoms trickle out of his system. they bob on top of the water gently, and jaemin notes the darker tinge at the base of the petals.

“shit.” it’s the only thing he can say right now. his hands run messily through his bangs while he thinks about his second year of high school, the athletic festival, right before the 100 meter sprint. jaemin thinks of it as the first time he threw up petals.

“i’m going to win that race.”

jaemin freezes. he happened to walk past the water fountains when your harsh whispers filled the quiet air. he hears another giggle from one of your friends.

“what if he was lying?”

“lying?!” you exclaim, and jaemin has to stifle a laugh at your incredulous tone while you continued, “he declared in class that he would go on a date with whichever girl won the 100 meters.”

“it was just to get his fan club’s hopes up.” jaemin nods at your friend’s sentiments, but you aren’t deterred.

“well, as part of his fan club, my hopes are up!”

jaemin continues walking after that. he doesn’t really care.

jaemin smiles a bit at the memory, but then remembers you’re still waiting for him. he flushes the petals down and laughs bitterly as he washes his face. for the rest of the world, apple blossoms represent good health and eternal love. for jaemin, they’re the opposite.

he’s happy for now, though. watching you run up to him and ask if he’s okay makes his heart swell with love. you grab jaemin’s hand and lead the way down various streets. a smile spreads on his face without him realizing when he recognizes the route to the animal shelter — you had remembered when he talked about wanting a dog since forever. when you arrive in front of the building, you turn and smile, “surprise! i know you want a dog really badly so maybe you can spread that love to some of the pups in here!”

jaemin wraps you in a warm hug, feeling his chest heat up. he bit his lip, not knowing whether it’s because you care about him so much or the petals beginning to form in his throat again.

jaemin trudges over to the track, where you stood stretching. a hand strikes him on his shoulder, and he twists his head to see jeno grinning happily. jaemin’s best friend for the last six years had dragged him here to watch the girls in their grade “for educational purposes”. jaemin agreed.

“isn’t that ____? she’s cute,” jeno remarks, nudging jaemin. he was already watching you bend side to side, loosening your arms. jaemin nods absentmindedly, thinking back to your resolution to win.

“you know, mark said that he would date whoever won this race?” jaemin motions to the track below and jeno snorts, “he’s such a dick! he thrives off these girls flailing over him.”

jaemin hums in agreement. by now, everyone had lined up at the starting line. he watches you now, eyes curious with how fast you’ll run. at the pop of the toy gun, cheering ensues from the bleachers. jeno laughs with glee, but jaemin stays silent. the amount of effort you sprinted with made his cheeks flush with anticipation. he doesn’t understand why you would put so much effort in for someone you had a silly crush on.

would you ever do this for him?

jaemin’s face turned a dark shade of red as you zoomed past the finish line, collapsing onto your knees. jeno shrieks with joy at your victory before glancing over at jaemin, who’s heaving and furrowing his eyebrows.

“jaemin?” he asks cautiously, and jaemin turns to jeno with fear creeping up the protruding veins of his neck. he opens his mouth to respond, but instead of words, a petal falls out. jeno’s mouth drops open, “you ate a fucking flower? when?”

jaemin wipes his lips with wide eyes and looks at the moist baby pink crescent in his lap. an apple blossom, like the trees that grew around his home.

jaemin rubs the puppy’s ears fondly, watching its fur fall back into place. the room is filled with barks and laughter and jaemin believes he could not feel any more bliss than this. his smile slowly fades when he knows you and him could not be like this forever.

“jaemin!” you laugh, holding up the paw of a small bichon frise, “we should totally get a puppy! we could take turns caring for it or — oh! maybe we can even move in together!”

jaemin’s face whips up in shock, his bangs landing messily, “what?”

“oh! it was just a thought, you know?” you bite your lip, realizing how crazy that must’ve sounded, “since we study at neighboring colleges and you have a part-time job …”

jaemin looks away, blushing and smiling. he loves you, especially when you plan out a future with him in it. his chest pierces with a flash of pain and he groans, eyebrows curling in alarm.

you glance over, freezing up when he clutches the curve of his neck, “jaem? what’s wrong?”

he gives a weak smile, “i think i ate something bad.”

before you could reach out to him, jaemin flees and runs over to the bathroom. he curls over a toilet again, hurling petal after petal. the water was covered by a pink layer now, and jaemin’s alarmed. it’s more than last time and though he was told the quantity would increase, he never knew the color would deepen and the taste would be more metallic. it was almost like —

“ — blood?”

“hanahaki disease.”

“what?” jaemin says in confusion. jeno repeats again, this time with emphasis, “ha-na-ha-ki. i did some research.”

“research?” jeno nods, “you’ve been spitting petals out all week! it’s like every time we eat lunch, you spit out a flower!”

jaemin grumbles, “it’s only 1 or 2 petals.”

“it’s only not normal,” jeno retorts. he turns over his laptop and opens a basic google search, “it’s a disease that’s really rare. almost unheard of. you cough up flower petals when you have unrequited love.”

jaemin chokes at the last word, “love? that’s a strong word.” there was no way he was in love with you yet, there hadn’t even been a proper conversation between you two.

“yeah, who in the world do you love so much that it makes you grow a whole garden in your lung?” jeno asks sarcastically.

jaemin stays silent.

“but, this doesn’t look too good jaem. you’ll die if they can’t reciprocate your feelings. you’ll keep throwing up more and more flowers until it suffocates you,” jeno says in concern. he looks up at jaemin, fearful, “do your parents know? how long has this been happening?”

“they don’t, only you. you saw the first one.”

“good god, jaemin. y-you need to see a doctor! tell your parents! something!” jeno runs his hand through his hair, standing up. his eyes are pinker than usual and jaemin exhales shakily. he didn’t want to die.

jaemin had sighed a thousand times today. his head hurt, and while puppies could seemingly cure everything, they couldn’t ease his pain. you gaze at jaemin when he walks back into the room, “are you sure you’re okay?”

he doesn’t want to end this time with you early, but he felt like jeno needed an update, especially since neither of you knew that actual blood would be involved, “i don’t feel that great, sorry.”

“don’t be sorry! let me walk you to your car,” you hurridly plead, to which jaemin nods gratefully. the walk is silent with the exception of pointing out a cloud that looked funny or some strange person on the sidewalk. when he slides into his car seat, you press your lips to his cheek through the window, whispering a small goodbye and jogging off.

jaemin rests his head on the wheel once you disappear, and he feels something hot and wet on his cheek.

he knows his version of hell is the worst.

next | masterlist

[fanfic-scribbles]

27. Silence

A/N: This is my first time scheduling a post when I won’t be around to check it. Hopefully you guys see this on Friday night! ( /crosses fingers ) In other news, I managed to shove some fluffy stuff in with the angst. You have no idea how proud I am of myself for that.

Words: 836

Warnings: Castiel angsting

The silence is worse than the screaming. Your voice has been absent from Castiel’s mind and, though he knows it is currently futile and will go unheard for some time, he hopes you are praying to Gabriel. That would at least mark you as conscious and hopeful. It doesn’t help Castiel’s state of mind though. He can hear his feet moving across the ground, and his physical body’s ragged breaths. But he can’t hear anything else, not around him, not in his mind, and he starts to think that you might already be in heaven though he hopes not. Heaven is not where you belong; you belong on earth, watching over the Winchester’s when he cannot, saving people, living your life, teaching him the little bits about humanity that bring him closer to you. To all of you.

He shuts his eyes for a moment to re-center. Then he follows a small, barely beaten path. Heaven is not a place he can remain for long stretches at a time without express purpose. He follows Gabriel’s lead, but even in those places where he is accepted he still feels so much shame. Though, he does not feel much better about his place on earth right now. Even here he cannot fulfill his duties, he thinks. He should have been here, to protect you.

He shakes away those dark thoughts. Hunting near a graveyard at night– you probably have too many of those stories to count, but the scenery and time make him think of one night in particular, when he acted as your ‘shadow’ once. That is, he had stayed close to you, much like a dark image cast upon an object by another object’s interference of a light source. You had smiled approvingly as he worked through the metaphor, and patted his shoulder. “Yeah. Exactly like that, Cas,” you had said with a hint of a laugh in your voice, but your eyes showed approval, and he had nearly basked in it.

As he walks he splits his attention between looking for you and keeping calm with memories of quiet times not as dire as this. Dean’s precious ‘Baby’ makes too much noise to be considered silent, but one time he flew right into the car to find that it was almost eerily quiet. There was no music playing and no talking. He had worried at first but Dean had seemed content, and Sam and you were both fast asleep. Castiel had watched you for a little while, observed how peaceful you looked despite the blood and splatters of gore upon your clothing. He had smiled, but a slight twist of the car had knocked you off balance into leaning on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel had frozen and glanced up out of panic, only to see Dean smirking at him in the rearview mirror. The man had winked and, flustered for reasons he couldn’t explain, Castiel had quickly looked out the window. But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave.

He stops and looks around. He’s near the tree line but it’s all very dark further in. He squints. He feels…unnerved. Like he shouldn’t go any farther. This sets off a figurative alarm in his head and he looks around the immediate area. There’s a broken branch, and signs of something in a patch of mud. It could be that some animals had scampered through this area and slid, or fallen prey to something, however…

Castiel leans down and inspects a large root that curves up out of the ground. He sees something in the cracks of the ragged wood and pinches out a small clump of hair. Even after the rain, there’s a very, very faint smell of blood.

After a quick phone call, Castiel disappears and reappears with Dean, who promptly stumbles into a tree. “What the fuck, Cas?!” Dean immediately stands and scans the area. “A little warning next time!”

“They were here,” Castiel says, pointing at the ground. “And there’s a strong sense of…aversion. There is a direction I do not want to go.”

“You think it’s some of those wards the party boy set up?” Dean asks, kneeling to inspect the site.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Dean stands and holds up his gun. “Which way do you, uh…not wanna go?”

“There,” Castiel says and points.

“Great. You go get Sam, I’ll follow the lead.” Dean aims his flashlight and starts to go but Castiel grabs at his shirt.

“I am going with you,” Castiel says.

“Oh.” Dean looks between Castiel and the dark path and bows. “After you then.”

Castiel scowls at him and Dean shrugs. “Go find Sam. I’ll take care of whatever wards he’s got up so you can get a few hits in, and we’ll get our little killer home in time for breakfast” Dean says and slips away before Castiel can grab him again. Castiel grits his teeth together but there are few he’d trust with your life. Right now, he needs to go find the other one.

[enforcer-of-the-dead]

Graveyard Rules

What’s an rp page without rules? Everyone has them, I guess it’s time I make mine 100% official.

To begin, I moved from Cold-Blooded-Corruption. That Blog will be kept up to show the previous story

+ In Regards to Following

~ I do not always do greeters. If someone gets one and you don’t that’s just how it is. ~ I usually will not follow personal blogs even if there is some sort of RP aspect to them.

~I will refrain from making OOC posts. So if you are wanting to speak to me, contact me through the fanmail system or get a hold of my skype

~ Anon Hate is never tolerated, is always deleted, and is never mentioned. If you want to talk to me about something you don’t like, have the testicular fortitude to say it to my face.

~ I am not shy. If I take interest in you, your muse, or I want to rp with you one day, I have no problems sending memes, random starter asks, or just general hellos to the mun. If I ever start to bother you, you have to tell me. I’m not dense, I just don’t like being unheard.

~ Do not ever stop communicating. I like to check up on mun’s with threads if they go without response for more than a day and you are still active. I understand, people are busy, but all I need is a ‘Yes, I see your thread, I will get to it’  or a ‘No, I don’t really want to rp with you stop bothering me.’

+For Roleplaying

~ Mun and Muse are 21+ ~ This Blog is now Mutuals only! Story wise, Barricade is limited to who has contact with him via the courts. Consider me the ‘courts’.  ~ While Blood, Gore, Violence, and other somewhat trigger like things are rarely RP’d, there is no shame to it. The most common triggerish themes will be Angst and sexy times. ~ This blog is Original Character and Cannon friendly. ~ Never hesitate to send me memes, asks, random starters. I’m almost always open for RP ~ I am not picky on formatting, length, style of rp, or anything. I am also fine with doing RPs on asks, but if you aren’t all you need do is say so. ~ Open starters are meant for anyone. I don’t care if I’ve never interacted with you, feel free to jump in on them. ~ I am VERY active. I don’t like being not active. If I did not get to your reply however, it is likely stated in an OFFLINE post or OOC post. ~ I am artistically talented…I think. Anyway, I post a lot of Art for my muse and often ask for suggestions or asks to make reactions to. Never feel excluded from liking, reblogging, or participating in anything I have artwork related. Just don’t take credit

Ask Memes

~ I reblog a ton of memes daily. It’s the method I use to get the ice breaker out of the way for people who need a reason to interact with my muse, but don’t know how. 9/10 if I reblog a meme from someone other than an ask blog, an ask will come that person’s way regardless if it’s something that can be considered crack or legitimate. I might also respond to your ask which signifies I wish to RP with you

~ I believe in reblog karma. I.E if you reblog a meme from me, I expect an ask to be sent my why in regards to that meme. I will do it for you, why should I not expect the same in return. I have been known to unfollow people who reblog things from me, but never send anything my way.

+Shipping

~ This blog is now Single Verse. However that doesn’t mean Single ship. Barricade (while not likely) might cheat on partners. It depends on who is to be his partner.

~ I ship Chemistry. Friendships, then romance, then otherwise. ~ Blackout/Barricade is OTP ~ I prefer Fluff over Smut. I will still rp Smut, but it doesn’t suit my muse as much as fluff does.