#Final Chapter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pricesgirl · 3 months ago

Text

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

(T.W sexual content)

Jinx

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Prom?

Really?

But here I am, parked outside Y/N’s house, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting my hair for the hundredth time like it actually matters.

It’s just a stupid dance. But damn, my heart is doing backflips like it’s trying to escape.

And what’s worse? I’ve got this cheesy promise ring thing in my pocket.

I mean, who does that?

I do, apparently.

What the hell was I thinking? I thought it would be cute and sentimental, but now it just feels ridiculous.

As I wait for her to come out, I fidget with the damn thing, feeling the edges press against my palm. I should’ve just bought her flowers or something. Why am I even doing this?

Then, just like that, the front door swings open, and there she is. Y/N steps out, and my breath catches in my throat.

That's why I'm doing this.

The way the dress flows around her legs as she walks is mesmerizing. It has a subtle sparkle woven through the fabric, catching the light with every movement, making her look like she’s glowing.

The waist is cinched, accentuating her curves just right, and the hem falls just above her knees, allowing her legs to peek out.

Fuck, I'm done for.

I can’t help but stare, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

She gets closer, a smile spreading across her face, and I can’t believe I get to take her to prom. I throw open the passenger door, forcing myself to look chill.

“Hey, toots,” I manage to say, trying to sound casual despite the whirlwind of emotions raging inside me.

“Hey!” she chirps, sliding into the car, and I swear, my heart skips a beat. The moment the door closes, the world outside fades away.

“Ready to make some bad decisions?” I ask, grinning like a fool.

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve got my dance moves all planned out,” she replies, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Before I can even respond, I’m leaning over, unable to resist the pull any longer. I capture her lips with mine, and it’s electric.

Her mouth is warm, and the kiss is soft at first, almost shy, but then it ignites into something more passionate. I feel her fingers tangle in my hair, and all the nerves I had before just melt away.

We move to the backseat, the car cramped and cozy, and it’s like we’re in our own little universe. I break the kiss, just enough to catch my breath, and I can see the flush in her cheeks. “Damn, you look so good tonight,” I say, my voice low and teasing.

“Jinx,” she breathes, a mix of surprise and excitement in her voice. “We’re going to be late!”

“Who cares?” I pull back for a second, my forehead resting against hers. “We’ve got time. Besides, this is way more fun than dancing with a bunch of sweaty high schoolers.”

Y/N giggles, and it’s contagious. “True, but we should probably at least make an appearance.”

“Fine, but only if you promise to save me a dance,” I reply, planting a quick kiss on her nose.

“Deal.”

With one last lingering kiss, I pull back, my heart racing not just from the thrill of the night but because I’m really doing this.

I’m taking her to prom, and we’re going to make memories that are way better than any cheesy dance.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll even find a moment to give her that ridiculous promise ring.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N

The night hums around us, warm and alive, wrapped in the scent of spring rain on pavement and the distant pulse of music floating from the venue.

Streetlights streak across the windshield in soft gold, casting fleeting halos over Jinx’s face as she drives, her fingers loose on the wheel, her other hand resting on my thigh like it belongs there.

Her old Chevy rumbles beneath us, worn and familiar, a relic of every late-night drive, every impulsive getaway, every moment that’s ever belonged to just us. It smells like her—oil and metal and something electric, something wild.

The leather seats creak when she shifts, turning to glance at me with that lopsided grin that makes my heart stutter.

“You sure you don’t wanna ditch?” she teases, tapping her fingers against my knee. “Run away, get married in Vegas, never look back?”

I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Very romantic.”

“Obviously.” She smirks, but there’s something softer beneath it, something warm.

We pull up to the venue, where golden light spills from towering windows, catching the shimmer of gowns and the gleam of polished shoes. It feels like another world, too delicate, too carefully arranged. And then there’s Jinx—swinging the Chevy into park like she owns the place, stepping out with all the reckless grace that makes her her.

She’s wearing boots with her dress. Of course she is. The hem brushes against her knees, swaying with her every movement, and those combat boots—scuffed and worn, a sharp contrast to all the careful perfection around us—somehow make her look even more breathtaking.

Jinx rounds the car and swings the door open for me, offering her hand like she’s asking me to step into something bigger than just a dance. Something that feels like forever.

I take her hand, my fingers slipping easily into hers, and as soon as I step out of the car, she tugs me forward—like she can’t wait, like she needs to pull me into the night before I can think too hard about it.

The venue looms ahead, glowing and grand, draped in lights that cast everything in soft gold. People are already pouring in—gowns swirling, heels clicking, laughter spilling out into the air. It should feel overwhelming, but Jinx is beside me, and that makes all the difference.

She squeezes my hand, tilting her head toward the entrance. “Last chance to bail,” she murmurs, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You and me, we could still do something fun tonight.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Jinx, you promised.”

She groans dramatically but doesn’t let go of my hand. “Fine. But only because you look too fucking pretty for me to waste it.”

We step inside, and it’s like walking into a dream. The chandeliers cast shimmering reflections against the polished floors, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and anticipation. Music thrums low and steady beneath the chatter of voices, the kind of sound that settles in your bones before it even reaches your ears.

Jinx whistles under her breath. “Damn. This is fancy-fancy.”

I nudge her playfully. “Try not to break anything.”

“No promises.” She grins, but I can see the way she glances around, taking it all in.

We weave through the crowd, eyes turning toward us—not at me, in my carefully chosen dress, but at Jinx in her combat boots and devil-may-care smirk. She doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn’t care. She just walks with that effortless confidence, like she belongs anywhere she decides to be.

And then, as if deciding something right in the moment, she tugs me closer, spinning me toward her so fast I barely catch my breath before her hands find my waist. “You wanna dance, babe?” she asks, voice low, teasing.

The music shifts, something slow, something warm, and suddenly the room doesn’t matter. The crowd doesn’t matter. It’s just us.

I smile up at her, heart pounding. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I do.”

And then we’re moving, swaying together in the middle of all the glitter and gold, her hands steady on my waist, her breath warm against my cheek. It’s ridiculous. It’s perfect.

It’s us.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

The night is quiet now, soft and slow, the distant hum of the city filtering in through the open window.

The air is warm, thick with the leftover scent of perfume and something sweeter—something that’s just her.

Y/N is beneath me, tangled in the sheets, her hair messy from my hands, her lips kiss-bruised and glossy in the low light.

She looks up at me like I’m something worth staring at, something worth keeping. It makes my chest ache.

Makes me want to kiss her until the world doesn’t exist outside of this room.

So I do.

I press my lips to hers, slow and deep, tasting the remnants of whatever fancy-ass punch they had at prom, but mostly just her.

My fingers skate up her thigh, tracing lazy circles against her skin. She shivers, her hands coming up to tangle in my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp.

It sends a thrill down my spine, makes me grin against her lips.

"You're so pretty," I murmur, voice rough, almost reverent. "Like, stupid pretty. It's unfair."

She laughs, soft and breathless, tugging me back down into another kiss like she doesn’t care how unfair it is—as long as I’m the one saying it.

And then I remember the damn thing in my pocket.

I pull back just enough to reach for it, heart hammering in a way that makes no sense. It’s just a dumb little ring.

A tiny, ridiculous thing I’ve been sitting on for weeks, telling myself it wasn’t too cheesy, telling myself she’d like it.

But now, with her looking up at me all soft and kiss-drunk, I suddenly feel stupid.

I clear my throat, fist tightening around it. “Okay, so. I, uh—”

She blinks at me, confused. “What?”

I groan, flopping onto my side next to her, holding the thing up between my fingers like it’s no big deal, like I totally didn’t just have a crisis over it.

“I made you this,” I mumble, shoving it into her palm before I can second-guess myself again.

Y/N lifts it, delicate between her fingers, inspecting the thin band of metal.

It’s rough, uneven in spots—I’m no jeweler, okay? But it’s got a tiny engraving on the inside, the words a little messy but clear enough.

Yours

Her breath catches. For a second, she doesn’t say anything. Just stares at it like it’s something precious.

Then she looks at me, eyes wide, lips parted, and I can’t fucking breathe.

“You made this?” she whispers.

I shrug, trying to play it cool, even though my stomach is twisting into knots. “Yeah. It’s dumb, I know. You don’t have to wear it or anything, I just—”

She cuts me off by kissing me. Hard.

I melt into it instantly, my hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against me as she breathes me in like she wants to drown in this.

When she finally pulls back, she’s grinning. “It’s not dumb,” she murmurs, slipping the ring onto her finger like it belongs there.

And just like that, I’m gone. Done for. Completely wrecked.

I kiss her again, because what the hell else am I supposed to do?

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N

The blue of her hair looks so pretty against my bedsheets, wild strands fanned out like a halo, like something ethereal, something untouchable—except she is touchable. She’s right here, pressed against me, her body warm and solid, her breath ghosting over my skin.

Jinx is everywhere—her hands on my waist, her lips trailing fire down my neck, her knee nudging between my thighs like she belongs there. And she does. She always has.

She kisses me again, deep and slow, like she has all the time in the world, like she wants to memorize the shape of my mouth with hers. I melt into it, fingers threading through her hair, tugging just enough to make her sigh against my lips.

“You’re so soft,” she murmurs, her voice low, reverent, like she’s realizing it for the first time. Her hands skate over my hips, my ribs, tracing every inch of me like I might disappear if she doesn’t touch enough.

I shiver beneath her, tilting my head to give her more room when she presses her lips to the hollow of my throat. “Jinx—”

“Mm?” Her voice is muffled against my skin, her grin unmistakable.

I bite my lip, trying to hold back the way my breath stutters, but she notices. Of course she does. Jinx notices everything.

Her fingers dig in just a little as she shifts, pressing closer, her body fitting against mine like she was made to be here. Like I was made for this.

“You always say my name so pretty,” she muses, nipping at my collarbone before soothing the spot with her tongue. “All breathy and sweet—makes me wanna hear it again.”

Heat coils in my stomach, and I squeeze my eyes shut, but that just makes everything sharper—the weight of her, the way her lips trail lower, the teasing drag of her knee against me, making my hips twitch on instinct.

She laughs, low and knowing. “Oh, you like that.”

I can’t even pretend to be annoyed. Not when she’s got me like this, unraveling me one touch at a time, her voice dripping amusement and something darker. Something that makes my pulse stutter.

“You’re insufferable,” I mumble, but it’s ruined by the way I gasp when she presses her lips just below my ear.

“You love it,” she teases, her breath ghosting over me, sending shivers racing down my spine.

“Maybe,” I breathe, caught between a laugh and a sigh, overwhelmed by the way she makes me feel. Her hands explore my sides, fingers dancing over the curves of my body with a gentle insistence that makes me ache for her touch.

“Good,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against my throat as she kisses her way back up, pausing to nibble on my earlobe, and I can’t help but gasp, my breath hitching in my throat. “Because I’m just getting started.”

With a sudden shift, she rolls me beneath her, our bodies a tangle of limbs and sheets, and I can’t contain the smile that spreads across my face. There’s something intoxicating about being here with her, the world outside disappearing as we focus on each other, lost in this moment of pure intimacy.

My legs fall apart, inviting her closer, granting her access to the slick, throbbing heat between us. Our cores collide, her clit brushing against mine, igniting a delicious friction that sends shockwaves through my body.

"God, you’re so perfect," I breathe, eyes locked on hers, desperate for more.

"Is that so?" she teases, her voice sultry and dripping with mischief. With each slow grind of her hips, our clits slide against each other, a perfect rhythm that makes me gasp.

"Yes," I whisper, breathless and yearning. The way she rolls her hips, teasingly slow at first, sends a pulse of desire coursing through me. I can feel the heat pooling in my core, and I crave more contact, more of her.

"Fuck," she groans, her voice thick with lust, and I feel the sound vibrate through me, driving me wild.

“Please, Jinx,” I whimper, my need spilling over as I thrust my hips up to meet hers, feeling the way our bodies mold together. It’s a messy dance of pleasure, our slick folds gliding against one another, each movement pushing us closer to ecstasy.

Her fingers dig into my hips, guiding our motions as I arch my back, eager for the perfect angle. The sensation of our clits rubbing together, slick and desperate, creates a heady mix of pleasure and urgency that leaves me gasping for more.

"Y/N," she breathes, the way my name spills from her lips makes my heart race. "You feel so good, so fucking good."

From that moment, words become unnecessary; all that exists is the intoxicating rhythm of our bodies moving together. The sensation of our bodies sliding against each other becomes a dance, slick and desperate, fueling the fire that burns between us.

Every thrust, every grind, sends waves of pleasure crashing over me, drowning out everything but the heat of her skin against mine. I can feel her breath hitching, the way her body reacts to the exquisite friction building between us.

Her hands grip my hips tightly, pulling me closer, deeper, as we melt into one another. Each movement sends jolts of ecstasy racing through my core, spiraling higher and higher as the world outside fades away.

Our bodies are a tangle of limbs, the sheets twisted around us as we lose ourselves in the moment. I can feel the heat radiating off her, the way her body shudders against mine, a beautiful melody of pleasure echoing in the space around us.

With every roll of our hips, every slick glide, the sensations overwhelm me, blurring the line between pleasure and bliss. I lose myself in the rhythm, surrendering completely to the waves of ecstasy crashing over me, each pulse driving me closer to the edge.

Jinx’s moans become softer, almost melodic, and I can feel her body quivering against mine, matching the tempo of our desperate movements.

The urgency builds, an electric current that binds us together, pulling us both toward a precipice we can’t resist.

As the intensity escalates, I can’t help but dig my fingers into the sheets, feeling every quiver, every gasp.

The sensations become a whirlwind, spinning us faster and faster, our bodies instinctively finding the perfect angle to push us both higher.

With one final thrust, the world around us fades away completely, leaving only the two of us entwined in this beautiful, messy dance.

We both gasp, caught in the throes of overwhelming pleasure as we reach our peaks together, our bodies singing in unison, shuddering and pulsing as we release.

I can feel the warmth of Jinx's skin against mine, her heart racing beneath my fingertips as I trace lazy patterns along her back. The world outside no longer matters; it's just us.

"That was… wow," I finally murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, still reeling from the intensity of our connection. She chuckles softly, a sound that sends a thrill through me, and I can't help but smile at the way her eyes twinkle with mischief and affection.

"Yeah, I think wow might be an understatement," she replies, her voice teasing but laced with sincerity. Her fingers dance through my hair, and I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of her touch.

As our breathing steadies, I become acutely aware of the way our bodies fit together, the way her head rests against my shoulder, her breath warm against my skin. It feels right, natural, and I can’t shake the feeling that this moment is somehow significant.

"You're incredible, you know that?" I say, a hint of awe coloring my tone. Jinx glances up at me, her expression softening, and I can see the affection mirrored in her gaze.

"You’re not so bad yourself, toots," she replies with a playful grin, and I feel a rush of warmth flood through me. There's a sense of safety here, a bond that deepens with every shared glance and whispered word.

We lie there for a while, exchanging lazy kisses and gentle caresses, relishing the afterglow of our shared bliss. The weight of the world outside fades further into the background, leaving just the two of us, wrapped in a cocoon of comfort and intimacy.

Eventually, Jinx shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at me. “So, what now?” she asks, a playful spark in her eyes.

I chuckle, still feeling the effects of our earlier fervor. “I guess we just enjoy this moment. And maybe order some food because I’m starving.”

“Priorities, huh?” she teases, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my lips. “I like it.”

Looking into her eyes, I feel a surge of emotion welling up inside me, and before I can second-guess myself, I whisper, “I love you, Jinx.”

The teasing glimmer in her gaze softens, and a genuine smile spreads across her lips. “I love you too, Miss saboteur,”

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: sooo this may be the final chapter of Mary Janes, this fic means so much to me and so thank you to everyone who's read and supported it :)

would you like an epilogue?

please like and reblog!

128 notes · View notes

salemrph · 12 days ago

Text

“Let the World Burn”

Final Chapter 8: Let the World Burn

A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money.

Chapter Summary: Trapped in Rudy’s warehouse, You, Sylus, Luke, and Kieran fight through waves of guards and Wanderers. Caleb must find Rudy before the rising energy collapses into something far worse: a Protofield. And if he doesn’t, none of you will make it out alive.

Characters: Sylus x MC/reader/you, Luke and Kieran, Caleb

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst

Words: 11k | Reading Time: 43min

Tag list: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @syluskisser @fortunekookie07 @crimsonlittlecrow @mochibunnies3 @gazelover666 @fancyhawk45 @sorryimakira @paninisstuff @deathrye @tinyweebsstuff @sxderia @yunhogrippers @sylusqt @darkesky @an-ever-angry-bi @atinymekanie @bruisedchickensoup

@thatonegenderfluidwhore @certainduckanchor @the-girl-who-used-to @reika-desu @f41k47 @beezabuzz @mentaltrouble2201 @bl00dsuccker @blorbohunter @gianchan-de @fortunekookie07 @sylusloml @pandoras-rabbit @the-spine-of-the-world @noradest @owodi @greatmistakes @theshadowsdragon @pillarofsnow @lawssocuteee @gibborger @hestia-fires @crowskitten22 @hestia-fires

Chapter 8: Let the world burn

You didn’t remember the moment the fight truly began. One second, Sylus was at your side, whispering something after the kiss that left your lips burning. The next, the storm shattered the last remnants of silence and all hell tore through the walls. Rain poured in through the jagged wound in the ceiling, soaking concrete, bodies, blood. The Wanderers came fast.

Gunfire cracked like lightning around you, echoing through the warehouse now painted in shadows and chaos. Wanderers shrieked as they lunged in, limbs twisted in unnatural angles, eyes burning with that eerie, hollow hunger. You moved on instinct: shoot, duck, slash, breathe. Again. Again. Again.

Beside you, Sylus moved like something otherworldly with fluidity, brutality, and precision. Every step he took left a body behind. A crack of bone. A hissed breath. He didn’t waste a second. Sylus just wants to end this nightmare, the longer you fight this wave, the more likely you are to lose your only chance to escape.

The twins were holding the higher ground, sending out bursts of cover fire and throwing down traps, working to contain the endless surge of guards Rudy had unleashed. You could hear one of them shouting over comms, breath ragged, laughing like a man on the edge of madness.

Luke's voices crackled faintly in your earpiece:

“We’ve got the inside. Hold the front, boss.”

But nothing was slowing them down. The Wanderers kept coming. The guards kept pouring in. You were stuck.

“Left!” Sylus warned behind you.

You pivoted, shot a Wanderer in the chest, but too late to dodge the second one. Its claws raked across your side before you could finish it off. You hissed, staggering, forcing your body back upright. Luckily the cut on your skin isn't big but it will be another scar to add to the collection.The Wanderer vanishes into particles. A third was close now, but Sylus is keeping your flank covered. You moved in sync. From the very beginning, fighting beside him felt effortless as if your bodies moved to the same violent rhythm, attuned to each other’s instincts. You could anticipate his strikes before they came, just as he read your movements. He moved, you followed. You struck, he covered. The hours of training together are starting to pay off.

“You really don’t want to make it easy for me, huh.” He tosses a spare magazine to you without looking. “Are you prepared to keep up with me?”

You caught it mid-air, slammed it into place. “I’ve been born ready.”

“Don’t over do it”

There were too many. The ground shook as a Wanderer slammed into one of the support beams above, knocking down chunks of concrete and metal rained down in a storm of filth and dust. Your ears rang. You and Sylus instinctively dove apart. Your body is screaming in protest the moment you hit the floor, it wasn’t a graceful landing. Hitting the ground hard, a jolt of agony ripped through your ribs as bone grated against the floor. The breath tore from your lungs in a ragged wheeze, your vision blotting with stars. Pain clawed up your spine, but you bit down on it, hard. The pain was dizzying, but you welcomed it. It meant you were still alive.

Opposite you, Sylus moved with a predator’s grace, already unloading a volley of shots into the charging beast that veered his way. You mirrored him, squeezing the trigger with trembling fingers just as another creature lunged toward you. Your aim was a bit off, your hand was torn from when you’d gripped that broken glass too tight. The bandage was again soaked with blood, you wound open again. But the bullet found its mark anyway, splitting through the Wanderer’s neck in a bloom of gore.

Blood sprayed across the floor. Even if Wanderers dissolved into particles once dead, they could still bleed. And this one bled all over your boots before it vaporized into nothing.

Every step felt like you were walking through broken glass barefoot. You could taste iron on your tongue, from biting the inside of your cheek. Adrenaline kept you upright, but your mind were fraying at the edges. Caleb’s voice still echoed in your skull, the kiss siting heavy in your heart. Sylus’s gaze still burned on your skin. The truth. The lies. The years of pain and buried memories bubbling just beneath the surface. The experiments. Your past. The explosion. Your grandmother’s death… You were spiraling. It’s all tangled together, one wound bleeding into the next.

A guttural snarl pulled you back.

You staggered to your feet, knees buckling beneath you. Sylus was suddenly there, appearing at your side like he always did. He reached for you, anchoring you with one arm as you lifted your gun again.

“You’re too close. That 's my spot.” You smiled.

“We could just resonate to make this easier,” you said between breaths, twisting your body to dodge a clawed strike, your bullet strikes clean through the creature’s weak spot.

Sylus crushed the skull of another Wanderer with his bare hands, his Evol sparking like wildfire across his skin, rippling with power. He turned toward you slowly, his eyes catching the light like a predator in a storm. Then he smirked, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand.

“Sweetie,” he said, almost warning. “I’m not doing that in your state.”

You clicked your tongue. You knew your body was far from its best but pushing forward like this wasn’t giving you the advantage either.

Sylus fought like a man possessed. One guard lunged at him, gun half-raised, finger twitching toward the trigger. Sylus grabbed the bastard’s wrist, twisted hard, bones shattering like dry twigs. The guard screamed once before Sylus stole the weapon straight from his hands and turned on a dime, just in time to blow apart the fucker charging at your blind side.

Before you could respond, he pivoted, grabbing the next Wanderer by the throat mid-leap. His Evol surged again and the beast detonated, its body flung backward like a broken puppet, torn apart by pure force, soon becoming particles in the air.

You returned the favor, your pistol cracking through the storm to drop the sniper aiming from above. The crack of your gun split the air. His head snapped back. Blood sprayed. His limp body slammed into the scaffolding above with a sickening thunk, tumbling over the edge before landing in a messy heap of broken limbs and twisted metal. One more down.

The storm above pounding harder, lightning throwing stark shadows across blood-slick floors. For a second, there was peace. You turned, eyes locking with Sylus. Both of you are bloody, breathing hard.

“Shit,” you muttered, heart pounding. “They’re not stopping.”

“Rudy is still watching. Betting on how long we last.” Sylus looked toward the far corner, eyes narrowing.

Your mind races, trying to piece together the cause of this relentless surge of Wanderers and then it hits. If Rudy was working with Ever Group, then he’d have access to the kind of tech that could manipulate MetaFlux fluctuations. Your thoughts flashback to the case at Linkon University with Xavier, that almost killed him. The case with Zanye in Chansa City. Shit.

“If the MetaFlux keeps destabilizing like this… it could trigger a Protofield” The thought alone makes your blood run cold. And if that happens… you’re fucked. Badly. You curse under your breath, ducking beneath a burst of debris as a Wanderer barrels past. You don’t have the gear, the backup, or the strength for something like that right now. Then you realize, you sent Caleb after Rudy, what if he doesn't know about that technology.

“I need to find Caleb—”

“Absolutely not.” He was in front of you before the sentence finished leaving your mouth, “No.” He said, “You’ve done enough. More than enough. You’re already at your limit. I won’t let you throw yourself into something worse.”

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head. “The Colonel can handle himself.”

You want to protest. But… he’s right. How are you supposed to reach Caleb if you can’t take five steps without the world spinning? Your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms. Your only hope is Caleb. You pray he finds Rudy before it's too late. Because if he doesn’t shut this down the source, you're definitely won’t make it out alive. Neither of you. You moved again. Together. Shooting, reloading, ducking, slashing. You lost track of time, of wounds. Of how many fell before you. Your arms ached, your legs burned.

As Sylus deals with some guards, you begin to feel a wave of dizziness wash over you, your chest tightening painfully. You keep moving but something’s wrong. Your vision doubles for a second just a flicker but it’s enough to make you stumble. You gasped, but the air was too thin, every inhale shallow. Your heart hammers out of rhythm. Your fingers twitch, jittering like static is trapped beneath your skin. Something inside you is burning. You can feel it. Your heart is near to explode.

Panic claws at your chest, suffocating every cell. You can’t tell what’s real anymore. Are you breathing too fast or not at all? Did you just fire your weapon or were you remembering it? Did someone scream or was that your own voice in your head?

What’s happening to me?

It feels like your insides are being ripped apart. Fragments of memories flood back, faces, hands, a cold room, a pulse monitor screaming in your ears. You see yourself strapped down, the needle piercing your neck, and you feel it again. That same burn, but this time, it’s not leaving.

You feel it in your bloodstream. That goddamn serum. Chimera 1X9, merging with every molecule in your body. The Protocore Syndrome, the adrenaline, the heat of the moment. Your desperation. All of it colliding, morphing, you can feel the war being waged beneath your skin. It’s awakening, calling you.

“Having your soul torn apart and all, it’s not that unbearable?”

The echo of his voice, that voice of the unknown face that hunts in your fragmented memories. His face is still a blur in your mind but merged so easily with Sylus face. The man who kidnapped you under a red moon, the one whose hands were calloused but so soft as he touched you, whose voice was dark velvet laced. A conceited devil who mocked you. After resonating with him the first time, some part of your soul recognized him, your soul had been looking for his across lifetimes.

You remember his hands on your skin, the possessive way he pulled you closer even when you were trying to push him away. The way he looked at you when you weren’t watching. Every moment flashes through your mind now like lightning. The field of flowers, a trial, feeling persecuted, crying uncontrollably, the weight of guilt, fire, and blood. A life locked away and then condemned as a sacrifice.

“Are you trying to move me with your human love?”

You slid down to one knee, sucking in a breath that burns. Your ribs scream. Your hand trembled violently. You felt like you were fracturing, piece by agonizing piece. You want to reach for him. Deep in your chest, a faint glow pulsed beneath your skin – an unbreakable tether, a connection that even death couldn't sever.

“Unfortunately... the string of fate connecting us can't be cut that easily.”

There’s a name you’ve heard in dreams. A promise, etched into the fabric of another life. Bound by a curse that you can’t remember fully. You clutch at your chest, trying to steady yourself, but it feels like something inside you is about to snap. You remember the line of the report:

If instability persists, termination may be required before critical system failure occurs. Subject must be transferred immediately.

The panic only makes it worse, and every second drains more of your strength.

“Sylus…” you whisper, your voice trembling, there’s no strength left in you to call out properly. In the split-second between killing one of Rudy’s guards and turning to face another, Sylus’s head whipped around. His eyes found you instantly and his face changed.

As you collapse, everything around you feels distante. The floor feels cold against your skin, and your body goes limp, no longer able to fight the overwhelming pain. Sylus rushes to your side, his every movement filled with urgency. His heart skips a beat as he sees you lying there, weak and fragile, the once defiant fire in your eyes fading into exhaustion and pain.

Sylus kneels beside you, his hands gentle but firm as he checks for a pulse. Your chest heaving with uneven breaths, your skin pale, and your heartbeat erratic. Panic digs its nails into his mind, refusing to let go. He can't lose you. Not like this. Not again.

“Look at me,” he said sharply, voice cracking through your haze. “Look at me, kitten. Stay with me.” Your lips trembled. You wanted to speak, tell him that you were scared. That something was wrong. But all you could do was clutch his wrist, grounding yourself with the only thing that still felt real.

You see his face blurred, like something out of a dream you’re not sure you’re still in. His brows are drawn tight, jaw clenched, eyes moving in rapid flicks over your face like he’s counting every breath you take. Your heart slams against your ribcage, each beat like a fist from inside, slower… deeper… louder. The world feels distant. Muffled. Like you're underwater and everything is just out of reach. Fingers brushing over your bruised jaw, the bandages at your side. You’re terrified.

The night fog envelops you, and you're caught in what might as well be a long, chaotic nightmare. When you wake, you're surrounded by a red valley filled with blooming red datura. Your arms are heavy. You look down—and see a huge, horned creature cradled in your grasp. You’re holding it as it dies. You don’t know why you're here. You only vaguely remember something about a dragon in a pitch-black chapel. You try desperately to remember. But the last clear image you have of the dragon ends on that blood-soaked night beneath the moon Everything afterward is shattered shredded fragments, scattered and incomplete. You can’t remember if you finished playing that piece.

“This promise will never be broken.”

But your lips curl into a faint, broken smile before the serum’s burning again in your system.

Sylus sees it and it knocks the breath from his lungs. That smile. He doesn’t understand. Why are you smiling now? His composure cracking beneath that damn smug mask he always wears for everyone else. His voice catches in his throat.

“Kitten…?”

︶︶°︶︶

Caleb moved through the shadows like a blade. Anyone who stood in his way didn’t last long. Around the next bend, a knot of armed guards materialized, their harsh whispers echoing in the sterile air. Caleb didn't break stride. He simply raised a hand, a subtle gesture that belied the immense power he wielded.

The air itself seemed to compress, the atmospheric pressure plummeting with unnatural speed. A collective gasp escaped the guards’ lips as their bodies began to implode, bones crunching, flesh yielding, their forms contorting into grotesque parodies of human shapes before collapsing inward with sickening finality, like discarded puppets. Caleb stepped over the mangled remains without so much as a downward glance.

He tracked Rudy’s panicked scent to a grimy service door tucked away near the rear of the facility. The man was fumbling with the lock, his movements jerky and desperate. Caleb used his evol to put pressure on the door, preventing it from opening in either direction.

“Running already?” Caleb’s voice was low, sharp.

Rudy froze. “You’re making a mistake,” he said quickly.

“Am I?” Caleb stepped closer. “You didn’t just take her, you piece of shit. You took others . Hunters. Civilians. People who were never supposed to be part of this.”

Rudy’s eyes darted around, searching for an escape route. Caleb moved again, closing the distance. “And now you’re going to tell me how Sylus fits into all of it.” Rudy hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. Caleb moved another step closer, his presence a palpable threat.

“This is your only chance. Talk.” Caleb’s tone left no room for argument.

Rudy’s hands shot up in a pathetic gesture of appeasement, his face a mask of desperation as he stumbled backwards. “It was… efficient. Two for the price of one. Ever gave me the target. Imagine my surprise when it was the same little toy clinging to Sylus. Take out the beast, deliver the girl – bigger payout for me. I didn't expect that Professor's dog would show up.”

Caleb’s face remained a rigid mask of fury, his eyes like glacial shards that could freeze bone. “What. Did they do. To her?”

“They tested something… something new. A serum, made from Protoflux readings. Chimera 1X9” Rudy’s words spilled fast, desperate. “Look, I swear on everything I hold dear – I don’t know the specifics of their sick experiments. I just deliver them. That’s it. My part ends there.”

A cold dread washed over Caleb as Rudy's words clicked into place, forming a horrifying picture. They pumped that shit into her . He didn’t have time for this. Letting Rudy breathe another second was a goddamn invitation for disaster, especially knowing what the bastard knew – Caleb's face, even who the fuck he answered to. The thought of the Professor getting wind of this… No. Loose ends got people buried. This piece of shit wasn't walking out of here. Decision made. He was going to enjoy this.

Suddenly, a monstrous figure smashed through the wall behind Rudy, tendrils of dark energy crackling around its grotesque form. A Wanderer, its eyes burning with malevolent intent, lunged for the defenseless Rudy.

Instinct took over. Before Rudy could even scream, Caleb moved with lightning speed, a blur of motion. He slammed into Rudy, throwing him out of the Wanderer’s path just as razor-sharp claws tore through the air where the man had been standing. The Wanderer roared in frustration, its attention now fully fixed on Caleb.

Caleb’s cold gaze snapped back to Rudy. “You were saying?”

Rudy swallowed hard, his fear now compounded with a fresh layer of terror. “Okay, okay! There’s… there’s a Metaflux destabilizer. I activated it when I realized things were going south. It’s overloading the containment fields.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You suicidal idiot! Get it off. Now.” His voice was a low, lethal command.

Rudy scrambled back, shaking his head frantically. “I… I don’t know how! It’s on a timer! A failsafe!”

Caleb snarled, his face inches from Rudy’s, his eyes blazing with a terrifying mix of fury and desperation. “You're coming with me. Right now. You're going to deactivate that damn thing.” He didn't wait for a response, dragging the whimpering Rudy along the debris-strewn corridor, the screeching of the approaching Wanderers growing louder with each passing second.

They rounded a corner, and two more Wanderers, their forms flickering in and out of phase with reality, lunged at them from the shadows. Caleb didn’t even break his stride. With a flick of his wrist, a gravitational force slammed into the creatures, sending them spinning into the walls with bone-jarring impacts. They slumped to the ground, momentarily stunned.

“It’s in the main control room!” Rudy shrieked, his eyes wide with terror as he glanced back at the downed Wanderers, their guttural snarls echoing behind them.

A few breathless, chaotic moments later, Caleb and a whimpering Rudy burst into the main control room. Sparks rained down from damaged consoles, alarms blared with deafening intensity, and the air crackled with unstable energy. Several Wanderers were already tearing through the room, their grotesque forms ripping apart equipment with savage abandon.

Caleb hurled Rudy towards a central console, its screens flickering with chaotic data streams. “There! The destabilizer! Find the override!”

Rudy stumbled, his eyes darting frantically over the complex array of buttons and holographic displays. “I… I don’t see it! It 's encrypted!”

Another Wanderer lunged at Rudy, its razor-sharp claws extended. Before Caleb could intervene, Rudy yelped and scrambled backwards, tripping over a fallen console. The creature was on him in an instant.

With a snarl of pure rage, Caleb unleashed a focused blast of energy, tearing through the Wanderer’s chest, sending it collapsing in a heap of shimmering flesh. “Focus fucker, I don’t have all night for this.”

Rudy, spurred by a terror that finally eclipsed his self-preservation instincts, mashed frantically at the console. Sparks flew from his fingertips as he bypassed security protocols, lines of code scrolling across the damaged screens in a chaotic blur.

Finally, a holographic interface flickered to life on the console, displaying a large red icon labeled METAFLUX DESTABILIZER — EMERGENCY OVERRIDE. Rudy’s trembling finger hovered over it.

A violent tremor tore through the floor beneath their feet, a deep, guttural groan emanating from the very foundations, as if the earth itself was tearing apart. The building convulsed. Chunks of concrete and twisted metal rained down from the ceiling like deadly hail. The violent upheaval sent Caleb staggering, his normally rock-solid balance betraying him. He stumbled, his head colliding with a jagged piece of falling debris. A searing pain lanced through his skull, and the world dissolved into a swirling blackness. Consciousness flickered and died.

When his senses returned, the building was still groaning its death throes. His head throbbed with a sickening intensity, and his vision swam. Disoriented, he blinked, trying to clear the fog in his mind. Caleb’s head snapped towards Rudy, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What the fuck did you—?”

Rudy lay crushed beneath a chunk of fallen ceiling, Blood soaked the concrete. The console, however, remained stubbornly intact, its holographic display still pulsing. Caleb didn't give the pulped remains a second glance. At least one less problem.

His only focus was you. He reached for the console, his hand hovering over the glowing icon, a moment's hesitation before the inevitable. Then, with a decisive thrust, he plunged his fingers into the light.

He had to get to you. He turned and ran, the image of you, vulnerable and possibly suffering, burning in his mind. He had to know if you were safe. If you were alive. And if that serum had touched you… he didn’t even dare finish the thought.

︶︶°︶︶

A violent surge of energy explodes tearing through the air with a deafening roar. A soundless eruption of pure, unleashed power. The shockwave rips through the building, slamming into walls and sending debris crashing to the ground. Steel beams shuddered, the ground beneath them buckling as the full impact of the blast tore through the building’s core. The boxes in the hall were explosives, which had further increased the shock wave. Flames ignite in the corners, curling up the walls, the heat suffocating. The ground shakes violently, and the ceiling cracks, chunks of concrete and metal falling to the floor.

None of the guards or Wanderers in the blast radius survive. Their bodies are torn apart, some vaporized on impact, others shredded by debris or crushed beneath the collapsing ceiling. Blood stains the floor before it’s swallowed by fire. The creatures never stood a chance. Not against that.

The force of the blow launched Sylus across the room, his body crashing against the ground with a sickening thud. For a moment, he doesn’t move. His ears ring. His vision doubles. The back of his skull throbs with sharp, pulsing pain. He groans, dragging himself to his elbows.

What the hell just happened?

Sylus stumbles to his feet, wincing as his shoulder protests violently. A deep gash split the skin above his brow, blood spilling in slow, relentless rivulets that smeared down his temple and into his eye, blurring his vision. For anyone else, surviving an explosion like that would be a miracle. Even Sylus, with a body built to endure hell, has taken real damage and healing will take time. His jacket is torn at the seams, scorched and ragged, barely hanging on one side. Smoke curls from the charred fabric, revealing fresh cuts and bruises beneath.

He ripped off what was left of his jacket, the scorched fabric falling from his shoulders. His shirt beneath was no better, ripped, soot-stained, and clinging to him in damp patches from sweat and blood. His crimson eyes, shadowed beneath blood and ash, searched the chaos for one thing. You.

You’re still glowing in the center of it all, body trembling. The flames spread quickly, licking at the walls, the heat unbearable. The whole place is a firestorm now, with walls caving in and the air thick with smoke. Sylus feels the heat on his skin as he tries to get back to you. He’s barely able to move before another wave of Rudy's men burst in, weapons drawn, and the chaos only escalates. Wanderers are also not giving a break.

The building is coming apart, fire spreading in all directions. The rain that fell wasn’t enough to quench the hell that had broken loose. Seeing the number of enemies that are piling up, a retreat would be the most logical option. This just escalated beyond anything Sylus had prepared for. He glances back at you, lying unconscious on the ground. His heart clenches and his mind reels. He’d felt the moment it changed when your body twisted with pain, when something inside you fractured… and then detonated. This came from you . From deep inside your chest. The shockwave, the surge, the impossible energy of your aether core.

He doesn’t understand how or why. Surely, you’re not supposed to look like that, too still, too pale, eyes dazed and body swaying in the firestorm. Sylus cradles you in his arms, his grip desperate yet impossibly gentle, as if holding you too tightly might shatter what little remains of your fragile state. His mind screams at him to fix it, to make everything right. Your life hangs by a thread, and he feels it slipping through his fingers. His blood boils. His chest tightens. He should’ve known. He’s the one with half of your soul. The one who’s supposed to feel these things before they happen.

“Y/N…” he whispers, his voice breaking, raw with emotion he’s never allowed himself to show. The words tremble on his lips, his heart shattering with each syllable. “Open your eyes.”

But there’s no response. Your skin grows pale, the faint warmth that once comforted him now barely perceptible against the coldness of the moment. His heart drops into an abyss. You weren’t supposed to die like this. Not in his arms, not with ash in the air and your blood on his hands. Not when he had just gotten you back.

He pulls you tighter against his chest, one hand cradling your head, his thumb brushing against your cheek. You’re not allowed to leave him. Not after everything.

The anger, sorrow, and bloodlust churn inside him, an unbearable storm that demands release. Sylus has waited lifetimes for this, for you. Burned through empires. Spilled oceans of blood. All to get to you to share a future together.

“My beloved…” His voice is barely there now. He kissed your temple. “Don’t do this...”

Something inside breaks. Sylus, the man one who has conquered with nothing more than his calm demeanor and his cold, calculating presence. The one they all feared. But now, as he stands in the wreckage, there is no cool detachment. There is no indifferent strategist. His expression is tight, his jaw set with a fury that has never before surfaced. His right eye, glowing like a dying star, reflects the turmoil inside him. Anger, sorrow and bloodlust twist together in a blinding maelstrom.

His evol built a shield around him as gunfire echoes through the space. The screams of the fallen mingle with the guttural roars of the Wanderers, their twisted forms wreaking havoc as they tear through what remains.

The color of life drains from your body, and Sylus feels your soul slipping away. The unbearable realization rips through him like the swore you once put through his heart. His hands tremble as he pulls you tighter, pressing his forehead against yours, as if proximity alone could will your heart to keep beating. Your blood stains his clothes, seeping into the fabric, marking him with a reminder of the choices he’s made. He should’ve known better. Made Luke and Kieran drag you out the moment things went wrong. He should’ve blown Rudy’s empire to hell the second he found it and killed him the moment he laid eyes on you. He should’ve protected you.

His world tilts, and for the briefest moment, he sees nothing but darkness. A guttural, bestial roar erupts from his throat, raw and uncontained. The sound echoes through the crumbling warehouse like a harbinger of doom.

“I let them see what a true fiend is.”

When Sylus rises he doesn't rise as a man. He rises as wrath made flesh. Black and crimson mist swirled around him, tendrils of darkness coiling and writhing, punctuated by violent bursts of static electricity that snapped and crackled like miniature lightning storms. The atmosphere around him began to ripple, distorting with an unnatural, oppressive energy. His already tattered and battle-scarred clothing tore apart, shredding as if assaulted by unseen claws, as massive, obsidian wings erupted from his back.

They burst forth with terrifying force, their edges jagged and sharp, like shards of volcanic glass. Black horns, sharp and menacing, twisted upward from his skull, their base glowing faintly with the heat of his rage. Black scales cover part of his body and face. His eyes burned with a fearless, deathly glow, a crimson so vivid it seemed otherworldly. His gaze was void of humanity, carrying the weight of a predator awakened. A monster. A dragon.

The wings unfurled, stretching wide, their sheer size eclipsing the flickering flames that danced around him, casting long, ominous shadows that swallowed the light and plunged the warehouse into a terrifying twilight.

Flames surged higher, licking at the steel beams and threatening the stability of the structure. Smoke and embers choked the air as debris began to rain down. Sylus raises his gaze from your face slowly, though still human in shape, his transformation into a mythical creature, a being feared throughout the history of humanity, was undeniable.

The cacophony of gunfire falters. The armed men, ruthless moments ago, now freeze in terror. They stare at him, their weapons trembling in their hands. Through the blaze and destruction, Sylus appears like a wrathful deity descending into their midst. They can’t believe what they see, but it won’t matter. They won't live to share their story. Doom’s day has arrived, and it wears the guise of Sylus.

Inside the building, the screams are like a twisted symphony, something out of a nightmare. Blood streaks the floors and walls, pooling around bodies that are barely recognizable. The smell of burnt flesh is everywhere, impossible to ignore. No matter who they are, humans or wanderers, everything must be annihilated until not a single being remains.

Through it all, Sylus never lets you go. You’re still in his arms, your fragile body limp against his chest. One arm holds you close, shielding you from the chaos. He holds you with all the gentleness he has left, while with the other he tears through anything that dares to get close.

It’s hard to tell how long it’s been. Time feels meaningless in the middle of this chaos. Sylus doesn’t stop to think or hesitate; he’s a blur of rage. There’s no satisfaction in it for him, no enjoyment in the bloodshed. Even as blood splashes across his face and claws, even as the flames climb higher, he never lets go. The massacre isn’t vengeance. It’s desperation, pure and unrelenting.

The hatred inside him feels like it’s eating him alive, fueling every swing, every strike. All he can think about is you, lying against him. He can feel the faint pulse of your heartbeat, and it’s the only thing grounding him, the only thing keeping him from completely losing himself.

Part of him wonders if fate is playing a cruel trick on him, once again drenched in blood, slaughtering everything in sight just to keep you alive. He prays with every ounce of his being that history won’t repeat itself. That he won’t lose control again. That the dragon’s curse won’t devour what’s left of his humanity and force him to relive the same doomed ending.

Luke and Kieran were locked in their own brutal skirmish in the far corner of the building when they heard the roaring.

"Is that…?" Luke started, his voice barely audible over the massacre as he hurled a knife, embedding it perfectly in the skull of an approaching enemy. Kieran, a few paces behind, drove his elbow into the throat of another, crushing it before slamming the body into a wall with a sickening crunch.

The twins sprinted through the labyrinth of burning corridors, lungs searing as smoke clawed its way down their throats, the heat pressing in from all sides like a living thing.

When they reached the threshold of the main hall, they skidded to a halt, blocked by a searing wall of heat.

“Shit,” Luke hissed, shielding his face with his arm. “We can’t get through!”

The firestorm raged ahead of them. Smoke billowed upward, churning with glowing embers. Through the haze, distorted by heat shimmer and ash, they saw him. A towering silhouette cloaked in smoke and glowing blood-red eyes.

“Boss?” Luke asked, his tone edged with equal parts awe and apprehension. “Is he...?”

Kieran took a single step back, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck me…” he muttered, eyes wide. The rumors, the whispers, Sylus’s true nature wasn’t just legend to them anymore. From the heart of the inferno, they watched his black form move. The shadows bent around him. Every Wanderer, every guard who dared approach was torn apart, reduced to ash and splintered in seconds.

Sylus was done. The chaos, the screams, the blood, it was all taking too long, and he was done wasting time. His patience had run dry, and the growing inferno in his chest told him it was time to finish this. Completely.

Through the smoke and slaughter, his sharp eyes caught sight of Luke and Kieran slicing through the last wave of resistance. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Good.

“Luke, Kieran” Sylus called, his voice cutting through the madness like a blade. The twins turned to him immediately. “Blow the place. If the Colonel is still inside, get him out.” His voice was steel and fire. “She’ll never forgive me if he dies here.” He said, his tone leaving no room for argument. A beat passed. Just enough time for the gravity of his words to settle. “You know what to do”

Kieran gave a mock salute, while Luke raised his thumb in approval.

“Got it, boss!” Luke said, taking the detonator out of his pocket, already setting the timer.

“This is the best part,” Kieran added, his excitement almost childlike as he looked at the detonator. “Fireworks time!”

Sylus didn’t linger to watch them work. With you still cradled in his arms, his wings unfurled in a massive sweep, scattering ash and debris. With a powerful leap, he took to the air, rising through the collapsing roof of the warehouse. Flames licked at the edges of his wings as he flew higher, his grip on you protective yet firm.

Luke and Kieran sprinted through the smoke-filled corridors, weaving between collapsing beams and scorched debris. The heat was rising, and time was running out. Luck or something close to it was on their side. As they rounded the corner of a fractured hallway, they nearly ran straight into Caleb. The colonel stood like a statue, framed by flickering firelight, soot streaking his cheek, eyes locked on something distant and unseen.

“Oh, there you are,” Luke said casually, like they'd just bumped into him in a grocery store.

Kieran offered a lopsided grin, casually flipping the detonator between his fingers. “We’re about to blow up the entire party. So unless you’re feeling nostalgic about your last brush with death, you might wanna move your ass.”

Caleb didn’t answer. His eyes were distant, locked on the burning horizon where Sylus had taken flight. Where you had disappeared. He definitely needs to get his head checked, what he just saw must have been an illusion. Caleb shook his head. He didn’t have the patience for snar.

“Where is she?” His voice was low, hoarse like it had been dragged through gravel.

Luke gave a half-shrug. “Boss took care of her. We’re kind of in the middle of blowing shit up, though, so…”

“Where?” Caleb snapped, the fire back in his eyes, fury crackling at the edges of his voice.

Kieran looked over to his brother and then back to Caleb “Uh, we saved her, big guy. A thank you wouldn’t kill you.”

“Sure…” Caleb growled.

Unbothered, Luke pulled the detonator from his pocket and checked the timer. “We’ve got ninety seconds. You staying here to play martyr, or are you coming with us?”

Caleb exhaled slowly, dragging his hand down his face but he followed the two.

“Man’s got issues," Kieran muttered.

“Yeah,” Luke muttered, eyes still on the timer. “We’ve got bigger ones if we don’t move.”

The three ran out as fast as they could, when they were far away enough to not get hit by the shock wave. Luke and Kieran stood by, both laughing like kids at a carnival. The warehouse erupted in a deafening explosion, fire and debris shooting into the night sky like a macabre display of fireworks. The twins watched the destruction with gleeful awe, reveling in the sheer chaos of it all.

“I love this job” Kieran said, brushing soot from his face.

“Best boss ever” Luke replied with a laugh, already heading for the exit.

︶︶°︶︶

You started to open your eyes a bit. You're not feeling good at all, the harsh wind confuses you.

“Sy...lus,” you whisper weakly. You don't know if your dreams have become intertwined with your reality. His face hovers above yours but half of it is cloaked in dark, glimmering scales. Something stirs deep inside you, rising like a tide through your body. You simply smile.

“Don't talk,” he says softly, his voice strained with emotion.

Sylus soared through the night sky above the N109 Zone, the wind howling past his ears as the ruined city sprawled beneath him. His eyes locked onto the distant glow of Philip’s Odd Workshop. His landing is gentle at the back of the building. The massive black wings folded once, then dissolved tendrils of red-black mist curling off his back, twisting like smoke in the cold air before vanishing into nothing. The claws, the fangs, the otherworldly edges gone in an instant. There he stood once more, just a man.

Still cradling your limp form in his arms, he burst through the back entrance. He cleared a space on one of the cluttered worktables with a brutal sweep of his arm, tools, gears, and strange half-finished contraptions clattered violently to the floor. He laid you down gently, but his hands trembled. Sylus could have flown you to Akso Hospital, to your doctor but he had the feeling that icy Zayne wouldn't be able to fix this. This wasn’t a wound of flesh.

“Phillip!”

The man rushed out from the back room, the sound of Sylus’s voice having shattered the late-night quiet like a bomb. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the blood, the smoke still clinging to Sylus’s ruined clothes, and you motionless, pale.

“Mister Sylus?”

“I need your help. Now.” Sylus’s tone was sharp, near frantic, something rarely heard from him.

Phillip blinked, trying to make sense of it all, but the moment his eyes landed on you, recognition snapped into place. He was across the room in seconds, rounding the table, checking your vitals.

“What happened?” he asked, already scanning the extent of your injuries. Phillip’s hands worked with speed that betrayed his age.

“An explosion. It could be her Aether Core.” Phillip’s eyes widened.

Philip started to move around with urgency. Cabinets slammed open. Wires were uncoiled. Electrodes and diagnostic panels were yanked from drawers and wheeled across the floor. A cold sweat glistened at his brow as he pressed the final electrode gently against your sternum, just over the faintly beating heart in your chest.

“Why did you bring her here? She should be in the hospital.” Phillip muttered, mostly to himself. “Under twenty-four-hour critical monitoring…”

“She won’t make it to a hospital,” Sylus cut in. “And you should know how to fix this.” Sylus replied hoarsely.

Phillip hesitated, visibly rattled. “Miss Josefin was the one who designed the failsafe systems. I... I wasn’t cleared for full access, but—” He exhaled sharply, steel slipping into his gaze. “Okay. I can try to stabilize the core… if there’s still time.”

His fingers moved swiftly across the panel, inputting commands, rerouting surge lines, recalibrating energy conduits on instinct and partial schematics.

“It’s bleeding into her cellular network, overclocking the nervous system, fusing with her neural patterns. Her whole body is trying to evolve past what it can sustain.” Phillip swore under his breath. Your heart rate was erratic. Your heart rate jumped, then dropped. Spiked again. Vital signs flickered like a failing lightbulb on the edge of burning out.

Philip paused. His hands stilled. He looked up slowly, eyes shadowed, voice suddenly very quiet.

“Mister Sylus…” he swallowed for a moment. “You’re asking me to patch a falling star with duct tape.” Philip hesitated, then added, softly like the truth might kill him just by saying it. “The last time I saw her vitals like this… she died.”

Sylus wants to cry, but the tears won’t come. It’s been millennia since they last did. The weight of his failure presses down on him, a corrupting force that leaves him feeling torn apart inside. He couldn’t protect you, and the guilt is unbearable. He sat down next to you. He reached for your cold fingers, pressing them between his hands. Sylus bowed his head, his forehead brushing the edge of the table, his breath shallow.

You stir faintly, your fragile movements drawing his attention. His head snapped up, eyes burning as they locked onto yours. Your lashes fluttered. Your breathing was shallow but you managed to open your eyes. The world around you swam in fractured light and shadow, but his face was clear. The way his gem-like eyes searched yours like a man clinging to his last hope.

You felt cold and hot all at once. Your skin clammy, sweat dampening your hairline, and yet inside of you, everything was burning. Melting. Breaking apart. The sparkle he always admired in your gaze was barely there now, dulled and fading.

“R...resonate with me,” you whispered.

“No!” He shook his head immediately, torn from his chest as if it physically pained him. You pressed his hand weakly. You want to feel his warmth, to remind yourself you’re still here, even as your body grows colder.

“Please...” The word was barely a breath.

Sylus hesitates, torn by doubt. Granting you this wish is too dangerous, you have no energy left to spare. The thought of you using the last bit of strength in you terrifies him. Philip, who had hovered nearby, opened his mouth, concerned with sharpening his tone.

“Mister Sylus, that’s not—”

“Leave us alone for a moment....” he cuts Philips, took a deep breath and added “...please.”

Philip hesitated, glanced between the two of you and then nodded, retreating into the shadows of the workshop with silent urgency. Sylus leaned closer, brushing a strand of damp hair from your forehead. His breath trembled against your skin.

“If I resonate with you now, you could die...”

His eyes squeezed shut, and for a timeless moment, the chaos around you both faded. There was only the fragile warmth of your skin against his, the shallow whisper of your breath against his cheek. He breathed you in, a silent act of devotion, memorizing the feel of you, the scent of you, the very essence of your fading presence.

“Trust… me, please.” A single tear escaped the corner of your eye, tracing a lonely path down your temple. “Can you do that?” Another tear followed, and then another, silent testament to the fear and the desperate hope clinging to your heart.

Finally he lets out a sigh. Reluctantly, he intertwined his hand with yours, his grip firm but gentle. A faint, fragile smile flickered across your lips. With the last shred of strength you can muster, you push your energy through your hand, trying to show him... You weren’t sure what he’d feel. You only hoped he’d understand.

Sylus finally yielded, his fingers tightening around yours as the resonance began. A wave of heat floods your body, flowing from him to you, and vice versa. It's overwhelming, enveloping you in a cocoon of safety and comfort. It feels so good, so pure. For a moment, the pain subsides, replaced by an all-encompassing feeling of love. You can sense it in every fiber of your being: his devotion, his desperation, his refusal to let go.

And if this is the last time you will feel this way, if this is your final moment... then it’s worth it. Spending the last remnants of your energy to share this connection with him, this fleeting perfection it’s enough. You let yourself sink into the sensation, the world around you fading as his warmth becomes your entire universe.

As the resonance deepens, the warmth flooding through you brings clarity, and with it, memories long buried. Fragments of another life, your life with him, begin to surface. Images, emotions, fleeting moments of joy and sorrow, all coming together like a puzzle you didn’t know was incomplete. More tears slipped down your cheeks.

Your heart aches, not just from the pain, but from the overwhelming realization that you’ve loved him all along, not just these past months, but lifetimes ago. A love so enduring it has transcended time, waiting patiently for you to remember.

Sylus’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face as he pulled back just slightly, just enough to see you, to make sure what he felt wasn’t some cruel illusion. His gaze searched yours, stunned, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just felt. Whatever you had just given him, it hit something buried deep inside. And it shattered him. His breath hitched.

You struggle to speak, your voice trembling but determined. “Sylus…” you take a ragged breath “I...I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Everything we had… you sacrificed… yourself.”

His eyes widen slightly even more, searching for the meaning behind your words. His grip on your hand tightens, the raw emotion in his eyes betraying the composure he tries so hard to maintain.

“I’m sorry for being so greedy” you continue, “I loved you so much, I couldn’t- I couldn’t let you die.”

Your free hand weakly moves to his face, brushing against his cheek. He leans into your touch like a man starved for it. His warmth grounds you, and though you’re so tired, the weight of those words lifts something heavy from your chest. For a fleeting moment, everything feels right, as if the universe itself pauses to acknowledge your truth.

His face twists. He presses your hand, shuddering breath escapes him. And for the first time in centuries, Sylus cries. His shoulders trembling as the tears silently streamed down his face.

“You remembered” Sylus's voice grows hoarser. You wipe some of the tears from his cheeks.

“Sincere feelings are hard to forget... you said that.”

His hand moves to cradle your face, his touch impossibly gentle despite the storm of emotions raging within him. For a man who always seemed unshakable, the vulnerability in his gaze is staggering. Without hesitation, Sylus pushed his power surging through you like a tidal wave. The warmth intensifies, and for a moment, it feels as if the very essence of his soul is pouring into you. Your injuries begin to mend, the pain receding as his energy knits your broken body back together. The fractures, the wounds, even the exhaustion, everything is erased as if the damage had never existed.

Sylus’s face is pale, the strain of using his Evol to such an extent evident, but he doesn’t stop. His only focus is you. “You’re not allowed to leave me then,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Ever.”

As the last of your injuries heal, you feel a strange mixture of relief and guilt. He’s given so much of himself to save you, and the depth of his love is almost overwhelming. You want to tell him everything, to promise you’ll stay but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you made a small, almost imperceptible movement, a silent attempt to rise. Instantly, he was there, his strong arms scooping you up, cradling you against his chest. A soft smile touched your lips, your fingers brushing against his chest. The warmth of his touch and the depth of his love lingering in your fading awareness. But the world around you begins to blur, the colors fading to a dull haze. You feel tired, incredibly tired, and you wish you could extend this moment a few more moments. A desperate longing bloomed in your chest, a selfish wish to stretch this moment. Just a few more breaths held in his arms, a few more heartbeats echoing against yours.

“My beloved dragon…” You whisper, your voice barely a breath. “I’ll always… be… with you.”

Your vision dims further, the light in your eyes vanishing as exhaustion overtakes you. Everything goes dark, a void swallowing you whole. The last thing you hear is Sylus’s voice, frantic and filled with desperation, calling your name. And then, softer, closer, a broken confession whispered against your hair, carried on trembling lips.

“I love you.”

The words echo in the emptiness as you slip away, an inevitable pull of the darkness claiming you completely.

Six weeks later.

It’s a rainy day, the kind that turns the world into a grayscale painting. The radio murmurs in the background, its words cold and distant:

“After weeks of investigation, the police have officially closed the case on the death of Miss (Y/N). Her untimely passing during a critical mission in the N109 Zone marked the end of an extraordinary life…”

The radio clicks off abruptly. The soft patter of rain against the car window fills the silence, a maddeningly persistent sound. He sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. His gaze was fixed on the water cascading down the glass. Finally, as if pulled by an invisible string, he reached for the door handle. He stepped out into the downpour, the cold rain instantly soaking his clothes, the umbrella lying forgotten on the passenger seat. He stood there, exposed and vulnerable, the gray world mirroring the desolate landscape of his heart.

The path to the graveyard is narrow, slick with mud and rain. He carries a bouquet of flowers, their vibrant colors muted in the dreary light. Each step feels heavier than the last, his shoots sinking slightly into the wet ground.

He reached your grave, nestled beside your grandmother's. Gently, reverently, he placed the flowers against the cold stone of your headstone. His hands lingered there, trembling almost imperceptibly, his shoulders hunched as if bearing an unbearable weight. “I couldn’t…” The words were a broken whisper, torn from a throat raw with grief. His heart felt equally shattered. “I told you to be careful…”

He clenches his fists tightly, his knuckles white as the storm rages around him. The words escape in a choked growl, swallowed by the rain. The man kneeling before your grave was a shadow of his former self. His black coat clings to his soaked form, water dripping from his hair onto his hollow cheeks. The once vibrant green of his eyes, usually sharp and knowing, was now muted, dimmed by the dark circles that spoke of countless sleepless nights haunted by your absence. His expression, usually unreadable, is cracked open, revealing a pain he hasn’t allowed himself to feel fully.

He wants to cry, to let the dam break and let the anguish consume him, but he’s terrified. If he starts, he may never stop, not in hours, not in days.

The sharp ring of his phone cuts through the rain, jarring him back to the present. Slowly, he pulls it from his pocket, his voice cold and distant once more.

“Yes… I see. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Prepare the OR. Thanks.”

He lingers for a moment longer, staring at your name etched in stone before forcing himself to rise. Zayne hasn’t been the same since your death. The cracks in his carefully built facade are growing, but there’s no time to break. Duty calls. He walks back to the car, carrying the silence you left behind.

In the distance, the studio is in chaos, canvas after canvas leaning against walls, discarded paint-streaked brushes scattered on the floor, and a maddening array of half-finished portraits covering every surface. Each one is the same: your face.

Rafayel hasn’t stopped. Day and night, he paints obsessively, as if capturing you on the canvas might somehow bring you back. The smell of turpentine and oil paint lingers in the air, mixing with the suffocating weight of his grief. Yet, despite the feverish pace, there are moments when he sits in the corner, staring at the wreckage of his art, torn between the drive to create and the overwhelming desire to quit everything altogether.

At your funeral, he couldn’t bring himself to step closer. He stood at a distance, his broad frame cast in shadow, hands buried deep in his coat pockets to hide their trembling. The ceremony unfolded before him like a surreal play, his vision blurring as people wept and spoke of your life.

When they lowered you into the ground, Rafayel turned his face away, unable to watch. His heart felt like it was being wrenched from his chest. He stayed in the background until the last of the mourners departed, the sound of his uneven breaths lost to the wind. He would wait for you once more, waiting for the moment you will be reborn.

Xavier disappeared the moment your death was confirmed, leaving no trace, no explanation. It was as if he vanished into thin air. He didn’t attend the funeral, didn’t show up to any memorials or gatherings. No one knew where he went, not even the Hunter Association. He simply left, as if the world had become too much to bear after your loss.

Rumors spread, some said he was on another mission, others whispered that he had broken, retreating from the world to grieve in isolation. The truth was far different from what anyone had assumed. Xavier hadn't disappeared to grieve in silence, he had thrown himself into his work, desperate and consumed by a single goal. He was holed up in his spaceship, working tirelessly, but with no success. Every day, he scoured the endless streams of data, searching for a way to bring you back. He refused to believe the official story, that your death was just the result of a mission gone wrong. To him, it was all lies for the public. The idea that your death was a simple accident, part of a mission, felt like a betrayal of everything he knew about you.

The N109 Zone had always been full of secrets, and Xavier was willing to sacrifice everything to uncover the truth, even if it meant losing himself in the process. But no matter how many leads he followed, no matter how many hours he spent in the darkness of his ship, the answers eluded him. Every failure, every dead-end only pushed him further into obsession. But he wouldn’t stop.

The news of your death hit Caleb with denial and desperation. No. Not you. It can't be. He clung to the fragile hope of a terrible mistake, a cruel rumor that would soon be proven false. His love for you, a possessive tendril that had wrapped around his heart since childhood, twisted into a burning resentment. Someone had to be held accountable for this unbearable void in his world. And his gaze, sharp with suspicion and fueled by a desperate need for retribution, immediately landed on Sylus. He had taken you from him, either through direct action or by the mere fact of his existence in your life.

The Professor observed Caleb's devastation with a cold, calculating gaze. The raw, unraveling grief of his prized subject was a temporary setback, an inconvenient detour on the path to his grand design. While a flicker of annoyance might have crossed his features at the disruption, his mind quickly pivoted. Caleb's emotional fragility was a liability, a delay in his meticulously crafted plans. Other children, other evolvers – they were out there. He simply needed to find them, mold them, and continue his work. He would simply find another, perhaps even more potent, component to take its place. The grand experiment would continue.

The world kept spinning, relentlessly moving forward, and even for Sylus, life had to go on. Standing in the kitchen, he let the weight of the past few weeks settle on him, but the familiar routine of making coffee offered some small comfort. Since your death, everything has been more complicated. Cleaning up the mess after the shit show with Rudy was a massive effort, one that drained him more than he cared to admit. He took a sip of his coffee, savoring the warmth for just a moment.

Every piece had to be placed perfectly, from the fake mission briefing on your hunter watch to the carefully orchestrated setup of your death. Nothing could ever lead the investigation back to him or Onychinus. He couldn’t afford any loose ends.

Sylus sighed and poured himself another cup, this time filling it with tea. The calmness of the hot liquid briefly soothed him before the weight of the situation came crashing back. That night was more than a horrible nightmare. No matter how many times he reviewed the facts and the scenario, he always arrived at the same terrible conclusion: even if he had known about the serum and Ever’s experiments earlier, it wouldn’t have changed much. Even if he’d killed Rudy long ago, with Ever Group lurking in the shadows, the risk would’ve still been there.

He carried the two cups into his office, the ceramic clinking softly in the quiet room. From the old speaker in the corner, Chopin’s Waltz in A Minor played faintly, the delicate piano notes curling through the air like smoke—melancholy and timeless. He sank into his familiar chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him.

The faint light caught the exhaustion etched into his features, the shadows beneath his eyes a testament to the sleepless nights haunted by your memory. Healing from that night also took a long time. He had been forced to rely heavily on Luke and Kieran, entrusting them with responsibilities he would normally have shouldered himself. Despite their sometimes airheaded nature, they are loyal employees.

“We should not do that again,” Sylus murmured.

A small laugh came from across the room, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Why not? It worked, didn't it?” your voice teased, a familiar spark of mischief in its tone.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that spoke of both exasperation and a grudging admiration. “Sweetie,” he said, “you are breathtakingly reckless but... I must say, you never stop surprising me.”

“You were the one who so poetically declared I should go beyond the confines of light and shadow ,” you countered, a playful glint dancing in your eyes, mirroring the earlier mischief in your voice.

Sylus snorted, a short, almost disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

“Indeed,” he replies with a smirk. “My dramatic pronouncements do have a tendency to come back and bite me. However,” he emphasized, his eyes narrowing slightly, “I distinctly recall the phrasing step beyond, not faking your death .”

You settled deeper into the warmth radiating from the teacup cradled in your hands, a soft, almost contemplative expression on your face.

“It was necessary, Sylus,” you said quietly, the playful edge in your voice slipping away. “Ever won’t be looking for a corpse. This buys us time. Besides,” you added, putting the cup down again, your gaze lifting to meet his. “I didn’t exactly fake my death. I was dead.”

A shadow flickered across Sylus’s features, a momentary eclipse of the earlier amusement, as he straightened and moved with swift purpose to the sofa where you were curled. Without a word, you shifted into his embrace, a silent seeking of comfort and reassurance in his familiar presence. His arms closed around you, a protective embrace that spoke volumes of his fear, a tangible manifestation of his terror at the thought of losing you again.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. “Even if I’m glad you came back,” he murmurs “we still don’t know how that was possible.” You leaned into his warmth, the steadiness of his heartbeat a soothing rhythm against your ear.

“My Aether Core.” you say, your voice quiet but steady. “The power it has... I want to work with Phillip. Understand it.”

Sylus tightens his hold on you slightly, his gaze serious as he studies your face. “I won't let you play with it. It took twenty days for you to wake up from that coma.”

You nod slowly, eyes distant. Thoughts still tangled in the dark. “It felt like… like something inside me refused to let go.” Unsure how to finish the thought, you trail off. “I never thought I would do the same as Caleb.” you whisper finally. “Disappearing and visiting my own tomb.”

Sylus didn’t answer right away. He just held you tighter. You felt his breath against your hair, uneven.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I won’t leave you.”

When you finally opened your eyes, Sylus didn’t breathe. Twenty days. Twenty days of silence. Of your still hands and shallow breaths. The sorrow. The weight. His past, bleeding into yours. The sorceress and the dragon. It sounded like a myth. A girl cloaked in light, and a monster cloaked in fire. You had once tried to tame the beast with nothing but kindness and bare hands. And he had once promised to protect you, even as his world turned to ash. He’d failed before. He wouldn’t fail again. Even when something had changed in you after waking up.

“Sylus…” Your voice, normally a melody of warmth and kindness, had now a sinister undertone. “What if… I want to destroy the world?” You moved a bit in his embrace, resting your temple against his, feeling his familiar warmth. When you looked into his eyes, the depth he saw there was no longer the clear pool of your soul, but a swirling vortex of shadow and greed. You didn’t blink. “Would you still stand by my side?”

He had glimpsed this nascent darkness in the moments after you awoke, a seed of something powerful taking root. Now, it was blossoming, and a strange sense of acceptance settled within him. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips, a mirror to the storm gathering within you. “You’ll always be free to do whatever you want when you’re with me.”

“It might be dangerous,” you warned.

He cupped your face, his thumbs tracing the delicate curve of your cheekbones, his gaze locked on the unsettling brilliance of your eyes. “I can handle it, kitten.”

Then you smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips, and your left eye flared with a crimson intensity that echoed the same intensity that ignited in Sylus's right. In that shared incandescent flash, the truth resonated, undeniable and profound. The seal in your mind shattered. Your souls were no longer separate entities but two halves of a singular, formidable whole, every nuance of feeling laid bare.

The sorceress had risen, and her dragon would unleash hell itself before letting her slip away again. A dark promise, a twisted vow whispered between two souls bound by a love that now embraced the shadows. They would let the world burn, and they would stand together in the ashes. After all, you and Sylus were the same.

True kindred spirits.

Navigator to MASTERLIST: SYLUS FANFICS

It’s been a long journey coming to the end of this story. Thank you for walking through the fire with them. For reading. For feeling. For staying until the very end.

This story came alive because I once read a short fic about a kidnapping, like month ago. It stayed with me and I thought, what if the rescue wasn’t short? What if it was messy, long, painful... and full of love and mystery. And so, "Let the World Burn" was born. I enjoyed it a lot.

Writing this meant more to me than I can explain. To everyone who read, commented, or quietly felt something along the way, you helped to bring this story on this platform. And for that, I’m endlessly grateful.

If you haven’t subscribed to my page yet, feel free to do so. One-shots and short stories will still pop up now and then and if you enjoyed this insane, sprawling fic, maybe you’ll find joy in the little ones too. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

With love, Salem

104 notes · View notes

fast-moon · 1 year ago

Text

Noragami Final Chapter

*wipes hands* Welp, there you have it. It's done. Chapter is translated and in the wild. Thanks to everyone who's kept up with the series until the end!

Couple translation notes at the bottom.

Google Mirror Mediafire Mirror

Sample Images

Translation notes:

Page 20:

"Houki" (砲器) is a new shinki for Bishamon. Their name literally just means "cannon". Also, I don't remember Bishamon losing an arm and a leg since she seemed to still have all her limbs the last time we saw her, so I assume that's just the effect of the shinki glamor? Not sure what the "human" reading for 砲 would be, possibly "Nuiha" or "Zutsuha".

Page 25:

Teke-teke is an urban legend about the vengeful spirit of a girl who was hit by a train and cut in half at the waist, who drags herself around and kills people. There was a movie released in 2009 in Japan based on it.

Page 37:

A lot of the text on the signboard is unreadable, but the gist seems to be they're looking for a woman who knocked over a baby stroller on 7/10 (so since the final page says it's currently April, it's been a while). There's a jar of dead flowers next to the sign, so it's possible the ayakashi is the spirit of the baby, much like the spirit of the girl Yukine found early in the series.

#noragami #chapter 109 #final chapter #translation

870 notes · View notes

mey-star · 9 months ago

Text

Please tell me you get it

289 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 10

Masterlist Here, Moodboard Here, Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 2,600+

Series Playlist: Sapsorrow

"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"

Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Warning: MDNI, 18+, smut, making love, husband and wife, marriage, gendered terms, love, romance, supernatural themes.

Notes: This is the final, and shorter, chapter of Mihawk's fairytale au. I want to thank you all for allowing me to take you on a journey through this land, and I truly hope you have enjoyed your time here. Happy reading!

The sounds of melodies and the warm crackle of fire continued in its rise at the gathering on the grounds of Kuraigana. The merriment of the disjointed gathering held on the forefront of the new lord and lady Dracule continued to spread into the night. Many of the less spritely exited the party long after the first hour of their absence, and many more bid their farewell after the following two that continued thereafter.

“You reckon they fell asleep?” the nasally tenor of the infamous clown grimaced towards the soft illuminance in the window above the steeple peak. The follow of several pairs of eyes trail up beside the teal gaze of Buggy’s lingering curiosity.

“Now, now. That would be rather rude of them, don’t you think?” the red-haired pirate joined beside his old friend, smirking up at him while trailing his gaze up on the window beside him. “They’re newlyweds, but they’re still the two we know and love. There would be no way they’d fall asleep without at least saying ‘goodnight’, despite how long they've been waiting for one another.”

Buggy scoffed, immediately moving to the other side of the campfire beside Sir Crocodile, who placed another cigar between his lips and moved to strike it ablaze. Once illuminated, he exhaled a breath of the sour mixture up into the sky, watching the wispy vapors joining with the pale moonlight. Within the silvery streaks glittering the chilled frost of the dust, the image shifted to reveal a shape of a haunting spectre glancing at him with malicious intent. Blinking rapidly to adjust his amethyst colored eyes, he assumed he was mistaken by some trick of the light.

“Anyone know any other songs? Or something else we can toast to?” Shanks twirled around before the fireplace and beamed his smile brightly towards his first-mate, “Go on, Becks. Give us a reason to sing, would you?” The usually grimacing face of the silver-haired Benn Beckman withdrew itself into a soft smile while he echoed the earlier sentiments of the evening.

“What else is there to drink to than the bride and groom?” he shrugged, uncorking another bottle of rum and gesturing to the guests that remained with them for a top up, “Everyone, raise your glasses, tankards, goblets, or bootheels in your case, Clown.”

Buggy toasted up with his heeled boot, the froths of ales and rums mixing together to form an otherworldly concoction of blood-poisoning spilling over the edge of the leathery ankle as he did as such. Zoro and Perona elevated their glasses, as did the Red Hair pirates, Sir Crocodile’s associates, and a handful of remaining guests. Benn Beckman drew the bottle to the air and saluted to the illuminated window.

“To the Lord and Lady Dracule, rulers of Kuraigana. Long may they live.”

“Long may they live.”

Water sloshed over the porcelain edge of the bathtub as your bodies moved in synchrony against one anothers. Lips met against yours as your husband’s knuckles whitened on either side of your bed as he perched them. His hips staggered against your own as you gripped beneath his shoulders, clawing at his back to tether you against his motions.

At a few more manic thrusts, he elicited a soft cry as ropes of his viscous release spilled deep within your abdomen. Your walls spasmed around him as words were lost to you. All that you could do was trust your new husband, Lord Dracule Mihawk of Kuraigana, to shepherd you through your ecstasy. Euphoria crescendoed and drew you both to your conclusion, all while soft echoes of devotion and adoration continued to echo within the silence.

Mihawk’s eyes met with yours as his right hand reached to grasp your left, interlacing his fingers with your own while drawing his water-damp forehead flush with your own. Smiles slowly drew up your faces, Mihawk’s eyes creasing at the corners as his boyish grin became one silently promised to be reserved only for you.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Mihawk whispered to you as he gave your hands a gentle squeeze with his own, “It appears I may have to assist you in cleaning once more.” You shook your head with your laugh, breaking away contact against his forehead to press a chaste kiss against the bridge of his nose.

“That is how we got into this mess in the first place, my lord,” you retorted as you angled your hips, withdrawing himself from you and gathering the washcloth to the side of you both, “And while I do appreciate your desire to continue to ravage me well into the quiet hours of the morn, our guests are still outside by the campfire waiting for our emergence as husband and wife.” You began to wash yourself as Mihawk moved to the outer edge of the large bathtub, appearing out and witnessing a drunken stupor occur where Shanks was attempting to teach Zoro a swashbuckling maneuver.

“It does indeed appear that way,” he uttered softly before becoming distracted in his viewing by you leaving the bathtub. With a small wobble in your step, Mihawk immediately stood and rushed to stabilize you: arms bracing against your shoulders and collecting your left hand with his own. “Easy now,” he uttered with a smirk within his drawl, “You must be more careful where you step, darling. We have been exercising for a few hours now, and you must allow your body to recover before attempting such a greater feat as exiting our bathtub unaided.”

Rolling your eyes, you peered over your shoulder and gifted him a pointed look of disapproval. Where your students would have cowered and apologized for whichever way they vexed you, Mihawk only leaned down and gazed at you with a dark and possessive aura within his honeyed eyes. That darkened gaze drew down to your lips before floating back to dispute which of your own he would focus on the most. You shook your head to silently chastise him for attempting to begin another unspoken round of ensuring the union was undeniably consummated, stabilizing your stand and using him as a brace before reaching for your towel.

“We gave our word we would return,” you spoke softly as you dried your hair and body with the featherlight towel. “And I know you to be a man of honor, Lord Dracule. As much as I desire to remain in this room, or the one thereover,” you turned to watch your husband in his glory exit the bathtub, holding his eyes against your own as you tied the towel over your chest, “We have the rest of our lives to explore one another within any room that takes your fancy.”

Mihawk took his own towel and dried his body hastily before tying it around his own waist. As you became distracted by finding the appropriate part in your hair, two arms grasped around your waist and hoisted you into the air. A squeak fled your lips as those hands shifted to hook beneath your bare legs and around your back as your husband escorted you towards your marital suite. Your voice became jovial as you and Mihawk began laughing in complete unity, only halting when he placed you back onto the bed you had enjoyed a few hours prior together.

“I informed you before I drew you your bath that I had a gift for you,” he nodded softly while moving his hands slowly against your body, down your knees and over your calves. “I would like to bestow it onto you now, should you be ready to receive it.” He withdrew his hands from your body and moved himself towards his adjoining ensuite dresser.

The rounds of rustling materials pricked at your ears. Buckles and buttons were the objects to follow, all before your husband had reemerged clad in a more relaxed version of his marital uniform. His pale, frilled shirt was unlaced to above his navel, an embroidered red and gold belt donning buckles and braces were hovering above his darkened pants. In his arms, an embroidered red dress matching the belt clasped around his waist.

“It is not as intricate as the ones you designed prior, nor is it as glamorous,” he informed you whilst stepping closer towards your form sitting against the bed. He slowly sat to your right, bringing the material and flat-laying it over your thighs as he did so. “It is another custom of my people. This is a gesture, a symbolic reminder that you are now representing not only yourself, but the Dracule name. I… My…” He trailed off, peering down and taking your right hand in his left.

His wedding band warmed the back of your skin, a contrast to his cool fingers as he rose it to his lips. Placing a small kiss to your knuckles, he inhaled and exhaled deeply against your skin before resuming his speech.

“This was something my mother wore, one of the few memories I retain are all within the portraiture I hold in my treasury. She,” he brought his eyes up to peer into your own with that melancholy smile you had known drawing into his lips, “Would have adored you. All of you, my love. My largest regret is you two had not met in this lifetime.” He slowly reached up and hovered over the tie at the front of your towel. “The only question I have for you now is: will you bear this dress in the same way you will bear my name beside yours?”

Without hesitation, you drew your hand over the one on your chest and fully removed your towel from your body. He smiled as you took the bust of the dress in your arms whilst leaning up to press your lips to his.

“I am your lady, Lord Dracule Mihawk of Kuraigana,” you uttered firmly against his lips before pulling away, darting your eyes between his and shuddering through a smile filled with more emotion than you had expressed prior, “If you would have me bear your name, pledging yourself to be mine as much as I am yours, I will wear whichever dress you elect to don my form.” Mihawk exhaled a sigh of relief before a mischievous grin crawled onto his whiskered lips.

“It would fare far better to greet our welcoming entourage than what I had to remove earlier this evening,” he uttered smoothly as you stood, hastily throwing the dress over your head and flicking your hair away from your face. You scoffed, scolding him wordlessly while fastening the embroidered material against your chest and body.

Both yourself and Dracule Mihawk continued readying yourselves to greet your guests once more, all while stealing kisses from one another between each tie, sock, and boot. Upon returning to your mess of various states of drunken guests, a loud cheer uproared from the party as they welcomed you beside the fire.

As you approached the burning heap, you noticed Sir Crocodile gazing pensively up in the clouds as opposed to the variety of onlookers gracefully welcoming you into their company. Perona and Zoro were the first to join you on either side, the former tugging at your dress with thick tears beginning to spill over her lash line. Zoro was fairing none the better, far from the bratty attitude he had once welcomed you with upon your introduction.

Meals began to pour from the pot, the traditional midnight wedding soup exchanging between hands as Lucky Roux ladled each portion as it came. Both Buggy and Shanks had begged drunkenly for your forgiveness as they asked politely to spirit your husband from his position beside you to speak with him discreetly. Mihawk made to cast them aside in favor of spending his night soldered to your side, but you shook your head and spared him a moment away from you.

Sir Crocodile continued to gaze up at the moon, eyes troubled by something within the light while whisps and vapors continued to waft from his lips and shoulders. Considering your husband was indisposed, you took the initiative to approach the hulking man lingering isolated beside the fire.

“Sir Crocodile,” you spoke firmly to introduce your presence to the position beside him, “Are you not enjoying the festivities at this hour?” He turned to face you, gifting you that devious smirk as he gestured for your hand. Using his hook, he plucked the cigar from his lips before stooping down to place a kiss to the backs of your knuckles, rising as hastily as he stooped while making mention of your full name and title as his greeting.

“I would assume you to be having a far greater time than myself,” he offered with a small chuckle before placing his thick cigar back between his teeth. “You are a married woman now, with name and title to follow behind. The World’s Greatest Swordsman as your beau, and a legion of allegiances to follow suit. Tell me…” He took a moment to pause, gazing up at the moon before drawing his eyes back to yours, “...Was it so bad afterall, Lady Dracule?” Sir Crocodile’s question was posed with an almost innocence and urgency to his tone, one that took you off your guard.

Taking a moment to ponder, you gazed down at the twin-set of rings donning your fingers. The union band forged by and for your husband lingering beneath the curse bestowed upon your courtship band. You spared your thoughts towards each event that transpired to allow for all of this possible. The job offer, the two wards, the broody lord, the creature of fur and feather you eventually learned to be your husband in disguise: every element to the cursed Sapsorrow specter that drew each element together.

“There are worser fates to be bestowed with, both you and I can agree on that as fact,” you admit fondly as you recount the dresses and love growing between you and your beloved, “I only asked for dresses to be made from impossible substances, nothing that my now husband had within his reach of capabilities.” You leaned forward, grasping his upper shoulder and giving it a small squeeze of reassurance. “And for your role in procuring one of those heavy feats, both he and I are indebted to you. You have my gratitude, Sir Crocodile.”

"Lady Dracule," Sir Crocodile nodded softly, focussing on your motions while you withdrew from his side towards the merriment now returning at the campfire. Music was played by Cabaji and Galdino, a tune you were witnessing Perona attempting to take the reins in the masculine dance position while Zoro was the unwilling feminine counterpart. Your smile drew up on your features as the two of them eased into an easy rhythm, only growing broader as Zoro used his countenance to balance her motions flawlessly.

Mihawk drew himself once more to your side, reaching for your hand and entwining it with his own as he lead you both towards the makeshift dance floor by the fireside. His eyes grew half-lidded as he leaned in, humming along to the tune as it came to him, only desiring to depict his love and adoration towards you in each swooping motion. As each moment passed, you and he both had it dawn on you with the sun as it split across the horizon.

It was done, the feats finally completed. You and he had successfully become that which was bound in stone and gold: twin souls now forged in matrimony. Whatever those dates held was now secured by the tight bonds of unity between you and your husband, all with gratitude and smiles to the forces that thrust you together. All you had to do now was wait for the next tomorrow to rise and set, all with those to come thereafter: faced together as the Lord and Lady Dracule Mihawk of Kuraigana.

The End.

Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @mermaniaa @feral-artistry @be-good-please @sukilovesyou @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood @jaguarthecat @marsbars09 @vespidphoenix @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine @daydreamer-in-training @mermaniaa @indydonuts @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

Further Notes: Big thank you to my sister, Mermaniaa, for being the one to push me to write this series - and to write in general. This series was made to express my gratitude and absolute joy to have you as my baby sister. Happy Birthday, and I hope you liked it.

147 notes · View notes

lilacxquartz · 27 days ago

Text

Those Late Summer Nights | Final Chapter

satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

plot: moving to the city from a small town was no easy feat, especially to start teaching as a jujutsu sorcerer — warning: this is a yandere story with dark themes throughout.

summary: with things finally looking up, you return to where it all began — a/n: hope this is good for a conclusive chapter to the whole story, thank you so much for reading!!

masterlist • ao3 • chapter directory • < previous chapter

Chapter 32. A Bittersweet Goodbye

If you were to be completely honest, you never once thought that you were capable of making it this far. Not only had you managed to escape Suguru, but you finally shook off Satoru, too.

For the longest time, it was difficult to even imagine the prospect of your return because your recovery, even if it was sought, was still a struggle. Every waking moment, you retained the feeling of being watched, with your paranoia pushing to an all-time high—though it was all justified, you thought. Satoru and Suguru had, after all, taken everything from you, but now you had the chance to mend what was once defiled; to shape back your identity into something you could recognise.

To turn away the haunted reflection of the once broken woman in the mirror who stared back at you every morning with those broken eyes and blink back into someone you could recognise once more.

It was surely strange, though, because of course it was. You never could have imagined that life would have taken you on such a wild ride.

Countless questions crept in and out of your mind during your recovery when you had the luxury to slow down and think about all that had happened. Would it, for example, have been the same had you waited a little longer before you decided to settle in? Or if you hadn’t decided to share what you did on the first night of meeting your coworkers-to-be? Would it have gone the same way if you had turned down Shoko when you had first met her? You weren’t too sure, and that was part of the problem. Something about your involvement, however it all was, simply just felt inevitable, as if it was going to happen either way, regardless of the path taken to get there.

You had to be thankful in the end for realising who your true friends were. It was never Suguru nor Satoru, but it was definitely Shoko, Utahime, and later, Yuki. Those who never once doubted you, those who had nurtured the strengths that they saw within you. Yuki especially, to an extent. She who saw something else in you that went beyond a helpless soul that begged for saving and instead saw a woman enraged, holding onto untapped strength that could be potentially wielded. She, who never once made you feel bad for such a late discovery of it, either, who never once made you feel pitied nor coddled in any way or form.

All she ever did instead, you supposed, was guide you into the right direction.

Indeed, your decision to return to Japan wasn’t about going back on your claim of moving on from the past, but rather to face the world as it was on your own terms. To have lost, in your mind, meant to have left for good. Satoru’s influence spanned far—over the entirety of the country, in fact, but it wouldn’t reach you. You shouldn’t have to hide from him any longer, not when you were stronger now, at the very least. He might have left behind many scars on your psyche, but that didn’t have to mean the end for you.

(You were still alive—still kicking, and so, you refused to back down.)

After all, you were no longer the same person that was once stuck around somewhere in the likes of Suguru’s arms as he held you tight, whispering threats of his own uncontrolled insecurities, wanting to keep you trapped the isolated world that he sought to accomplish. Nor did you want to remain prisoner in Satoru’s designer dungeon, who kept you locked up all just to prove a point.

So, what was the next step in finding yourself again?

Returning to Tokyo seemed to be it for now. You had to decide whether you wanted to or not, if you were going to undertake the necessary steps to become a special-grade sorcerer. You were, above all, determined to prove not only to Yuki, but also to yourself that you were as powerful as you had trained to be. That you were as powerful as that time you managed to actually get Satoru to back off with a display of something that not only he thought was impossible—but you did too.

Simply put, you wanted to never be seen as weak ever again.

Though it was still just… insane to you. All of it was. Your entire life, sorcerers of many ranks and experience levels came and went, but one thing that stuck during your time of not being part of the prestigious schools out in the sticks was that your technique was always just brushed off… underwhelming.

You were always told that instead of achieving greatness, you were, at best, a form of mediocre level of support that could maybe help benefit others, but you were never meant for the combat. Your old teacher, though, to her credit, did say that it would never hurt to learn how to fight—no matter the cards you were dealt with—so maybe she saw something in you beyond what you accepted at the time.

Would you have believed anything else, though?

(Because how could you have ever compared yourself to the great names of the current era of sorcery? How could you have just ever assumed that you were a force to be reckoned with when you weren’t even good at what you already knew? Your understanding of jujutsu was above par, but something always felt lacking—missing in the worst possible sense. Could it have been that it only felt that way because your true potential was never realised, though?)

Indeed, it was only when you managed to deter Satoru from your skin that you had a wake-up call at all, because without such a push, you weren’t sure if you would have tried to train as hard as you did. Maybe in that instance, in some messed-up sense, it was good that Satoru was as relentless as he was in his chase after you, because you learned something new about yourself. You still hated him, though. You were never going to forgive him for what he had done.

The training itself was done purely out of spite. You despised him so much that you pushed yourself harder than you should have, never once giving your body enough time off to rest, not even when it screamed for you to do so. Not even when your cursed energy would flicker and wane, nor when your muscles tightened and ached.

You didn’t stop until you resculpted your once worn shield of a technique into what it truly was; an armour when applied correctly, taking in those repeated heavy-hitting strikes from Yuki at a force that would have killed anyone else, pushing back until you could finally hold your ground.

You were stronger now, in all the ways that mattered, and you were determined to prove that now that you were back.

~~~

In the meantime, Satoru never meant to find out that you were returning to Japan on purpose.

Yuki was taking a conventional form of transport back into the country, so it wasn’t difficult for him to have caught wind that someone within the Jujutsu-sphere was returning. He couldn’t have given two shits about her coming back, but he did pause when he learned that she had someone else with her. An old returning name who was rumoured to have been chased out of the country. The full story was covered up, though, to the best of his clan’s ability. There was too much to keep contained, though; from his once close friend’s slaughter of civilians, to the falling out of his long friendship with Shoko. He supposed that maybe to someone else looking in, it was perhaps obvious when someone involved with the three left the country in such a rush.

(God, why did he do what he did? Not a single second of it was worth it.)

Given that you weren’t concealing your arrival, however, that could have potentially only meant one thing. That you weren’t worried about being discovered. Satoru knew right away that this was good for you, but bad for him, not that he would pursue you ever again. He couldn’t help but sigh to himself at such a realisation, reluctantly parting some sort of begrudging respect to your whole cause. He did hope for you to have gone away for good, though, so that he could regretfully move on, never to be haunted by what he had done ever again.

(Though if staying was what you wanted to do, then he wouldn’t chase you away—he’d leave you the hell alone.)

Your return was much more significant to him than he wanted to admit, though. Maybe it was because it had nothing to do with him and his pride took a hit, but also, maybe it was because he couldn’t handle you actually being as strong as you were—not when he thought you to be so weak before.

It was an oversight on his end; he knew that much. You were likely always as strong as you were, but he didn’t let himself see the truth; too consumed by the concept of his group moving on away from him. Too consumed with the idea that Suguru found someone he liked who wasn’t the immediate two. Too consumed with the idea that Shoko opened up the group to have someone new inside. Indeed, the obsession never made sense, and yet, he allowed himself to lose sight of who he was because of it.

(And despite all of this, he couldn’t deny that he was so fucking curious. He wanted to see you, the nobody from nowhere, who was rumoured to have special-grade potential. He wanted to see you, to look you in the eyes and take in the sight of you, even if he had absolutely zero right to do so. But then again, what business did a jailer have with his former prisoner? You were better off free from the start, better off being far away from the warden who couldn’t help but linger, that still had the temptation to reach for the cuffs at any moments notice.)

Oh, how he tried to brush it off, too. To let the temptation slip and wash over him like passing rain, but instead he let him drown himself in the obsession that threatened to remain. Curiosity, after all, was an insidious matter; it was cruel, and he was nosy at best.

And so, he had a look.

Just a glimpse, if only just to see how you were doing. He didn’t allow himself to get close enough near you, not wanting to ruin your day with the mere reminder of his presence alone, but he did sneak a peek from the edge of the rooftop over the campus. It was far away enough that he could easily duck and tuck himself away from your suspecting glance, but close enough that he could get a good look at you without being too invasive.

And when he saw you, he could hardly believe his eyes.

The way you were now was just so… different? You carried yourself with equal parts confidence as well as pride, but in a way that was so utterly contrasting from the shy woman he had once known before. The one that he met just last summer ago, who slumped her shoulders when having to deal with the past, and yet, faced a place that hurt her with no such worry in her stride. He could read the true measure of your power, too, the sheer staggering difference high enough to almost knock him off his feet. Fuck. He was proud, but again, he had no right to be. He didn’t nurture this when he could have; he only triggered it, which wasn’t the same at all.

Ah, there it was. The self-loathing that he had since then came to both love and hate. A feeling that he had now known a little too well. Satoru thought he deserved such pain, though, so he never once complained, instead letting it all just eat him alive. To see your success was the ultimate punishment, regardless, because you didn’t need him to get that way; it hurt so bad, so good, just as it should.

Satoru, as a result, left earlier than he otherwise would have stayed. He was simply just unable to bear the creeping horror of what he had done for another second to spare. Without uttering a single word, he slipped out of the campus and left to go back home, unable to deal with the hurt. Not when you were there to potentially challenge it, to remind him in the flesh of what he had done.

As for Suguru, however, he had only learned of your return because of Shoko.

It wasn’t out of courtesy, though, nor from a place of kindness or warmth. She mentioned it in passing, and rather dismissevely, too. She wasn’t on good terms with him, but the one thing she couldn’t bring herself to do was to abandon the girls outright. She was content with her role of being their cool aunt, figuring that the pair needed some positive influence outside of Suguru’s isolating own, something that wasn’t rooted in the cold facade of the cult he was actively losing himself to.

He hardly picked up on it at the time, too, biting his tongue as he tolerated Shoko dropping off pastries for the girls to enjoy, moulded by the hands of the people he sought to destroy. Non-sorcerers were hard to fully avoid, though, so he gave it a pass, understanding that not everything could be so thoroughly contained.

“Oh, and she’s back,” was how he had heard it, a passing slip of information murmured out by Shoko’s lips just as she left. She didn’t linger around for long enough to spare the details, and the way she had said it was something closer to a warning, as if challenging him to stay away.

Not that he would have opposed.

After all, just hearing about you alone was enough to make his heart churn and clench with something that felt close to grief. Suguru missed you, perhaps way too much, more than he deserved to. He had something so good going at the start, and yet he fumbled it with his unresolved insecurity, his jealousy, his accusations, and all of those other little things that just kept adding up.

It was only after Shoko had left that he said anything at all; after his girls had slipped out of the room to see her through the gates of the temple he had confided himself off to, that he let anything out.

His voice, so soft, yet rich with the undertones of mourning. “I’m glad.”

Indeed, Suguru was happy to hear that you had returned; that you were strong enough to make such a decision for yourself, even if it meant that nothing was going to change. It wasn’t like he was ever going to be able to hold you again—his hands were already bloodied enough, and he shouldn’t be let near you as a result. The problem was that he didn’t trust himself to be better, not when you had made him so sick in the first place—so isolation was the way to go—it was the only way.

True, you were better off gone. To be far away from where he could reach out and drag you back into the hell you had finally escaped. Letting you go back then was the most difficult thing he had ever forced himself to do.

It was enough for him to just pretend for the time being. You were in the same country, weren’t you?

That much was enough for him.

~~~

Upon your return to the place where it all began—back to your home—the days came and went, while the weeks simply just flew by.

The assessing mission in itself wasn’t something you could have predicted or prepared yourself for, or rather, it was designed to test you in ways that you couldn’t comprehend.

Promotion missions were tailored to work around the potential technique you had and how you could utilise it to address certain situations, and that’s exactly what that whole experience was. Something that challenged your skill set and how you would apply yourself under pressure. The nights were sleepless and the days were unrelenting, but you were damned if you were to back down now.

After a while though, you finally did it. You not only surpassed the expectations of everyone who had ever doubted you before, but also you ended up surprising yourself, too. It was quickly realised within the Jujutsu sphere as well, given how fast the offers for under-the-table work streamed in; the ones that would otherwise typically never reach you, connecting you to a whole range of clients ranging from extravagant to shady. You supposed that’s why those above a second grade level stuck around as accessible by just the regular Jujutsu scope, because if you aligned yourself to the system, then your salary could remain consistent.

You never ended up taking on any work on the side as a result.

You moved on with your base plan still in mind, even though the temptation to take off just as Yuki had done was a tempting idea. To disappear abroad and chase after sandy shores and warm waters instead, breaking away from the bleak reality that otherwise awaited with being a sorcerer on call. You had suffered enough—worked hard enough to deservingly sample even a glimpse of such freedom, but that also meant running again and that was the last thing that you wanted to do.

No, you wanted to face it all and in order to accomplish that, you had to go back to where it all began.

Back home.

Back to the small, suffocating town where your trauma had time to rise and settle and rise again. Back to where the first decade and a half of your life was snatched into the claws of a relentless someone who hated you without cause, as bullies often did. Sure, Yui might have been gone now, but the memory of what she had done remained forever. You speculated that it might never leave your system, in fact. The one thing that you supposed that you could thank Suguru for was freeing you from the chokehold she had retained on your psyche, but that was the only thing.

It felt different, after all, to be able to walk through the streets of where it all went wrong without the need to hunch and tighten your shoulders to hide away from her hateful gaze, to be without the sinking feeling of your heart anchoring in the depths of your stomach from the belittling laughter that would otherwise echo from behind. It was freeing, to no longer feel the grip of her fingers coiled around your arm, pulling you off somewhere new to inflict hurt on you.

No, no. You were free of that. You wouldn’t let anyone do that to you ever again either.

And so, you refused to feel like a ghost in your own home, because if anything, you wanted to come back more so as a force, especially in the house you had also found yourself back inside of. The walls that remained untouched, stained with the remains of the people that may have given you life, that you had grown to instead resent. The inside was stale with the smell of dust and lingering silence, just as you remembered it, save for the grief that settled into the foundation, reminding you that Suguru had also taken from you, cursing you with his supposed love or whatever it was that he claimed to feel for you.

For the most part, keen to move forward, you stripped the interior bare, with the only two rooms remaining untouched being your parents’ old room as well as your own, largely so that you had a reminder left behind so that you knew who you were doing all of this for.

(For the girl who had no support, for the girl who wanted to run away and for the people who doubted you your whole life. You would show all of them.)

When the time came to return to work, you had settled in without much of a second thought. Life felt correct again, even if it was in a place you had said goodbye to so willingly before. It felt familiar this time around, yet somehow new all at the same time.

And so, to see your first day off, both Shoko and Utahime attended the lesson, already casting your assigned student off as a ‘mini you’; young, unsure of themselves but harbouring a potential that they refused to acknowledge.

How similar, indeed.

The three of you ended the day by pulling up at your desk. You took the seat behind it while they settled onto the chairs to side. Both you and Utahime settled into warming cups of tea while Shoko fumbled her pockets to pop out a few tabs of chewing gum, seemingly successfully having dropped her smoking habit now that the main cause of her stress was gone.

“You’re… content with being back here, right?” Utahime asked, taking note of how tired you were. It wasn’t that you were exhausted from the job, but rather from trying to make a good first impression. Maybe that much could be seen as too much in the eyes of the teenager you had just faced, but you’d rather be kind of embarrassing than be ignorant when it came to this sort of thing.

You shrugged and took a sip of your tea, leaning back against your chair. Your eyes scrolled around the room that you once found so isolating, determined to change up the rigid atmosphere that occupied these walls. “I am,” you opened up, trying to assure her before clearing your throat, “I mean, those kids back in the Tokyo school will be fine without me, but it’s places like this where the real change lies. It might not be this student or the next, but if there’s anywhere I can make a difference – it’s here – hell, I mean, I needed someone like me back then. I’ll be that person for someone who needs it.”

Shoko tilted her head to the side, giving you a narrowed stare but after a moment her featured relaxed once more.

“God, who even are you?” she asked warmly. “I can hardly recognise you anymore. What happened to the shy, unsure girl that I met just last year—“

Shoko stopped herself abruptly, letting the silence linger, regretting her choice of words. She knew exactly why you were forced to mature at a record pace. Not letting it bother you, however, you let out a snort of laughter, breaking through the tension. Utahime’s hands tightened slightly over the cup she held in the process, just about nearly cracking through the porcelain.

“Well, we can just say that I’ve grown into the person who I was always supposed to be,” you said after a while, choosing your words carefully, “and I couldn’t have done it without both of you.”

You meant it, too. This was the type of person you could only dream to become, the trauma aside. You were strong now, content with your position in life and free from the people who longed to hurt you. This was definitely a step forward from who you were, especially given that you were in the company of the people who you cared about, who went out of their way to support you.

And after a moment, your eyes made their way outside of the window, letting your eyes fall onto the long and winding fields that spanned over the horizon and sighed contentedly. It was peaceful here. You missed this sort of thing by comparison, never once having adapted to the busy lifestyle of Tokyo. There were parts you did enjoy, sure, but you wanted for life to slow down for now, so you could take the time to appreciate all that you worked so hard for.

So you could finally focus on changing the cycle for the better, one life at a time.

Just as you had always dreamed of being able to do so.

(You were finally where you wanted to be.)

53 notes · View notes

smok3r7 · 9 months ago

Text

They Always Come Back

Aaron Hotchner x f!reader

Explicit, 18+

So Much For, Dumb College Love

Main Masterlist & Series Masterlist - My AO3

Summary: You and Aaron met in college, Criminology Major, funny enough. Throughout your five years at George Washington College, you and Hotchner had this on and off again relationship; it was all fun until you started to realize that you loved him. After graduation the two of you cut ties and left it as dumb college love, going your separate ways. After a decade you finally land your dream job, a seat at the BAU; however when you notice the name copied on the email, you can’t believe your eyes.

Chapter Summary: Some souls are meant for each other and some aren’t.

Word count: 3.3k

The finale is here guys…I’m so proud of this story and am so happy that you guys love it! I hope this is all you guys hoped for, these two will forever hold a special spot in my heart<3

—

After a grueling week, working on one of the most challenging and traumatic cases you’ve encountered since you started half a year ago, the team decided to unwind with some drinks at their favorite dive bar - The Diamond. Tucked away on a quiet corner, the place is smaller than most bars, with just a jukebox to fill the air with nostalgic tunes.

The ambiance is calming but also lively, with the sound of laughter and chatter blending in seamlessly. The dim lights cast a warm glow, making everyone feel comfortable and at ease, as if they have found their own little sanctuary in the bustling city.

As you all sit around a table, the weight of the week slowly lifts off everyone's shoulders. Laughter fills the air as stories are shared and jokes, finding solace in each other's company. In this moment, surrounded by good company and good vibes, you feel grateful for them all and for the simple pleasure of being together in this hidden gem of a bar.

The bartender, Josie, is a gorgeous young woman they have come to know well and absolutely love; her radiant smile and effortless charm always make your heart skip a beat. With a flick of her wrist, she expertly pours out your favorite concoction, a Jack & Coke, the perfect balance of sweet and fiery that never fails to soothe your soul.

Especially after cases.

As you take the first sip, the cool liquid slides down your throat, and you can’t help but marvel at how Josie always seems to know exactly what you need. In that moment, surrounded by the comforting buzz of the bar and the soft murmur of familiar voices, even with all the disasters you and your team endure, this is the life you want.

The dimly lit bar provides a cozy sanctuary where you can forget about the horrors of the case, if only for a few hours. After a second drink, the team finds themselves opening up about their fears and struggles, forging a stronger bond in the process.

“Alright,” Garcia slams the last of her drink, “Enough dark nasty talk! What’s everyone’s plans for the weekend?” She’s never been one to keep up with the unhuman behaviors the rest of the team can, which is perfectly normal - and necessary. Sometimes you and the others can get caught up in the sad side of reality, when there’s so much more to life.

While J.J talks about how she’s going out with her two boys this weekend to her moms, you can’t help but notice the small glares from Aaron, the tension thick in the air. The conversation then moves to Emily, who says she’s going to Atlantic City tomorrow early afternoon and hints at her ‘Sin To Win’ weekend. You can’t help the small cheer that leaves your mouth before you chug the last bit of liquor and soda, clinking glasses with the girls while the guys chuckle to themselves.

But with a flash of light Derek, the observant one and jokester in the group, notices the brief glances between you and Aaron, he can’t resist commenting, "Love birds…will you two just give it up already?"

Suddenly, with the attention being brought to you guys, you can’t help but laugh at Derek, a genuine but terrified laugh. Then, you and Aaron exchange a sheepish smile, the air between you crackled with unspoken attraction, nerve-wracking more than anything. Laughter bubbles up, masking the underlying meaning, but the rest of the team observes, sensing a shift in the dynamics between you two but brushing off the fact of it all.

What began as a mature decision to work together now seems to be evolving into something deeper, more stirring. With each shared glance and lighthearted banter, it becomes increasingly clear that there’s a spark between you that refuses to be ignored - ever since the unplanned kiss. The realization dawns on everyone present, prompting knowing looks and whispered conversations.

As the night wears on, the playful teasing continues, but this time with a hint of something more meaningful. Perhaps the weekend drinks have let some of the team let their tongues loose more than normal, which you really don’t mind but you just wish that topic would change.

The main concern being that Derek saw you and Aaron kiss that night in Aaron’s office a few months ago. He hasn't treated you any differently besides making jokes here and there about you and Aaron, a lot like how Garcia and him do. It's not any of Derek’s business right now, especially when you don’t even know what the kiss means.

You try to push the thought to the back of your mind, focusing on work and daily tasks. But every time Derek cracks a joke or gives you a knowing look, you feel a pang of guilt and confusion. Was the kiss just a moment of impulse, or does it signify something more between you and Aaron?

You can’t help from the memory of the warm, familiar kiss from Aaron a few months ago lingering in your mind, you just can’t stop thinking about it or him. The music loud, the atmosphere vibrant, but all you can do is look at Aaron. The moment replays over and over, like a record.

You had longed to feel his touch again after a decade of separation, but now that he’s your boss, everything feels different. The forbidden nature of your desires adds a layer of complexity to your relationship. But it somehow makes you want more.

“Well,” Aaron announces, slamming the last of his scotch followed by the sound of the glass on the table, “I’m going to head home, you guys enjoy the rest of the night.”

The table erupts in sarcastic boo’s as Hotch backs out after just a couple of drinks, a familiar sight for you and everyone else. Despite his tough exterior, Hotch was always the first to leave after difficult cases.

It makes you wonder if he carries the weight of these cases heavier than the rest, or if he simply needs a break from the relentless demands of their job. Perhaps both reasons rang true in their own way.

As you watch him slip away into the night, a sense of understanding washes over you. In a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, sometimes the strongest ones need a moment of solitude to process it all.

“Bye man!” Derek raises his glass with a tipsy smile on his lips.

“Drive safe!” Your tone is a mix of giggles and seriousness, the liquor making you more bold than normal, but you instantly regret it.

The last thing you want is for the team to think you’re obsessed or pining over Aaron, even though you are, they don’t need to know that. The ache of unspoken affections weigh on you as you watch Emily and Garcia giggle at you as they take a sip of their beverages, you wish you could turn back time and keep your feelings hidden.

—

Stumbling towards Aaron's apartment, you feel disoriented and confused as the world spins around you in a hazy blur. You have no recollection of how you got here, or why you are in such a drunken state.

The memories from earlier in the night are fuzzy, but you vaguely remember drinking with Emily and Derek, the last remaining ones of the night. Flashes of laughter and camaraderie float through your mind, mingling with the haze of alcohol.

You drunkenly giggle to yourself while slightly bouncing from wall to wall down the hallway, making sure to miss apartment doors. Your blurry vision adds to the challenge, but you're determined to reach his apartment no matter what.

Each bounce brings a wave of laughter, echoing through the quiet corridor. The dim hallway lights flicker above, casting shadows that dance along the walls.

You stumble but manage to regain your balance, feeling a rush of exhilaration with each step. The sounds of your footsteps echo in the empty hallway, guiding you forward. Despite the haze of alcohol clouding your mind, you feel a sense of freedom and adventure in this moment.

With a mischievous grin, you continue your tipsy journey, eager to see where the night will take you. But then you feel something tell you to stop in your tracks, looking up from the floor you notice you’re in front of his place, F268. You stand outside Aaron's door, you realize the gravity of your situation - you have no idea what you’re here for.

With a headache forming and a sense of uneasiness, you reach out to knock on the door, hoping that Aaron will let you in. Your mind races with thoughts of what he’s going to say or even do when he sees you.

The lingering taste of alcohol on your tongue is a bitter reminder of the night's indulgence. Emily and Derek dancing, laughing, and singing with you till closing, the memories bounce around your pounding head. Your heels cause you to stumble, even while standing in one spot, causing you to giggle a bit louder.

What happened after the drinks and laughter? And how did I end up here, at Aaron's apartment? The answers elude you as you struggle to make sense of the night's events.

Knock, knock.

Next thing you know, he answers the door in nothing but dark blue plaid pajama pants, pleasantly surprised by you drunk in his hallway, he rubs his eyes, still trying to process your unexpected visit. The faint smell of alcohol lingers in the air as you meet his gaze with a mischievous grin.

"What are you doin' here?" Aaron asks, his voice laced with confusion and sleepiness.

You can't hold back a drunken giggle and blurt out, "Thought I'd surprise you."

His thick eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. The dim lights in his foyer reveal Aaron's puzzled expression as he stares at you, a subtle smile plays on his lips, but his puzzled expression gives away his confusion. The tension in the air makes you feel uneasy, almost as if you have disappointed him in some way.

“Your place is closer than mine,” you confess shyly, leaning your back on the hallway wall behind you for balance. Aaron's gaze is piercing, making you squirm under his scrutiny, “I’m too drunk to walk to mine and I just figured you be okay with me-“

"Just come in.” He cuts your drunken rambling before you make even more of a fool of yourself, grabbing your wrist to pull you in, causing you to stumble on your heels. The room spins as you try to regain your balance, the smell of warm candles and Aaron overwhelming your senses.

You catch a glimpse of his intense gaze, filled with a mix of concern and frustration. As he calmly guides you to his warm toned couch, you mumble an apology, but he just shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You need to slow down, dear," he says softly, his voice cutting through the haze in your mind, “I’m gonna grab a water, just- sit here, please.”

It’s easy for you to read him, even when drunk. You can tell he’s confused on how you even found his apartment, but he let you in regardless - because you know he really cares.

With the best of your ability, while he disappears into what you can only assume is his kitchen, you scan his living room. It's simple, like any man, but it’s got a sense of comfort with it. The worn-out armchair by the window, the stack of books on the coffee table and a bunch more on his shelves that fence the large tv, and the flickering candles creating a warm ambiance - all familiar sights that make you feel at home despite the haze of alcohol clouding your mind.

You catch a glimpse of old photographs on the wall, each telling a story of a moment frozen in time, then you stop. A picture of you and him in college hangs above a side table with a record player on it, the one of you both from the fair in your hometown, your breath catches in your throat and tears brim your eyes. He’s missed me just as much.

After all this time, he still loves you.

You always believed he was fine without you, but now you realize the depth of his feelings. The realization brings a smile to your face as you think about the moments you shared together. Despite the distance and time apart, there is a strong connection that still binds you.

"Aaron..." you mumble and get up from the couch, the room swirling slightly from the multiple Jack & cokes. Slowly, you make your way towards the familiar picture hanging on the wall. The golden frame catches the dim light, casting a warm glow on your smiling face next to his. Memories flood back as you trace the outline of his features with your fingertip, feeling the nostalgia strike deep in your heart.

In the quiet moment by yourself, surrounded by the echoes of the past, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. You remember the moments shared, the dreams woven together, and the heartbreak so many years ago. As you reflect on the times you spent together, you realize that Aaron will always be a part of you, no matter where life takes you.

—

“I couldn’t find anywhere in my heart to get rid of that.”

In the dimly lit room, Aarons smooth voice startles you, causing you to turn towards him. Your eyes fall on the two tall glasses of water placed on the coffee table, one for you and one for him. The alcohol coursing through your veins makes you feel comfortable yet emotional.

You struggle to utter any words, but ultimately they fail to escape your lips. Your gaze shifts back to the wall, a bittersweet reminder of the past, but you can't help from wondering how things could have been different.

A soft silence lingers between you and him, the weight of untold words hangs heavily in the air, filling the room with unspoken truths and lingering regrets.

“Do you think that- that this could work again?” You softly whisper as a small tear falls onto your warm cheek. Your feet hurt from the heels you’ve been in for hours now, causing you to sit back onto the couch, all while staring at him.

Aaron doesn’t respond, it's hard to tell if his silence is intentional or if he's just at a loss for words, either way a sharp pang of hurt pierces through you. You wonder if he even hears you, or if your words are falling on deaf ears. It’s really unsettling how much you don’t know him anymore, college you would know exactly this kind of silence means. But you don’t know.

The silence between you grows, it feels thick like a heavy fog descending upon the room, which starts to make you angry. You just asked him a simple, yet loaded, question and the least he can do is answer it. You look up at him as he sits down next to you, leaving a couple inches of space between you and him.

Frustration bubbles up inside you as you wait for his response, your patience wearing thin, faster than it normally does. The question seems to hang in the air, demanding to be acknowledged. You can’t understand why he remains so quiet, so distant.

Finally, unable to contain your irrational emotions any longer, you break the silence with a trembling, yet stern voice. "Why won't you fucking answer me?" Your words echo, pleading for some semblance of understanding.

But still, he remains silent, his eyes betraying a turmoil of emotions you still can’t decipher. Another few seconds of silence go by and you finally feel like you’ve had enough, so you push your hands on your knees and stand up. You try your best to balance yourself before you storm off, while telling him to fuck off.

Just when you think you are free to walk away, Aaron's sudden move catches you off guard. His grip on your wrist is firm, yet tender, pulling you close to him against your will. The intensity in his dark brown eyes sends a shiver down your spine, as conflicting emotions swirl inside you. You can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, his presence enveloping you completely.

In this moment, as you stand locked in a silent battle of wills, you realize that he’s head over heels for you just as much as you are for him.

“Yes,” Aaron loudly confesses, “I do think this can work again. You don’t know how hard this past decade has been for me, even harder the last couple of months having to work with you.” With his arms still around you, he purrs your name, “I love you more than anything.”

As his words sink in, the tension between you dissolves, replaced by a flood of emotions. The past grievances and misunderstandings fade away, leaving space for a new beginning.

With his dark eyes staring down into yours, he squeezes your body closer to him, "You make work enjoyable again. You make me comfortable in who I am," Aaron firmly tells you, "When you broke it off before we graduated, I felt like I lost a huge part of myself. But I know we wouldn't have lasted long after, it needed to happen."

The honesty in his words sends shivers down your spine as you realize the depth of his feelings. In the soft candle light, you see the vulnerability in his face as he speaks to you. His brows are relaxed but stern at the same time, revealing the rawness of his emotions.

His words echo in your brain, You make me comfortable in who I am. It's a simple statement, yet it holds so much weight. You realize, you have the power to ease his insecurities, to make him feel understood.

As you gaze into his eyes, you see a glimmer of gratitude mixed with a hint of fear of rejection. And in that moment, you know that you hold a piece of his heart in your hands—a fragile, precious gift that you vow to protect. And with that, you wrap your arms around the back of his neck and pull his face into yours in a gentle, yet needy, kiss.

The warmth of his touch ignites a fire within you, a fierce determination to shield his vulnerability from the world's cruelty, even with the cruel job.

As you hold him close, his heartbeat echoes in sync with yours, a symphony of love and longing. In the silent language of your entwined bodies, you find peace and understanding. Each kiss is a promise, a whispered vow of eternal devotion to each other, once again.

In this timeless embrace, you and Aaron are bound by an unbreakable bond, a fusion of souls that transcend words, ultimately meaning to end up with one another. Together, you forged a love story written in the stars, a tale of two hearts intertwined in a symphony of passion and tenderness.

#aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner series #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner criminal minds #criminal minds aaron hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #finale #final chapter #aaron hotch fic #aaron Hotchner final #criminal minds fic #criminal minds series #criminal minds

129 notes · View notes

thatsmzbitchtoyou · 4 months ago

Text

Sugar & Spicy Books FINAL Chapter 8

Summary: Y/N is an accomplished writer who is newly divorced, and out of fear of the unknown, moves back to her small hometown she swore she’d never come back to. She comes across her best friend that never left, who helps her out of a tough spot. Will old feelings arise? Or is she just too big for such a small place now?

Warnings: language, smut

Previous chapter

13 months later

Y/N stared at the stick in her hand. The black dots continued to blink, and she could feel her nerves making her more jittery than she already was. Today was her wedding day. Bucky had asked her to marry him shortly after their conversation about their future over a year ago, and as much as she was nervous about getting married since her first marriage hadn’t gone well, she was sure about Bucky. She loved him, she loved Autumn, and she loved their new life together. When he had told her he wanted a child with her, her heart felt like it soared, and all the questions she had about them and their future had disappeared.

She had stopped taking her birth control pills without telling him, wanting to see how well her body would adjust to weaning off of them. It took a while, and for a moment she was worried, but lately she had been feeling off, and missed her most recent period. So here she was, hiding in the bathroom as Autumn and Winnie were getting ready on the other side of the door.

Y/N put the stick down, covering her eyes with her hands. Staring at it wouldn’t make it go faster. She waited, breathing deeply as she tried to calm herself. It was okay if it was negative, but there was a big part of her that knew she wanted it to be positive so badly. She uncovered her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, inhaling deeply, before looking back at the stick on the counter.

Pregnant.

She gasped and grabbed it, holding it close to her face. She shook it out like that would somehow change things, and when it didn’t, she huffed out a silent laugh and looked at herself in the mirror. Pregnant. With Bucky’s baby. And they were getting married today. Her hand drifted down to her stomach, cradling it gently as if a bump would magically appear in the next few seconds. It was happening. Y/N composed herself before washing her hands and leaving the bathroom, hiding the test in her dress pocket for later.

The ceremony was beautiful and small, with only a few of their closest family members and friends there. They had both cried as they read their vows, and Y/N had vowed to Autumn to be the best mother she could possibly be for her. She didn’t tell him about the baby yet, and instead focused on having fun on her wedding day. The small group danced, sang, ate, and enjoyed their time together. At the end of the night as they said goodbye to Autumn, who was staying with Winnie, to go on their honeymoon, they got settled into Bucky’s car and drove off to the sound of whoops and hollers from their high school friends.

They caught a flight to Puerto Rico, settling into their rented house, all courtesy of Y/N’s alimony, a fact that they both took a lot of pleasure in. After a day of rest from hours of traveling, Y/N got ready for the day. She holed herself up in the bathroom again, having grabbed a second test before they left the States. She just wanted to be sure before telling him and getting his hopes up. She waited for the second test results, smiling widely when it read the same as the first. She put it in her pocket before leaving the bathroom.

When she entered the bedroom she started laughing, seeing Bucky laid out on the bed, naked and poised with one hand holding up his head, a leg bent showing himself in all his glory to her, and a red rose stem in between his teeth. “Oh how romantic!” she giggled, approaching the bed.

Bucky huffed a laugh and sat up, crawling toward her on the bed before taking the rose from his mouth and handing it to her. As she held it up to her nose to smell it he took her left hand and kissed her wedding ring. “Just for you, Mrs. Barnes,” he smiled, sitting up on his knees so he was eye level with her, kissing her deeply. “I know we had plans to go to the beach today but…it’s our honeymoon, and we haven’t officially consummated our marriage yet.”

“Well, we were exhausted from quite a fun wedding day. And traveling,” Y/N smirked, subtly pulling out the test from her pocket and holding it behind her back. As Bucky’s hands slid up her hips she nuzzled his nose. “But I do have one more wedding gift for you.”

His eyes lit up in excitement. “Oh really?” he asked, sounding intrigued. “Is it something… spicy?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

Y/N laughed. “It came from that,” she said. Bucky gave her a questioning look, and Y/N took a deep breath before bringing her hand out from behind herself, holding the stick up in front of his face. Bucky looked at it for a moment, a slight frown on his face before he gasped loudly, his eyes widening and his hands leaving her to take the test from her fingers. He held it in his fingers gently as he stared at it for a long moment. The room was silent, and Y/N wasn’t sure he was even breathing, making her start to worry about his reaction. “Are…are you happy?” Y/N asked quietly.

Bucky’s head snapped up to look at her. He smiled widely and quickly hugged her, pulling her down with him to the bed. He laid her down next to him and started kissing all over her face. “Yes, honey! Oh my god,” he said excitedly. “Are you sure?” he asked, looking at her.

“That’s my second positive test,” Y/N said, glancing at the stick in his hand. “But we’ll need to go to the doctor to be sure.” Bucky looked at the test again, like he was memorizing how it looked before tossing it on the nightstand and hugging her tight. Y/N held him, rubbing his back when she felt him nuzzle the crook of her neck, then his shoulders shaking. Y/N shushed him as he cried.

“Y/N,” he sniffled. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

“We are,” Y/N nodded, kissing the side of his head. “You’re gonna be a daddy. Again.”

“Again,” he chuckled and pulled up to look at her. Y/N reached up and wiped his eyes. They smiled at each other. Y/N felt like it was a piece sliding into place, finally completing the puzzle that was their lives coming together completely. “My wife,” Bucky said adoringly. “Mother of my babies.” Y/N fought back tears at that, giving him a shaky smile. “My best friend,” he said quietly.

Y/N nuzzled his nose and kissed him all over his face. “My husband. Father of my babies. My Sugar. My best friend.”

THE END

Thank you all so much for liking, commenting, reblogging and following! You little darlings make me feel so loved. I'm closing my requests and asks for the next little while because I'm so behind on the ones sent into me, but I'll reopen them soon enough. You're amazing, dear readers. More to come soon!

#marvel #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #series fanfic #chapter 8 #final chapter #spicy books

70 notes · View notes

yongility · 2 months ago

Text

NEO TV # i like me better when i'm with you ꗃ╭╯ jung jaehyun.

──────── chapter ⵌ10 (the final) : a prayer for the damned.

𒄬 genre: slowburn / angst / suggestive / gang au / rich kid au / e2l

𒄬 warnings for this chapter: it's the end / fights / mental manipulation / use of weapons aka knifes and guns / gunshots / mention of blood and bleeding / this whole ahh chapter it's angst, angst and more angst (you might hate me but i promise i'll make it better)— wait for the epilogue please. 𒄬 word count: 6k

The night before— of the exchange. it all comes down to this moment.

The warehouse felt like the closest thing to hell.

It felt like an extension of his soul— an abyss, suffocating, suffused with the smell of rust and decay, mirroring everything Jaehyun had become. Everything he had done. Every bad decision he had ever made. It was as though the very walls of this place absorbed the sins he carried, mocking him, daring him to escape them.

The car was a furnace, stifling. The air around him was thick— saturated with something he couldn't name, but which weighed on him, sinking into the marrow of his bones, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. He gripped the wheel with a force that made his fingers ache, the knuckles turning an agonizing white, his palms slick with sweat. As though holding on this tightly could stop everything from unraveling. As though gripping so hard could stop the inevitable. But it was too late. He knew that. He could feel it.

He dragged in a breath, slow and controlled, as though his lungs had forgotten how to fill themselves. But even as the air slid into him, it didn't help. It couldn't help. He couldn't shake the tremor in his chest, the suffocating weight pressing down on him. The silence outside wasn't the comforting kind. It wasn't the kind that wrapped you in peace. No, this was the kind of silence that felt like a warning— like the pause before everything you had ever known was torn apart.

His heart thudded erratically against his ribs, beating too fast, too hard— each pulse a hammering reminder of the time ticking away. He could feel his own blood rushing in his veins, rushing to his head, flooding him with a heat that made his whole body tremble.

He moved his fingers, almost in a daze, brushing the GPS device hidden beneath his clothes. It was there. It was still working. The small device pressed against his skin like a tiny time bomb, reminding him of the lies he was about to live, the truth he was about to bury.

The microphone under his shirt was on, waiting. Listening. Baekhyun would hear every breath, every word, every sound. The team of agents would be in place— waiting for him to lead them into the lion's den.

His family should be safe. That was the plan. It was supposed to be foolproof.

So why did everything feel like a death sentence?

His instincts had always been sharp. They had always been his guide. But right now, every instinct in him was screaming. Screaming for him to run, to turn around, to stop the madness. But it was too late.

Jaehyun squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight off the ache in his head, the pain in his chest. He could feel it intensifying— the pressure, the weight of everything he was carrying, the crushing realization that this was it. The end. This had never been a choice. It had never been an escape. This was just a countdown to his own grave. And deep down, he knew, with chilling certainty, that when they buried him tonight, there wouldn't be enough left to mourn.

He hadn't been afraid of dying. Not really. Not after everything he had been through. Not after losing his father, after losing Winwin, after losing everything that had once made him feel human. Death didn't scare him anymore. What scared him was knowing that his family would be left with nothing but the ashes of a man who had failed them. The ghosts that would follow them— ghosts that he would never be able to protect them from.

He wasn't a religious man. He hadn't been for a long time.

Maybe he had been, once— back when he still believed in salvation. Back when he thought there was a way out. Back when he thought prayers meant something. But that was before he learned the truth about this world. Before he understood that hope and faith wouldn't stop a bullet, that love couldn't save you from the mess you created.

But tonight... tonight was different.

For the first time in years, Jaehyun found himself praying. But it wasn't for him. It wasn't for the hollow shell of a man he had become.

He prayed for them. For his family. For the ones he still loved, even though he knew it was too late to fix anything. For the people who would suffer for his failures.

He prayed for every part of him that had already died. For the pieces of him that were buried under years of violence, betrayal, and regret.

And he prayed for her.

(Y/N).

If the Universe had been cruel enough to make him love her, then he only asked one thing: let her forgive him. Let her heal from the damage he had done. Because if she couldn't be his in this life, if the weight of the past and the ghosts that haunted him were too much to let him be the man she deserved, then maybe, just maybe, the Universe would let them be together in the next life.

His chest tightened. The thought of her— her face, her laugh, her warmth— it burned him more than he could handle. He had never been this honest with himself. He had spent so long building walls, keeping everyone at arm's length, but she— she had seen through them. She had seen him, not as Jaehyun, the monster, the failure everyone else saw in him— but as Jung Yoonoh, the person he had buried deep inside. She loved him for who he was. And it had broken him in the most painful way.

But now— now he had to let her go. For her sake. For the sake of the life she deserved. He couldn't drag her any deeper into his hell.

With a shuddering breath, he forced his gaze up, staring at the ceiling of the car, as if somehow it could offer him a sliver of comfort. He murmured something under his breath, something so quiet it was barely a whisper. A prayer. A plea. But it wasn't for him. It wasn't for his redemption.

He asked for it to let him end this hell once and for all.

Jaehyun didn't need to be a genius to know it. Even before he stepped foot inside the warehouse, he knew. Because the air felt wrong, thick, unnervingly still.

The lights above him flickered faintly, casting shadows that stretched like crooked fingers across the walls. It was dark, as if the place were holding its breath.

His jaw tightened. His stomach twisted— and when he tilted his head toward the door, lit only by the sliver of moonlight that spilled through the window, his body stiffened, muscles locking into place as a cold, slow terror crawled up his spine.

Because there he was.

Sooman.

Waiting.

Standing by a pile of crates with his hands in his pockets, his pristine suit untouched by the grime of this place— as if he hadn't already decided how tonight would end.

Their eyes locked. A silent battle, one that didn't need explanation— thoughts, memories, emotions buried deep within those two sets of eyes, speaking to each other without words.

When Jaehyun dared to look away and acknowledge the silhouettes lurking in the shadows, he knew. The men surrounding the warehouse weren't just guards.

They weren't looking at him. They were waiting. For a signal. For a shot. For an end.

Jaehyun knew a trap when he saw one. And this place? This was nothing but one— a damn trap.

"You're late," Sooman's voice sliced through the silence like a blade, drawing Jaehyun's gaze back to him. He fought to hold his stare, forcing himself not to break.

No emotion. No shout.

Sooman shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, feigning casual control.

Baekhyun should be listening.

"I didn't think we were in a rush," Jaehyun replied, his voice calm despite the storm brewing inside.

Sooman chuckled, shaking his head.

"Always so quick with that mouth of yours." His smile twisted. "It's a real shame."

Jaehyun gave nothing. No reaction. Sooman hummed, taking a step forward, the click of his polished shoes echoing on the floor like a countdown.

"You know what this is, don't you?"

Jaehyun stood still. "Clearly, it's not the exchange."

And the only answer he received was a smile.

"You've always known how to read the room, Jaehyun." Another smile, another step forward. His legs shook. "I'll admit—" Sooman exhaled, sounding almost disappointed. "—I never thought it would end like this."

"End like what?" Jaehyun asked, his chest tight.

Sooman tilted his head, his grin stretching impossibly wider.

And then he laughed.

"Like your father."

Jaehyun's blood turned to ice. "You think I don't see it?" Sooman's voice was light, but each word cut deep, sharp as a blade. "The way you look at me now? The way you pull away?" Jaehyun stopped breathing. "It's the same way he did."

Jaehyun's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms until his skin screamed.

"You had a great future with the gang, Jaehyun. You really did. I gave you everything. Trust, advice, a place in the family." Sooman's smile faded, his eyes darkening. "But words spread fast, and secrets don't stay buried forever."

"Let's not talk about trust," Jaehyun shot back, his voice bitter, but he was cut off.

"Your father thought he could be better than me. That he could improve the path of Neo Zone— that he could betray me and live to tell the tale." Jaehyun could swear his hands were bleeding from how hard he was clenching them.

"And you?" Sooman laughed. "You're just like him." Jaehyun's vision blurred. "But that's something you already know, right?"

Silence.

And then, with the weight of everything crashing down on him, Jaehyun exhaled. Slow. Controlled.

"My father was better than you."

Sooman's eyes darkened, and Jaehyun took a slow step forward, challenging.

"You want to talk about betrayal?" His voice was cold. Unforgiving. "You're the traitor. Killing your men. Using them. Making them think they owe you their lives—"

Sooman's jaw tightened.

"But the second they're no use to you. The second we're no use to you. You put a bullet in our heads."

A slow, cold chuckle.

And then— a gun.

The click of the safety felt like a death sentence— Jaehyun's breath stilled. Sooman raised the gun, aiming it at his chest.

"Look me in the face, Jaehyun."

He did. Cold, dark eyes staring back, his smile breaking through the silence.

"You know, when I killed your father, you cried in my arms." The lump in Jaehyun's throat grew painfully thick. "— like a baby. You cried in the arms of the man who put a bullet in your father's head."

And the world exploded.

Something inside Jaehyun snapped— it wasn't just anger. It was a deep, crushing, and consuming fury. And Sooman knew it. He could see it in Jaehyun's eyes.

And that only pleased him more.

"Ah, there it is." Sooman teased, his hand moving the gun slightly. "That look. The same look your father had before I finished him off." Jaehyun's breath quickened, the barrel of the gun now almost pressing into his jacket.

But Sooman wasn't done yet.

"Tell me, Jaehyun," he stepped closer, his voice a low whisper. "Did you really think you could get out of this? That I wouldn't know?"

Jaehyun didn't move— because he couldn't.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find out you were working with the police? You've always been so predictable— always pretending you're smart, but in the end? You're just another dog thinking it can bite the hand that feeds it."

One more word, and Jaehyun's hand would break from how tightly he was holding his fists.

"And Jeno?" Jaehyun's body stiffened, his eyes flashing with a flicker of fear. Sooman had him.

"You really think you could protect him?" A slow shake of his head. "Jaehyun, Jaehyun, Jaehyun... you don't get it, do you? Jeno is already one of us."

"Shut up."

The words hurt more than the bullet that was waiting to hit him.

Where the hell was Baekhyun?

"Maybe he hates you, but at least he knows his place— unlike you. Do you think he will cry your death? Just like you cried your father's?"

"You're a—"

"And Sicheng? Ha, you failed him too. Your best friend's rotting in a hospital bed for months, all because of what? Your stupid sense of loyalty?"

Stop. Stop. Stop.

What he hated most was how nothing seemed to leave his mouth.

And then came the final blow.

"She's been snooping too much, don't you think?" Sooman sighed, his tone dripping with mock disappointment. "People are starting to talk." Jaehyun's ears began to ring. "Maybe it's time to deal with her too."

And something inside Jaehyun shattered.

He lunged at Sooman before he could even think.

A blurry movement.

A flash of lead.

A click—

And then— a shot.

Pain seared through his ribs. The force pushed him back, his body stumbling as a burning sensation tore through his side.

His jacket was damp. Warm— and the blood...

"That was a warning." Sooman lowered the gun a little. "Now— let's try this again."

Jaehyun saw red.

"You're a bastard."

He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He didn't care about the gun. The pain. The plan.

He wasn't going to be the only one to fall tonight.

He launched himself, and chaos erupted. Like a war that had been waiting to explode, one that could never be stopped. Jaehyun collided with Sooman, scrambling for the gun.

BANG—

A stray bullet.

And with the sound of metal against concrete, the gun skittered away, sliding across the floor.

Jaehyun's breath was ragged, his heart pounding in his ribs as his body reacted to the punch Sooman threw at his jaw— barely enough time to react when another hit landed in his side, the bullet wound flaring up in agony, causing a guttural scream.

The warehouse air was thick with tension, the faint hum of distant machines barely cutting through the sound of fists colliding with flesh. Jaehyun's breath came in ragged gasps, his body battered and bruised. The metal walls around him echoed every strike, the harsh clanging of steel and bone ringing in his ears. Sooman stood opposite him, a twisted smile on his lips as he wiped blood from his lip, never once breaking his stride.

"You're still here, Jaehyun? I thought you'd be gone by now."

Jaehyun growled, his fists tightening as he lunged forward, throwing a quick jab to Sooman's jaw. It landed with a sickening thud, but Sooman barely flinched. Instead, he grinned wider, dark amusement flickering in his eyes.

"That's the spirit. Too bad it's useless now." Sooman countered, his fist crashing into Jaehyun's ribs. The pain was sharp, instant, and all-consuming. Jaehyun stumbled back, gasping for air, but he didn't fall. He couldn't fall.

Sooman took a step forward, grabbing Jaehyun by the collar and slamming him into a nearby metal crate. The force rattled Jaehyun's skull, and for a moment, everything around him blurred.

"Your father wasn't even able to protect you. You think you can?" Sooman's voice was a taunting whisper in his ear. "You're nothing but a little boy, Jaehyun. Always trying to play grown-up."

Jaehyun's mind flashed back to his father's words from years ago: "Protect Jeno. He'll look up to you one day. Make sure you have something worth looking up to." But what was he now? A broken mess, trapped in a world he couldn't escape from. A world he hated.

"I'm not like you, Sooman," Jaehyun spat, pushing against the crate to regain his footing, his voice a low growl. "I won't be your puppet anymore."

Sooman's expression faltered for just a moment, the first sign of frustration. He shoved Jaehyun hard, sending him sprawling across the ground. Jaehyun's vision blurred, his head spinning from the impact, but he fought the dizziness back. He couldn't let himself go down.

Sooman's footsteps echoed around him, slow and deliberate. "You're still just a kid, Jaehyun. Always trying to run away from the truth. You'll never escape this life. You'll die just like your father did—alone."

Jaehyun's hands trembled, his fingers sore from the pounding he'd taken. His body felt heavy, and with every breath, his muscles screamed in protest. But he refused to let go. He couldn't. Not now.

"You're wrong," Jaehyun grunted, pulling himself to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. "I'm not him. I'm not you."

He lunged forward again, this time with everything he had left. A desperate strike, his fist catching Sooman in the side. For a split second, Jaehyun felt the rush of victory—a brief flash of hope. But then, Sooman's fist found his gut, and the air was knocked from his lungs.

Jaehyun staggered back, his vision swimming. His body felt like it was made of stone, heavy and unyielding. But in the pain, he found something. A flicker. Something that drove him forward again.

His fists moved without thinking, each punch feeling like it was ripping him apart, but he kept going, kept fighting. The pain, the exhaustion, the doubt—it all blurred together.

Sooman's face twisted in frustration as Jaehyun landed another blow, this one cutting across his cheek. But the older man's anger boiled over, his attacks becoming more reckless, more vicious. "You think you can beat me? You're nothing but a little boy who doesn't know when to stop."

"I know exactly when to stop," Jaehyun muttered, but it was more to himself than to Sooman. "When it's over."

Sooman charged, and the two collided once more. Metal screeched as Jaehyun was thrown into a pile of rusted equipment, his back slamming against the sharp edges. He let out a pained grunt, but his mind was clear. He couldn't back down. Not now.

Sooman moved in, fury evident in his eyes. Jaehyun barely managed to block a wild swing, feeling the weight of the man's force behind each punch.

And then he landed a punch to Sooman's cheek, sending him stumbling. Jaehyun grabbed him by the collar, throwing him against the nearest wall.

A thin stream of blood dripped from Jaehyun's mouth.

Sooman coughed, spitting blood onto the floor— and then he laughed.

"Is that all you've got?"

Jaehyun's fingers dug into his throat.

"Go to hell."

"After you, kid."

And the next thing Jaehyun knew— something sharp sliced through his shoulder.

A knife.

Sooman's knife.

Jaehyun staggered back, the pain shooting through his arm. The blade gleamed in the faint light as Sooman twisted it, making Jaehyun cry out.

"LET GO!"

The shout echoed through the warehouse. Jaehyun's vision blurred. Blood was pouring from his shoulder, staining the ground beneath him. But a glimmer of hope stirred in his chest as he heard it—the sound of heavy footsteps, the click of weapons being readied.

They were close.

Jaehyun barely had time to process it. His vision swam, his thoughts faltering, as he felt Sooman's grip tighten around the knife's handle. The blade shimmered in the dim light, moving toward Jaehyun's throat, and in that instant, the space between them seemed endless. Jaehyun's pulse thundered in his ears, and it wasn't just from the pain—it was the fear. The fear of dying here, without even a chance to redeem himself, to fix the mess he had made.

He was certain this was it. This was the end.

But then—

The sound of gunshots rang through the warehouse, echoing off the cold metal walls. Baekhyun and his team had arrived.

Sooman froze.

The echo of those gunshots felt like a distant memory, the sharp crack of the weapons like the sound of salvation ringing in Jaehyun's ears.

"Put your fucking hands up, Sooman!"

Baekhyun's voice rang out, unwavering, as the first wave of officers stormed into the warehouse. Jaehyun could barely focus, his vision swimming. He saw flashes of movement—uniformed officers rushing in from all sides, weapons drawn, eyes sharp with determination. They weren't here to negotiate; they were here to end this.

But Jaehyun wasn't sure if he was going to make it long enough to see it through.

"Jaehyun, stay with me." Baekhyun's voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline. Jaehyun's body wanted to collapse, but he held on, his hand still wrapped weakly around Sooman's collar, his knuckles white from the grip.

Sooman hissed through his teeth, pulling the knife back as though to strike again—but before he could, a shout rang through the air.

"Drop the weapon!"

A blur of motion. An officer moved forward, knocking Sooman's arm aside. In an instant, Sooman's knife clattered to the floor, the danger momentarily dissipating. Jaehyun's body slumped, his muscles no longer able to hold him upright. His legs gave out beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.

The pain in his shoulder and chest was blinding, but all Jaehyun could think about was the sound of Baekhyun's voice—so close, so real.

"Stay with me, Jaehyun. Stay the hell with me."

Jaehyun's vision wavered. He felt himself slipping into darkness, but there was something about Baekhyun's voice—something that anchored him to the present, something that told him there was still a chance.

Baekhyun was here. They were here.

The world tilted around him as Baekhyun knelt beside him, pulling him into his arms, the pressure on his chest almost unbearable.

"You did good, kid" Baekhyun said. Praying for Jaehyun's life. "Don't you dare close your eyes on me, Jaehyun. We've got him. We've got Sooman. Your family's safe. They're already on their way to another country. Do it for them."

Jaehyun's heart hammered in his chest, each beat growing weaker, his mind clouded. His eyes fluttered, the world blurring as Baekhyun's words seemed to echo in his mind.

"I can't..." Jaehyun muttered, the words barely escaping his lips. "I don't know if I can do it anymore..."

"You can. You can do this," Baekhyun urged, his grip firm on Jaehyun's shoulders as he helped him sit against the wall. His voice was raw, thick with a kind of emotion Jaehyun hadn't expected. "This isn't the end. We're going to fix this, I promise you. Stay with me."

But Jaehyun could feel the darkness tugging at him, could feel the weight of his body, the ache of his soul. His vision was dimming, the world around him fading into a cold silence.

A blur of memories crashed through his mind, sharp and unrelenting. The scene was too familiar—too much like that night seven years ago. But this time, it wasn't his father slipping away.

It was him.

And yet, even as the darkness closed in, the faces of those he loved refused to fade. Jeno, his mother, Sicheng—(Y/N)... they surged through his thoughts like a heartbeat, relentless, desperate. As if remembering them could anchor him here, could pull him back from the edge.

But he wasn't sure he had anything left to hold on to.

"You're not alone," Baekhyun whispered, just as Jaehyun's vision began to collapse into a blur of black.

And his prayers faded into the night.

The dawn after the setup.

(Y/N) felt like a prisoner in her own home.

For the past few days, her life had been reduced to tears that never seemed to stop. Because just when she thought she had no more left to cry, her body would prove her wrong—another wave would come, leaving her breathless, leaving her drowning.

Daeho was stable now. They had discharged him yesterday afternoon, and for a brief moment, she had felt relief. He was alive. He was safe. That should have been enough.

But it wasn't.

Because this morning, she was about to load her suitcases into the back of her family's Range Rover.

Her face was streaked with tears, red from exhaustion, from grief, from anger. Her chest ached, her throat burned from the countless fights, the desperate pleas, the hours spent screaming at walls that refused to listen.

It was official.

Her parents were sending her away.

And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The sky outside was painted in shades of soft gray, the world caught in the fragile moment between night and morning. But inside, (Y/N)'s world was already falling apart.

She gripped the handle of her suitcase, her fingers trembling against the cold metal.

She didn't want to go.

Her body refused to move, her legs felt like lead, but outside, the Range Rover was waiting. The engine was on, her parents were waiting for her to get in, and every passing second felt like another nail sealing her fate.

Her chest felt too tight, her breath coming in uneven gasps as if she were suffocating.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

The world looked the same. But her world had already changed

Daeho stood beside her, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his posture stiff with guilt. His face was still pale from the overdose, the dark circles under his eyes proof of the hell they had all just lived through.

"This isn't fair." Her voice was barely a whisper, but Daeho still heard it.

"I know."

The weight of everything pressed down on her chest.

She didn't just feel like she was leaving. She felt like she was being erased.

Her mind drifted back—to the streets she had walked a thousand times, to the skyline she had memorized, to the memories woven into every corner of this city.

She thought about Jungwoo.

The best friend who had been by her side since childhood. The one who had made her laugh even on her worst days. The one who had always known how to pull her back from the edge.

She had told him everything. About Jaehyun. About the way she felt.

And the night she found out she was leaving, he had held her while she cried.

"What am I supposed to do without you?" she had whispered, voice raw with heartbreak.

Jungwoo had smiled—a sad, knowing smile.

"You'll figure it out," he had said. "You always do."

But now, as she stood here, ripped away from the life she had built, from the people who made her feel whole—she wasn't so sure.

The night she found out she was leaving, she had tried.

Tried to call him. Tried to text him. Tried to reach him in any way she could.

But Jaehyun was nowhere.

Her messages went unanswered. The calls rang and rang before going straight to voicemail.

She had never felt more helpless.

Maybe he was avoiding her. Maybe he had already decided that it was better this way.

Or maybe... he never even saw her messages at all.

Either way, the silence spoke louder than words ever could.

And now, it was too late.

(Y/N) clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fought to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

She had already lost the battle.

Daeho shifted beside her, his gaze lowered to the ground.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. His voice was quiet, but the weight of it was crushing.

(Y/N) swallowed hard, turning to look at him, her throat burning.

"This isn't your fault." But even as she said it, they both knew it wasn't true.

If Daeho had never fallen into that spiral, if he had never overdosed—maybe their parents wouldn't have made this decision. Maybe she wouldn't be standing here, forced to leave behind everything.

"I should've been stronger," Daeho admitted, his voice cracking. He finally looked at her, eyes glassy, full of regret. "I should've handled things differently. Maybe then—maybe you wouldn't have to go."

Her lips trembled.

"I don't want to go."

Maybe if things had been different... Maybe if Daeho had been okay... Maybe if Jaehyun had answered the phone...

Maybe she wouldn't be standing here, saying goodbye to everything she loved.

The driver asked them to get in the car politely.

It was time.

Daeho gave her a small, broken smile.

"We'll be okay, right?" he asked.

(Y/N) swallowed hard.

"I hope so."

She turned, took one last look at the house, at the city beyond it.

At the life she was leaving behind.

And then she got in the car.

She didn't look back.

Because if she did—she knew she wouldn't be able to leave.

The car hummed steadily as it rolled down the street, the low sound of the tires against the pavement oddly comforting in the midst of the storm inside her chest. (Y/N) leaned her forehead against the cold window, watching the city slip away from her, each passing building another piece of her life she was leaving behind.

Her throat was tight, her chest aching as the weight of it all settled deeper inside her, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. She couldn't escape the feeling that everything she had loved, everything that had ever made her feel like she belonged, was being ripped from her. It felt like she was suffocating, the air heavy with the bitter taste of regret.

Beside her, Daeho stared out the window too, his expression empty, like he'd already gone somewhere far beyond the confines of the car. He hadn't said a word since they left, and neither had she. There was nothing left to say.

But the silence, deafening as it was, didn't give her any peace.

Her mind drifted to the night before. To the phone calls she had tried to make, to the desperate messages she had sent, to the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, Jaehyun would answer.

But nothing.

His silence felt like a slap in the face. The unanswered calls, the unread messages—it hurt in a way that felt wrong, almost cruel.

She felt stupid for even thinking it, but part of her couldn't help it. Jaehyun had been so close. They had shared something real, something that had burned so brightly she thought it could survive anything. But now it felt like a distant memory, a dream she would never wake up from.

If she could just talk to him, tell him everything—tell him she was sorry for leaving—maybe things could have been different. But she would never get that chance now.

Her fingers tightened around her seatbelt, her mind spinning with all the things left unsaid.

The car had been quiet for what felt like hours, the air inside thick with unspoken words, with tension that neither of them seemed to know how to break. The city was far behind them now, the skyline a distant memory in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the horizon. And the weight of it all pressed down harder with each mile.

(Y/N) didn't look out the window anymore. She couldn't. There was no point in watching the city she loved disappear. It was as though the farther she went, the more she faded from it.

Daeho shifted beside her, his face still pale from everything that had happened. He hadn't spoken since they left the house, but his presence next to her was a reminder of everything she was leaving behind. Everything she didn't want to leave.

The Range Rover pulled into the airport parking lot, the sudden noise of it startling in the midst of their silence.

It was real now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing in her pocket. Her heart skipped. Jaehyun? She quickly pulled it out, fingers trembling as she unlocked the screen. It was a message, but from Jaehyun? She swallowed hard and tapped it open.

It wasn't from him.

6:45 am - Jungwoo— have a good flight, bestie. I promise to visit you once you settle down.

"Are you okay?" Daeho's voice was soft as he stood beside her, watching her face, sensing the tension that held her in place. She nodded, though the anxiety bubbling inside her made her feel anything but okay.

She forced a smile, not wanting him to see how fragile she really was. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She didn't mean it. She wasn't fine. She hadn't been fine for days, weeks, maybe even longer. She missed Jaehyun more than she could put into words. But right now, standing at the edge of her own escape, all she could feel was the silence. He wasn't there. He wasn't answering, and she didn't know why.

She clenched her fists at her sides, willing the tears back. She couldn't break down now, not when everything was finally set in motion. Not when she was leaving it all behind—her family, her life, her love.

(Y/N) took a deep breath and walked toward the gate, feeling as if each step was a small betrayal of everything she cared about. She had been waiting for a sign, for something to pull her back, to tell her that Jaehyun was still there, that he wasn't completely lost to her. But the silence remained, deafening, suffocating.

It was too late.

She reached the boarding gate, her stomach twisting with every passing moment. And still, no call. No message. No word from Jaehyun. Just the bitter emptiness that had taken root in her chest.

She looked down at her phone again, scrolling through her contacts, her thumb hovering over Jaehyun's name. She could try one more time. She could reach out again, maybe this time, he'd pick up. Maybe he'd explain. But she didn't.

She couldn't.

Every time she reached out, it felt like he was farther away.

The plane was waiting, the final call ringing through the terminal, and (Y/N) stood frozen in the silence that felt like it was swallowing her whole.

As the plane took off, rising into the morning sky, (Y/N) looked out the window, a deep ache consuming her. She was leaving, yes, but it didn't feel like freedom. It felt like loss.

And Jaehyun? She didn't know where he was. What he was doing. All she knew was that he was no longer reaching out.

Her heart was still tangled in a web of longing and regret, but she knew one thing: she needed to survive. She had to.

And when the time came, when the distance between them was finally bridged, she would find herself again.

But for now, all she could do was walk forward. She would take the first step toward healing, even if she didn't know where it would lead her.

And she prayed. She asked the Universe to let her find a way back to him.

— In this lifetime.

a/n: NOT PROOFEAD! Okay, yes this is the last chapter— I'M SORRY. I know it's pure angst. I KNOW, but fot what is worth it, WE STILL HAVE THE EPILOGUE LEFT. Which i'm gonna post it between tonight or tomorrow morning. It might be the final chapter here— but we still have a part left, so what do you think it'll happen? I'm promise it's not that bad. I wanna see what you think so far, so you can leave a comment or talk to me here. I want to specify that (Y/N) doesn't know what happened to Jaehyun, so maybe that leave us some hope for the epilogue? read the epilogue here.

taglist: @peachfulnight @gojoscumslut @bluedbliss @dear-97 @girlwholovespreppyattire @hana-off-icial @cigarettesafterjae @bts-iris @dojaejung @methneo @kriizztin @mrsuhnshine @pieddpiperr @completelyjae @kanekisheart @daegalismybiasinnct @spicyryujin@dear-97

idk why some of the tags just don’t work out! but we still gonna see each other later or tomorrow for the epilogue!

Feel free to send any asks here if you want!

54 notes · View notes

justpan · 3 months ago

Text

Title: Unwilling Bride (Finale!!!)

Summary: Will Peter win his last game with (Y/N)?

Pairing: Peter Pan x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33

Felix was always a very simple guy to understand, he had simple morals and simple needs; in conclusion to being simply understood he was also very intense.

Intense in all his actions and beliefs.

That was why he was Pan’s right hand man, he believed in Pan as if he were a God made of flesh. Pan had gotten Rufio, his very first and very best friend killed, but even if Felix never forgave Pan for not avenging his friend he would always be loyal. Because Pan had saved him, saved him from starving and rotting in the streets of Oz.

So even now, as the Lost Boys were beginning to complain of hunger pains just like the boys in the orphanage, Felix would follow Pan’s orders.

One last game.

Felix didn’t like the phrase his leader had used when he first began to lay out his plan, or at least the part of the plan he wanted to share. Pan almost never fully divulged his plans to anyone other than his own speechless shadow.

He had been given very specific directions to the cottage that (Y/N) called home and as he trudged his way through the forest his heart was heavy.

(Y/N) had been his friend, she had been Rufio’s love and now he was on a mission that made him work against his own personal wishes.

Just as Pan promised the cottage was there in a clearing and (Y/N) was right there in front of it, she had a bow and arrow and appeared to be training her aim by trying to hit leaves as they fell from dying trees.

‘Getting a bit slow there Mother.’ he said as he entered the clearing, being sure to keep his hands up and his palms exposed as he approached.

As expected she turned with frightening speed and aimed her arrow directly at him and her eyes were hard.

‘Felix, been a while.’ she said.

‘Ten or eleven years, not too long I think.’ he said casually, still keeping his hands up.

‘Why are you here, Felix? I know you didn’t find this place alone, what instructions did Pan give you?’ she said quickly, keeping her weapon raised.

‘No instruction, I’m not here to fight you, I just have a message. What you do with that message is up to you entirely.’

She looked untrusting but her curiosity had clearly been peaked by the prospects of a message from the one person on her hit list.

‘What message?’

‘He wants to see you, face to face on Skull Rock. I don’t know his plan past getting you there. I swear that to you.’

‘I believe you Felix, Pan doesn’t tell anyone anything.’ she sighed as she lowered the bow.

‘He does miss you though, he doesn’t need to tell anyone that. It shows in his every move, we all miss you at camp.’

‘Does he miss Rufio? Does he even speak about him?’ (Y/N) asked sharply.

Felix looked down and was surprised by the speed in which (Y/N) had reached his side.

‘I’m sorry, I was taking out my anger for Pan on you and it was wrong. I know you lost a friend in Rufio’s murder the same as I lost a love.’

‘I did, and we have lost so much since.’

At his words he saw her eyebrows come together in worry and confusion.

‘Come inside, we will talk more there. You can tell me how my boys are.’ she said as she led him towards her home.

‘I can tell you that now, they are all hungry and miserable.’ Felix said as he followed.

(Y/N) opened her door and let in her first ever guest.

Felix glanced around with at least mild interest in the modern setting he found himself in, but he was clearly searching for something.

‘Where is the kitchen? Is there food?’ Felix asked.

(Y/N) pointed to the kitchen door and followed behind Felix.

‘I’ll start you off with a sandwich but I’ll make a full dinner for you too, enough for you to take back to camp.’

‘A sign of good faith?’ he asked as he sat at the table and watched you move around the kitchen.

‘Concerned friend, I told you I had no grudges with you all; I would never make any of you choose between me and Pan. I will help you all whenever you need me, but I will have nothing to do with him. I will not see him on peaceful terms, the second he is in my sight I’m going to kill him.’

‘Then don’t look at him, but he needs to speak with you. I will not return to camp until you agree. I complete my task every time without fail.’ Felix said seriously as he dug into the sandwich that was placed in front of him.

‘I know your commitment to following Pan’s orders but this time he gave you an impossible task, I will not meet him for any reason in this world or the next. If he has information that he thinks is vital to me then he can send you with that message, other than that I will have no communication with him.’ (Y/N) said firmly as she went about cooking a large pot of beef stew.

Felix watched her move her hands elegantly around as she summoned ingredients from thin air.

It had been so long since Peter had performed any magic for the camp that Felix almost looked amazed.

“Keep your mask up Felix, she must not see through you.” Pan’s voice rang in his mind and he kept his face indifferent.

She began to chop the vegetables and a mild uncomfortable silence settled in on the pair of reunited friends.

‘What has been happening at camp?’ (Y/N) asked, breaking the silence.

‘There are no animals for us to hunt, and we certainly aren’t getting our pirate supply anymore. The island is living on borrowed time, I’d say we have less than a year before it’s inhabitable.’

He watched tensely as she stilled her movements and processed the bad news he had delivered, it was obvious that things were going just as Pan was hoping.

She would battle her hate for him with her love for the Lost Boys and because she was good the love would win.

With a large and visibly fuming sigh she threw up her hands in defeat.

‘When?’

‘As soon as you can get there, he’s there now waiting for you. I urged him to bring provisions but he refused, he can go longer than most without food but not forever (Y/N).’

She scoffed and went back to her cooking and conjuring and began to gripe the same way she always had in Felix’s company.

‘If he thinks threatening to starve himself will push me to hurry then that’s his mistake. He can rot for all I care.’ she hissed as her movements became less graceful and more aggressive.

‘I will get there at my own pace.’ she said firmly.

And not surprising, to Felix at least, she stuck to her words and cooked for nearly four more hours. While she waited on the food to get ready she made more and more sandwiches.

Felix did his best to keep their conversations as pleasant as they always had been back when the boys spoke of the infamous “Happily Ever After” finally making its way to Neverland.

He gave her all the gossip that he’d thought she’d have found entertaining and she told him how she stayed sane all by herself out here.

It was only after she had been reduced to showing him her crafting projects that she gave in to the fact that she had no other reason to procrastinate her meeting with Pan.

‘Take the whole pot I enchanted it to stay full no matter how much you take out. It should last a few days. Tell the boys not to fight over it.’ she directed.

Felix took the pot and held it with both hands.

‘Thank you; I don’t know what Pan is planning and I don’t have the mind to guess what the outcome could be, but thank you. You were more than a mother to me, you were a friend…the only one I have left now.’ Felix said before his common sense could shut his mouth.

‘You were my best friend too Felix.’ (Y/N) said back, but her face was already beginning to show suspicion.

Soon (Y/F/C) smoke engulfed his body, when it cleared he was back at the camp and just that fast the boys were swarming the pot he was holding.

Back at your little cottage you stared at the spot where Felix had been mere seconds ago, distrust still written all over your face.

Felix was your best friend, and he knew more than he claimed he did; and whatever he knew he didn’t like it.

Sure he kept his mask on the whole visit and that was how you knew something was up, because when he actually relaxes Felix is an open book.

Pan was planning something, but it didn’t matter; you promised to kill him and you meant to keep that promise.

Deciding it was better to get this done quickly, you quickly transported yourself to the cave on Skull Rock.

It had been decades…maybe even centuries, but it was just as it had been the first and only other time you’d ever seen it. The same skull shaped stones and the same giant hourglass.

The hourglass was the only thing that showed any sign of time passing at all here, it had been about half full when she first saw it but now it was getting very close to empty.

Almost entranced by it you stepped closer to it, looking at your reflection in the curved glass, you took in the details of the hourglass. Its golden carvings and the unnatural light it gave off in the complete darkness of the cave.

This hourglass ruined your life.

This stupid fucking hourglass that was the hellish timer of Peter Pan’s life, the fucking hourglass he used your love to refill.

‘Of course it all ends up here.’ you scoffed to herself.

It all started here didn’t it? Pan wanted to live forever and to do that he needed strong undying magic, and love is the strongest magic in all the classic fairy tales. He snatched you, an unloved military brat with no friends and no real social skills away from your home to use your feelings.

Feelings he always knew would arise in you, no matter how you looked at it you had been used and manipulated by Peter since the very moment you had met him. It was Stockholm syndrome outright.

He’d kidnapped you and made you love him.

Movement in the reflection of the glass made you snap out of your own head long enough to see that Peter was on the other side of the hourglass, watching you through the glass.

‘I’m glad you came.’ he greeted.

‘I came to kill you.’ you said coldly as you conjured a sleek and sharp dagger into your hand.

‘I know, but you said you’d kill me if you saw me again. All I see is glass.’

‘The glass is see-through.’ you said as you began to walk around the hourglass.

‘And once I walk around I’m going to see you directly.’ you continued.

‘I was hoping we could have this chat without the old trying to kill me game.’ Peter said as he began walking as well, keeping a pace that kept him out of your direct view while keeping eye contact through the glass.

‘I thought Peter Pan loved games.’ you snarled.

‘He does…but I am not Peter Pan.’

At that you finally stopped circling the hourglass.

‘What?’

‘This is the last game I want to play with you. This last real game I can truly control, win or lose. It’s going to be a game where you make a decision after I tell you something.’

‘What will you tell me?’

‘Everything, and after if you don’t want to stay by my side I will grant you safe passage off the island…before it is too late.’

For a long moment it was quiet as you thought over what Pan had offered.

An explanation, and a choice. Two things that could do nothing to change or justify what had happened but you had craved those things so long you couldn’t imagine turning either of them down.

‘Who are you if you’re not Peter Pan?’ you finally asked.

You watch the boy on the other side of the glass visibly sigh in relief.

‘My name was Malcolm, when I was a boy I would dream of flying in Neverland. This island was the most beautiful and perfect place to be. I would cry all day in anger at being away from it, but I got older and suddenly I couldn’t come back.’ He started, his eyes leaving yours for the first time as he looked at the opening of the cave dreamily at the grim island.

‘If you had seen it then, when the pixies still tended the tree and everyone could fly for as long as they wanted…to lose it overnight. I couldn’t stay a boy forever and the island isn’t too fond of grown ups. I was miserable in adulthood.’

Adulthood?

‘I drank, I stole, I gambled…I had a child.’ he continued.

‘You have a kid?!’ you gasped out right, unable to mask your surprise.

Peter, or should you call him Malcolm, nodded in shame.

‘A son, a little runt that always needed something that I had to do heinous things to provide. Following after me whenever I went to do anything for myself…like a vulture coming to feast on the corpse of my life.’ he snarled.

This time you flinched at the amount of hate and revulsion that came out in the way Peter said those words. It wasn’t him being dramatic or overly emotional, he genuinely had hate for his son.

‘But my son did do one good thing for me in the end…not by choice of course. He was my ticket back to this place.’ he said as his reflection blurred through the glass.

You watched in near horror as Peter aged before your very eyes. He was no longer the blonde boy you were once so attracted to or even the demon boy who had watched Rufio’s killer walk free.

You couldn’t stand it, you needed to see it clearly. Before you could stop yourself you were running around the hourglass to finally see him head on, but the second you met his eyes your feet were nailed to the cave floor.

He was a man now, a middle aged man with a hairline that was beginning to recede and a beard that was graying.

His clothes seemed to have aged as well, they were suddenly ragged and the color faded in random places as if they had been worn long past their best days.

‘This is the man who chose to trade his son for eternal life and youth, the man…’ the man stopped as if he was fighting against the words trying to come out of his mouth.

‘The man who is terrified of growing old and dying, above all else I don’t want to die (Y/N).’ the old man said, looking pleadingly into your eyes.

It was in that instant you saw him in those eyes, Peter’s eyes.

How many times had you gotten lost in those eyes while the two of you practiced your magic, or while you laid next to each other in bed.

‘I know that you hate me…I know I deserve your hate, but please understand that I never wanted any harm or hardship to come to you. You were everything to me from the second I met you, hell even before that.’

‘Why? Why me? Why was I the one you chose to love?’

The old man reached into his raggedy pants pocket and pulled out an ancient looking folded parchment and handed it to you.

‘I drew this when I was sixteen, truly just a sixteen year old boy in the Enchanted Forest, I used to draw in the daytime when I had no chores. No one modeled for me and I had no inspirational muse in my mind, but I drew this.’

You looked at him as you took the parchment, studying him now that he was this close; it felt so…wrong. This was wrong, this old man couldn’t possibly be Peter Pan, Peter couldn’t be this man. This man was old and heavyset, he even smelled older.

You turned from him, choosing to inspect the drawing he’d handed you instead, unfolding it carefully as to not rip the fragile old thing. Once it was fully spread out you found yourself looking down at your own face sketched almost perfectly in thick charcoal lines.

‘What the hell?’ you gasped.

‘Being a gambler, and a pretty bad one at that, I couldn’t hold on to many personal belongings. For some unknown reason I could never part from that drawing, I traveled with it, I kept it in my hidden pockets when I slept. Even when I jumped into the portal that brought me back to this island with my son this drawing was in my boot.’ Malcolm started to explain.

‘Imagine my surprise when I went to the shadow and asked if there was a way to keep the hourglass forever full, only for it to tell me that it had answered that question a long time ago.’ he finished.

‘You’re talking destiny and- and written in stars type of nonsense.’ you said in disbelief.

‘How did you find me? If all you had was this drawing, how did you find my house in Texas?’ you questioned.

The old man let out a breath of unamused laughter.

‘I wondered how I would find you too for a long while, but thankfully you made it easier.’

‘How?’

‘You felt unloved. That’s the easiest thing for the shadow to find, it had a large area to search; a lot of realms, but it found you. When I first saw you on the beach it felt surreal, like meeting an imaginary friend in the flesh. Of course the girl you turned out to be was not the meek little thing I had imagined, you were far better than I could have dreamed and I loved you more than I knew how to.’ He answered.

Your head was spinning, all of it was too much for you to process. The most inconvenient thing you’d had to deal with for the last few years was unsuccessful art projects, now you were looking at past memories and wondering how much of it was prophesied.

‘I need you, (Y/N). Beyond that I love you, and if you will have me then everything will be as it was. You and me, the camp, the Lost Boys, the mag-’

‘Rufio? Will he be as he was?’ you interrupted, your head suddenly clearing.

‘I could have forgiven the divorce, I could have forgiven a broken heart and tear soaked pillows; but I will never forgive that. I won’t forgive you letting them go, no matter who you are. Peter, Pan or Malcolm, Rufio put his life on the line for you and he lost it.’ you said looking up at him through watery eyes.

‘I couldn’t avenge him, and I regret that but I need Wendy alive, we could live without the extra food, but without her the plan would have fallen apart. I have to keep this island alive (Y/N), I have to. I can’t do that without either your love or the heart of the Truest Believer; I want to do it with you and with love. I don’t want to do it by ripping out my great grandson’s heart.’ Malcolm tried desperately to explain.

‘Your great grandson? He is the Truest Believer?’ you gasped in astonishment.

Peter had never told you the full details of his back up plan to keep the glass full after he’d ended things, and in all honesty you hadn’t wanted to know. You never imagined he had to spill blood; you never dreamed it would be his own blood he would have to spill.

Then again you never thought he had any blood to spill to begin.

You had met him as a teenage boy on a make believe island where time stood still. Why would you think he had a child? That the child had a grandchild he has been willing to kill this whole time?

‘Yes, he is the product of light and dark magic and he believes twice as hard as anyone else because of it. He is the back up plan; with his heart in my chest the glass will never empty, the magic will be strong again.’

‘And your great grandson would be what exactly? Roaming around the island with no heart in his chest!’ you yelled in sudden frustration.

‘My God! Even now! Here and now, as you are pleading with me to come back you are willing to kill another innocent boy! I don’t want to be near you Peter or Malcolm or anyone who is willing to watch others die for their own gain!’

‘I never claimed to be a saint.’ Malcolm replied.

‘You claimed to be the leader of the Lost Boys!’ you screamed in a rage as literal decades of frustration boiled over.

‘A leader they followed and respected! They followed you into battle without hesitation because they were thankful for the home you provided! They followed you, Rufio followed you! You put your stupid plan before the lives of every boy at camp! A plan you never would have needed if you had just had the sense to speak openly with me!’ you shouted as hot tears streamed your cheeks and a lump formed in your throat.

‘If you had just been-I never would have loved him! I wouldn’t see him bloody and broken in my dreams every night.’ you said around sobs as you tried uselessly to wipe away your tears.

‘(Y/N).’

It was Peter’s voice.

You looked back up at him and took in his face, the same boy you met on that beach.

He reached out to touch you, but you backed away, remembering the old man he really was.

‘Don’t.’ you said firmly.

‘I loved you Peter, the hourglass was full, the magic was strong; you ruined it. You dragged me here like a mythical monster, made me fall in love with a lie and broke my heart. Now you are considering killing your own family to do what I had already done for you, what good man does that?’

‘I am not a man (Y/N), I was never meant to be. I am Peter Pan the boy who can never grow up, that is who I am. Malcolm, that disgusting old man was just what time wants to turn me into and I hate him. I hate him and his life and responsibilities, all I care for is-’

‘You. All you care about is you Peter Pan…and I didn’t know that until right now.’ you interrupted.

‘Please, all I care for is the home I have created with you at my side. Just allow me the opportunity to regain your trust and love.’

‘No; you lose this game Peter.’ you declared.

A look of stunned horror crossed Peter’s eyes as the words hit his ears.

‘I was unloved at home, I can admit that; but I know what love is and what it isn’t. It’s not lying, it’s talking to each other about the future, it’s trusting someone with all your secrets and dreams. You didn’t trust me then, and I don’t trust you now.’ you continued.

‘You promised safe passage off the island if I didn’t come back to you. I want to go home.’

In the magical light of the hourglass you saw a lone tear slide down Peter’s face, but then the watery eyes hardened.

‘You would leave?’

‘Even if your horrific plan plays out the way you want, why should I stay? I’m not coming back to camp and I’m not coming back to you. I had the best times here once, and with time standing still I thought the best times would never end, but they did. They ended when you ended us, new good times came with Rufio…and that time has ended too.’ you replied with finality.

‘There can be better times!’ Peter shouted, seeming to finally lose his composure.

‘You would leave this paradise?! Leave the magic you’ve mastered, the Lost Boys?! Me!?’ he raged.

‘Yes, and you shouldn’t have offered me a way out if you weren’t ready for me to take it. You’ve made a promise and I expect you to keep it…unless your word is meaningless.’

‘Don’t test me! I’ve broken promises a plenty (Y/N).’

‘If you don’t keep this one, I will make good on my promise to you.’ you said, holding up your dagger and pointing at him.

Peter took a deep breath and let out a sigh that sounded so tired only an old man could have let it out.

‘Fine.’ he said angrily as he reached into his pocket.

He pulled out something small and glowing green.

‘A magic bean, rare in every other realm; but I had sent my shadow to retrieve one as soon as I mastered my magic. He found one and I planted it; these beans are how I physically travel from realm to realm at ease.’

‘Magic beans? Like Jack and the Beanstalk?’ you asked with mild doubt.

‘Take it, think about where you want to be and how it makes you feel. Once you have it, throw it on the floor and jump in before the portal closes.’ Peter instructed, his tone rough and impersonal as he offered the bean to you.

With caution you took the bean and examined it, it was certainly not an edible bean. It felt like a smooth crystal between your fingers and appeared to be completely clear aside from the swirling green smoke that was inside of it.

‘Just think happy thoughts.’ you said under your breath, remembering the old Disney movie.

‘Were you truly so unhappy? Even if you don’t come back to me or camp. Why not stay in that cottage, why do you have to leave? I can still fix this.’ Peter tried again, this time the desperation poured out of his voice.

‘How can you fix it? By fixing the island, by killing your family? The fact that that is even an option to you is why I have to leave. I can’t stay here if I know an innocent boy had to be butchered for it.’

‘Then come back, don’t make me kill him.’ Peter begged, taking hold of your face as tears again filled his eyes.

‘God, do you hear yourself? If you really don’t want to then don’t, but don’t pin that decision on me. It's your beloved island, it’s your family and your choice to make. As much as I’d wish you’d make the right one, I know that you won’t; but I’ve already made mine.’ you said as you stepped away from him.

‘(Y/N) please… I love you. You felt it in every kiss we shared. I don’t want you to leave the island, if you do I may never be able to find you again.’

‘Could you come with me then? If it is really my love that is important to you, and not just the hourglass.’ you offered bitterly.

You knew the answer, but when Peter couldn’t even meet your eyes you scoffed in disappointment and disgust.

You put a good amount of distance between yourself and Peter and looked him in the eyes as you threw down the bean.

As soon as you heard the soft thud of the bean hitting the stone floor a glowing green soft ball size hole appeared. It seemed to suck the very air into itself because suddenly it felt as though you were being pulled into a black hole.

As the wind seemed to grow stronger the hole was widening.

‘(Y/N)!’ Peter yelled over the rushing winds and the crackling noise of strong magic.

‘It doesn’t have to be this way!’

‘It didn’t!’ you agreed, speaking to him for the last time.

With your breath held and your eyes closed you bent your knees and jumped into the glowing green portal.

It felt like jumping into a freezing cold pool but you were sure there was no water, you looked up at the opening of the portal and saw Peter.

He stood there at the edge, looking at you disappear; even now he still chose his island and power over you.

Soon the opening began to shrink, and before you knew it Peter was gone.

The horrible cold went on for a few more seconds before she was suddenly slammed onto something soft, but the landing was so hard it left you winded.

You gasped and coughed as you tried to catch your breath.

As your breathing steadied you began taking in your surroundings.

You were in bed, in your old room back in Texas. Everything was just as it always was. Posters of your favorite musicians on the walls, laundry hamper in the corner by the computer desk. Military school paraphernalia decorating the bookshelf.

‘I’m really home.’ you gasped as you sat up.

‘(Y/N)!’

You hadn’t heard the voice in what must have been a century at least, but you recognized it even before the door was nearly ripped off the hinges.

‘Sargent!’ you said, instinctively standing and saluting.

But to your absolute surprise he did not reply, at least not verbally.

For what felt like the first time your father wrapped his arms around you in an honest to God hug. Not just a hand on your shoulder or a pat on the back while delivering an award, a real bone crushing hug of a worried father.

‘We were so worried. It’s been months, we’ve been looking for you.’

‘I’m sorry…Dad I didn’t think you would worry.’ you apologized as you returned the hug.

‘Your mother is still putting out your missing flyers, dammit girl where have you been?’ your dad asked as he looked you over for injuries.

That was when it all sank in, you were home, your parents had cared; if they loved you here, Pan would never be able to find you again.

No more Neverland, no more magic, no campfire dancing; the realization of it making her cry that much harder. It was all over.

‘I was in the wrong place…I was with the wrong person.’

#ouat #ouat imagine #hook ouat #peter pan imagine #peter pan ouat #peter pan x reader #felix ouat #Lost Boys #reader x rufio #final chapter #unwilling bride series

90 notes · View notes