#Blood Pressure control machine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lvandrskies · 6 months

Text

— from eden

synopsis: eve found a snake in her garden, and then fell in love with the fruit it offered.

tags: god au, past lives, soul bonds, angst, smut

warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, oral (fem. receiving), corruption kink if u squint, character death

word count: 18.3k

m.list

a/n: if you've read this before, it's because i deleted my old account and then decided to come back. as a disclaimer, religion is pretty broad in this fic. "god" in this fic is not god from the christian/catholic religion. also !! thank u @yeonjunszn for betaing this last year, love u pookie!! <33 [photo creds]. MINORS DNI

❝all the fear and the fire of the end of the world, happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl.❞

When God created the universe, he first created light. He separated the light from darkness and called them “Day” and “Night”. Then He made the sky, separating the water with a dome to keep it in two separate places. Then he made the sun and the stars, weaving his essence to light up his beautiful creation to help guide those who will soon live on it. Then He created animals, for both the sky and the water. He blessed them and told them to live in the sea and the sky, to fill the ocean and the earth with bustling cycles of life.

On the last day, he created humans. He created man and woman, and told them to have children so they may produce their own descendants to walk over earth and bring everything into their control. The first two humans he created were Adam and Eve.

He provided them with an abundance of fruits and grains for them to eat in a beautiful garden he called Eden.

In the garden of Eden, they were to fall in love and create many children. Adam was the first one to fall in love with Eve, and she pliantly went along with it.

But, something in Eve felt… empty. Like Adam was not the one she was to be with. Adam was not the one she was to share this beautiful, vast, garden with. But, she wasn’t sure who she was to share this with. Eve knew she couldn’t delve much more into the unsettling pit in her stomach at the thought of her fate already sealed by Adam’s side, as it was not smart to defy God.

“God knows best,” she would tell herself as she lay with Adam in the garden of Eden.

________________

I’m dying.

If the blood flowing around him wasn’t enough of a tell, or the way his sight blurs in and out. The heavy rain pelting against his dying body is a desperate, yet pathetic, attempt of the universe trying to save him and wash the red sticky liquid away. His breathing is shallow, hitched. He feels the urge to cry, to mourn the life he’s no longer going to be able to have. He was so close to reaching his goals too, and now they’re all washed up and ruined, like trash washing back up on the shores of beaches he visits. Or, in just a short while it’ll be visited.

“I’m sorry, m—” Chan chokes. “Mom. I did everything I could.”

Just as he is about to slip into eternal sleep, a bright light opens up in the sky. It’s blinding, and warm?

Why is it so warm? Is this heaven?

Suddenly an otherworldly amount of pressure is pressing on his body, like the weight of the skies is laying flat along where he lays in the road. The air slowly leaves his lungs, deflating like a balloon that wasn’t tied. His entire body relaxes, and he feels himself being pushed further into his body, into his own mind.

Is this really what dying feels like?

—

Chan wakes up in a hospital room.

His body is aching, and his head is filled with an uncomfortable pressure. Breathing hurts, and he’s sure his ribs are broken. The machine that’s keeping track of his vitals beeps rhythmically, and he lets out a, albeit pained, sigh of relief at it.

He looks up at the ceiling, like he was looking up towards the heavens and thanking whatever God was gracious enough to let him keep living.

“Ah! You’re awake!” A voice says, cheerily. A woman in her late thirties is standing in the doorway. Her slick black hair is pulled into a low ponytail, a few strands falling into her face from being up for what Chan presumes to be hours. “I’m your nurse, Eunkyung. I’ll go grab the doctor.” Chan barely has the chance to respond before the nurse leaves, the sound of her shoes squeaking steadily quieting as she hurries down the hallway.

The doctor follows her into the room a few minutes later, inspecting his eyes and the nasty bruising around his ribcage. “Do you remember your name?”

“Bang Chan,” he answers. “Do you know how I got here?”

“You walked yourself here, do you not remember?” The doctor asks, bewilderment encasing his wrinkled face. “You were a sight to see. I don’t know what kind of God has your back but, you should have died last night. It’s quite literally a miracle.”

Chan’s head pounds at the doctor’s words, and he flinches. He pinches the bridge of his nose as an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

“We’ll keep you here for another day or two to see how you’re feeling. Do you have any family we can call?”

“Oh, uh,” Chan looks down at his scraped hands, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “No, I don’t. My emergency contact should be Seo Changbin, though.”

Changbin does make it up to the hospital that same night, with Han Jisung bounding in right behind him. Changbin and Jisung aren’t one to shy away from theatrics, so when they finally enter the room, the younger of the two is loudly shouting in distress as he practically launches himself onto the bed to lay with Chan.

“Oh, my precious hyung! I can’t believe you almost died!” He wails out, wrapping his arms around Chan’s shoulders and obnoxiously crying out, the sound of his faux wails echoing into the room and piercing Chan’s eardrums and racking his brain even more.

“Ah, Sung. I love you, but please don’t yell. My head feels like it’s splitting.” He whines out, pinching the bridge of his nose once again.

“Yeah, the doctor said you have a pretty nasty concussion,” Changbin says. Chan nods, trying his best to move his shoulders to shake the younger boy off, but to no avail. Han Jisung is glued to his side, no matter how much pain it’s bringing to his ribs, but he eventually decides to give up and relaxes in the younger’s hold. Before he can fully relax, though, boney knuckles are making contact with his bicep, which then makes him groan and lurch up, shooting more pain into his torso. He opens his eyes to see that the worry is wiped clean off Changbin’s features, and instead replaced with a feign look of anger. “You idiot! How could you get yourself hit by a car!” Chan flinches at the rising level in the man’s voice.

“Did we forget that I said my head hurts?” Chan whines. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was crossing the street and then the next thing I know I’m laying in the middle of the road.”

“The doctor said you walked here,” Jisung says. “How did you even manage to do that, hyung?”

“Funny thing is, I don’t even remember doing it.”

—

Chan’s discharged after three days, and given a stern order from Ms. Eunkyung to “take it easy” until his head fully clears. He chuckles to himself, because he knows he’s not exactly going to follow that order.

Not if he wants food on the table.

Speaking of food; his fridge is empty. Save for a stick of butter, a gallon of milk Chan is more than a hundred percent sure is expired, and a singular tomato staring at him pitifully. Even the tomato looks like it’s on its last leg, too. He cringes.

Suddenly, his head starts pounding again. He groans, shutting the fridge door and stumbling to his couch where he throws himself down on it. He lets out a pained whine as the pressure in his head builds, and he’s almost convinced his head is going to explode.

“Am I dying for real this time?” Chan whispers to himself. The pressure feels almost familiar, like how it did when he was dying because soon it’s encasing his entire body again and his eyes slip closed.

—

When Chan awakes again, he feels so far away, like he’s not fully in his body.

He must have taken a harder hit to the head than he thought. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, let alone when he moved to his bed. He thinks maybe he should call Minho over to watch him in case he passes out like that again. Maybe he really is dying this time.

Fuck. This isn’t entirely how he wants to go out. Alone, in his shitty apartment with no one around, barely any food in the fridge and nothing to his name that can be tied to any sort of legacy.

Though, he isn’t surprised he’s dying this way. It’s just his luck.

“Can you stop thinking so loud?”

What the fuck.

That was his voice. But he’s sure he wasn’t talking.

“Oh you mortals and your need to constantly think, think, think!” He feels his palm hit against his temple.

What..

“You’re not dead, kid. Well, not until I leave this vessel,” He says… to himself. He sighs. “I’m a god. Gotta say, you decided to go and get yourself killed at just the perfect time too. I didn’t even have to find you.”

What?!

“Don’t yell! You echo in my head and it’s giving me a headache!” The god scoffs, rubbing at his temples. “I’ll explain it to you in a second I just…” just then, Chan’s stomach growls and the god groans. “I’m fucking starving. When’s the last time you ate? You mortals love treating your bodies like shit.”

I ate… Wait, what time is it?

“It’s the next morning,” the god responds.

The next morning?!

“Yes! Gods, stop yelling!” Cato shrieks, gently knocking his fists on the top of his head in an attempt to quiet the human in their shared consciousness. “You were out for quite a while. I was convinced I completely shoved you out of your body. Just my luck I got someone who holds on, though. Tsk.” Chan watches as the god moves his body to sit up in his bed, swinging his legs over to firmly plant them on the ground. He groans, his body is sore and his joints are aching. Chan groans too, still able to feel everything. Just a little more dulled, but he still feels that incessant knot in his neck he’s never been able to get rid of. “You really let this thing get this rickety? How old are you?”

Twenty five.

“So young,” the god says, an almost mournful tone in his voice as he stretches his (their?) arms above his head. He walks out of the tiny bedroom and into the main apartment. “Cute place,” he chuckles. Chan doesn’t respond, as he watches the god look around the small apartment and take in everything. The god’s curious gaze lands on his stack of records, old vinyls he’s collected since he was about fourteen. “Nice collection.”

Thanks. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?

“After I feed myself,” the god quips. “So impatient.” He rolls his eyes as he makes his way into the kitchen. Chan doesn’t miss the grimace that paints across his face as the god stares at the stack of dirty dishes in the sink.

Don’t roll my eyes at me.

“I’m piloting this plane right now, so they’re my eyes.” The god snaps.

Can you at least tell me your name?

“Cato,” the god responds as he opens the fridge. Cato lets out an indignant sound at the sight. The same stick of butter, expired milk, and pathetic tomato are glaring back at them once again. “You have no food, you useless man! How are we supposed to eat!”

I haven’t had the time to go grocery shopping.

“How have you not died earlier?” Cato asks, sarcastically.

You’re so not funny.

“It’s still a sensitive topic, I see,” Cato quirks his eyebrows. “Where can we get food?”

There’s a convenience store down the street I usually go to when I’m in between groceries.

“Is this your definition of in between groceries?”

Shut up. I’m a busy guy.

Cato doesn’t respond as he goes and gets himself dressed. He pauses putting on the tee shirt he chose to look in the mirror the human has hanging on his wall. He’s bruised heavily on his torso and his face is scraped up. He and the god both grimace at the damage done to his body. “How did you even manage to do this?”

It’s not like I was playing chicken with the car. It just happened.

“You got hit? And they didn’t take you to the hospital?” Cato presses down on the bruise along his ribcage, which sends a sharp pain to crawl up his spine. Chan whimpers quietly in his head at the touch. Cato whimpers out loud. “That’s why I had to walk us there myself.”

That’s usually what entails in a hit and run. Stop touching it! That hurts. Wait – you were the one that took me to the hospital?

“Yeah. I was in a lot of pain… You can feel that?” Cato asks, eyebrow raised as he looks in the mirror. He presses on it again. Chan lets out a whine.

Yes. It hurts. A lot. My ribs are broken. I don’t know if you remember, but that’s what the doctor said. At the hospital. That you walked me to.

“You lost a lot of blood last night,” Cato says. “I don’t know how I managed to heal your cracked skull but not the bruises and your ribs. But also, this isn’t just your body you stupid mortal. It’s mine, too.” Chan sighs, annoyed.

Maybe they weren’t life threatening?

“No, it’s not that,” Cato murmurs. He places a finger on his chin, eyebrows scrunched as he racks his brain (or, his borrowed brain) for an answer. His stomach growls again. “Oh, man. I can barely think. Food first, everything else later. Oh, and try not to talk to me. I don’t wanna look like a weirdo talking to myself on the street.”

You could just not respond out loud.

Go fuck yourself.

Walking to the convenience store was quick. The cold winds nip at Cato’s nose, painting it a delicate shade of red by the time he enters the store. The heat from inside the building wraps him in a hug, thawing his frozen nose and hands as he steps in almost instantly. The store itself is small, maybe four aisles at best with a line of freezers and fridges lining the back wall. There’s a table with a microwave and two two-seater tables next to it.

Cute.

The old lady that owns it gives me a discount because I help her stock sometimes.

That’s called a job.

I don’t work here.

But you do — whatever I’m not arguing with a stupid mortal.

Didn’t know God can get hangry.

I’m not “God”, I’m a God. Did you not hear me when I made that exact distinction when you woke up earlier?

I see I’ve hit a nerve.

It’s like if I called you an animal when you’re a human. It’s rude.

To whom?

To me! And to the big man himself, but that’s not who we’re concerned about right now.

Sorry, God.

Are you not going to apologize to me?

No.

“Fucking mortals.” Cato whispers under his breath as he walks the aisles.

I heard that.

You were meant to!

“Chan?” a soft, pretty voice speaks out from next to him. Cato whips his head to find a girl. She has a look of uncertainty on her face, but once she realizes it actually is who she thought, a bright smile paints across her angelic face. “Hey! Missed you in class yesterday.”

Cato stands there, shell shocked. His mouth drops open and he’s standing there, gawking at her for a full ten seconds. For some reason, after seeing this girl, a hole feels as if it’s torn open in his chest, where his heart should be. It’s painful. Raw, carnal pain shoots through his chest and it makes his eye twitch.

Answer her, idiot! Don’t make me look stupid!

“Oh!” Cato sounds out, plastering a nervous smile on his face. “Hey, you…”

Y/n. Her name is y/n.

Y/n. Why does that sound so…familiar?

“Hey?” You say, confusion lacing your voice. The confusion is wiped away once your eyes settle on the scrapes along his jawline and eyebrow, concern replacing it instead. An attentive hand reaches up and carasses against his cheek, and both Cato and Chan have stopped breathing. They both can feel how their cheeks heat up at your touch. Cato has half a mind to flinch away, and he does. Your hand retracts immediately, your mouth pulling to the side in regret for accidentally hurting him. In truth, you didn’t touch him. But the heat of your hand so close to his skin felt as if it was burning. Your pretty eyes are filled to the brim with worry, and you ask, “What happened to your face? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just took a pretty nasty fall last night,” Cato responds, sheepishly. He scratches the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile. “That's why I wasn’t in class yesterday. Had to go to the hospital and get my head checked out.”

“Oh, that’s awful! I’m glad you’re okay, though!” You respond, your bright smile coming back to your face, though it is tainted with worry still. “Since you missed class, we were partnered together for a project. Maybe we can meet and I can go over the notes and the project with you? Or I can just… send them to you.”

Tell her we can meet tonight.

What happened to ‘taking it easy’?

Chan only laughs in response.

“I’m down to meet you tonight, if that’s okay.” Cato smiles down at you.

“Yeah, for sure!” You chirp. “I’ll see you at your studio tonight, then? I get off work at seven!”

Studio?

Y/n and I major in music production.

“Cool, I’ll see you there.” Cato responds. You give him a wave goodbye, making your way up to the cashier to check out your things. Cato was so in shock he didn’t even notice you were carrying anything.

His stomach growls. He groans quietly.

For someone who had such a sense of urgency over eating, you sure are taking a long time to get something to eat.

Will you shut the fuck up?

________________

❝i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door.❞

As Eve bore child after child for Adam, for the earth, that pit she so desperately tried to bury in her stomach grew bigger. More insistent. She watches as more and more of her children experience many things she didn’t get to; exploring, meeting, falling in love with who they choose and so on and so forth.

As much as she hates to say it, let alone even let it into her heart, she resents her children. She resents Adam. She resents the life that the strings of fate have weaved for her, as she watches her children experience the freewill that God gifted them. Yet she and Adam are forced to simply be their means to an end, to push their future generations along so the human race may flourish.

As she sits in the garden, weaving a crown of flowers and singing a song she does not think has been orchestrated yet, the stream she sits in front of singing quietly with her, a snake slithers up to her. It’s beautiful brown scales and equally as beautiful brown, slitted eyes glint etherally in the early morning sun. She extends a gentle hand towards it, its forked tongue stretching out to slide across her fingers curiously. She giggles at the ticklish sensation, watching with her own curiosity as he climbs up her forearm and upwards so its head rests gently against her naked shoulder.

She goes back to weaving the stems, the soft melody she hums lulling the snake to sleep against her shoulder.

________________

So, I’m… your vessel?

“Correct,” Cato responds, watching the electric kettle impatiently. Cato had finally decided on food after you left, a bowl of ramen and a couple seaweed snack packages he managed to find in Chan’s desolate cabinet. Seriously, why doesn’t this guy have any sense of care for himself? “Every God and angel has a vessel on earth in case we need to come down.”

Can you just not come down in the way you look?

“No. Our heavenly form will drive an ordinary person insane,” the god lets out a small noise of glee once the kettle settles, indicating it’s finally done heating the water. Humans, as stupid as they can be sometimes (he’s looking at Chan, specifically), they sure have made quite a few amazing inventions. Just like this kettle. He’s absolutely enamored with it. “We originally weren’t supposed to have access to earth. We were just supposed to observe from the heavens.”

But?

“But, there’s just some things the Big Man dangles in front of you and you take the bait,” Cato pours the water in the bowl of ramen, watching as the spices he added immediately dissolve in the scolding liquid. He chuckles in amusement to himself as he recloses the paper lid, laying a pair of chopsticks over it to keep it closed. “Hey, how long should this sit for?”

Like two or three minutes. What do you mean by bait?

“A lot of god’s fell in love with mortals on earth,” Cato answers. “You ever read any Greek mythology stories? Apollo and Hyacinthus. Eros and Psyche. So on and so forth.”

I mean, yeah, but, I didn’t think they were real or anything.

“Oh, they’re definitely real,” the god chuckles. “Apollo and I are friends, actually.”

No way! So, like, is every God from every religion real, then?

“Yeah.” Cato shrugs. He takes the chopsticks off and rips the paper cover off of the bowl, excitedly using the chopsticks to stir the broth and noodles around.

So, why did you come to earth?

Cato pauses. He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen like an idiot, frozen in real time as he stares dumbfounded into the bowl of noodles. Why… Why did he come to earth?

Hello? Earth to Cato? Your food is gonna get cold.

“Oh, right,” Cato shakes his head to rid him of his internal struggle. “I… I don’t know why I came to earth. I don’t seem to remember.” He manages to make his way to Chan’s kitchen table, which is just a small round table with two rickety chairs in the corner of his living room.

So do vessels usually die before god’s possess them?

“No, not usually – ah! Fuck, that’s still hot,” Cato whines, sticking his burned tongue out and waving air onto it with his fingers. Chan’s laugh echoes in his head, and he makes an offended noise from the back of his throat as he continues fanning his tongue.

So, me dying the same time you came down was just… pure luck?

“Yeah,” Cato makes sure to blow cold air onto the noodles this time. “I mean, lucky for me. Not so much for you.”

What’s gonna happen when you leave?

“You’ll probably die.”

But you healed me? Shouldn’t that stay when you leave?

Cato shrugs. “Don’t know. You’re technically not even supposed to be conscious like this, either. I’m supposed to have full control of your vessel if I possess it.”

Comforting.

It’s silent after that. Cato is grateful Chan has stopped playing twenty questions. It gives Cato’s one track mind a way to fully focus on his food and not about the fact that he does not remember why he’s even here in the first place. But it’s not like he can just go back up to the heavens and ask someone. As annoying as he is, he quite likes the human that’s his vessel. It’s a shame that once the god is done on earth, Chan’s fatal wounds will most likely come back full force.

Cato hopes he’s able to leave fast enough to not have to witness it.

After Cato ate, Chan was insistent on switching when it came time for his meet with you later in the evening. It took a lot of bickering back and forth, but once Chan got it through the stubborn god’s head that you would know something was off with him (that didn’t have to do with his head injury) the second Cato opened his, in Chan’s words, “big dumb mouth”.

“Why do we have to pass out to switch?” Chan asks as he steps out of the shower.

Do you always have this many questions? Gods, I feel like I’m speaking to a toddler.

Chan copies his words in a silly voice, rolling his eyes as he does so. “Sue me for wanting to know how to work my body with someone else camping in it.”

The way you said that just sounds so… weird.

“And a god possessing a human body is just a regular Tuesday, right?” the human jokes.

For us, yeah.

“Shut the fuck up, Cato,” Chan chuckles, shaking his head in faux annoyance. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and runs his fingers through his thick curls. For some reason his stomach is buzzing at the thought of being in his studio with you.

Why are you so nervous to see y/n?

Chan’s cheeks heat up. “I’m not,” he mutters.

You know I can feel everything, right?

Chan doesn’t respond, too afraid that his voice might way to just how flustered he is. It’s true he finds you very attractive, and your personalities mesh well together. You both have a lot in common and since the day he met you he’s felt a weird, otherworldly pull towards you. “You said her name was familiar to you. Why?” Cato doesn’t respond for a minute, and Chan almost wonders if the god even heard him ask. “Cato?”

I… I don’t know. Just when you said it it just felt like deja vu for some reason. How long have you been friends?

“Since she started college,” Chan replies. “She’s like two years below me.”

Chan doesn’t miss the weird boulder that settles in his stomach. But for some reason, it feels distant. Like it’s not his boulder.

________________

❝apollo showed me the sun. told me not to fly too close or else i would be one with the people on the land.❞

The snake visited Eve in the garden everyday, in the same spot, resting its head on her naked shoulder as she weaved crown after crown of flowers every day, humming the same tune. It became a routine, and then it became something for Eve to look forward to. She finally had something for herself! Adam was out every day for most of it hunting so Eve spent a lot of time with this serpent.

She couldn’t place her finger on why, but when she was alone, weaving her flowers, with the snake on her shoulder, she’d talk. Like word vomit, she vented about her unhappiness in the garden and her jealousy towards her children being able to explore the vast earth and experience things she will never have the privilege to. For she was cursed to stay here, day after day, weaving her flowers in the garden, and bearing more and more children for a man she felt absolutely nothing for. Even the garden, once vibrant and vast to Eve, was now growing dull and shrinking in on her. She feels trapped, she’d say. Her world was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Why me?” She asked the snake one day. “Why did I have to be the first one made? Why do I have to carry this responsibility? Why wasn’t I asked first? Where’s my freewill?”

The snake nuzzles its head, like it was gesturing that it was listening to her. “I wish you were a person,” Eve whispered. “Maybe then I’d have someone who gets me.”

The serpent nuzzles its head again. Eve’s eyes well with hot tears.

She’s so lonely.

________________

Chan is reeling.

It’s hotter in his studio than usual. It’s definitely not because you’re alone with him in his studio and for some reason that’s making him more flustered than usual. Definitely not. He’s definitely not noticing the perfume you used, or the way your fingers flit over your laptop keys almost elegantly, the click of the keys echoing in his ears. He also most definitely was not looking at how your thighs look sitting in his extra chair, or how your dainty necklace falls on your neck, the charm brushing against the low collar of your tee shirt.

You’re sweating profusely right now. Calm down, you pervert.

Shut up, Cato. I feel like I can barely breathe right now.

Yeah, I know. That’s why I said calm down, pervert. Did you not hear me?

“Are you okay, Chan?” You ask him, concern washing over your pretty features as he tugs on the collar of his shirt for the fourth time in thirty seconds. “Do you want to cut this short and meet another day? You don’t look so good.”

Chan all but stops breathing when your delicate hand reaches up and presses gently against his forehead. Your hand is cold, and it works to cool his heated skin almost immediately. His eyes fall close, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “No, I’m okay,” he says, opening his eyes again and giving you a gentle smile. He watches as your cheeks flush the slightest bit. “Just needed a second is all.”

“Let’s take a break, yeah?” You say, closing your laptop as an excuse to not look at him for a second. Chan nods, and then it’s quiet for a minute. Neither of you know how to act around each other. Sure, you were friends but you weren’t best friends. Chan and you also never really hung out one on one, it was really always you, Chan, Changbin, and Jisung or anyone else in your classes. While he didn’t consider everyone to be his friends, always keeping to his close knit circle, he did know a lot of people, and those people also happened to know you. So it was never the right time to get to know you. “So… Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?” You puff your cheek out, shyly. Chan can’t help but let the smile stretch across his face.

“What’s there about me you wanna know?” He asks. Your cheeks flush again, and you scramble to keep your hands busy, opting to twirl your pen between your fingers.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “We’ve known each other for so long but I don’t think we’ve ever really had the chance to actually know each other.”

He nods. “You’re right,” he sucks in a breath, letting his gaze fall towards his desktop as he thinks of what to tell you. “Well, I was born in Australia.”

“Yeah, I know that,” you giggle. “You and Felix talk about it all the time. What’s it like there?”

“Hot,” he chuckles, shrugging. “It’s beautiful, really. All my family is still there so there’s… like this part of me that’s still there with them, if you get what I’m trying to say.” Chan lets out another breathy laugh, suddenly embarrassed.

“I think I do,” you say, nodding your head. “Like a piece of you is missing because it’s back home?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Chan says. “I miss it sometimes.”

“I bet. It must have been hard moving here all by yourself.”

“I mean yeah, but… I don’t know, as much as Australia is my home, this is also home, you know? I love what I do and I’ve found my people. So it makes up for the part of me I left at home,” you both nod along to his words, small smiles shyly turning up your mouths. “What about you?”

“Well,” you sigh, still twiddling with the pen. Your leg starts shaking. “I’m from here.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Chan copies your words, which brings out a giggle from you. His heart lurches.

I felt that.

Shut up.

“I don’t know, I…” you trail off, letting yourself think of what you wanna say. “My moms a school teacher and my dads a realtor, so we’re well off on my dad’s money. They’re kinda the… traditional, married at nineteen, had me at twenty, church every sunday, and have a certain plan for their daughter kind of people.”

“And?”

You shrug. “For the most part I went along with what they wanted me to do. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect boyfriend that I’ll one day have to marry and continue the cycle,” Chan doesn’t miss the way his eye twitches at the mention of a boyfriend. “But, I really rocked the boat when I said I wanted to go into music production.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s… Well they say it’s unrealistic,” you sigh. “I’ve always loved music, and when my perfect, middle class family life got to be too much pressure to uphold, it comforted me. I taught myself all the instruments I know.”

“Impressive.” He chuckles.

“Right?” You giggle along with him. Chan decides he really likes that sound. “But, they expected me to almost go into something… I don’t know, easy? Something that will let me rely on Seojun when we eventually get married.”

“Do you want to get married?” Chan asks, eyebrow raising a little. Your fingers stop twiddling with the pen and your leg goes still for just a second before it picks up again.

“Honestly? No,” you say. “It’s just not something I feel like is for me. Of course, I want to spend the rest of my life with someone but I don’t need a piece of paper or an expensive ring to solidify that I love them and they love me.”

“How long have you been with Seojun?” Chan almost feels the bile that coats the man’s name as he says it.

“Three years,” you answer. “My dad is business partners with his dad and we met at a company party and it just kind of… I don’t know, happened.” You shrug.

“Is he in college too?” You nod your head yes.

“He’s in finance,” you glance over at him. “He’s actually almost done. He’ll be working under his dad after he graduates. His dad is also paying for his real estate classes after he graduates so he can sell commercial properties.”

It’s quiet again, and your leg is still shaking. Your face, now pointedly looking away from him, holds a sort of… loneliness. And almost a hint of regret for even saying what you did out loud.

Don’t ask that.

“Can I ask you a question?” Chan interrupts the heavy silence, and pointedly ignoring Cato’s warning. You hum, letting yourself look at him again. The loneliness he saw on your face floods your eyes. It’s almost overwhelming. “And you can tell me if I’ve crossed the line and we’ll never talk about this again.”

Don’t ask that.

“What is it?”

“Do you… like Seojun?”

And you asked it. I cannot believe you.

Your face falls, but it doesn’t morph into anger like he thought it would. You don’t yell at him, or tell him to mind his business and storm out. He doesn’t know why he was expecting you to lash out at him like that, though. Call it anxiety, he guesses. Instead, that loneliness intensifies — if that was even possible. You’re quiet for a minute, almost like you were deciding to lie to him or if you were about to spill something he’s not sure he — or you — would know what to do with.

“He’s nice,” you settle on. “We don’t have that much in common, but he treats me well.”

I don’t like that answer.

Neither do I.

Chan only nods, though.

“Should we get back to it, then?” You ask, your mouth turned into a tight lipped smile.

“Yeah.” He smiles.

You both delve into a rhythm of bouncing ideas off each other, and the building almost obsessively on the idea you both really like. Chan doesn’t know why he hasn’t worked with you before this, you’re so smart and your ideas are so unique and full of life. He can really see your love for music and the creative process behind making it. His heart flutters a bit at the thought that you both share this pure love for music in the same way.

“Do you wanna maybe meet again tomorrow?” You ask as you pack up your stuff. By the time you both decide to call it quits, it’s nearing one in the morning. He walks with you to your dorm, and he can’t help but smile shyly at the hopeful look in your angelic eyes. You're holding onto your tote bags strap that sits comfortably on your shoulder. He sees you shiver a little, and then only notices the pathetic little jacket you decided to wear despite it being less than forty degrees outside. He fights giving you his jacket. He would, normally without hesitation, but after learning you have a boyfriend he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, no matter how cute he thinks you would look swimming in his hoodie.

Down boy, down.

Will you stop?

I’ll stop when you stop being such a male.

“We can go to the cafe on campus after class,” Chan suggests. You nod, giving him a bigger smile at his words. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you say. Your eyes glint with excitement as you nod your head. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Will do.” He reassures you as you open the main door to your dorm and walk in. He waves to you from outside and then steps off the porch, walking down the lit walkway, unable to erase the smile from his face.

You like her.

“Shut up,” he sputters out. “She’s always been in my sights, and I always thought she was cute. We just never had the chance to bond like that before. Changbin or Jisung are always usually with us, or my other friends.”

Too bad she’s someone else’s.

Chan rolls his eyes. Quietly, though, he wonders what would have happened had he met you before you met Seojun. Would you be his? Would you be happier with him?

Cato heard those too.

________________

❝didn’t know my world was dark until you came.❞

Eve sits in her usual spot, weaving her flowers once more. It’s another day, but this time she’s by herself. The snake hasn’t showed up yet, but she hopes it's on its way now. She tries not to let herself get too upset over not having her usual companion today, but she can’t help it. This newfound routine of her weaving flowers and talking to the snake while he rested peacefully on her arm has brought her more happiness than anything else in the garden – even the entire world – could.

So when a day turns into two, and then turns into three, then seven, her mood worsens. Even Adam, as unobservant as he is, noticed her change in mood. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong though, of course he doesn’t. As much as he claims to love her, to cherish her with his entire earthly being and his heavenly soul, he never seems to notice her until he wants to bend her over in the grass and give her another baby. Or two. Or three.

On the eighth day, when Eve is back at her favorite spot, weaving flower stems, a frown on her lips, a man approaches from out of the brush. It’s a man she has never seen before, but he is beautiful. Chocolate brown eyes and pretty brown hair to match with them, he gives her a gentle smile. “Hi,” he says. “You might not recognize me.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Eve says, on guard. She’s covering her body, cautious. “You’re not one of my children. So who are you?”

“I– I’m the snake,” he says. “My name is Cato. I’m a god.”

“Cato,” Eve repeats, the name swirling around her tongue pleasantly. “That means all-knowing.”

“Yes.”

“So, why did you come to me as a snake and not as yourself, Cato?” She asks, sitting up straighter against the tree behind her. “Why not show yourself to me from the start instead of deceiving me?”

“Forgive me, my dear,” he bows his head in apology. “I did not have an earthly body, and my heavenly form would have scared you. I transformed myself into a snake to meet you, and until my earthly body was ready. I am sorry for tricking you.” His eyes, his beautiful eyes, shine with genuine regret.

“What do you want from me?” She asks.

“Forgive me if I sound weird,” he starts. “But I was there when God made you. You are so beautiful, I will never understand how he did not make you an angel. Alas, I fell for you. And then before I could say anything, he sent you down here with Adam. And I had no way of meeting you anymore.”

“You…” she trails off. “Fell? For me?”

“Yes, my angel,” he says, walking closer and settling himself on his knees before her. “I fell for you. You have my heart. And if you let me, I would love to have yours.” The god takes her delicate hand into his, running his thumb over her knuckles. His hands engulf hers, long, spindly fingers holding hers with such love, such gentleness that she’s never felt from Adam’s rough, calloused hands.

She finds her heart fluttering at his honey coated words.

________________

When Chan gets home from dropping you off at your dorm, he remembers to send you a quick text before he retires into bed.

When he sleeps that night, he dreams. He dreams of him, in an earlier time, walking with you through a beautiful garden.

Your cream colored dress encases your body so elegantly, and the way you wore your hair out of your face yet still cascading down your back makes you look so… ethereal. Your arms are linked together, and he can’t help but stare at the side of your angelic face as you giggle at something he says. “You are a character, Mr. Bang,” you say in between giggles. “I sure am glad you came home from the war, alive and healthy.”

“I am too,” he says, his own smile unable to leave his face. “It’s just a shame I couldn’t marry you before I left. I hope Lord Emroy is treating you well, though, and giving you everything you could ever want.”

Your smile falters, and your gaze flitters away from him. Loneliness fills your pretty eyes and you quiet for a second. “He does treat me well, Chan,” you glance up at him for a quick second before your eyes cast down to the ground once more.``But that does not mean I am happy with him.”

“I see,” is all he responds with, his own smile falling.

“Why did you not marry me?” You ask, voice wavering.

He sighs, stopping your walk and placing himself in front of you. He takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “I wanted to marry you, I still want to marry you. But, I could not let you wait for me, for if I were to not have come back, I would have made you a widow, and you did not deserve that. You are beautiful, Y/n. And you deserve to have the chance to have a long, healthy, and loving marriage.”

“My marriage is anything but loving,” you say bitterly, tears welling in your eyes. “Sure, he doesn’t belittle me like other husbands, but it is not a marriage forged out of love, Chan. It was a business transaction. I was property he wished to buy,” a single tear falls down your cheek, down your neck and soaking through the neckline of your gown. His heart breaks at seeing you cry. He cups your face, letting his thumb wipe the tears falling from your eyes away.“He will never love me the way you did.”

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“I would have waited for you,” you continue. “I would have waited lifetimes for you.”

He wakes up in the morning, confused. The sadness he felt within the dream stays with him as he gets ready for the day, unable to shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. It’s uncomfortable, and he tries to get it to go away by saying to himself in the bathroom mirror, “it’s just a dream. Why are you so upset about it?”

Upset about what?

“Oh,” Chan says, startled by Cato’s questioning voice in his head. “Just… A weird dream. It’s nothing.”

Whatever you say, human.

Chan doesn’t respond, brushing his teeth in a tense, perturbed, silence.

—

Classes were dragging. He’s unable to fully pay attention to what his professors are saying because he can’t get the dream out of his head. Why did it feel so… real? And familiar? Like it's actually happened before? And the loneliness in your eyes from the dream matched the loneliness he saw in them last night when you were talking about Seojun.

Your thinking is echoing and it’s annoying me. What was the dream about?

A nicer way of asking “what’s wrong” is just asking what’s wrong, you know.

Chan’s eyes roll, but he doesn’t do it himself.

Don’t roll my eyes for me, I’m the one in control right now.

Sorry, I just had to show you my annoyance somehow.

This time, Chan does roll his eyes.

“Hyung?” Minho whispers from next to him, tapping his pen against the older man’s forearm. “Are you okay? You keep rolling your eyes.”

Damn, were they that dramatic?

Roll your eyes quieter next time, idiot.

You’re the idiot.

“I’m okay,” Chan reassures quietly. “Just trying to keep them from falling shut.”

“Did you not get enough sleep again? Do I need to start coming over and knocking you out?” Minho balls his hand into a fist, and it takes everything in Chan to not laugh at his friends' antics. Before he can respond, though, their professor clears his throat in annoyance, giving them a glare from his spot in front of the lecture hall. They exchange embarrassed glances before going back to listening to the lecture.

He quickly makes eye contact with you from a few seats in front of him, and he watches in amusement as you scramble to face completely forward, flustered that he caught you staring at him. He exhales a laugh at your antics, shaking his head slightly as he goes back to typing on his laptop.

Cute.

Yeah.

After class ends, and Chan’s packing up his stuff, you walk up to him, your tote bag over your shoulder, giving him a shy smile. “You ready?”

Minho wiggles his eyebrows at Chan, and he tries not to notice how his cheeks flush at his younger friends' antics. “Yeah, let’s go,” he responds. He turns to Minho, who’s giving him a raised eyebrow. “See you around, Min.”

“Yeah,” the younger male responds. “Bye, y/n!” He waves her a goodbye, of which you copy quite excitedly. The corner of Chan’s lip turns up into a small smile at your antics towards the other male. He knows that out of their whole group, you seem to be closest with Minho and Hwang Hyunjin, always seeing you three together in passing. He wonders if you two will start getting closer, even after the project is finished. He hopes so. He doesn’t think he can go about just being casual to each other – especially after last night's conversation.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Your voice breaks through his thoughts, causing him to shake his head a bit in response.

Good going, idiot.

Shut up, Cato. As if you’ve done any better with her. Remember the convenience store?

This isn’t about me right now.

He fights rolling his eyes. “No reason,” he answers you. “Come on, let’s get some coffee.”

The cafe he took you to is the one right across the street from the building your class was held in. It used to be a house, now repurposed as a cafe, and it has the perfect homey feel to it to help you feel comfortable and relaxed as you picked a seat in one of the upstairs rooms that has a couple tables in each of them for a little more privacy. The morning sun is shining brightly into the window, and Chan can’t help but let out a small chuckle to himself as he watches the way you squint from the sun as you try and look out the window. “Should I close the blind?” He asks as he sits across from you, pushing your tea to your side.

“No,” you say as you happily pick up the cup. You blow on your tea to cool it down, and Chan can’t help but let his smile grow at the way your cheeks puff out dramatically when you blow on the drink. “I like sunbathing. Minho’s cats and I will lay on our bellies together in front of the big windows in his living room.”

“I’d love to see that sometime,” he laughs out. He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks flush and you giggle shyly in response. “I’m sure Min has a plethora of pictures of it.”

“Don’t tell him I told you but,” you start, taking a sip of your tea. “He joins us.”

“Somehow I really don’t doubt that.”

You fall into a rhythm once more over your project, and after a couple hours, you both decide to take a break.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” You ask him out of nowhere, now sipping on a second cup of tea. Chan chokes on his coffee, but he quickly covers it up by clearing his throat.

Cato laughs. Nice one.

Shut the fuck up, Cato.

“No, I’m not,” Chan answers, taking a more cautious sip now. “I’ve never actually been in a serious relationship.”

“Oh?” you say, quizzically. “So, you’ve never had a girlfriend?”

“No, I have.” He answers, his cheeks heating. He doesn’t understand why he’s so flustered with your questions, even if they did come out of nowhere. Well, he does understand why. He just doesn’t wanna say it out loud.

They weren’t y/n, though, right, Channie boy?

Cato, I swear to God.

Don’t bring the Big Man into this.

“But?” You inquire.

“But,” he copies. “They just didn’t work out. We wanted different things.” He shrugs, and you nod in understanding. “Why the sudden interest in my love life, y/n?” The teasing lilt to his voice causes you to stammer out, falling (rather cutely) over your words, trying your best to come up with a reason. Chan chuckles at the rattled expression on your face.

You know why she’s asking.

I don’t.

Don’t be stupid, Chan.

Chan fights a scoff at the god’s words, not wanting to give you the wrong impression. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to explain who’s camping in his consciousness with him without taking a trip to the nearest psych ward.

‘Man claims God lives in him’ has been a headline I’ve seen too much in the time humans have existed.

I wonder why.

Before Chan can continue the conversation he has with you (more like redirect it so he doesn’t have to admit to his commitment issues), something – or someone – catches your attention from behind him. The way your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and a flash of disdain that goes away as fast as it showed up cause Chan to turn around. A man is seating himself in the room across the hall, a blonde girl at his side as they laugh at something the man says. He turns back around to see that you’re still looking at them. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, that’s Seojun,” you say. Chan’s stomach drops, turning back around at the exact time Seojun turns to look at the two of you. Something flashes across the other man’s face, but it’s gone before Chan can even fully register what it is.

Seojun turns to the blonde next to him, before he turns back and starts walking towards their table. Seojun is… wow, is he tall. And buff. Chan almost feels intimated.

Oh great, here comes the jolly green giant.

Chan has to force himself to not laugh at Cato’s comment as he turns back to you. You give him a weird face, which he decides to ignore.

Cato, please.

I’m just saying. Why is God so unfair when he makes you humans? He could have given Seojun’s extra height to you.

Stop it!

No one needs to be that tall is all I’m saying.

“What are you doing here, babe?” Seojun asks as he stands next to you at the table, a rushed lilt to his voice. Almost like he’S panicking. Chan watches your face as it drops, the tight lipped smile you give to your boyfriend is clear to no one but him. “Who’s this?”

“This is Chan,” you answer. “He’s my partner for a project.”

“Hey. I’m her boyfriend, Seojun,” the other man says, outstretching his hand for Chan to take. He does, giving it a firm shake and a quick head nod in greeting. “Though, I’m sure you’ve already heard of me.”

Arrogant.

Tell me about it.

“Oh, I’ve heard plenty,” Chan responds, the snark in his voice subtle enough that it seems like a genuine compliment. “She said you were in finance.”

“Oh, yeah,” Seojun answers. “It’s gonna help out a lot, money wise. This girl right here wants a big wedding. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Chan’s eye twitches as he looks to you for your response. Your smile is that of discomfort, tight lipped as you rigidly nod your head, not making eye contact with Chan.

“Who are you with?” You ask, changing the subject as you strain your neck to look into the next room. “Is that Aecha?”

Seojun’s face drops. “Oh, uh, no. That's my project partner,” he answers quickly. “We have a business plan due in a couple weeks so we’re meeting to get it done early.”

“Oh, okay,” you say simply. Your eyes stay on the girl in the other room, squinting a little in suspicion.“I didn’t know you had a project.”

“Yeah,” Seojun rubs his neck, almost nervously. “Well, I should get back to her. I’ll leave you two alone, now. Don’t forget about the dinner with our parents tomorrow.”

“How could I,” you mutter as he starts walking away. “I’ll see you later.”

Chan’s almost grateful that Seojun didn’t kiss you. It seems you look grateful he didn’t, too. He can’t help but notice the way your mood instantly sours after Seojun leaves, though you try not to show it too much. You give him a forced smile. “Shall we continue with our project then?” You ask him, your voice pitches higher towards the end, and Chan knows you’re uncomfortable.

I don’t like him.

Neither do I.

________________

❝i could die in your arms.❞

Eve is giggling.

She’s resting her head on the soft grass that encases her body, the edges of the blades tickling against her naked waist. Cato lays next to her, chuckling along with her. “So,” she starts as she sits up on her side, picking a flower from the field and rolling it between her fingers gently. “If your name means all-knowing… Does that mean you’re a god of knowledge?”

Cato quiets. Eerily quiet. In the short time Eve has known him as his humanly self, he is never short of words. He always has a story or a joke to tell, Eve wonders how his puny human lungs can even hold that much air for him to talk so much. So, for him to go as quiet as he did, she worries.

“Did I say something to upset you?” she asks, her delicate fingers stopping its movements. He also sits up on his side, letting his long fingers brush through the front of her hair as a small smile encases his beautiful face.

“No, my angel,” he responds. “You could never do anything to upset me,” his thumb swiped gently across her bottom lip, and then down her chin before his hand fell back to his side. Eve feels her face heat up. “I’m not the god of knowledge, as you might think. Actually… I’m a calamity god.”

Eve doesn’t respond. “Like… the flood? That kind of calamity?”

He nods. “I was ordered to flood the earth myself.”

“It killed everyone…” Eve whispers, widened eyes filled with tears. “Why?”

“God is…” Cato trails, unsure if he should continue. His eyes, so beautiful and such a deep color, cascade down to glare at the grass blades dancing in the wind, unbeknownst to them that a god is staring them down with a look of disdain on his expression. Eve can see the regret and the anger in his eyes as he stares down at the earth beneath them. Eve wishes she can rid him of the hatred he feels for himself.

He doesn’t have to say anything, though. Because Eve knows how God is. She knows how He is all too well. For she, too, has been forced to be things she does not wish to be, solely because the person who created her says so. Her own eyes well with tears. Tears of anger and sadness, for both her and Cato. She doesn’t think anyone on this damned planet will ever understand them the way they do each other.

“Did you want to?” She asks. Cato shakes his head.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he adds. “It’s what I was created for. To bring destruction.”

“I think you’re more than what you were meant for.” She says, a smile on her face.

Eve doesn’t expect it, but the god starts crying. And as he cries, she cradles him in her arms, brushing her fingers through his curly hair. “You are good, Cato,” she whispers in his ear, letting her lips ghost gently against the shell of it. “It does not matter what you have done, you are good.”

She presses a gentle kiss to his temple as his wails echo in the garden.

________________

Chan doesn’t hear from you all weekend. You weren’t in class Friday morning, and you haven’t answered any of his messages since before your dinner with your parents. He hasn’t thought much of it. He assumed you had a late night on Thursday and just skipped class the next morning because you were nursing a hangover.

“Hey, have you heard from y/n?” Minho asks him Monday afternoon, when their whole group is sitting at a table in the cafeteria. “I’m only asking because you two have been… close recently.”

His cheeks flush as he watches his other friends look at him with widened eyes and agape mouths. “Uh, no I haven’t. I was actually just gonna ask you the same thing.”

“Didn’t she have dinner with her parents on Thursday?” Jeongin asks. Chan nods in response. “Last I heard from her was when she was asking me which outfit was appropriate for the dinner, she didn’t seem like she wanted to go, though.”

“Yeah, she was texting our group chat during it and she wasn’t having a very good time. But she never usually does with her parents involved.” Hyunjin adds, taking a bite of his noodles.

“What group chat? I didn’t get anything in our group chat,” Jisung whines, opening his phone to double check.

“Me, y/n, Minho hyung and Felix all have a separate group chat together,” Hyunjin answers casually. “She was texting in there.”

Chan tunes them out as Jisung and Changbin start whining that they want a group chat with you, but all Chan can focus on is how you’ve gone completely silent since Wednesday.

“Hey, hyung,” Felix says, getting the older man’s attention by waving his small hand in front of his face. “Don’t worry about y/n. She’s okay. She goes ghost like this sometimes, especially after an event with her parents. She’ll come back around soon, she just needs to recharge.”

“Are you mad at her for not answering you?” Minho questions, eyebrow raised. The younger male looked as if he was waiting for Chan to answer the wrong way.

“No, of course not. Why would I be?” Chan shakes his head in response. “I was just worried. We’ve just… been talking a lot recently and I wasn’t sure if I did something to upset her or anything.”

“I don’t think you could ever do anything to upset her.” Felix mutters, and Chan watches in confusion as he and Hyunjin both share a knowing look with one another. Minho elbows Hyunjin in the ribs.

It means she likes you, idiot.

Do you know how to be nice?

Chan doesn’t get any response from you until Tuesday night. A simple “can i come over?” was all you sent him.

Now, he’s panickedly cleaning his apartment while he waits anxiously for you.

Why don’t you clean like this on a normal day?

“Because,” Chan grunts as he scrubs at a particular stain in his bowl. “I’m a busy guy and don’t have time to keep up with things regularly.”

Just as Cato is about to respond, there's a knock on the front door. Chan stops in his tracks, hurriedly rinsing the bowl and adding the last couple of dishes into one side of the sink to hide them as he runs to answer the door, clumsily drying his hands on his pants. When he opens the door, you’re standing there, glaring at the space where the door was a second ago. “Hey,” he says, which snaps you out of your trance to look up at him.

“Hi,” you answer softly, smiling. Though it doesn’t match the defeated look in your eyes. “Can I come in?”

Chan nods, stepping aside as you walk into his apartment. He follows you to his couch, where you both sit on opposite ends. Your legs immediately go up, knees pressing against your chest as you wrap your arms around your legs. You’re not making eye contact with Chan, and it makes his stomach hollow in anxiety. You look so sad it almost feels like it’s creeping into his bones, souring his mood and ramping up his anxiety as he sees you cave in on yourself from the other end of his couch. He watches as you bat away tears, rolling your eyes in annoyance as they fill your pretty eyes.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” Chan asks softly, scooting himself closer to you. He crosses his legs on his couch and turns his body to you, giving you a softened, welcoming look. The hand that isn’t propping his head against the back of the couch is twitching on his legs to reach out, to hold yours to comfort you. But he doesn’t want to over step and make you uncomfortable. You don’t answer, seemingly falling back into a spaced out trance, if the unfocus in your eyes is anything to go by. He lets his finger gently rub against your shin to get your attention, and he watches as your eyes fill with tears once more as you look up at him. “What’s wrong, y/n?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, biting the inside of your lip. “Just… wanted to see you.”

Chan doesn’t believe it, giving you a raised eyebrow. “Just to see me?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing. “I missed you is all,” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving him a small smile. “I got used to seeing you all the time now.”

Chan’s cheeks flush, and he tries not to let his smile get too dopey as his heart flutters at your words.

Oh! You pathetic man.

Stop.

“How was the dinner with your parents?” Chan asks. You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your throat as you look away from him. “Was it bad?”

You’re quiet. You look as if you want to say something, the words on the tip of your tongue and threatening to spill over. But you hesitate. You’re biting your tongue as you contemplate your next words. It almost concerns him.

“If I do something,” you start quietly. “Would you be mad?”

Chan’s eyebrows scrunch, his head tilting to the side in question. “What is it?”

“Can I try something?” Eve asks, tilting her head as her eyes flicker between Cato’s mouth and his pretty dark eyes. Cato nods, watching in nervous anticipation as Eve climbs over his lap, plush thighs on either side of his lips as she leans in and ghosts her lips against his.

Cato catches her mouth in a soft, tender kiss. It raises goosebumps to their skin, and their heartbeats quicken. Eve’s belly erupts in butterflies, climbing up her throat and she lets out a small sound. Cato hands find home at her waist, the pads of his fingers indenting her skin as he squeezes gently.

You finally look at him, eyes flitting down the length of his face, stopping at his mouth before looking at him again. Your gaze flickers between his mouth and his eyes before you lean forward, your nose ghosting against his as your lips meet. Chan responds immediately, cupping your face and deepening the kiss.

It’s shy, yet so electric. The butterflies you feel in your stomach are intense, prickling up your back and making you light headed. It isn’t long before you're clamoring across the couch and into Chan’s lap. His hands slide down your waist before he wraps his arms around your back, caging you into his body. He keeps his mouth working against yours, and can’t help the way his cock jumps when your hips shift a little, pressing your clothed core against him. Your hands hold his face, your thumb brushing against the apples of his cheeks every once and a while. His heart swells at the noises you make as you shyly start to grind yourself down against him, wanting to feel him more and more against you.

Should you really be doing that?

Doing what?

Kissing someone who isn’t yours.

“Wait,” Chan says as he pulls back. He has to swallow the groan that’s threatening to escape his throat as he takes in the sight of you. Your cheeks are red, lips swollen and spit slick. You already look so fucked out and all he’s done is kiss you. He feels like he’s going crazy. “What about Seojun?”

“What about Adam?” Cato asks Eve as he breaks away, his fingers rubbing circles on her hips.

“It was never Seojun,” You respond, shaking your head. Your thumb swipes against his cheek. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Chan.”

“It was never Adam,” Eve responds, nails digging into the skin on his shoulders. “I waited for you for so long, Cato.”

“Since the day I met you,” you continued, breathless. Somehow, your cheeks turn redder. He doesn’t think you could look more angelic than right now. “I’ve wanted you.”

“Since the day I came into existence,” Eve sighs out. Cato thinks she looks absolutely ethereal this way. “I’ve waited for you.”

Cato can’t help the smile that stretches across his lips as he leans up to kiss her again.

Chan doesn’t respond, only placing a hand at the back of your neck and pulling you back down to him. He kisses you again, this time a little more desperate, a little more aggressive. You whine, letting your lips fall open so his tongue can explore inside your mouth. Your mouths work in perfect sync with one another, a desperate, needy, rhythm that says more than any words in the English and Korean lexicon could ever say. He can’t explain the way he feels while he’s kissing you, but he feels as if clouds are filling his head.

His hands move back to your hips, helping you to grind down against his hardened cock, and he doesn’t miss the way your whines sound more and more breathy each time he moves you against him. “Have you ever had sex before?” He asks you.

“No,” you say. “No one’s ever touched me, either.”

“You mean, in the three years you’ve been with Seojun, he hasn’t fucked you once?” Chan asks, eyebrows furrowing and a sense of pride filling his chest. You shake your head. “Why?”

“I didn’t want him to.” You whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist as he stands up from his couch, carrying you into his bedroom and gently placing you atop his sheets.

Cato lays her naked body gently on her back in the soft grass. She looks so pretty like this, some of hair still laying softly over her shoulders and the rest blending beautifully with the grass, eyes widened in curiosity. “I got you, my love,” he says in a gentle voice as he crawls over her. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

He thinks this sight alone is enough to be painted and framed in a gallery. Eve, splayed out like this for him with her ruddy cheeks and widened eyes. It was a sight he never wanted to stop seeing.

He kisses her again before letting his mouth move from her own to her cheek, jaw, then down her neck, biting softly on his way down.

Chan unbuttons your jeans, and you help him with getting them off your legs and onto his floor. He takes off your shirt and bra next, leaving you only in your underwear. He crawls over you, his thigh slotting in between your legs and ghosting against your clothed cunt. “Let me take care of you, my love.”

He kisses your lips once more before he places a kiss on your cheek, then along your jaw, then down the expense of your neck, leaving pretty purple marks along the way. He stops at your breasts, ghosting his mouth around one nipple before taking it into his mouth. His free hand comes to tweak the other, softly pinching and rubbing along the top of it while his mouth works at the other. Your hand weaves its way into his soft curls, pushing them off his forehead so you can see what he’s doing better. He almost moans at the feeling of your hips bucking up to slide your cunt against his thigh.

“Just like that, angel,” he mutters against your skin. You whine, your fingers almost kneading the top of his head. He presses his thigh more into your core, giving you more friction that makes your sensitive body jolt and your breath hitch.

He doesn’t stay long at your breasts, opting to let his kisses and marks trail down your torso, right to your hips. He settles onto his stomach, hands holding the under part of your hips as he takes in the sight of your cunt. A wet patch has soaked through your underwear, sticking to your lips and outlining the shape of you. He presses a gentle kiss against the wet patch, and he doesn’t miss the way your hips jolt back. “Chan,” You whine.

“Yes?” He coos, freeing a hand from under you and letting his pointer finger gently ghost along your cunt. You wiggle your hips, trying to get more pressure from his finger but he pulls it away. “You have to tell me what you want, angel. Wiggling your hips isn’t gonna help me know what you want.”

He watches in adoration as your cheeks flush yet again, your eyes darting to look everywhere but at him as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “I want you to touch me,” you whisper. “Please, touch me.” Your words come out so breathy, so desperate, it makes Chan’s head want to explode. He gives you a smile.

“Anything for you, my love,” he responds before he sits back up on his knees, letting his fingers grab ahold of the waistband of your panties and sliding them slowly down your legs with your help. They fall somewhere on the edge of the bed behind him, but it’s not something he’s concerned about as the musky smell of your cunt hits his nose again as he lays back down. Your cunt glistens so prettily for him, and he forces himself to hold in a moan. “You’re so pretty.”

His fingers slide up and down between your swollen lips, and you let out small whines whenever his fingers rub a teasing circle against your clit that’s peeking out between your slit. He kisses along your inner thighs, across your mound as he slowly inserts a finger into your entrance.

Cato kisses along Eve’s thighs, before he gives a broad swipe of his tongue up the expense of her cunt. She gasps, hips twitching. “Has he ever done this to you?”

“No,” Eve sighs out as Cato gives another broad swipe. “He barely touches me.” Cato doesn’t respond, letting his tongue circle around Eve’s clit, which elicits a moan to fall from her pretty mouth.

“Don’t worry, my angel,” Cato says. “I’ll show you just how a man should love you.”

Your walls clench around his finger, and he places gentle kisses against your sensitive nub, whispering, “Relax, baby. I got you.” Your body deflates when you let out the breath you were holding, your own hand falling towards the hand that’s gripping onto your hip. You intertwine your fingers together, and he gives you a reassuring squeeze as he crooks his finger up into that spongy spot that has your back arching slightly and a gasp falling from your pretty lips. His mouth attaches itself to your clit, alternating between lightly sucking and feverish kitten licks. Your hand squeezes his as shy moans involuntarily fall from your lips at his ministrations.

He feels his cock pulsing at each sound you let out, and he can’t help but grind his hips down onto the bed for some friction of his own. “Chan, more, please,” you whine out, bucking your hips into his face. He doesn’t hesitate to add another finger, scissoring you open as his mouth continues at your clit. He pumps his fingers in and out of your entrance slowly, making sure to hook up when he plunges back in. You’re so tight around his fingers, and he can’t help but let out a moan at the thought of you taking his cock, sucking him into your warm walls. The fact that no one has ever touched you – not even your own boyfriend – and that he has the honor of being your first is driving him up a wall.

Only he gets to see you this way. Only he gets to hear your whiny moans, and only he gets to see the pretty way your body reacts to his touch. He can't help but let his fingers get a little faster, a little more prominent in the way they press against that sweet spot that has the coil tightening in the pit of your belly. “Chan.”

“You gonna cum, angel?” He asks against your pussy, keeping his steady yet harsh rhythm of his fingers plunging into your hole. You let out a hum as your response, and he can’t help but smile against your cunt. He keeps his mouth on your clit, his eyes rolling back as you let out another moan, your hips bucking to feel more, more, more. You clench around his fingers, your pretty sounds are strangled as your body clenches up, and that’s when he knows to remove his mouth from your clit, watching your face as your jaw slacks, and your body writhes so prettily under him. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.” He slows his fingers, helping you ride out your high on his fingers. You feel so much more wet than before, and it takes every ounce of control Chan has to not dive back in and overstimulate you, drive you to another one. And another one. Until you’re spent and begging for him to stop, yet pushing him closer to continue.

Next time.

He moves up your body, and kisses you again. You let out a whine when you taste yourself on his tongue, your own essence covering your chin from his own as he licks into your mouth. You use your legs to redirect him, so his clothed cock lines up with your dripping pussy as he grinds his hips down against you. You shiver, still sensitive from just a second ago. “I want you,” you whisper. He pulls away, looking at you with widened eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “Cause if you’re actually not ready, tell me. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ve waited for you long enough,” you answer, rutting your hips up against him. He sucks in a breath. “Please?”

Chan only nods as he climbs off you to discard his clothes to the floor. The bruising on his side hasn’t fully gone away, but it’s not as bad as it was last week. “Was that from your fall?” You ask him as he climbs over you again, your delicate fingers ghosting over his ribcage.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, looking down at your hand. “I didn’t actually fall, though. I got hit by a car.”

“I know.”

Chan gives you a double take, eyebrows scrunched and his mouth agape in confusion. You giggle and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You know?”

“Yeah, I was with Changbin and Jisung when he got the call,” you respond, still giggling. “I just figured you said you fell to not worry me.”

Yeah, we can go with that. Really I was just saving you the embarrassment. Who gets hit by cars these days?

Don’t ruin this, Cato.

Chan only chuckles softly, his smile widening and crinkling his eyes in such a pretty way. You can’t help but lean up and press your lips to his, your hands cupping his cheeks to bring his face down with yours. He kisses you back quickly, letting you take the lead as he opens your legs and maneuvers himself so his cock can glide along your slit. You lift your legs more, letting the head of his cock catch along your entrance. “Please,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’m ready.”

Chan moves a hand down to guide the tip of his cock into your entrance, and he goes slow as he sheathes himself inside. You tense up, the pressure a foreign feeling. “Relax,” he whispers, kissing along your cheek and down your jaw. A small whine leaves your mouth and he stills his hips immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt it just… feels full.”

“Yeah?” He asks, letting himself move again. One his hips are touching yours, you can fully feel him snugly inside you. You feel so full, and it’s so overwhelming but so addictive at the same time. It feels as if you were molded to fit him. He gives an experimental movement, and your hands immediately go to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You can move.” He kisses you, distracting you as he pulls out and then plunges back in again. He keeps it at a slow rhythm at first, letting you get used to the feeling before he gradually starts speeding up. You were so tight around him, your velvety walls welcoming him in with each time the head of his cock ghosts along that spongy part that has the breath punched out of you again and again.

“You feel so good, angel,” he grunts against your neck. “Like you were made for me.” You can only choke out a moan in response, nails raking over his shoulders. He intertwines his fingers with yours above your head, and he digs his face further into your neck as he places wet kisses along it.

Cato intertwined his fingers with Eve’s as he slowly moved his hips. “You’re mine?” Cato asked.

“Yours. I’m yours,” Eve gasped in response.“I love you.” Cato can only smile as he dips his head down to capture her lips in a messy kiss.

Chan keeps a steady pace, making sure to angle himself upwards when he thrusts back in. He hits deep, stretching you around his cock and every time he’s at the hilt, it knocks the wind out of your lungs. The breathy moans you let out at each thrust sends Chan deeper and deeper into the clouds, mind hazy and senses full of you. You’re everywhere, it seems, encasing his body in yours as the whole world melts away. He about loses his hold on himself when your quivering walls start clenching around him, greedily sucking him back in. His thrusts speed up, his one hand letting go of yours and finding home under your head, a fist full of hair as he brings your body as close to his as possible. The feel of your breasts pressing against his chest grounds him a bit, and he lets out a strained moan from the back of his throat.

“Cum in me,” you manage to say in between strangled sounds. “I want it, please.”

“Just a little more,” Chan grunts out. “Almost there. Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so good for me, angel.”

Chan’s hips still, his cum shooting into you and painting your walls. He moans, whiney, as he shoves his face back into your neck. Your hands move to his hair, raking through it as you whisper in his ear.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

—

You spend the night at Chan’s house, only sending a simple message to your group chat with Hyunjin, Minho, and Felix where you were staying and that you were okay. Your simple message respectively blows up the group chat, with Felix and Hyunjin practically screaming to tell them details, and then Minho crashing into your world like a meteor with one single question.

Did you break up with Seojun?

You decided not to answer that question (because you haven’t), only texting back that you’ll explain when you get back to class on Friday and then shakily put your phone down on the coffee table. You look over towards the kitchen to see Chan’s back towards you, the sizzling of the food in the pan the only sound filling the apartment. You can’t help but smile at the sight. You uncross your legs from the couch, walking into the kitchen area and standing behind Chan. Your arms wrap lovingly around his waist, your cheek pressing into his back and you feel his body relax into your hold. He turns down the stove and turns around in your hold, a smile adorning his features as he places a kiss against your lips.

“Thanks for letting me stay last night,” you say as he pulls away from you. “I didn’t want to face Ryujin’s interrogation yet.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to face mine,” Chan says, raising his eyebrow at you. You smile sheepishly at him, your gaze tearing away from his. He lifts your chin up, forcing you to keep eye contact. “What happened?”

You sigh, pulling your body away. You run your hand over your face as you lean against the counter behind you. Chan does the same on the opposite side, giving you an expectant look as he waits for you to start talking. “I found out Seojun was cheating on me. At the dinner.” You say, voice a little shaky.

Chan pauses, and his stomach drops. Seojun was cheating?

Don’t act as if you aren’t happy to hear that.

I’m not happy! That’s awful!

You know what I mean, you idiot. You’re happy he’s out of the way now.

Chan doesn’t respond to Cato, focusing his attention back to you. “I’m so sorry, y/n,” he responds, his arm stretching over to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t deserve that.”

You take in a breath. “Yeah, well,” you shrug. “It happens. Sad thing is, I can’t even say I’m surprised. Looking back, it makes a lot of sense.”

Chan’s eyebrow furrows. “Did… you break up with him?”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “I… haven’t yet.”

And you slept with her.

“You… You haven’t?” He asks, confusion painting across his face. “Why?”

“I— I was going to,” you start. “I just… I wanted to see you first,”

“y/n,” Chan says, voice shaky. “Am I a rebound?”

You shake your head vigorously, your own eyes shining with unshed tears. “No! No, I really wasn’t planning on last night happening at all. I wanted to break up with him first but I just… I don’t know, I had to see you first.”

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks. “About wanting to be with me as long as you said?”

“Yes,” you nod. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Hyunjin or Felix. Even Minho. They know how I feel about you.”

Chan’s quiet. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know what to think. On one hand, the selfish hand, he’s over the moon he had you in his bed last night, and he’s still a bit drunk off your words from last night. But, on the other hand, he wants to send you on your way, to give himself, and you, some space. He can’t believe he didn’t prod further about what you meant last night. He just assumed by your confession, you had already broken it off with Seojun.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I should probably go.”

“Call me when you break it off with Seojun, okay?” Chan finally says, nodding his head. His heart clenches as he sees a tear fall down your face. “We’ll talk about us after that.”

The silence that replaces the apartment after you leave is deafening.

Chan?

“Not now, Cato,” Chan replies, shaking his head. He can feel a migraine coming on, his eyes becoming sore and sensitive to the bright lights of his kitchen. “Shit,” a pained whimper falls from his throat as he massages his eyes. “I think I need to call someone.”

I remember why I came to Earth.

“Can it wait until later, please?” Chan winces, annoyance mixing with the pain in his voice. “My head is fucking splitting.”

Chan…

“Cato, for fucks sake, please!” He yells, which makes his head pound even more. “I can’t figure out your problem right now.”

Cato doesn’t respond.

Chan calls Minho, which in hindsight probably wasn’t the best idea, but he knew Jisung and Changbin would be loud and dramatic and he really didn’t want that right now. Minho is quiet, and he knows what to do when Chan is under the weather.

The younger male is quick to arrive, immediately shoving pain pills into Chan’s hand and ordering him to take them. “Were you making something?” Minho asks as he points to the pan.

“Oh, yeah,” Chan said from the couch. His head feels as if it can explode. “I was making y/n and I breakfast when—” he stops himself, looking over through his lashes at the other man.

“I already know,” Minho says. “So, where is she?”

“Uh, well,” Chan starts, having to take a second to will away the urge to vomit. “I slept with her…”

“And?”

“She never broke up with Seojun before we did.” Minho sighs, shaking his head as he joins the brunette on the couch.

“I told her she needed to do that first,” Minho responds. “She’s just as impulsive as Han Jisung. Worse than Han Jisung, actually.”

Chan wants to chuckle, but his head is somehow getting worse. His body starts aching again, as if the bruises are coming back. And suddenly it hurts to breathe. “Min,” he grunts out. “Min, I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“What’s wrong?”

Chan?

I feel like I’m fucking dying again.

Chan collapses to the floor, and when Minho slides down with him does he notice the blood pooling and staining the rug underneath the older man’s head. “Fuck. Fuck, okay. Hold on, hyung. I’m calling for help.”

Suddenly an otherworldly amount of pressure is pressing on Chan’s body, like the weight of the skies is laying flat along where he lays in his living room. He starts to panic, lungs starting to work overtime as Minho calls the emergency hotline from somewhere in the room.

Cato, what’s going on?

Your… Your injuries are coming back.

A white, blinding light floods Chan’s vision from the ceiling, and he feels a pull from the light.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Cato?

I’m getting taken back, Chan.

Cato! Don’t leave me!

The air slowly leaves his lungs, deflating like a balloon that wasn’t tied. He feels like a layer of his skin is being peeled away as the pressure in his head worsens, and Cato’s voice gets farther and farther away.

“Ca—” Chan tries to call out to him, but he passes out before he could.

I’m dying.

________________

❝took my breath from my open mouth, never known how it broke me down.❞

Cato and Eve snuck around under Adam’s nose after that fateful morning in the garden. Always meeting at the spot where they first met, making love to the song of the stream whenever they could. It felt different with Cato. It felt… good. Like lying with this man wasn’t a chore, but something she felt was their way of bonding. Connecting. She didn’t give a damn what God said.

She was not made for Adam. She and the god, Cato, were weaved from the same essence that brought them life — a single soul split into two different beings. And by lying with him, it strengthened that. She was his, as he was hers.

Cato was such a gentle lover, compared to Adam (if you could even call Adam a lover). Cato took her into his arms and worshiped her body as if she was a Goddess herself. The way his fingers indented her skin on her hips when his head was in between her thighs, lapping at her nectar, had her seeing stars. She found God in a lover, and the forbidden fruit tasted so sweet on her tongue.

Eve was happy.

That happiness didn't last long, though. And she was foolish to think it would.

She swore Adam went out to hunt that day, she saw him off. So, how he managed to find Eve at the stream hanging off a cock that wasn’t his, she’ll never know.

Adam told God right away.

Cato was ripped from her before she could even get to her knees. Before she could beg. She watched as a bright light encased Cato’s earthly body from the heavens, the light so blinding she’s forced to look to the ground if she still wished to keep her sight. She wailed that day, a mantra of inhuman, throat curdling sounds ripped from deep within her core as she punched her fists into the soil.

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” She howled. Adam stood behind her, face stoic as he watched Eve mourn the loss of her lover.

“It’s what you deserve,” Adam spits. “You’re lucky I’m gracious enough to let you live. Your pretty face would be one with stone if I was anyone else.”

Eve’s crying stopped then. The garden of Eden was silent, not even the stream was brave enough to sing. Everything was dead still, a simmering animosity burned brightly just under the surface of Eve’s plush skin. Adam’s stoicism fell as he caught the look on his wife’s face.

It was that of pure, unadulterated rage.

“I should have strung you up to that tree when I had the chance.” The venom drips from her words and poisons Adam’s veins the second they hit him.

—

“You weren’t supposed to tempt Eve,” God’s commanding voice boomed across the heavens. Cato sat on his knees, wrists and ankles chained to the marble ground. Different god’s sat around, watching the serpent intently, curious as to what was to happen to him. “You weren’t even supposed to make yourself known to her.”

“I told you why I was going to Earth,” Cato responded, voice tired. “I told you I fell for someone.”

“And that person was not supposed to be Eve!” Thunder cracked angrily across the sky. Murmurs erupted among the other gods. “You have tainted her, driven her off her path to her purpose.”

“Her purpose?” Cato repeated, indignant. “Her purpose is to be a breeding cow for a man who can’t even bother to see her as his equal?”

“And you were equals?” God laughed, a bellowing, boom laugh at the lesser god’s foolishness. “You’re a god, Cato. A heavenly entity that simple mortals can barely fathom the concept of. And you think Eve and you are equals?”

“I love her.”

Whispers of “love her?” echo through the chamber.

“She’s not yours to love!” God’s angry voice silenced the whispers, a tense stillness crushing Cato and pressing on his lungs. “You know I have to punish you.”

“Punish me all you wish,” Cato spat. “It will never deter how I feel for Eve.”

“Oh, my sweet child, it will.”

—

Cato wakes to cold biting at his skin. It’s so cold, so so cold. His eyes open to gray skies and heavy snow sprinkling along his cheeks. Snow covered trees line the horizon of his bleary vision, head pounding and body aching. He moves his fingers, feeling under the layer of snow and making way to the dead grass underneath.

He’s on Earth.

He tries to sit up, but his chest is burning and he’s having a hard time moving his arms. He feels like his body is being held down by a cinder block, unable to move himself from his spot.

“General Bang!” A voice shouts, muffled. He moves his head to find the voice, but a face comes into his line of vision as he looks right. “General Bang! You’re badly injured, don’t move. Wagon! I need a wagon!”

“What happened?” Cato whispers out, and the man grabs one of his hands from the snow. “Who are you?”

“It’s Hwang!” the man yells. “Hwang Hyunjin, do you remember?”

Cato wasn't able to respond as his eyes fell heavy and then closed.

When he awakes again, he is in a tent. He shoots up in a panic, looking around the space. A sharp pain shoots through his chest, making him groan and his elbows give out. “Hey, easy,” the same man says as he helps Cato lay back down. Hyunjin. His long black hair is tied up out of his face, a look of relief washing over it as he settles back down in the chair next to Cato’s cot. “You got a pretty nasty gash across your chest. It’s a miracle you didn’t die out there, Chan.”

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“I mean a dozen other men died from the same wound,” Hyunjin responds. “Your guardian angel is really looking out for you.”

“What happened?”

“Did you hit your head? We’re in a war,” Hyunjin responds, his eyebrows furrowed. “This was the most brutal battle we’ve fought in three years. How hard did you hit your head?”

Chan’s memories of the past couple years flash in Cato’s mind – like a short synopsis of what his vessel has been up to before he took over. Cato realizes that at that moment, Chan was dead. Cato was the sole entity keeping this body alive.

But why?

“Pretty hard, I guess,” Cato chuckles in response. “Does that mean… we won?”

“You bet your ass we did,” a smirk spreads across the male’s mouth. “We lost a lot of good men out there, though. Not looking forward to letting their wives know they’re widows now,” Cato nods his head, his gaze flitting around the ceiling of the medical tent. Hyunjin nudges his arm again, a grin on his face. “Are you gonna go back to y/n?”

A pulse shoots throughout his entire body at the mention of your name, a sinking feeling in his stomach that’s accompanied by the racing of his heart. He only shrugs. “If she’ll have me.”

“I don’t think she’d have anyone else.”

—

The war ends, and the troops all come back home. And Cato finds himself in front of a beautiful castle. Memories of Chan courting you for years flash in his mind. He seemed to have really adored you. Cato feels a twinge in his heart at the thought that Chan will never be able to experience being with you.

But, to Cato, you give him an overwhelming sense of deja vu. Like he already knew you. Like he already knew your body, your soul, like the back of his hand. So, when he visits you after three long years, and you were already taken by another man, his heart shatters. For Chan, and for another unknown reason he doesn’t think he’s ready to explore.

He still walks with you in the garden that day. Your arms are linked together, and he can’t help but stare at the side of your angelic face as you giggle at something he says. “You are a character, Mr. Bang,” you say in between giggles. “I sure am glad you came home from the war, alive and healthy.”

“I see,” is all he responds with, his own smile falling.

“Why did you not marry me?” You ask, voice wavering.

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“I would have waited for you,” you continue. “I would have waited lifetimes for you.”

Cato doesn’t respond, only letting his eyes flicker around your face, sadness overtaking his gaze. You both stare at one another, so close to each other. It’s quiet, between you two. Not tense, but not comfortable either.

His eyes widen in shock when you lean up to kiss his lips. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back, letting his hands cup your cheeks. You pull away after a second though, tears pulling into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I just… needed to know what it felt like to kiss you.”

You turn and walk away, leaving him alone in the garden with the taste of you still on his lips.

Cato is sentenced to live a life next to the reincarnation of Eve, always at his fingertips but never having the right to have her. Chan’s soul was with him for every single one. Each life is a punishment, a test. Each time he gives into his temptation of having Eve to himself, of dancing along that line with her, he is ripped from his mortal body and Chan’s own soul is torn with him.

Chan dies every time.

Again. And again. And again. And again. For millennia, Cato is subjected to always losing Eve in the most brutal of ways just as he finally thinks he has her for himself. As soon as he lies with her, he is forced to leave her soon after.

He can never escape it.

________________

❝i won’t die for love, but ever since i met you, you could have my heart and I would break it for you.❞

Cato sits on his knees in a desolate chamber. It’s deathly still, and eerily silent. The only sound is his breathing – which is slowed. His wrists, bound in enchanted steel cuffs, sit chained to the ground in front of where he sits on his knees. His hair lays on his shoulders, dirty and knotted. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here — it could be months. It could be centuries.

He doesn’t think he cares anymore.

Chan is dead. He has to be. There’s no way he managed to survive the way Cato was ripped out of him like that. He hasn’t survived it in any of the lifetimes Cato spent using his body.

It was cruel — the way Cato and Chan are subjected to this, lifetime after lifetime, a never ending cycle of Chan losing his life before he can even turn thirty all because Cato fell for someone he had no business falling for. He grimaces to himself, shaking his head in defeat as he remembers the way Chan was crying out for him when he was ripped from his subconsciousness.

“When are you ever going to learn?” A voice echoes in the chamber. God.

“I do not wish to speak of this.” Cato snaps.

“Don’t you wish to see how Chan is doing?” God asks, snapping his fingers. A gateway to Earth opens under Cato, and he watches in horror as medics work on his dying body in the middle of his living room floor. “He’s still holding on. For now.”

Cato looks away, clamping his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear to see Chan like that. Not when he knows he’s the cause of it.

Chan is going to die. Again.

“Please,” Cato whispers. “Please, kill me.”

“Kill you?” God repeats.

“Yes, fuck!” Cato spits, his shout echoing deafeningly throughout the empty chambers. The silence that refills the space is enough for the god to break, sobs racking through his body from where he is chained. “I can’t do this anymore. Let Chan live, and let me die. Please.”

God does not respond, only watching as the calamity god wails, a mixture of snot and tears pooling on the concrete from under them. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Is that what you truly want?”

Cato can only nod his head. “Chan’s life, for my mortality,” he responds, still crying. “I can’t keep watching him die.”

“You know that means he might not be reincarnated,” God says. “The only reason Chan is a living soul on earth was for you to use him as your vessel. He’s not needed after that.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Cato shakes his head. “That’s a better outcome than having to die before twenty six every single time.”

“How do you wish to go?”

“Like Icarus,” he doesn’t hesitate to respond. “I will fling myself into the sun.”

________________

Walking away from Chan has to be the hardest thing you’ve done.

You genuinely weren’t planning on sleeping with him the night before. You don’t know what took over you. It just happened. That’s not to say you regret it, though. Because you don’t. While you’ve never slept with someone before, laying underneath Chan felt so… right. Even if it is wrong from a moral standpoint. But, it felt otherworldly. Not just because the sex was good, but you felt as if it was meant to happen. You and Chan were meant to happen. As cliche as it is, and you cringe thinking of it, you wholeheartedly believe you and Chan were written in the stars, destined to find each other in this life. And the next. Nothing has felt more clear than being with him, and you use that as courage to knock on Seojun’s door.

When he opens it, he’s still in his sleep clothes. “Did I wake you?” You ask, voice and face void of any emotion.

“Kinda,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”

“I just came to say that I know you’re cheating on me,” you start. His eyes widen in quick panic, and he’s about to respond when you put your hand up to stop him as you shake your head. “I just want to tell you that we’re even. And it’s over.”

“You cheated on me?” Seojun repeats, indignation in his voice. “You fucking whore!”

“Yeah, save it, Seojun,” You scoff, shaking your head. “I already know about Aecha so you have no room to take a moral fucking high ground. Just nod and say okay and shut the door with what little dignity you have still intact.”

“Y/n?” A voice echoes from behind Seojun. His mother walks up behind him, a cup in her hand. Her eyebrows are furrowed. “Did you just say you cheated on my son? Do your parents know what you did?”

“I also said he cheated, too, so,” you shrug. Her mouth drops open, her face scrunching up in anger. It looks as if she’s about to scream at you before you continue, “I’ll leave your stuff with Aecha.”

You don’t let either of them speak as you turn around and walk down the stairs and out onto the street. You pull out your phone, about to call Chan and let him know you’re on your way back when Felix’s contact name pops up on your screen. You slide to answer, placing the phone against your ear. “I know what you’re gonna say, but I just broke up with Seojun and I’m–”

“You need to get to the hospital right now, y’n,” Felix cuts you off, his voice shaking. “Chan had an accident, and he might not make it.”

Your phone falls from your hand.

________________

God’s of all origins gather around in the chambers to witness Cato’s execution. Everyone is whispering anxiously amongst one another. One deity stands silent, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at where Cato is chained intently. His heart is heavy, having to watch his dearest friend kill himself in the worst way possible.

“Have you spoken to him yet, Apollo?” Artemis asks as she walks up behind him. “I’m sure he would love to see you one more time.”

“What am I to even say?” Apollo asks. “Nothing I say will change his mind, you know how stubborn he is, that bastard.”

“It still must hurt,” Artemis responds. “You’ve been in love with him since the day he was created. I know it must kill you to see the torture he’s gone through.”

“There is nothing I can do about it,” Apollo shakes his head. “I love him, but it hurts more to see him be thrown back to earth again and again. It’s better this way.”

“He will live on in your heart,” his sister assures, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But you don’t have to put yourself through the torture of seeing this.”

“After a millennia of divine punishment, Cato, god of calamity, has decided to take his life,” God’s booming voice echoes through the chamber, silencing everyone in an instant. “He will join Icarus in the deep sea below.”

Hushed whispers resound once again through the chambers, all of them having remembered watching the man’s wax wings melt from the flaming star and plummeting to his death in the never ending, and unforgiving seas.

Cato does not look up at anyone, not even to God himself. He does not speak, nor does he try to beg for forgiveness. He’s tired. He’s so tired.

God stands next to him, a hand on his shoulder as two angels unlock the shackles from his wrists and ankles. “Chan will wake up once you have hit the seas. You have my word.” Cato only nods in response.

And as he launches himself towards the sun, the burning heat of it burning at his skin and singing his feathered wings, he wails. He wails and screams, mourning his love for Eve and the time he’s spent being tortured with her almost in his grasp. Truly, he thinks death is better than being without her. The sun dries his tears, and it brings him a dark sense of comfort. And when his wings are all but ash, and he’s falling into awaiting waters, he smiles.

Apollo cries quietly as the god’s body is swallowed by the dark blue seas.

________________

Chan wakes up in a hospital room.

611 notes · View notes

lewdmommie · 1 year

Text

🕷️Caught in your web🕷️

Miguel O’haraxspiderwoman!reader

Warning:18+NSFW,Breeding,Praise,language,violence, blood play, rough sex, Bondage, size kink etc

Summary: Spider y/n falls through a portal and ends up in the year 2099

Comment if you’d like part 2🎀

Word count: 5.k

The cuffs around your wrist squeeze tighter the more you struggle against them. That weird electric prickly feeling begins to set in before you decide to conserve your energy. It was useless with your web supply cut off, A burning sears across your cheek as the guard delivers another blow. A metallic taste of blood pools in your mouth,you spit resentfully at his army green boots.

“If that’s all you got we’re gonna be here all day.” You sneer. The guard raises his hand pulling back with more momentum than before, striking you again. Your head hangs with exhaustion, sweat dripping onto the concrete floor. “The serum. I want it.” The sound of calculated clicks fill the space as a voice makes its way closer and closer. The footsteps get louder before stopping completely, Your spidey senses are off the charts. A calloused finger taps the underside of your chin putting your bloodied face on display. “Fascinating…your wounds have already started repairing themselves” your head whips away from his touch,repulsed. He continues “That serum is the missing link to a suit that could withstand the molecular pressure of traveling through the multiverse. The human body is far too fragile to have its cells ripped apart and woven back together, trust me we’ve tested that theory.” The blind fold is snatched away from your eyes. You squint at the sudden change in lighting, the room is fuzzy before coming into focus. You’re in what seems to be a warehouse… a huge warehouse. This building had to be connected to something bigger and judging by the advanced technology, Array of computers, and Enormous Hexagonal machine at the center of the room, it was most likely a laboratory of some kind. A man in a midnight suit towers over you with an unhinged look in his eye. “You’re my missing link.” He practically drools. A feeling of dread stabs you, this wasn't looking good.

“You’ll have to kill me. Oh wait you can’t… because… your missing link…it’s in my head.” You smile giving a small labored laugh.

“Oh Doctor Y/LN who needs your mind when I have your body. These powers you have…I assume you weren’t born this way. This isn’t some comic book fairytale. People aren’t born special. We make ourselves special…and that’s exactly what you did, isn't it doctor?” He crouches glaring deeply into your eyes.

“I am going to wring every last drop of serum from your body, you will be nothing but a husk when I am done with you.” He grins before shooting back to his feet.

“Activate the machine and get her hooked up to the destabilizer. I want this thing up and running by tonight” He places a cigarette between his lips, striking it with a gold plated lighter, smoke swirls in the air.

“Kill her nice and slow for wasting so much of my time.” He Flicks the still burning cigarette in your direction,the red hot cherry barely missing your skin.

Two guards force you to your feet, dragging you to a chair riddled with tubes and wires.

Shit.shit.shit. You think, going limp and using your body weight to slow them down. They unlock your handcuffs in order to strap you into the machine, without thinking you shoot two webs in random directions grabbing whatever they land on and yank them towards the guards. A desk and filing shelf come flying at the men knocking them unconscious. You attempt to shoot a web at the guard who stood at the entrance but they unfortunately got away, you hear them call for backup on their radio.

I’m outnumbered… your mind races

A red button in the middle of the control center catches your eye.

That’s my way out, you conclude flipping over the unconscious men and landing gracefully on top of the command center.

Big scary red button…what can go wrong? With nothing to lose you slam the button. The machine activates with an obnoxious roar, lights begin to flicker from the insane power output. You walk up the stairs leading to the device, it seems to be made up of millions of tiny pixels, each spec representing a possible reality or dimension. Colors you didn’t even know existed vibrated within this portal.

“Don’t you dare! This is my life’s work!” A guttural scream shreds the air.

“Well I guess…better luck next life?” You give a cheeky salute before falling into the unknown.

“ay dios mío, I don’t need a spidey sense to see she’s wearing a suit.” The voice sounds distant but close enough for you to make out their conversation. “Yes I am sure, I checked, there are web shooters…right, she hasn’t woken up yet…Okay.” he sighs. Your eyes flutter open and you’re greeted by a blue sky and fluffy white clouds. A Dark shadow cast over your view before you can fully appreciate it. Another me?… you think to yourself unsure if you’re seeing things right or if it’s a hallucination from the interdimensional travel.

“Where am I?” You push off the ground with a grunt.

“Nueva York” He states with an annoyed tone.

“Nueva York? You mean New York City? How did I end up in New York City…” You ramble frantically.

“Idiota, Nueva York, have you been living under a rock for the last century?” He kneels down edging forward evaluating your features. With a curious hand, he brushes your hair back. You wince as his finger accidentally glides over the fresh slash on your cheek. For a split second his eyes go wide with concern before resting back to judgemental slits.

“What happened here?” His hand hovers over your wound, keeping a good distance to avoid hurting you any further. Miguel didn’t have many moral compasses but one of his top three rules was to always protect women and children. Any villains who dared make the mistake of harming either were given no mercy. Killing was never his first option, but it wasn’t completely off the table if needed. His blood boils at the sight of you, his instinct is to destroy whoever would do something so vile. His teeth bare down, the tips of his fangs prick the smooth skin of his inner lip, a subtle hint of blood hits his tongue.

“Who did this to you?” He asks again, more aggressive than before.

“The Director.” You mutter. Running from a fight wasn’t in your nature but The Director’s forces were too much to handle. You needed to get away, regroup, and being shackled to a cold slab of metal wasn’t the best place to do that.

“Director, most likely a new wannabe villain…leave this to me. You’ve had enough fun playing dress up for one day.” He says as he gets back up. His eyebrow perks inquisitively for a second before turning around. “Cool toy by the way.” He waves off. Impulsively you shoot a web that whips around his ankles holding him in place. Knees bending Miguel centers himself, stabilizing his balance.

“How’s that for a toy?” You push off the ground, palms flat, landing a forward front flip straight onto your feet.

You approach cautiously, nearly walking on the tips of your toes, he doesn’t budge or even speak. He looks dangerous, measuring in at 6'9, his chiseled physique, red eyes that seemed to see right through you, and fangs didn’t help much with looking friendly. Standing at arm's length. You speak slowly.

“I’m not here to fight-”

“Wouldn’t be much of a fight.” he growls, baring his claws.

“It’s my turn for questioning.” You say.

“You must have stolen that device. I will have to detain you.” He lunges at you stumbling clumsily.

“What’s your name?” You question. Miguel stays silent for a while pondering if he should give out such sensitive information to an imposter.

“Isn’t it obvious,Spider-Man.” He states finally looking down at the red spider symbol on his suit.

“This can’t be real. It couldn’t have actually worked. I thought I’d get sent to a McDonald’s a few blocks away or something…I’m really in a different universe” you grumble to yourself, pacing back and forth.

“Are you on something right now?” His brow scrunches accentuating the lines in his forehead.

“W-what do you mean by that! Are you asking if I’m on drugs?” You’re snatched away from your personal monologue by his ludicrous accusation.

“It’s alright I'm used to super fans, just tell me where you live and I can get you back home safely.”

“Super fans? Do you think I’m supposed to be dressed up as you? My suit is way better than yours; if anything you’re cosplaying me!” You wince, doubling over, the adrenaline has started wearing off.

“You need a hospital. Libérame(set me free), I can help you.” He struggles against your webs once more,failing to break free.

“I am fine I just need to rest for…a…minute-“ your words trail off.

Miguel breaks into action, the webs resist before shredding apart as he surges forward catching you in his solid arms.

“Joder(fuck),she’s out cold” he supports your body. His web shoots, sticking to the opposite building. A strong arm locks you in place as he jumps swinging through the maze of businesses and skyscrapers.

shooting up in a cold sweat, your chest heaves heavily struggling for breath.

“Just a dream” you exhale relieved holding the blanket to your bare chest.

“Oh great,You’re awake.” At the corner of the room Spider-Man leans against the wall,smirking.

Your hands scramble for more blanket to shield your nude body.

“Where are my clothes?!” A hot blush creeps on your cheeks.

“I haven’t quite figured that out myself, some time after you passed out your…suit somehow submerged itself into your flesh. Disintegrating right in front of my eyes” He looks down stroking his chin.

“The suit deactivated because of my low brain activity, it thought I was transforming back. Oh god did you see anything?” You ask curling into yourself.

“Wasn’t much to see.” He shrugs.

You scoff before noticing a fresh set of clothes sprawled in the chair beside the bed.

“I came to let you know where the bathroom is, I’m sure you want to get cleaned up after everything that’s happened.”

“Why did you bring me here…and where is here exactly?”

“This is my place. I couldn’t just leave a fellow spider person unconscious on a rooftop. It doesn’t really help the brand. Whatever you have inside you is way too powerful to let a villian get lucky and stumble upon.” He explains. So it’s about my powers huh? Typical. You think holding eye contact with the spider jerk. The color of his eyes stand out to you, their vibrant red hue shines in the dim light. The more you observe him the more intense his features become, he’s extremely handsome under that constant grimace. You find your eyes lingering on his spandex clad body, tracing how the fabric molds to the shape of each muscle. So tight you could see even the slightest twitch or flex. He folds his arms awaiting your reply, This movement forces you to look down at the sheets,flustered.

“Y-yeah that’s true, thanks, I’ll uh go take that shower now.”

“The bathrooms down the hall to the left, I have towels folded on the sink along with toiletries. Have a nice bath…you need it.” He holds his nostrils closed exiting the room dramatically.

Lifting your arm you take a quick sniff. Your nose scrunches at the smell of battle. Interdimensional travel is quite the workout. Your toes wiggle on the cool hardwood floor seeing if it’d crumble underneath your feet. To your surprise it doesn’t, meaning this place is actually real life and not just some simulation. Peeking your head from behind the security of the door frame, you scan the area before scurrying down the hall. Miguel stands in the living area mumbling something under his breath.

“So her picture is nowhere in the police database?…no, ugh Tan molesto(so annoying), check again lyla.” He commands.

He really thinks I’m a crazy stalker fan you think in disbelief, you sneak down the hall stepping through the open bathroom door, you close it behind yourself . The bathroom had dark simplistic themes with splashes of red that popped. The sink and bathtub are made with the same charcoal colored marble, the sink is neatly decorated with necessities such as a toothbrush, electric razor, hair brush, cologne and deodorant. To the left of the sink are expertly folded black towels, one for washing and one for drying. The mirror is larger than average and sits rectangular at the same length as the sink.Turning around a glimpse of your back stops you in your tracks. The wounds have closed but the scars and bruises remain. A reminder of your goal…to take down the director. Your fingers trail the scar on your cheek and anger

bubbles from a place deep within . He’d taken everything from you and he had a debt to pay for those atrocities. You wanted his life as payment. Pulling back the scarlet shower curtain you twist the handle all the way to hot, nothing was better than a steaming hot shower to wash away a day. Grabbing the small washcloth you unroll it and step into the tub, holding it under the water before lathering with the body wash propped at the edge of the bathtub. It smelled strongly of musk and deep woody undertones befitting for an attractive egotistical Superhero. The scent of him causes your thighs to squeeze shut as the throbbing sets in. You close your eyes, gliding the towel slowly over your skin imagining his touch. Your head falls back as the towel travels up your neck, the muscles in your throat contract as you swallow back a moan imagining his large hands gripping you there. Washing your chest the fibers of the towel cause a gentle friction over your now stiff nipples earning a small yelp from you. Everything is feeling too good. The bathroom is steamy, the scent of him floating all around you. Absent-mindedly your fingers slide down the length of your stomach trailing a line to your pulsating heat. The hot shower stream collides with your sensitive flesh. The water sprays firmly on your chest stimulating your taut pearls. It’s too much to handle, behind your eye lids you can see him stepping into this shower and fucking you ruthlessly against the shower wall. That rebellious finger teases the slick line of your womanhood, just barely pushing past the soft folds. The tip of your finger slides over your slippery bud, a soft moan falls from your lips. Miguel notices you’ve been in the shower for some time now and begins to worry for your well-being. Just as his fist hovers over the door to knock, he is stopped in his tracks at the sound of desperate whimpers and groans. She isn’t…she couldn’t be. He shakes away the notion concluding you may just be sick from today's events. Regardless he didn’t want to disturb you unless you called for him. For some reason he couldn’t seem to walk away from the door, on the contrary he takes a step closer, curiosity getting the better of him. His heart rate skyrockets as he listens intently.

“Uhn p-please touch me…please.” You beg.

The tips of his ears are warm with blush. The crotch of his suit tightens, suffocating the raging hard on he desperately tries to suppress. His forehead rests on the door as he tries to slow his heavy breathing. Blood rushes through his veins enhancing his already heightened senses. It’s almost as if he could feel you through the wall, the only thing separating him was the door,which he could break down with ease. His lips part exposing sharp ivory fangs, his breath is labored and his body shaking with need. He needed to release these feelings deep inside you. breaking down that door and completely having his way with you on the bathroom floor was the only way to tame the fire burning deep inside him. Every muscle in his body tensed and quivered as he became solid with arousal. I need her. I need to be inside her now. A voice growls in his mind. Suddenly the water cuts off. He steps away from the door chest heaving up and down. Biting his lip he walks away, going into his bedroom to find a change of clothes that will allow his throbbing erection to feel a bit more comfortable. You grab the dry off towel and secure it around your frame.

The clothes. You think realizing they were left in the bedroom.

With a quick peek outside, the coast is clear the spider jerk is nowhere in sight so you B line it to the bedroom. An audible gasp escapes as you cover your mouth in shock. There he stood half naked wearing only a pair of navy blue briefs. His body could have been sculpted by gods, never had you seen someone so beautiful. He turns around glaring at you through his curly hair, eyes gleaming like ruby’s.

“I-I left my clothes, I’m sorry I didn’t know you were in here.” You quickly look away, the image still fresh in your mind.

“It’s fine. I was just changing.” He slips on his white tee shirt, closing the drawer.

“Right of course this is your room, in your house, and your clothes…” you ramble.

“Yeah. Sure. Hurry and get dressed, we need to talk.” He says with an unamused tone.

“O-kay!” He bumps your shoulder as he exits the room.

“Ouch.” You exclaim, holding your arm.

Grumbling angrily under your breath, you pick up the oversized tee and shorts combo. The clothes swallow you naturally considering his massive size. You make your way to the living room. your hands work tying your hair back as you sit on the opposite side of the couch watching him closely.

“I was thinking about your suit.” He starts.

“Please don’t bring up how I was naked earlier.” You plead hiding your face.

“W- no I’m not talking about…that.” His voice becomes deeper as he rubs the back of his neck reminiscing on how hard the sound of your voice made him just minutes ago.

“I’m talking about the technology. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen…something that hasn’t been explored, Ever. Something almost otherworldly.” He scratches his head in confusion.

“Okay so now do you believe I’m not some psycho fangirl?”

“It isn’t completely off the table. But if you are really a spider person…prove it. Prove it isn’t some kind of illusion.” He leans back, arms stretched across the back of the couch, his legs parted comfortably. You can’t help your eyes wandering to the visible bulge that tented between his thighs.

“What was the question again?” Your eyes are glossy and cheeks flustered. Miguel follows your line of vision seeing the lustful gaze consume you. His cock twitches, making him shoot up, using his arms to cover the evidence.

“Prove you have powers!” He raises his voice slightly.

“Okay okay no need to yell.” You stand taking a few steps away from the couch.

His eyes follow you curiously as you stop about three feet in front of him. In mere seconds his hands are forced together by a string of abnormally strong webbing. Wrapping the loose string Around your palm,you pull yanking him to his feet.

“The more you struggle the tighter it becomes.” You inform him. His eyes are low and his lips have a rosy hot blush. You advance forward using the remaining web to bind his wrist tighter. With one final pull it is secured firmly in place.

“ Te deseo tanto(I want you so much)” Miguel moans before quickly regaining his composure.

“Huh what does that mean?” You inquire unsure if you heard him correctly.

“N-nothing it doesn’t mean anything. Where are the webs coming from?”

“Here.” You point to your wrist.

“Then why do you have a web shooter? Sounds like a trick to me.” He says through clenched teeth.

“The shooter strengthens the quality of my webs. It wouldn't be fun swinging fifty feet in the air and having a web break on you.”

“That’s true. You seem to have some experience with this lifestyle. I can assume you’ve been this way for a long time.”

“Yeah…a few years actually.” You sound far away.

“I can’t believe another spider person has gone undetected for so long.” He looks deep in thought.

“I'm not from here exactly.”

“Did you move from a different state? A lot of things have changed after the Heroic age so it would make sense you were in hiding-“ he speaks matter-a factly.

“What year is it?” You interrupt.

“Year? I think you might have hit your head pretty hard. It's the year 2099 don’t you remember?” The world starts spinning around you.

“20…99.You’re Spider-Man from the year 2099? This isn’t right, I shouldn't be here!” Tears stream down your face as you realize just how far away from home you really are.

Without thinking he lifts his bound hands over your head pulling you flush against his rock solid chest.

His chin nestles in your hair, you can feel his warm breath on your cheek. With each sob he pulls you closer,deeper into him.

“Eres demasiado bonita para llorar.” He whispers in your ear. The sudden change in language catches your attention, halting the flow of tears.

“W-what does that mean?” Your head leans back, staring up at him with blurry eyes.

“You’re too pretty to cry.” He breathes.

Giving into the temptation his arms lock around your waist hoisting you to his eye level. You nod, wanting to listen to the only thing that made sense in that moment ,the only thing that felt real…your body. He exhales a sigh of relief at your nod of consent taking advantage of your position he closes the distance with his lips. You hadn’t even recognized the amount of tension in your body until completely relaxing in his arms. The kiss is hungry as you two struggle for power, he clearly wants to take control but you wouldn’t make it that easy. You snake your arms out of his grasp, tangling your hands in his chestnut curls. Your feet are dangling off the ground, taking advantage of this you wrap your legs around his waist. His tongue sneakily slips past your lips petting the inside of your mouth, tasting you for the very first time.

“Tan deliciosa(so delicious)” he mumbles into your mouth.

His warm wet appendage entangles with your eager tongue dancing together in a tango of passion. With a pained groan he forces his wrist apart breaking through the barrier of your webs, desperate to touch you.

“Need…more” he is no longer able to articulate full sentences. The lust drowns him and he pulls you down with him. His now free hands roam your body leaving no place undiscovered. His giant hand grips the back of your neck pulling you deeper into the kiss. He holds you still as he finds solace in your lips, there is no place he’d rather be in this moment than Buried hilt deep inside your walls. His other hand grips your ass kneading the soft skin. As you begin to slip, he bounces you with one arm, holding you even tighter. He blindly sits down on the couch, a bit of a bumpy ride but you land gently straddling his hips. He pulls away to stare fervently at you with rose colored eyes. Without bothering to remove your shirt in a humane way, he slashed a talon between your breasts, roughly splitting the fabric.

“So fucking beautiful” he runs his tongue up the length of your torso all the way to your neck. You tremble beneath his touch. He plants warm kisses up your throat, sucking and nipping the smooth flesh. His fang pokes dangerously close with each lap, threatening to sink in at any moment. He softly bares down breaking just the surface of your skin, a small trickle of blood pools at both sides of the bite. You gasp at the sudden pain but quickly melt as he licks it away. The fact you’re both spider people his venom doesn’t work the same way it would on a human. It is not poisonous or toxic. Your body processes it by turning it into dopamine intensifying your bodily sensitivity. The effects take action immediately; electricity vibrates every cell in your body.

“W-wait i don’t even know your name…your real name.” You huff trying to catch your breath.

“Miguel. Yours?” He smiles, the lines in his face stand out making him look even more charming.

“Y/n” your eyes move side to side as he leans in again this time lower.

“Nice to meet you, Now por favor fóllame(please fuck me)

“Oh god…ah…please” you plead as he sucks your erect peaks. He sucks and teases your nipples, he moans as you grab his hair for support.

“Uhn…mamita harder, pull harder” he groans, flicking his tongue over your hard pearls. You obey, pulling with a little more force than before. A shiver runs down his spine, his eyes flutter as they roll back.

In an instant he turns around flipping you onto your back, he kneels between your legs on the living room floor. He ejects a web plastering your ankles together. Your back is flat on the couch cushion and your lower half hangs being supported only by his firm grip on your ankles. Just as before he doesn’t bother with removing your bottoms. He lifts your legs up, creating tension in the fabric and slicing at the resistance point splitting the shorts in two exposing your eager slit.

“Oh dios te necesito ahora(oh god I need you right now)” he pants.

Using the hand grasping your ankles, he pushes your legs back putting your plush entrance on display. He salivates at the sight of you so vulnerable and open before him, the muscles in your legs tremble as he bends down splaying soft kisses on your inner thighs. You can feel his warm breath on your wet folds. A growl rumbles in his throat as he traces the line of your flower with his tongue, savoring your nectar .

“f-fuck…s-so good” you moan, biting back a scream of pleasure. Utilizing his free hand, he teases your slick canal with two thick digits before easing them inside. His tongue and fingers work in unison petting your inner and outer sweet spots. Never had he felt someone so tight and inviting, his cock twitches as your walls squeeze his fingers. Pumping his fingers in and out he simultaneously licks your clit, sucking and lapping at the bundle of nerves. Your hips buck and hands find his hair grinding deeper into his touch. He picks up the pace as your pussy quivers. his head moves rhythmically as he absolutely devours you. His chin is slick with your juices as he licks and sucks every inch of your inner labia. Your legs twitch and shake as the climax edges near, maintaining the same speed he pushes you past your breaking point.

“Can’t take anymore…i-its too much.” You sob gripping him tighter.

“It’s okay estás haciendo un buen trabajo(You’re doing such a good job) don’t give up on me…that’s it…good girl.” He praises finger fucking you through your orgasm. With a final yelp the gates open and you cum harder than you’ve came before, coating his fingers in your delicious cream. Slow and gently he slips his fingers from your spent cunt leaving you shivering and incoherent. Instinctively he puts those same fingers in his mouth sucking away the mess you made. Before you can even think of catching your breath, he sits up removing the barrier of his shirt and shorts. The elastic waistband of his shorts slides down exposing the defined V lines on his hips. His throbbing manhood burst free, the veins pulsing visibly with frustration. His head hangs hiding his red hot blush and low set eyelids, this feeling could only be described as animalistic. Using his fangs he shreds the webbing holding your ankles in place, setting you free. Your knees fall in exhaustion at either side of you giving him full access to your cunt once again. He towers over you, hands on the back of the couch to support his massive weight. You feel his cock fall thick and heavy on your glistening lips. He breathes deeply, rubbing his member along your split, his mouth opens slightly a pained expression pulls to his face.

“Me vuelves loca(you drive me crazy) I can’t wait anymore.” He growls lining his tip with your slick hole. He plunges deep and desperately inside you, his claws slice the back of the couch as he ruts into you. Those piercing red eyes bore into yours as he pistons into your pillowy heat. Your pussy clenches sucking him in further, the tip of his cock slams your g spot with each stroke. The grooves of your inner walls massage all eight inches of his thick rod.

“Me encanta tu cuerpo(I love your body)…te sientes muy bien(you feel so good)…No puedo resistirme a ti(I can’t resist you)” he groans low in your ear. He places his calloused hand under your knee pushing it back and opening you wider. He pumps in and out at a fervent pace, suddenly he switches the position of his hands to rest on your hips. With his Cock buried deep inside you, he stands hoisting you by your waist. Naturally your legs hang around his hips leaving you at his mercy. You’re a frightening 6’9 inches from the ground being fucked like a rag doll. His hands grip your ass as he rocks you back and forth on his dick. Your toes curl as he rails you slamming up while forcing you down on his cock. It’s hard and needy. He can’t control himself, his talons prick your flesh as he grips you tightly. His manhood throbs begging for release,head falling back as he forces you up and down on his shaft.

“Need to cum…can’t hold it f-fuck.” With a final thrust he slams deep within exploding and spraying your walls with hot cum. He holds you close as his body trembles, a thin layer of sweat glistens on his body. His cock twitches still hard inside you.

“Another round,hermosa(beautiful)?” He pants.

“Yes please.” You breathe.

#smut x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara smut #into the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x y/n #fluff #smut #smut fanfiction #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #slow burn #fanfic #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara fic #spiderman 2099 fanfiction #spiderman2099fic

533 notes · View notes

neteyamsoare · 1 year

Text

I Thought I Lost You.

༉‧₊˚. Featuring. Jake Sully x Fem! Na'vi! Omatikaya! Mate! Reader.

༉‧₊˚. Anonymous Request. Yeah absolutely how about a Jake Sully request where his female mate and himself were part of the war party but they get separated and when they return home, she finds him in their home injured but still working to distract himself. She pulls him away from the table and starts cleaning his wounds and putting ointment on them and covers them in bandages in silence and while she is helping him tears start to build up in her eyes and he notices but she tries to hide them from him he cups her chin and gently gets her to face him and puts his forehead on hers closing his eyes. Eventually, they both lie down face to face with their arms around each other and he comforts her as he knows that it was hard for her to see him injured and thought she lost him with him rubbing her back slowly and kissing her softly, if you don’t mind writing this? Thanks.

༉‧₊˚. Summary. When you see Jake’s injuries, you can’t help but think about the what-ifs.

༉‧₊˚. General Tags. Angst, hurt, comfort, and fluff.

༉‧₊˚. Content Warnings. Weapons, fear of losing a loved one, crying, mention of blood, and injuries.

༉‧₊˚. Word Count. 1,43k!!

༉‧₊˚. Index. Mawey — [calm], Ma — [you use it before a name, any kind of name, when you are talking to someone specifically], ‘ite — [daughter], Irayo — [thank you], Sa’nok — [mother], Oel ngati kameie — [I see you (greeting)], Vrrtep — [demon], and Nga yawne lu oer — [I love you].

༉‧₊˚. Notes. Thank you for being my first Jake request, I hope you are still here with me, sorry it took long. If you have any more requests, always send them in, I’m in love with your ideas, especially since you are the same anon who requested the request for I Missed You. Also would love to see you claim an emoji so I know it’s you whenever you request or simply talk to me. | Go easy on me, this is my first Jake fic and I’m so nervous.

༉‧₊˚. Extra. Comments, likes, and reblogs are highly appreciated but not pressured. 🤍

༉‧₊˚. Starred Links. Navigation + Masterlist + Prompts + Taglist

Your eyes snapped open, and you let out a big gasp, slight pain coming from your head, your heart pounding as you frantically looked around the room. Mo’at rushes over to you, “Mawey, Ma’ite, you’re fine,” she says in a calming soothing voice as you try to control your hands.

“Sa’nok, how long have I been asleep?” Mo’at pours some water into a small cup, giving it to you to drink. “Not for long,” she answers, mixing herbs in a bowl.

As you drink the water feeling the coldness of it going down your throat, you try to recall what happened, you and Jake were a part of the war party, Jake had received information that the RDA was transporting weapons to their new base and the only way to stopping them was to hijack the train and steal the weapons.

As the warriors were taking every weapon they could get, you were shooting the flying machines down, killing the pilots with your arrows.

You would look over at Jake to make sure he was alright a couple of times, you couldn’t fathom the thought of him getting hurt.

You saw something drop from the sky, it landed a few feet away from him and when you saw it was a grenade, you took off running screaming out his name and he turns to look over at you wondering what’s wrong and that’s when he looks to the ground seeing the device and fear struck into his eyes and before he can run over to you to get you out of the fire the device goes off knocking both you and him back and as you hit the ground, you immediately black out with Jake being the last thing on your mind.

Your heart starts pounding again and you get up off the mat, making your way to the entrance before you can step out, Mo’at stops you and you turn to her going to argue but she interrupts you, “You might need this,” you look down at her hands and see she carrying a bowl that had healing poultice and a bowl of water with a rag in it that she prepared while you were unconscious, knowing the first thing you were going to do was look for your mate and she wasn’t going to stop you if her mate was still alive, she’d do the same thing.

"Irayo, sa’nok, oel ngati kameie,” you say as you raise your hand to your forehead before motioning outwards she sends a rare smile towards you as she places the bowls in your hands and you make your way out of her tent, going in the direction of your home.

You couldn’t help feeling the worry build up inside of you. "Mawey [Name], he’s fine, he’s fine," is all you could think about as you try to soothe yourself as you head home.

"He has to be fine, maybe it’s not that bad," you take a deep breath as you steady your hands being careful not to drop the bowls you were holding.

When you arrive outside your home, your nose picks up Jake’s scent, a scent that always made you know he was close, a scent that made you feel safe, a scent that you never planned on losing… Your ears instantly lay flat against your head in fear when your nose picked up another scent.

Metallic. Blood! You rush inside seeing Jake with his back facing the entrance, sitting down at his table and cleaning his gun, your eyes immediately seeing the big gash on his back and the small wound on his arm.

Knowing Jake would rather distract himself from the pain than get it treated.

Jake already picked up that you were here by your scent and before he could open up his mouth to say he was fine you had already placed the bowls on the ground and carefully dragged him away from his desk by his uninjured arm placing him where the bowls were, his back facing you.

“Babe, it’s fine,” Jake said as he gets comfortable knowing he can’t escape it.

You let out a small hiss, “Yeah you say that but it could get infected!” you sit beside him after getting bandages out of the supplies you kept stocked for times like these.

You decide to take care of the small wound first, taking out the rag and wringing it out and gently cleaning the small wound, Jake winces at the touch and you let out a few soft sorrys' as you continue.

You set the rag carefully on the bowl as you scoop a small amount of the poultice and spread it on the small cut gently as you do you can feel Jake’s hard stare on you as he inspects your body for any bruises and happily see you got off with none.

When he saw your lifeless body on the ground, he was scared, his only thought was to get you to Mo’at so she could watch over you no matter if he was feeling pain, you matter more to him. You avoided his eye contact knowing if you did return his gaze, you’d break.

You carefully wrap the bandage around his arm and rub it softly after you finish.

Jake goes to touch your hand but you had already moved to the back of him getting ready to clean the wound on his back.

He knew how much you get in your head when he would get hurt, how much feelings you would build up inside you as you took care of his wounds. How could you not?

You almost lost him at the hands of that vrrtep, and seeing him passed out on the floor not moving struck fear in your heart that one day it can be permanent and you would be left alone on this planet.

‘What if the damage was worse than this? What would have happened if you had to wake up having to hear bad news from your sa’nok that your mate was no longer alive?’ You thought fighting back the tears that dared to fill your eyes, chest tightening as you finish cleaning the wound and you scoop up some of the poultice, spreading it over the big wound being extra careful to not hurt him.

‘I can’t lose him… not when I just got him…’ You think to yourself as you finish putting the poultice on the wound and start wrapping the bandage over it as Jake lifts his arms a bit to make it easy for you.

When you’re done, you set the bandage roll next to you and look to the ground as all the feelings that you have been holding in start to burst.

Jake shifts his body around to face you, and when he sees you trying to fight the tears from falling, looking to the ground in order to not face him, he brings his hand to your face, cupping your chin softly turning your eyes to meet his and just like that, the dam was broken, the sob you was trying to hold escape your mouth.

Jake brings his forehead to yours as he pulls you closer to him, closing his eyes as you let out all the emotions you were bottling up not wanting to ever let go of him.

You stay in his embrace for a while before you both transition to laying on the floor, still holding each other close.

Jake lies on his uninjured arm as his other rubs your back slowly as he kisses your bioluminescent freckles one by one.

“I…I thought I lost you…,” you softly spoke meeting his eye contact as one of your hands was placed on top of his heart.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says as he continues to rub your back. “You’ll never lose me, as long as I got you, I’ll fight to get back to you,” he kisses another one of your freckles.

“We’ll always make it back to each other because Sullys’ stick together,” he smiles down at you as a smile appears on your face.

“Nga yawne lu oer,” you say as Jake pulls you closer to him.

“I love you too,” you let out a small chuckle as you reach up connecting your lips with his as your hand stays on his chest feeling his heartbeat, a habit you picked up to reassure you that he’s there with you, safe and sound while your other hand intertwined with his as his thumb rubs the back of your palm.

🔖 @livelaughloak, @jakesully-sbabygirl, @kenzi-woycehoski, @fanboyluvr, @onlytays, @amart-e, @vxncxntt, @blep24, @blackheart-stuff, @almondmilk8, @love-chx, @uniltsatirey, @23victoria, @saeayanaa, @aash3, @neteyamsbaby, @0littlelucy0, @itszmedawn, @strawberryclouds22, @doulcha, @lixiesbrowniess, @liluvtojineteyam, @tinkerbelle05, @olivikiya, @neteyamyawne, @ratchetprime211, @cloudyl9, @mooniequeen, @kentfisherswifee6, @draiochtwrites, @ami-s-k, @avatarbyamara, @pandoragalora, @solanair, @murderbirbdany.

478 notes · View notes

sapphichotmess · 8 days

Text

Absolutely Smitten

Modern!Ellie Williams x Plus Size!f!Reader (not really specified but that’s what I write)

Name inspired by Dodie’s song Absolutely Smitten

Even though this is not 18+, I am an 18+ blog, mdni

Warnings/Tags: horrendous writing (not edited) with very little dialogue (idk how to human), fluff, meet cute, rushed ending, reader is able-bodied

~2.7k words

I am up to doing more parts of this! Maybe?

The melted-butter-colored morning sun filters through the windows of a quaint bakery, casting a warm glow across the wooden-floored interior. Birds chirp their songs, squirrels scutter up trees, causing the rustling of leaves, and an owl up too late calls out one last time. Such a beautiful sight is cause for a relaxing morning.

“Fuck!”

You curse as the all-too-familiar clatter of metal hitting the floor pierces the peaceful atmosphere of the bakery, abruptly drawing your attention away from the serene scene outside. Your brain still wanders as your non-stick shoes squeak on the tile flooring of the bakery, and it doesn’t catch up until you’re nearly toe-to-toe with disaster. Flour dusts otherwise pristine countertops like a fresh layer of snow and cascades like a white waterfall onto the floor. Bread dough clings stubbornly to multiple places in the kitchen: the countertop, the edges of the mixing bowl, and even the crevices between the tiles on the floor. Amidst the mess stood the culprit—a temperamental mixer that seemed to have a mind of its own recently.

"Of all the mornings for this to happen," you mutter, placing one hand on your head and one on your hip in frustration. This wasn't how you envisioned starting your day, but in the unforgiving world of small business ownership, setbacks like this were all too common.

With a resigned sigh, you set to work cleaning up the sticky, floury mess. You grab a towel and begin trying to wipe down the countertops first. The flour wipes off easily, some getting caught in the towel and some falling to the floor to be swept up. However, the dough sticks to the granite countertops no matter what you do. Your brows pinch in and your lips pull down at the edges as you realize that the dough is proving to be far more stubborn than anticipated. You try scraping it off with the edge of the towel, but it only smears and clings to the counter. Each attempt to remove it seems futile, making your blood boil.

Glancing over at the mixer, you can't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards the outdated piece of shit equipment. It had been a constant source of trouble lately, breaking down at the most inconvenient times and causing endless headaches.

Shaking your head at yourself for being mad at a machine, you step back, put your hands on your wide hips, and let out a controlled breath. You have to figure out how to fix this. And fast. Your bakery opens in—you look up to a clock and read the hands—shit! It opens in three hours!

Looking over the kitchen, you contemplate what you should do, trying to find an approach to cleaning up and getting a new batch of dough ready in three hours. As you focus on the mixer-made mess, inspiration strikes, and you bustle around to find a small bowl and a sponge, filling the bowl up with warm water. Your chest never rises, and you take slow, deliberate steps toward the mess with the full bowl, hoping it doesn’t tip and make an even bigger mess. When you make it to your destination, you dampen the sponge and gently dab at the dough, hoping that the moisture will help loosen its grip on the countertop.

To your relief, the tactic seems to work, albeit slowly. The dough begins to soften under the gentle pressure of the sponge, gradually loosening its hold on the granite surface. With careful persistence, you continue to work, methodically removing the stubborn remnants of dough until the countertops are once again clean and smooth. Once the dough is removed from the countertop, you get on your hands and knees to begin scrubbing it from the floor. This takes only a few minutes with the sponge and hot water. Finally, once all the pesky dough is removed from each and every nook and cranny, you grab the broom and start sweeping the flour from the floor.

As you sweep, your mind drifts to the tasks still left to do before opening time. Glancing at the clock, you realize you have less than three hours left. You nearly drop the broom from shock, not realizing that 30 minutes had gone by—you still need to get the new dough ready and finish the rest of the opening tasks.

Owning and managing this bakery by yourself is fucking difficult but you love it.

The aroma of fresh coffee fills the air as you start brewing a batch, ensuring that your customers will have their caffeine fix ready when the doors open. Meanwhile, you preheat the oven and begin preparing the day's first batch of pastries, expertly shaping dough into delicate croissants and twisting it into intricate shapes and florets for cinnamon rolls.

Trays of pastries fill the shelves, their golden crusts glistening invitingly in the soft morning light, now higher in the sky. The sound of the oven timer beeping signals that the first batch of cinnamon rolls is ready, and you quickly remove them from the heat, the tantalizing scent of warm cinnamon, brown butter, caramelized brown sugar, and yeasty bread filling the air.

With the rolls cooling on the counter, you turn your attention to the display case, arranging everything with steady hands and care to showcase their deliciousness to potential customers. The final touches are added—a dusting of powdered sugar here, a drizzle of simple syrup there—before you step back to admire your handiwork with a satisfied smile.

With only minutes to spare before opening time, you quickly tidy up the kitchen, wiping down countertops and washing dishes with practiced efficiency. The last of the flour is swept away, leaving the floor sparkling clean and ready to welcome customers.

Finally, shoes squeaking, you make it to the front entrance to unlock the door and flip the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open.’

But as you turn to walk back behind the counter, you hear a familiar bell ring.

The bell hanging above the door you just unlocked. The one you still stand in front of, back turned.

Suddenly, the floor is flying towards you, just a blur of dark hardwood before your eyes flutter closed, and all you can see is darkness.

When your eyes flutter open, pain explodes through your body, your eyebrows scrunching and eyes clenched back shut. Your chest heaves with labored breaths and your heart races like it’s trying to break from your ribcage. Stars dance behind your eyelids as you struggle to regain your bearings, disoriented and dazed from the sudden fall.

What the fuck just happened?

Slowly, agonizingly, you manage to push yourself into a sitting position, blinking away the haze of confusion to assess the damage. Your head throbs with each accelerated heartbeat, a dull ache spreading through your limbs as you tentatively move to check for visible injuries. But before you can fully process what has just happened, a shadow falls over you, and a voice cuts through the fog of pain and confusion.

"Shit, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

The raspy voice is laced with concern, tinged with a hint of panic, and it takes a moment for the words to register. When they do, you turn to see a figure kneeling beside you, their features blurred by the remnants of your fall.

Struggling to focus and blinking hard to try and clear your vision, you manage to make out a pair of piercing green eyes staring back at you, filled with genuine worry, auburn eyebrows drawn in, causing worry lines to appear between them. As your vision fully clears, the face comes into sharper focus, and you realize that you've never seen this person before.

She sports a somewhat slender jawline, high cheekbones, proportional top and bottom lips—both somewhat plush—and fair skin smattered with freckles the looked like an artist took their brush and flung paint at them.

Despite the pain pulsing through your head and the disorientation of the fall, you find yourself momentarily captivated by the stranger's striking features. There's an undeniable warmth in her pale green gaze, a kindness that puts you at ease in spite of the awkwardness of the situation. Her eyebrows are still pulled together, the sight of the lines in between them making you want to reach out and smooth them away.

She cocks her head slightly, her short auburn hair swishing with the movement and catching a ray of sun, turning slightly red—the color reminds you of a brown border collie’s fur. As you follow the movement with your eyes, you register her earlier question. With pain still throbbing in your head you manage a weak nod, unable to find your voice amidst the chaos of the moment. The stranger's expression softens with relief at your response, the worry lines between her brows fading, and she reaches out a hand to help you to your feet.

"Here, let me help you up," she offers, her voice gentle as she assists you in standing. "I really didn't mean to slam the door like that. Are you sure you're okay?"

You manage another slight nod, though the throbbing in your head protests with each movement. Your eyes swim and something roils in your stomach, nausea curling up your esophagus. Taking a deep breath, you steady yourself with the captivating stranger's support, her hands gently holding you around waist height so as to not make you uncomfortable.

Well, fall would be an understatement—it was more like a push to the floor.

Assaulted by your own door.

God, could this morning get any worse?

As you gain footing, knees no longer shaking—though if you keep looking into those eyes, they might start all over again—the stranger lets go of you, her right hand swiping over the top of her nose before both hands are tucked in her pockets. A soft blush spreads on her cheeks, moving up from her neck all the way into her hairline.

She still seems concerned, though, softly asking, "Are you sure you're okay?"

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips at her sheepish expression. "I think so," you manage to reply, your voice faint but steady. "Just a bit shaken up, I guess."

The stranger nods in understanding, her expression softening with relief, though the blush stays. "I'm glad to hear that," she says, her tone genuine. "I really didn't mean to barrel into you with the door like that. I was just in a hurry, and… well, I guess I wasn't paying attention."

Despite the circumstances, you can't help but chuckle breathlessly at her admission. "No harm done," you assure her, your grin widening, cheeks pushing up and making your eyes squint. "Just a little stumble, that's all."

With a shared laugh, the tension and awkwardness between you begin to bleed from the atmosphere. The stranger offers you a warm smile, straight white teeth glittering in the mid-morning sunlight, and a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes.

"By the way," she says, extending a slightly shaking hand towards you, "I'm Ellie. Ellie Williams."

You grasp her hand in a firm shake, a sense of gratitude washing over you at the charming introduction. You were nervous standing here in front of this… piece of art sculpted by the likes of Michelangelo, and you knew you would have stumbled and made a fool while introducing yourself. Besides, her slight awkwardness is cute.

You give her your name back, saying, "Nice to meet you, Ellie," with a small grin, the remnants of a chuckle still lingering in the back of your throat, threatening to creep up as she shuffles on her feet awkwardly. “Though I don’t know if it is very nice since you kind of slammed into me with a door…”

She jerks as though hit with something, eyebrows shooting up and eyes widening in shock. Her face darkens more, further showcasing freckles artistically splattered across her face. She stammers out another apology, her words tumbling over each other in her rush to express her regret.

"I-I'm so sorry," she says, her voice wavering with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to... I mean, I've been wanting to come into the bakery for a while now, and I guess I got a little too excited, and..."

Her words trail off into awkward silence as mortification registers on her face, her shoulders folding up towards her ears. She shifts on her feet uncomfortably, unable to meet your gaze. It's clear that Ellie is flustered, her cheeks flushed the deepest red you’ve ever seen as she struggles to articulate her thoughts.

Despite your lips turning up into a slight smile and choking on the giggles that tried to escape at the poor girl, you can't help but feel a surge of sympathy for her. "No harm done," you assure her, your grin softening. "Just a little unexpected introduction, that's all."

Ellie's shoulders relax slightly at your words, a shy smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thank you," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

As Ellie continues to fidget nervously, hand dragging over her nose again, you sense that there's more to her awkwardness than meets the eye. So, you offer her a kind word of reassurance. "You know," you begin, "you're always welcome here at the bakery. No need to rush next time."

At your invitation, Ellie's eyes light up with gratitude, looking more like an excited dog by the minute. "Thank you," she says, her voice light and filled with genuine appreciation as she bounces on her heels, her auburn hair dancing with her movement.

Feeling your cheeks heat at the depth of her stare, you find yourself fidgeting this time. There's something about Ellie's enthusiasm that's infectious, drawing you in despite the lingering discomfort from your fall.

Before you can gather your thoughts, Ellie reaches for a nearby pcake display, her eyes alight with anticipation. "I think I'll take one of these," she says, pointing to a freshly baked red velvet cupcake nestled among its companions.

You watch as she pays for her purchase, a sense of admiration growing within you for her unbridled enthusiasm. Despite the chaos of the morning, Ellie's presence has brought a ray of sunshine into your day, and you find yourself feeling grateful for the chance encounter.

Taking a moment to appreciate the way she lights up the room with her infectious energy, you can't help but wonder about the person behind the cheerful facade. There's a warmth in her eyes and a genuineness in her smile that speaks volumes, leaving you intrigued and wanting to learn more about her. And there's an undeniable chemistry between you, a connection that feels both unexpected and strangely familiar.

So, you summon up your courage to do something probably wholly unprofessional as a business owner. You take a deep breath and meet Ellie's green gaze head-on. "Hey, um, would it be okay if I got your number?" you ask, your voice tentative but earnest.

Ellie's eyes widen in surprise at your request, but her smile only grows wider. "Of course!" she exclaims with a small scoff-like laugh, her enthusiasm bubbling over. "I'd love that."

With a sense of relief flooding through you, you fumble for your phone, fingers trembling slightly as you input Ellie's number. As you exchange contact information, a sense of excitement blooms within you, fueled by the prospect of getting to know Ellie better.

With a final exchange of smiles and promises to stay in touch, you bid Ellie farewell, watching as she heads off down the street with a spring in her step. As you turn back to the bakery, a sense of anticipation fills your chest, mingled with the lingering ache of your fall.

With a final nod of assurance to yourself, you straighten up and take a step forward. Despite the unexpected start to your encounter, there's something strangely comforting about Ellie's presence—as if fate had intervened to bring you together in that moment of chaos.

taglist

@les4elliewilliams @abbyshands

86 notes · View notes

spinchip · 2 months

Text

You’ve been living in a death machine

(Warnings: Character death, ice-related injuries)

There’s a certain liberation, a release of tension that comes with this. With the pressure of the staff back in your hand, the wood grain against the sensitive sensors delicately woven into the pads of your fingers. They’d torn your code open and tangled their hands in it and ripped and ripped and ripped until they took everything that made you who you are. They wrenched free your love, your generosity, your kindness- There was no mercy left in your power core. There was nothing. Then they handed you the staff, and resurrected an evil they didn’t truly understand. They couldn’t control you. They didn’t know they couldn’t control you. Turpentine poured in one ear and all the goodness and morality washing out the other, scrubbed clean of the weak and soft parts of himself. The gentleness of your edges has been filed down sharp and rigid, dragged across a whetstone and sharpened to the precision of a razor blade.

You are the Ice Emperor. You missed this.

There is relief with the loss of Zane. You are the same person, of course, but without the burden of guilt and shame. Without the restriction of fear. While upon the throne of the Never Realm, you had come to respect some of the people under your rule- those who stood and fought, who were strong and relentless and clever, who kept swinging even as ice encased their legs and grew steadily higher. You respected the Krag. You respected Akita.

(And out of respect for them, for their prowess as warriors, you didn’t dare hold back.)

You did not respect that part of yourself. A soft, sad thing. Afraid to raise your hand too quickly, unable to utilize the hundreds of killing tactics you had perfected and as such losing so miserably it's almost comical. Almost. You’d have laughed if it didn’t fill you with a humming miasma of deep seated fury. You spent all this time letting yourself fail, asking for pain when you cowed away from a finishing blow. You didn’t remember how far above them you are. You were a coward- spineless and scared, without the nerve to exercise your power.

The Emperor is no such fool.

The girl in front of you takes a sudden step back when you raise your eyes to meet hers. A vicious satisfaction bubbles up your throat, crowding against your teeth. Your presence expands, filling the room and all its corners, commanding attention- the temperature drops until her breath fogs in front of her mouth. She wants to carry in her eyes what you do. She covets the cold detachment that comes second nature to you. She envies your brutality.

She is terribly, horribly frightened by your rage.

The purple crystals glittering around you might be considered beautiful by someone who cares about things like that. You don't even notice their glow. All you care about is the staff and the blood lust sitting under you skin, nestled between your wiring.

Ripped from your home, flooded with feelings so foreign and wrong they rewrote your personality until you were nothing but a bad memory- and now, dragged back out to fight without your advisor at your side, ordered like a dog- Destroy the Ninja! Like you were a prized pet bred to obey. The room was filled with others- people you recognized, people who hurt you when you were too scared to hit back. (The Mechanic, Mr. E, all of them comfortable in their successes against you- they don't see the threat sitting at their feet. They don't even realize they should run.) They laugh and they jeer and they poke and prod and provoke you. They didn’t know what they’d done. They didn’t know who they had invited into their home- their murderer welcomed with cruel smiles and pitiful commands that they thought you would mindlessly follow.

You wanted to make them scared.

You stand to your full height, not curled up and defeated on the stone floor anymore. The girl doesn’t move as you rise to tower over her, staring at you and trying to form the right words to have you bow down before her. She is a pitiful thing. Her eyes glimmer with the hunted desperation of someone who has fought for every breath she’s ever taken. She thinks she will survive this as she has survived everything else.

You raise your hand and she flinches. The room grows quiet. Gently, you reach out and press your finger against her forehead. It only takes a moment- a tap.

She gasps, her whole body convulsing as she chokes on nothing, futilely trying to take in air. Her legs crumple and she hits the floor with a thunk.

You started with the brain. Ice unfurling slowly through her frontal lobe all the way to her cerebellum before curling down her brain stem. Slow enough so that she knew exactly what was happening to her, but too quickly for her body to go numb to the sting. You could see it in her eyes, a terror that only comes when a painful death has surrounded you- when you know there was no way out of it this time. You let the ice trickle down her spinal cord to her lungs, filling her capillaries and cracking delicate tissue when she tries desperately to breathe. It sunk into her heart last. Brain dead in 2 seconds, collapsed at 3.

You raise your head, staring at the sea of horrified faces.

You're going to enjoy this.

#ninjago #zane julien #spinchip fic #death #gore #frostbite #the ice emperor kills harumi sorry #well he kills egveryone. but harumi first

103 notes · View notes

ay0nha · 4 months

Text

When shall we meet again in thunder, lightning, or rain? | S.G. (ii)

prologue, part i

SUMMARY: “And here I thought, I was the only one that did.” He returned to his baseline: toeing the line between mocking and playful. "Don't you get tired of being alone? Or are you too good for that?"

PAIRING: Satoru Gojo x Fushiguro!reader (Megumi's aunt/Toji's sister)

WORD COUNT: 2.1K~

WARNINGS: slight enemies to lovers, a bit of a mean!gojo, ANGST HEAVY, Tsumiki in her coma, angsty convos and feelings, slight TOUCH STARVED gojo, panic attack descriptions, canon-typical things, rushed ending, etc.

A/N: This took longer than I thought, but I want to take my time and really put effort into this one, so I hope you all enjoy. BIG shout out to @hatsunemitskislobotomy this wouldn't have happened without your help. Much love. Again, based on/inspired by @stsgooo's post (here!). Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts.

COMMENTS ENCOURAGED. !!! PLEASE !!!

TAGS: @96jnie, @stevenknightmarc

“Miss Fushiguro?”

“Yes?” You missed the first call of your name but stood the moment you heard it again. “That’s me.”

The friction of the chair against the linoleum scratched at your spine. The noise only brought attention, adding to the clashing of sounds around you: infants crying, uncovered coughs, and monotonous voices over the intercom drowned out by the emergency room chatter.

The blood that had rushed to your head created a beautiful constellation for you to follow. It led you down the narrow hallway to a room reserved for your five-minute slot. The turnover was quick; wounds, infections, and sickness organized the people.

You were still figuring out where you fit in this categorization. Months of the same routine dulled your senses.

“Seems she’s still doing well…” The nurse’s tired eyes scanned the scantily filled-out paperwork, just as they always had. She led you deeper into the maze of beeping monitors and desperate complaints. “The doctor will be in soon to see you.”

The nurse that had brought you back looked at you with tired eyes. It was as if she went to say something but deflated once she lost the energy to you—the transfer only agitated you further.

The room was sterile, its stark smell overwhelming your senses. Yet, the stillness was baneful.

Tsumki looked cold layered under the hospital blankets. The cheap fabric was without wrinkles, perfectly tucked around her body. Tendrils of hair swirled around her head like a misplaced crown. If it weren’t for the soft hum of machines tracking her vitals, you’d mistake her motionless state for rigor mortis.

Even when the doctor came to update you on Tsumiki’s catatonic state, your mind failed to make sense of it all. She was so far removed from the world you were excluded from, and yet, she was touched so violently by it.

It’s not fair, you thought. Your eyes were devoid and steadily ahead, fixated on the rise and fall of her chest. It’s not fair.

Selfish. Your own voice echoed in your mind, scolding you for the thoughts that came forth.

Even if you said it aloud—your desire to trade places—it would seem altruistic, a sacrifice for the bigger picture. It would hide the envy in your heart. You wanted to be relieved from the world so completely, so idly, that you could finally have a moment to catch your breath.

Now, your breath was filled with guilt and stuck. Your control was tight, trying not to crack.

Everything pierced you; Megumi’s clothes fought against his growth, the school begged you to intervene with his attitude, and the pressure on his shoulders weighed him

of his abilities seep into everything he touched.

It didn’t matter if you couldn’t keep up. You weren’t allowed to crumble. If you did, everything would be taken from you before you could let out your breath. You didn’t know life without that tight inhale.

It was all you knew.

You were afraid of anything different, but you would never fully realize that. Nor would you accept that it was stillness that you sought, not of Tsumiki’s body, but her mind. Only in this quiet did her brain, once wild and still forming during waking hours, cool itself into something calm.

“Chin up.” A familiar voice called with inappropriate joy. Gojo entered with a confidence that ignored the dense air of malaise.

You dismissed the instruction, not caring that his appearance was so sudden. You’d grown accustomed to your time never truly belonging to you.

“Doctor said she’s doing great. Brain activity and all of that.” He waved vaguely, his other hand permanently calm and tucked away in his pocket. “You, though—” He tutted, head tilting with childish mockery “—rumor going ’round you live here...”

You weren’t blind to the way the nurses looked at you. They believed you resembled a fraying string, each visit splintering you further. However, they had the decency to look past the fact, unlike the man dwelling in your shadow.

“...better off getting a job…” Gojo continued, knowingly filling the silence. His finger glided along the windowsill, in search of non-existent dust. Every twitch was subtle arrogance.

He had yet to see how your breath was tight, consuming most of your senses. You sunk your nails into your palm, holding onto what was left of your dignity. Grief was reserved for those who deserved it.

You breathed with stale disappointment. “Leave, Gojo.”

Since Tsumiki’s curse, you'd have limited conversation with him. It was a reminder of the anger you held at the broken promise he’d made to keep you all safe. You were naive to believe even the strongest there was could be capable of that.

Tsumiki was your world. Blood never mattered as she was as much yours and you were hers. She endured it all with a smile that you struggled to match, you could never make it reach your eyes the way she had.

He knew this.

Yet, it was like you were only partly there, a piece of your mind eons and eons away, somewhere in a place that let you justify your loneliness.

It oozed from every pore of you, always. You’d been soaking in it for years, unknowingly most of the time, too preoccupied with ignoring your own humanity and trying to convince everyone else around you that you were anything but that.

“I’ve been told to give consideration to my audience…” Gojo scratched at his cheek with jaded thought. His patience was flippant and the advice was taken at half-value from Nanami. “...you make that so hard to do when you pretend I don’t care—

Your laugh was shallow, his so-called wisdom meaningless to you. “Caring never suited you, so don’t hurt yourself trying.”

“Like you?” Gojo frowned, sanitizing the situation. Your pain was tangible. “No one could have known this would happen, but avoiding us won’t change that.”

“Us?” Another laugh. It was always we and us when it was for his advantage. The idea stung; that every interaction the two of you had led into disarray. “Megumi has nothing—

“Megumi—” Gojo shifted, tentative with his interruption. It was inevitable for the exchange to turn sour, he invited it in the moment he found you. He hoped it wouldn’t have plummeted so quickly. “He’s worried about you.”

You could have denied it, blaming his fear on his age, but Megumi was far from naive. You could have lied, let words tumble past your lips until your answer was deemed sufficient. However, the truth surfaced with stark malice.

“He’ll learn to live without me.” Just as you would. It was inevitable. It was fate; determined the moment his father died only secured when Gojo supported Megumi’s talent.

It was only then you realized the lack of barrier between you and Gojo. All six eyes were trapping you, desperately searching for any affection lingering from the past.

There was a time when you let him in. When trust was implied, Gojo’s dedication was clear in how he carried Megumi on his shoulders and always reached out for Tsumiki’s hand. His teasing dared you to match him, to look forward to his company in a way that was reserved only for him.

Your hesitancy was a feat to grow past, but Gojo planted himself so firmly you stopped caring. It worked slowly, seeping into everyday life only to cease entirely the moment Tsumiki found the bridge.

Gojo’s world hadn’t stopped like yours. Its velocity was unbeatable while the quicksand pulled you under. If he had seen you were a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings, maybe things would have turned out a little differently. Maybe there wouldn’t be an empty place within you where your heart once was.

“I’m—” Gojo whispered, eyes unrelenting in luring something out. He stopped himself to wet his lips, a poor stalling tactic.“Ever since—” He paused. “What can I say for you to let me…”

The soft clattering of the hospital finished his question, answering for you as well.

You weren’t sure there were any words that could comfort you. Looking at Tsumiki again, you pulled a shaky breath through your nose. She was stable, Gojo firm on proper care. There would be a day when this was the past and Gojo was willing to guide you there.

“Gojo, really—everything is… visiting hours are going to be over soon” You suppressed the quiver in your voice. “I’ll be okay,” you said. “I’m just having a d–a week.” A month, a year, a life.

Reluctantly, you met his gaze. The heavy fatigue won. Your resistance had faded almost entirely. It was how Gojo knew you were lying.

“I’ve talked to Yaga.” The conversation he’d been skirting around finally surfaced, it was the reason he needed to talk to you. “There’s plenty of space for you to join us.”

“I’m not like you.” Your admission was breathless. “That place isn’t fun for people like me, Gojo.”

You hated the way Gojo posture straightened barely, protectively. It encouraged your frown.

“They won’t touch you—”

“You think this is about the Zenins?” You had never meant to become the villain. You just didn't know what else to do. “You don’t get it do you?”

Your curiosity bore a dark meaning, filling the cracks between you with a sticky tar that effortlessly glided off his ego but against yours, you couldn’t quite scrub away.

“And here I thought, I was the only one that did.” He returned to his baseline: toeing the line between mocking and playful. "Don't you get tired of being alone? Or are you too good for that?"

Gojo held your glare with softness. Its intent wasn’t to make you squirm, but it had. You wanted to fight, a reason to retaliate. But he knew you well, understood you still, and knew what it meant to distance yourself with well-earned vexation.

“Let sleeping dogs lie.” You bit back carefully, a baseless threat as your waterline threatened tears.

You knew it was important to remain as blase as possible so you didn’t cry. Although, you didn’t really cry anymore. Even when you wanted to, the tears never came. At some point, you must’ve reached your lifetime limit.

The silence was pregnant: her contractions and your combined breathing intensify and climb and climb and climb, the pains threatening to tear her apart and birth something truly horrendous out into this world.

It would be an abomination, you realized.

The heat began to spread through your body, it felt like the walls were closing in, like you were going to explode. You began to stare off into space, as though you were distancing yourself from reality, your body tense, gearing for a fight.

Gojo stared, dumbfounded, into your glassy eyes until you broke the spell by speaking, voice nothing but a broken rasp. “I can’t breathe, Satoru…”

You squeezed your eyes shut, bit your tongue. All you could hear was the screeching sound of the machines filling your ears, and the hospital corridor beyond you was now a blur.

Your knees wobbled, and Gojo caught you tightly, taking on your weight.

A soft breath left him, arms precariously placed out of defensiveness around your figure. His body knew before him to release his technique. He can't remember the last time somebody touched him who wasn't you, not for years now. It's an amicable casualness he can't explain away.

“I can never breathe.” Your heart felt permanently caught in your throat.You just shook his head, tired and defeated. The words have lived inside you for a while. “I just can’t do it anymore—my body—”

Hyper vigilance became the enemy that threatened to consume you whole. Sleep was no longer negotiable. Every movement dragged worry, invited agitation, and controlled your sabotage.

“Easy. Easy…” Gojo’s skin pricked as if you’d shocked him. It was like his senses had become heightened to how closely you were now leaning into him.

The skin of your chest tingled. You felt paralyzed. Yet, Gojo’s touch slithered around you, kneading out every hitch. You looked more sorry than you should, believing that you're a burden on him when you aren’t—you're a lightness he’s missed.

“The world is too big…” Gojo continued with a low note in his voice that made you wonder just how much he understood you. “It’s so large, no breath feels quite deep enough.”

Just like always, he seemed to read what you didn't say.

You swallow heavily, your nose kissing his shoulder. It was so soft, feather-light pressure but it surged through your body all the same. Pain came and faded. No blood rushing in your ears, no beating heart. You’re too tired, in every sense of the word, to ask for what you wanted.

You stay wrapped in his arms for a long time. Long enough to think about how you might never get to do this again, and you suddenly want him in all the ways you never had him, and all the ways you had.

142 notes · View notes

sev-on-kamino · 1 year

Text

Y’all thirsty? No? Let’s change that! We’re talking ✨Commander Fox✨ today.

I’ve got Fox on the brain, and you know me: I’ve gotta make that everyone’s problem. (MINORS DNI)

Fox’s priorities: his job, his brothers, making sure the caf machine is always in working order, and making sure no one ever finds out he’s been sneaking Grizzer treats for months (notice that his own well-being isn’t on that list😒)

He hasn’t finished a hot cup of caf in months.

He and Wolffe have a call once every couple of weeks, as time allows, to catch up. Wolffe fusses at Fox for taking crap care of himself, and Fox pretends to be annoyed, but he loves it.

They text in between calls, and it’s mostly just roasting the shit out of each other

Big “I wasn’t sleeping I was resting my eyes” energy

He has a weakness for sweets, like “ooh a piece a candy” right into a trap kinda weakness. Thorn has been known to include sweets with his reports when he knows there’s some shit in there that’s gonna get Fox’s blood pressure up.

Stomach sleeper with one leg out from under the blanket

Amazing card player, like take him to the casino today (Only Cross and Tech are better than Fox imo)

Lowkey loves fucking with people. Wolffe and Thorn the most of course.

He’s a hardass but he will do the sweetest shit for people he loves. Just don’t call too much attention to it because he’s got a reputation to maintain 😒

It ventures into NSFW territory past this point, Minors DNI 🔞

Fox x Reader HCs

some of these are mad specific because of my in progress series 😅

He’s awkward in the transition from friends w/ benefits to an actual relationship

He’s very much the “you? in love with me? sounds fake but ok” type

Even if he’s in love with you, he won’t believe it. You have to show him all the time. He needs hard evidence 🧐

He’s a “let’s be alone together” partner. You’re doing your thing, he’s doing his thing. He likes that he can see you, and that he can reach out and touch you whenever he likes

When he cares for someone, they’re getting all the sweet pillow talk, take notes while he’s in a sharing mood

The post-nut clarity can either take him to a really great place (ah, this person I’m with does care for me and want me for me), or a horrible place (oh, I’m just another notch in their bedpost and why are they still here???)

He enjoys orgasm control/denial

He defaults to positions where he can see your face the whole time because you look pretty while he’s ruining you

Once things are established, and he’s grudgingly accepted that you truly care for him, and he’s done resisting feelings for you, you’ve unlocked soft!Fox

Soft!Fox only exists behind closed doors but he’ll make you fall in love with Fox all over again

More on soft!Fox in a future post 😌

tagging: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @iamburdened @sunshinesdaydream

#tcw commander fox #tcw fox #commander fox x reader #fox hcs #commander fox headcanons #fox headcanons #reader insert #star wars the clone wars #seven writes

216 notes · View notes

gunpowderdtim · 3 months

Note

could i possibly please hear your marius backstory hc? no pressure ofc

boy am i glad you asked.

Byron, as per "canon", grew up on a planet with poor nutrition, poor everything really, with his sister, Dorothea, and his parent. (menntioned by kofi once)

Dorothea and Byron spent their time, when not experiencing the horrors, poking around ruins, trying not to die, and to scavenge what they can from the relics left behind by the long-crumbled ancient society of some sort.

(Very memory of water, if any of you have read that book)

One day, Byron and Dorothea stumble across an entrance to some sort of old science facility, or warehouse, or perhaps hangar is the best word.

And together, they discover Kismet, Fate, (or, more pertinently within my mechs canon, fate in the matter that a story has its written ending.) - and Byron begins piloting it.

A sword in a stone, one might say.

Arthur.

When Arthur got his railgun, that started his destiny.

Byron did not have a military grade gun.

Byron had Kismet.

Now what is Kismet?

A gundam, a mecha, a giant fucking humanoid robot vehicle that Byron then pilots to do plot things.

What sort of plot things? Exactly what doesn't particularly matter, only that Byron did not stop.

He just kept on fucking going. Until he couldn't. That sounds sort of familiar, huh?

Like Hercules.

[Zeus's] favourite trick is to offer [his bastard children] a place in the family, contingent on the completion of a suicide mission or two. Most barely last a week, but Heracles? Heracles is too mean, too tough, and too stupid to stop. So he just keeps going.

Now, Kismet eventually will crash, with Byron inside, but thats to discuss later, for now, lets ask another question:

How does Kismet operate?

To me, Kismet is made of a very familiar metal - the sort, that we may know, "hums like a far off chant"

(the sort of metal i think all Mechanisms are made of, a far off chant, you say? like a song?)

And how, i may offer, do machines of metal like that operate?

His name is Kvasir, a low level member of the Midgardian resistance, but that doesn't matter. What matters is the dozen tubes and feed lines plugged into his veins, pumping blood through the arcane glyphs and blood channels and gears and sigils that line the chamber. The metal is the same as that which makes the track, and it hums like a far off chant.

Blood. Blood that runs through channels, the life force of the user, hoooking them into the heart of the machine to feed it, to regulate it.

(We know the mechanisms are likely powered off void. They shimmer rainbow when damaged.)

Byron is Kismet's pilot, and, i would imagine, there has to me a mechanism of sort to pilot it, pilot fate, to me, i envision a cuff around his arm, with veins of metal snaking up his veins, sapping his blood, drop by drop, to power the machine.

Byron is the heart, in the center of machine, who needs hearts blood when you act as it? He controls Kismet with a cuff around his arm He is its pilot.

He steers fate.

Thor begins pulling levers and throwing switches seemingly at random, causing the glyphs and channels to move and warp their constellations.

Byron, most likely, pulls the wrong lever.

Kismet crashes.

And Byron becomes it.

Or it becomes Marius.

The cuff stops being around his arm, starts being his arm, fusing into his body, his bones, becoming it, becoming him, and Byron becomes something else altogether.

Byron Von Raum once piloted Kismet.

Kismet is now piloting Marius.

What is the relationship between parasite and host? What is the relationship between pilot and ship? What is the relationship between Mechanism, and the body a mechanism 'enhances'?

What is the relationship between a story, and its ending?

#marius von raum #the mechanisms #the mechs #asks #the amount of narratomancy i can shove into this guy is INSANEEEEE

65 notes · View notes

socialjusticeinamerica · 4 months

Text

Space Karen is a monster. They had opportunities to unionize but they succumbed to pressure from Elongated Muskrat and Texas Republicans and now they’ll be living on the production line. How stupid are you to reject unionization? Now they’re slaves like every other non-union employee in the country.

Republicans in red states pass laws called “right to work”, which is more Republican name trickery. “Right to work” laws prevent unions/organized labor. What it literally means is that companies have the right to make YOU work without any benefits, for minimum wage, without any right to protest wage theft or unsafe conditions, no recourse against unfair labor practices, and to put you on “on demand schedules,” The latter means no set regular hours, 9-5 today then 9-9 the day after, then 1-8, or no hours at all for days or weeks until you quit and can’t collect. “On demand scheduling” is abosolutely cruel. You never get to recover properly, you can never make plans outside of work, you can’t attend school or have a second job, and you miss out on all the major life events of your family. This leads to resentment, divorce, and alienated children who feel unloved.

Even blue states have bare minimum labor laws in place to control abuses by employers. Try going to the state for help in a dispute with your boss. Try hiring a lawyer when you’re poor or even if you’re not lawyers don’t want to touch these cases.

We are already a nation of hopeless wage slaves. Biden and the Democrats are making progress in passing laws to protect workers and unions but it will all be swept away if Republicans regain the White House and Congress. Some people won’t learn until they’re chained to a machine in a building with suicide nets outside the windows like in China.

It took almost two hundred years to get unions, workers rights, and work place safety laws put into place. They’ve nearly all been eroded into a forgotten past since Republican Ronald Reagan, and Fox News, was elected in 1980. Nearly all of you reading this don’t even know a time when workers only needed one job to support a home and family, had pensions, and had health insurance that was provided. Now you live with 2-3 jobs, have no health insurance, can’t afford a home (or rent), can’t afford college or even a new car, and make less than your grandparents. The media glosses this over calling the extra jobs “side hustles” and your lack of a career with dignity is because you’re a generation of “self starters.”

You weren’t born to be a wage slave for billionaire oligarchs and the petty tyrants they hire to be middle managers. Spread the word and unionize. Fight for it. People in the 1800’s literally battled armed mercenaries, cops, and the military for the right to union jobs that let them live and earn with dignity. Don’t let their spilled blood and deaths be in vain. The United Auto Workers and other unions tried repeatedly to get Tesla unionized. Unions are out there and willing to help. It only takes a few phone calls to get the ball rolling.

Muskrat promised his workers free frozen yogurt and a roller coaster ride from the parking lot to factory if they voted against unions, I shit you not. He never delivered either. He did spend millions on union avoidance firms to come in and lie and scare workers into voting no. Now they’re treated like cotton plantation slaves and told they will be literally living on a production line.

To put this into the identity politics millennials are drawn to, unions are the only working environment where marginalized people are protected and have recourse against discrimination and mistreatment in the workplace. If you are mistreated you can file a grievance and if the management doesn’t redress the issue then they are taken to contractually mandated arbitration or court with union supplied lawyers. If you have never worked in a union shop you have no idea what it’s like to not be fearful, to have dignity, and to know people are obligated to protect you from management.

It’s the only non-union automaker in the country.

#republican assholes #oligarch assholes #corporate greed #unionize now #elongated muskrat #Tesla Texas #organized labor for all

85 notes · View notes

anonymous-dentist · 11 months

Note

Could we get a Cellbit being a cat moment possibly w/ roier? (It's ok if not tho no pressure at all!!!)

It’s hard to get Cellbit to act like a cat. It’s a shame, really, because he’s a cute cat. A gatinho, even. He keeps his tail tucked into his pants, trained to be still after years of hiding. His cute little cat ears are pinned beneath his goggles in a way that has to be uncomfortable.

Cellbit explained it once. Back in prison, he started with the whole human thing because, really, cats aren’t scary. He wanted to be scary. He needed to be scary. He wouldn’t have been taken seriously with fucking cat ears. Same logic applies now that he’s on the island, if not slightly adjusted because he’s a conspiracy theorist trying to be taken seriously, not a serial killer.

Honestly, Roier thinks it sucks. Is internal kittyphobia a thing? Because Cellbit’s got it, and he’s got it bad.

It’s not all that bad, though. More and more recently, Cellbit has been letting loose around the castle when he thinks he’s alone, when Richarlyson is with one of his other dads and when Roier is supposedly asleep.

Today is one of those days. Roier is almost awake and languishing in bed, abysmally cold without his warm-blooded husband wrapped around him like a second blanket.

Roier shivers, his eyes still firmly closed in the hopes of falling back asleep. He curls into himself, and then he sleepily smiles as the toilet flushes from the bathroom, and then he grins as the bed next to him dips and Cellbit slips back under the covers and against Roier’s back.

Roier wriggles around until he’s able to tuck himself against Cellbit’s front and shove his face into Cellbit’s neck. Warm…

He startles himself awake as something long, thin, and furry wraps itself around his ankle. But then he remembers, oh, gatinho, and he relaxes.

It isn’t too long before the purring starts- something that Cellbit has never been able to control despite his best attempts otherwise. It’s a reflex, easy. Impossible. Adorable. A perfect white noise machine.

Roier feels Cellbit’s cheek rub against the top of his head. Cute.

“Te amo,” Cellbit murmurs, his voice distorted slightly by his purring. “Go back to sleep.”

Roier responds by kissing his neck. Then he goes back to sleep, warm and content and very, very happy.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#I join the war on catboy cell on the side of catboy cell

104 notes · View notes

themultifandomgal · 9 months

Note

Amazing! Please may I request one for Will Halstead where the reader is out with some friends and doesn't feel well so calls Will to come get her and when he gets there, he goes all doctor on her. Like he starts checking her pulse, feeling around her throat to make sure she's okay and her friends thinks his concern is so cute!! Thanks!

Will Halstead- Doctor Mode

Having low blood pressure (hypotension) sucks. I know one way to control my blood pressure is not drinking to much alcohol and make sure I drink plenty of water. I do this everyday and most of the time I keep my blood pressure up. But I still want to feel ‘normal’ and go out with friends and drink, just can’t get drunk.

Tonight I'm out with my friends at Mollys drinking. My friends are tipsy, on their 3rd or 4th drink at this point. Although they keep buying me drinks I'm not finishing any. If anything I’ve only had maybe 2 full drinks. I know I’ve not eaten enough or drank enough today as I start feeling lightheaded and dizzy. I then begin struggling to listen to the conversation at hand. So I decided it's time to fit me go home. I take out my phone and phone my boyfriend Will

“Hey baby everything ok?” he asks

“Erm yeah just not feeling good. Can you come and get me?”

“Yeah of course, what’s wrong though?”

“Think it might be my blood pressure”

“Ok. Stay sitting down. Get a drink of water and something to eat if you can”

“Ok”

“I’ll see you in about 10 minutes”

“Ok see you soon” I end the call and turn myself to face Stella behind the bar

"YN you ok? You look a little off?" my friend Emma asks. I don’t reply just speak to Stella

"Erm can I get a water please?" I ask

"Yeah course" she replies from behind the bar quickly handing me a drink “need a anything else?”

“Have you got anything salty?”

“Salted peanuts will that do?”

“Yeah that would be great” Stella hands me a bowl of salted peanuts

“What’s going on?” Herrmann asks seeing that something is going on

“I think my blood pressure is low”

“Brett!” Herrmann waves Sylvie over to me

“What’s up?” she asks

“YN said her blood pressure is low”

“I’ll be fine. Wills on his way”

“Ok well I’ll sit here to make sure you really are ok. Now you need to eat up”

I manage to drink a glass of water and eat my bowl of peanuts before Will arrives

"YN? Hey baby. How you feeling?"

"Feel lightheaded and nauseous" Will checks my pulse first. I notice his brought my blood pressure machine with him

"Can I have your arm?" He asks. I give him a little nod and hold my arm out for him. He wraps the pressure cuff around my arm and Will turns the machine on

"Is she ok?" Emma asks nervously

"Let's just see what this tells us then we will know more" a few moments later the machine beeps “81/52. Babe your really low. You need some salty foods”

“I had some peanuts. Stella have me them”

“Got any more?” Will asks looking at Stella who nods grabbing more peanuts “and another glass of water?” again Stella nods grabbing some water handing them over to Will “can you eat all of these and drink this before we go home. You can put your compression soaks on”

“Ok” I breathe out

“Will she be ok?” Emma asks again

“Yeah. Just low blood pressure. She been drinking?”

“Yeah we all have” Will sighs

“Alcohol can lower her blood pressure. Sure one or two are fine but not more than that”

“Is this our fault?” another one of my friends asks looking like she about to have a breakdown

“No, no this is no one’s fault. YN knew she had to stop drinking and go home. She knew she needed something salty and some water. Don’t worry” Will tries to calm my friends down while I continue to eat and drink.

Once we arrive home Will takes my blood pressure again and it seems a little better. I put on my compression socks and relax for the rest of the evening, falling asleep in the safe arms of Will.

#will halstead x you #will halstead x yn #will halstead imagine #will halstead #will halstead x reader #one chicago #one chicago imagine #chicago med imagine #chicago med

127 notes · View notes

ohtobeleah · 6 months

Text

Possible sneak preview. Idk yet. Was it over? // Jake Seresin

“You–” Jake clenched his jaw as tight as he could, you swore he could have chipped his bottom teeth he was clenching that hard trying to control his frustration. “You dont get to fucking do this to me do you understand?”

“Excuse me?” You questioned as Jake stood up from the chair he’d been cramped in for the better half of the last twelve hours. “I didnt choose to do this willingly Jake are you fucking kidding me?” It may have come out more aggressive than Jake had intended it to, but his heart hurt so much he swore he was having a heart attack the more he looked at you in the hospital bed connected to machines and wires that told him what your heart was doing and what your blood pressure was. “I didn't choose to get fucking cancer!”

JACOB SERESIN YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!

#was it over? // jake seresin #tw: cancer

32 notes · View notes

sirowsky-stories · 4 months

Text

The Old Prince

Part 11

Author's Note: All I'm gonna say is, I'm so so sorry.

Description: The war begins.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses. Angst. Word Count: 5053 Author's Masterlist

Thirty-six minutes. That is how long you were dead. More than half an hour in which all Oberyn could do was try and not give in to the despair. If he had, he would have drowned all of Scandinavia in fire, darkening himself so absolutely that Simon would not have had to make any effort to corrupt him. He would have happily destroyed the world for not allowing you to exist.

His call to the emergency services had been panicked and largely incomprehensible, so how they had managed to arrive and begin to work on you in less than five minutes, was a right miracle. They had asked him so many questions he could not hope to answer. Not because he did not know, but because so much about you is not knowable. You are an orphan, which of course makes your medical history impossible to determine, but at the same time, your human body is not merely human, so there is no way to fully understand it. But how could he explain any of this?

All your readings had come back flat. Your ECG, pulse and blood pressure no more than lines upon their machines. Your temperature dropping by the minutes. But the four paramedics had been so professional and skillful, not giving up even as their efforts had yielded no results, one of them coming to his side and offering comfort when they had noticed how he had begun to spiral into fits of agony.

But your heart had never even responded enough for them to try and shock it with the defibrillator, and they had just decided to give up when you had suddenly returned. Waking up as though you had simply taken a nap, the machines had all come to life at once, not with blaring alarms or dramatic flashes, just the steady beeps indicating your heartbeats and normal readings of blood pressure, oxygenation, pulse and temperature. All had appeared at once, as if having been there all along.

He did not dare believe it at first, waiting for his heart to start beating again and his lungs to stop contracting before he could accept that the shock which he was seeing in the medical staff was all real. Equally stunned at the sudden appearance of several strangers around your naked body, in what must have been mere seconds to you, you had tried to ease the tension as best you could, while likely letting your mind catch up to what must have happened in your absence.

So controlled, even under such strange and unusual circumstances, while Oberyn had nearly lost his mind. Still, the relief of having you back had soon taken over, allowing him to rejoice in the moment, even as you had then demonstrated the power of your new understanding. And now, less than an hour later, you sit upon his back as alive as you have ever been.

More than that, you are happy. Despite the dire state of the world, whatever you have learned in your spiritual endeavor, it has left your soul harmonious. He can feel it in the energy you give off. The light you spread by simply existing. And he envies you, for his own heart is muddled by fear, both the lingering dread of a world without you, but also a terrible worry this new plan of yours will fail. Not due to any lack of faith in your abilities, but rather in the stark absence of any plan whatsoever.

You told him first to fly south, to the capitol of Norway, and he did. But once there, you had climbed down, walked among the frightened and fleeing people, somehow stopping them without a word, before you had touched the shoulders of a select few and then returned to him. Climbing back on without a word of explanation, you had merely asked him to head for Stockholm next. So, he did. And then Finland, from where you had directed him to Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and now Poland is your next stop.

But you say nothing more. You have not even attempted to help him understand what is actually being done, somehow under the impression that your demonstration in the hotel room should be enough for him to grasp the concept. Alas, he does not.

“Valya?”

“Yeah?”

“What is this? What exactly are you doing in the capitols for only a few minutes, to leave you with such confidence it will turn the tides of this war?”

“I can try to explain, but it probably won’t help much, because I don’t understand most of it myself. Not consciously, anyway. I just know in my heart that this is what I need to do.”

“Please, try,” he beckons as gently as he can manage, and feels your soothing hands stroke his neck while you oblige him, clearly sensing his frustration.

“All life on this planet is connected, and that’s what makes our side of this war so unfathomably powerful,” you begin, and you sound so animated. “Because when I touch these people, I feel what weighs on them. Their pains and everyday torments. The existing darkness within all of us which Simon uses to manipulate us. And once I know what it is, I can take it away.”

“But how? People can’t just be freed of fear, can they?”

“Not freed, no. What I do is take away the power that fear has over them. I put so much hope in their souls that even if the sky should come crashing down, they wouldn’t panic. And when I do that, each person I’ve touched then spreads their light to every other person they meet, and once enough positive energy has been created, nature becomes affected as well, carrying it further and further out into the countryside.”

“This all sounds most wonderful, but I still fail to grasp how it helps us combat the darkness which still spreads to the west.”

“I’m flooding the world with light, Oberyn. So much of it, within all living things, that no matter how hard he tries, Simon won’t be able to infect anything more. His army won’t be able to grow any further which means his power will stop growing as well. In the meantime, I’m also increasing our power, yours and mine, because with every life we add to the whole, their strength becomes our strength. Can’t you feel it? How much lighter you already fly. How much easier each stroke of your wings is becoming. The world is already carrying you, my love. All you need to do is trust it.”

He knows the feeling of which you speak. The lightness with which he glides through the air now, as though the winds themselves have become his allies. It is part of the reason for his concern. Perhaps simply because he has never felt accepted or wanted by this world, but the thought that all living things could ever willfully lend their power to him, is precisely what makes him doubt this endeavor.

However, his trust in you is absolute. He will not challenge your authority or attempt to dissuade you from this course. But the other reason for his concern is the fact you had to die to learn of this ability to spread hope. The spirit within you is not only the most powerful of all, but also the most mysterious, hiding from all worlds and all realms since the dawn of time. And having seen you lifeless, he is no longer convinced that trusting it blindly will end well for all parties involved.

Oberyn has a growing fear within his chest which whispers in his ear of your fragility in this mere human form, trying to convince him that no matter how well prepared you might be… the final battle will inevitably claim your life. Of course, this is quite possibly only his own mind attempting to prepare for a worst-case scenario which, it cannot be denied, is not at all improbable. But he must not allow these thoughts to color his perception, or he himself might be the cause of your demise. So, he keeps his deepest worries concealed, hoping they will not fester within the depths of his soul.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

All your life you’ve thought about how travelling around the world would be your treat to yourself after a long life of hard work and scraping together the money. And now, you’re jumping from country to country, making lightning fast visits to every capitol of the world, zig-zagging down the European continent, over to Africa, before turning back up and moving over the eastern European region, making four stops in Russia because of it’s size, and then taking on the Asian continent.

Because of the frequent stops, the dragon remains low to the ground, letting you see the impressive landscape of the Alps, the African savannah, active volcanoes in Iceland, Italy and Ethiopia. Then the Himalayas, which quite literally take your breath away as he takes a slightly longer route, winding his way between the largest peaks and the deepest valleys to let you truly see the might of these age-old formations which he helped create.

However, it’s also so much more than just the impressions from your senses. You can feel the world around you now, from the growing light within the human population, to the awakening power of the billions of trees who are so integral to the ecosystem, to the countless vibrations generated by the array of buzzing insects just going about their day. But more than anything, you feel the mountains.

There is so much energy locked within their mass, so much more lifeforce than you could ever have imagined could be found within cold, hard stone. It’s as if the gravitational and magnetic forces of the Earth are in constant conflict with the unyielding material, creating a completely separate energy in the process, stored within each crack and cavity of the bedrock. You wonder if Simon can sense it too, and whether, if he can, he might also be able to use it to feed and strengthen his darkness.

In any case, you’re confident of your chances when it comes to the survival of life and light. With each passing hour more countries are joining the force for good, until all that’s left is Antarctica and then South America. From the southernmost point of New Zealand, Oberyn gets you to the icy continent in record time, and it’s a strange thing to come to such an isolated place as an unexpected visitor. And not just because you’re arriving on the back of a dragon.

In every other country the cities you’ve visited have been large, to varying degrees, filled with human, animal, and plant-life, whereas here, some of the towns or research facilities consist of five structures, of which most are tents. There are no plants and while you can feel the presence of birds and penguins further away, there’s no connection between them and the human settlements. It is more heavily populated than you would’ve imagined, though. Some four thousand people in total are working on the continent, which is in its summer season.

You ask Oberyn to land at McMurdo Station, where there are a lot of people out and about in the mild and clear weather, enjoying the sun while they can. But unlike all the other places you’ve landed today, these people seem completely unafraid of the dragon. Perhaps because they’ve chosen to live in one of the harshest environments on earth, making them highly resilient to stress, but it is impressive all the same.

“Hello,” you greet with a smile and a small wave as a crowd quickly begins to gather around main street, where the massive Tyrannus stands tall after helping you step down. “We’re not here to hurt anyone, I hope you can believe that.”

A younger woman steps forward then, while more people continue adding to the curious onlookers further along the street. She’s likely in her mid-twenties and Hispanic, with short and wavy black hair, wearing the kinds of overalls that keeps a person warm while cutting across land on a snowmobile, although the sleeves are pushed down and tied around her waist, revealing a black wool polo-neck jumper underneath.

“I hope you mean it,” she says loud and clear. “Just like I hope I’m not seeing things, because if this is a dream, I’m gonna be so disappointed.”

“It’s not a dream, I promise. We’re here to ask for help.”

“And what could a bunch of scientists at the bottom of the world do for a dragon?”

You step closer to her before you answer, so you can reach her shoulder, but when you raise your hand towards her, she shies away. She stands her ground but pulls her shoulder back sharply. It’s hard to tell if she’s just unsure of your intentions or if there’s a deeper issue underneath. Normally, you can sense the gist of whatever people are hiding from one another, but this woman seems uncannily skilled at concealing her feelings.

“There’s a terrible evil spreading across the American continent right now, and you can help us stop it,” you explain, keeping your hand raised but still in front of her. “All you need to do is let me touch you.”

Her expression darkens somewhat, hearing that, but when you slowly lower your hand towards the outer curve of her shoulder again, she doesn’t move even though her entire body turns tense and rigid. And when your fingers connect to her, you’re overwhelmed for a moment by the darkness which floods through you. You can see the hurricane of pain this poor woman has lived with her entire life, from an abusive single mother to the many cruel and downright sadistic men she’d encountered in her eight years as a working girl, getting snared at the age of just thirteen.

She got lucky eventually, taking the opportunity to get out when it happened to appear, and then worked hard for a long time to give herself a real chance at a good life. But the scars have never healed. She came here to escape the world, not to help it.

“Let your mother go, Daniela,” you whisper, meeting her eyes as they widen at the mere mention of her terrible upbringing. “She may have given you life, but she was never your mother. There’s nothing wrong with hating someone who only ever hurts you, what’s wrong is hating yourself for it.”

A shaking breath escapes her, and with it, the hurricane starts to lose strength. You place your other hand on her cheek, and the bare contact between your skin and hers amplifies your light as it pours into the empty slots left behind by the fleeing darkness from within her being.

“Let her go.”

She inhales sharply and you can feel her spirit soar with the sudden freedom. She smiles at you in a way you’re certain she’s never smiled before, so genuinely filled with happiness now that her demons have been driven out. You know it won’t last forever, because nothing and no one is ever just light or dark, but there’s something truly precious about being able to give someone their own heart back. She turns to the crowd, scanning it until she finds someone she knows, then runs over to them and hugs them, and you can feel how the light fills them too, immediately growing and spreading, needing nothing but an invitation to take root.

Satisfied that your work here is done, you return to Oberyn, but he doesn’t look nearly as happy as the people around him. His gaze is drawn to the north, and he seems very concerned.

“What is it?” you ask, and he answers without taking his eyes off the horizon.

“We need to go.”

“That’s fine, I don’t need to see anyone else here.”

“No, Valya…” he grumbles before finally turning to look at you, and you can see that he’s not just concerned, he’s afraid. “We need to take this fight back to Simon. Now.”

“But South America-…”

“Is already lost,” he cuts you off, and suddenly you realize what it is he sees on the horizon.

“Oh, god. But… it’s only been a day. How could he overtake two continents that fast?”

“I do not know. He is the most perfected Darkling to have ever lived, I’m afraid we must assume that history will be of little aid to us in this battle.”

He picks you up and lifts you to your seat at the base of his neck, and from up there, you can already see the ashes in the air to the north.

“Wait!” someone calls from down on the ground, and when you peer down the dragon’s side, you see Daniela come to a stop beside him, having apparently run over from her friend. “You’re leaving already?”

She still looks so happy.

“We have to. It’s time to fight,” you tell her, and her smile fades.

“Oh… Did I help? It doesn’t seem like I did.”

“You still are. Every time you smile or laugh, every happy thought or bright feeling within you will help us win this war.”

With that, Oberyn spreads his wings and leaps out over the bay before taking his first stroke, to avoid knocking everyone to the ground. He follows the Antarctic coast all the way to Alexander Island before he turns north, then he sets his sights on the southernmost tip of Chile, reaching it in what feels like mere seconds. But seeing it makes your heart drop. It looks exactly like the North American coast did when you first flew over it.

“Do not lose faith, my dear. I don’t pretend to understand how, but it is your belief in the light which will end this darkness, so do not let Simon’s evil rob you of it.”

“It’s not my belief, Oberyn, it’s everyone’s. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” you counter, but he doesn’t respond, which sends a sliver of doubt through you. “Do you not believe in my plan?”

“I believe in you,” he replies without hesitation, but it’s not really an answer to the question.

He can feel your disappointment, and sighs heavily before he speaks again.

“There is a great fear within me… one that will not be silenced by any measure of hope. This fear is not of failure or death, precisely, but about Lux herself. The essence of her being.”

“How do you mean?”

“You said it yourself, Val. Her purpose is to protect the spirits. And I cannot shake the fear that in doing so, she will annihilate herself, and therefor you as well, should such a thing become required to accomplish her task. This is the problem with purpose, you see. When your entire existence is bound to the fates of others, there is not always a choice.”

“But that’s what all this was about. Spreading the light so that I’ll be strong enough-…”

“To defeat Simon?” he cuts you off, and his tone clearly implies you couldn’t do that even if you had all the power in the world.

“Freeing the spirits is the only way to do that, I thought we agreed on this,” you argue, and feel him nod once in confirmation.

“We do. But did you not see them? You cannot possibly think that anything but giving it everything you have is going to be enough to free them all.”

“With your help I can do it.”

“I don’t doubt whether you are able, my love. I fear your purpose will command you to sacrifice yourself in the effort.”

“Where is this coming from?” you ask, starting to feel a kind of desperation you can’t really name. “You’ve never doubted my strength before.”

“And I still don’t. But… you were dead…”

His voice breaks at the memory, and you can feel how truly enormous his pain was in that moment, how relentlessly seared that image is inside his brain. Your dead body on the bed.

“All she did was show you something, and it killed you. How am I supposed to believe that you can wield her power unscathed after witnessing such a thing?”

“Maybe I can’t. Maybe that’s the price we’ll have to pay to protect this world,” you ponder sadly. “But even if it is… how could I ever walk away? And what difference would that make? I’d still die, just for Simon’s pleasure instead.”

He’s quiet for a moment then, but you can feel his discomfort. Something so deeply engraved into his heart that the mere thought of it agonizes him.

“If you die…… it will not matter if you do manage to save this world. I will burn every inch of it into dust if I must live in it for one day without you.”

Somewhere deep inside you, there’s a twinge as you hear him say that. You don’t know what it means, but it leaves an ominous sensation in its wake. Something lightly queasy. Then Oberyn dives through a thick black cloud and when he emerges underneath it, you’re looking at the Mexican Gulf, except it’s not an ocean anymore. In what looks like thick, gloopy mud, and even thicker pools of tar, there are former ocean giants, now unrecognizable blobs with too many mouths and strange appendages seeming to serve no purpose at all, flopping and wriggling about. No longer able to swim and too heavy to move using the poor excuses for limbs their mutated form provides.

You look to the east and the connecting Atlantic Ocean, confirming that it’s already spread beyond what used to be Florida. The Atlantic is too vast and deep to be infected as quickly as the gulf has clearly been, but you’re guessing no more than three days before the darkness reaches Europe. And a quick glance to the west confirms the same thing about the Pacific. There’s no real way to know if your efforts of spreading light will truly be able to stop its advance if, or when, push comes to shove, so all you can do is hope.

And fight.

There’s no mistaking Simon’s new home, having built himself a castle in the time you’ve been away. One made of the bones of the dead, surrounded by mutated bushes covered in poisonous thorns. You can’t see the spirits anywhere, but you’re sure they’re close by. He wouldn’t dare let them wander off, he knows that they’re the only ones who can kill him.

“How are we doing this?” you ask when Oberyn starts to circle above the castle, dropping a little lower with each turn.

“I will try to keep the vines and beasts away from you, but this means you must fight the spirits yourself. Are you ready for that?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

He turns his head then, and you see his left eye peer back at you, somehow giving you the feeling that he’s holding back a goodbye. And as you look back into that blue sphere, you realize you’re doing the same. There’s a rumble from below which draws both of your attention, and you see an army of monsters start to emerge out of the ground. Simon knows you’re here.

Oberyn waits until the entire ground is littered with these unnatural beings before he swoops down over them, unleashing his fierce weapon, melting and electrocuting them by the millions in just one breath. Then he turns and does another pass, burying the castle under tons of lava. And while your enemy is blinded as he’s forced to encapsulate himself within a cocoon of continuously dying black vegetation, the dragon lands and drops you off, taking to the skies again the moment he’s sure you’re not immediately overrun by surviving vines.

It takes you a second to adjust, though. The air is thick and hard to breathe down here, and the ground doesn’t feel right when you walk. It’s like there’s no bedrock underneath the surface of it anymore. As though the darkness has corrupted the very crust of the Earth, turning it spongy and unstable. It feels like it’s gonna buckle under your weight at each step, while simultaneously seeming strangely elastic.

A second is about as much as you get before there’s movement in your periphery and you duck on pure instinct, narrowly avoiding being cut in half by some kind of weaponized leaf. Reminding yourself that movement is your ally, you get up and sprint about thirty yards before stopping to listen and gauge your surroundings. And sure enough, it only takes moments before there are beasts approaching you on two sides.

One is eliminated when Oberyn makes another pass, keeping his flame just far enough from you to keep from harming you, so you refocus on the other one. You’ve never tested your light in a combat situation before, never consciously attempted to use it as a weapon, but as the creature reaches you, stretching its tentacular arms towards you, it comes to you as easily as if you’d been practicing all your life. Like a white laser, it beams out of your left hand, cutting through the air for hundreds of yards before it fades, and everything dark it touches is turned to glowing dust.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

The beam cuts through the dusky atmosphere as if it were the entire sun concentrated into just one narrow ray. It shines so brightly that even the ground it merely passes over is scorched with it, leaving a glowing yellow trail behind which seems to seep into the corrupted soil and intensify. With each burst of light sprung from your hands in your continued battle, these streaks of embers are multiplied, until there is an entire grid of them around you.

And once they have all spread their secondary effects far enough to reach one another, the whole grid becomes its own weapon, firing additional beams under the surface of the earth, which seem to infect the darkness at its roots. Oberyn’s faith has been tested in these past few days, but as he watches you channel these powers, he finally begins to believe that this war will be won. He may have lost none of his faith in you on this journey, but his hope for a favorable outcome of this war has never been high. And by favorable, he means of course that both of you will live to see the world reborn.

On his next pass, he sees Simon emerging from the still melting remnants of his castle, and since he must keep the Darkling’s focus away from you while you hunt for the spirits, he sets down right in front of the former man.

“Ah, yes. Of course. The great viper, Oberyn Nymeros Martell,” he smiles, looking up at the dragon with pure amusement, as if he were a child at a theme-park.

But Oberyn is not amused, he is shocked. He has never been able to recall his full name, and now that he does, it drags up thousands of hidden memories within his mind, flooding his senses with them, overwhelming him to the point where he struggles to remain standing.

“You didn’t think anyone alive today could possibly know anything about your history, did you? But there are ways to look into the past, if you know which energies to tap into. Man, you were such a brat. Gave your brother Dorian the worst headaches trying to keep you in line so your father wouldn’t beat your ass to kingdom come.”

Dorian… that was his name. The father of the tortured child he had so desperately tried to aid. And Mellario, his wife. They had bickered endlessly of what to name the boy, finally settling on Quentyn the day before the massacre.

“How’s your head, Obe? Splitting I’d imagine, the way you’re trembling like a leaf. But then, you always were a coward. Do you remember it yet? The battlefields of Dorne? The way you fled from them, from the limbs you’d severed and the blood you’d sent pouring into the sands. There was no pride in you then, and there still isn’t.”

He does recall these things now. But it was not fear which had driven him from the fields of victory. It was sorrow. Because as a young man he had struggled to grasp the purpose of such slaughters. The reek of death had put a darkness within his heart that had ceaselessly made him question the validity of such actions. The supposed honor they garnered.

“Look at you. Even with the great Tyrannus within you you’re still just as weak. I won’t even break a sweat defeating you.”

“You think… knowing a few things about me gives you power over me?” he challenges the dark one, finally regaining his composure after the worst of the overload has faded. “I may not have been a viper before I became the dragon, but it was not due to any weakness. I mourned the dead for the uselessness of their passing.”

“No, you idiot. You mourned them because of your guilt, and that’s where I’ve already gotten past your defenses,” Simon gloats, and suddenly Oberyn feels something terrifyingly obvious become clear to him.

Whether caused by fear, guilt or sorrow, there is darkness within his soul. For all your efforts, your light has never reached him. Never flooded the cavities of doubts and insecurities he harbors, so deeply concealed. A pain unlike anything he has ever experienced begins to spread through him when the tentacles which have ensnared his legs without his notice, begin to pump their venom into his blood.

He tries to fight it. Tries with all his might to keep the darkness from corrupting his heart, but it is no use. The change has already begun. He can feel it spread, burning his insides like acid as it mutates him from within, until black spikes burst out of his armored scales, spewing oil over his white form in such thick layers that it buries the brightness. And then it hits his brain, and everything he once was, all the memories he has just reclaimed, are swept away. Erased. And Oberyn Nymeros Martell is no more.

Part 12

The Ten Spirits of the World Air - Forest - Water - Stone - Night - Autumn - Winter - Spring - Summer.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

@harriedandharassed @kittenlittle24 @joelswritingmistress @pedrostories

#oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn x reader #prince oberyn #game of thrones fanfiction #modern!au #au fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #halloween writing #spooky season fic #halloween fic #sirowsky stories

26 notes · View notes