#He keeps his limbs close and appears uncertain and a little lost.

[pianokantzart]

I don't know if it was intentional or just a coincidence, but the shot of Luigi from behind standing in front of the warp pipe reminds of the first poster we got for the movie that shows Mario from behind as he looks at the view of the Mushroom Kingdom in front of him

Huh, look at that.

I do not think it was intentional, but if it was... well played! Because it is very fitting considering the vastly different experiences they had during the film.

[jakebark]

<< previous thread | @ask-the-dweets

Jake’s consciousness flitted in and out as he was released, picked up and transported. For the most part, he was a lolling dead weight, unmoving even where he was left on the ground. Even after he roused from his unconscious state, he was unmoving. His eyes opened and warily assessed his surroundings, but that gave him no answers. There were trees. Same as anywhere else in this hellish fog.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, with no way to tell and no way to know how many times he’d drifted back into unconsciousness, before he finally had the strength to move again. His body felt exhausted and sore, his hands still hurting and his wrists feeling raw from the restraints, but it wasn’t the… worst pain ever. Moreso just the stiffness of overworked muscles and joints, than any pain he would expect to linger from the serum. The most noticeable, piercing pain was still in his spine, where he’d been injected. But even that was… tolerable, in a way he almost felt it shouldn’t be.

As he slowly pushed himself onto his elbows, and then his knees, and then, unsteadily, further up, he couldn’t help the cold dread that crept into his heart and up his throat. He had been injected with the blight—with the same thing that turned killers into monsters. Had turned Fancy into… that. But it hadn’t seemed to do anything. He looked down at his shaky hands; the one he had bit down on to break was stained with blood mixed with glistened gold, but that was it. No monstrous claws, no undulating tumors, no glow of vibrant veins beneath his skin. Just… his hands, injured and scarred and a little bloody, but otherwise normal.

He started walking very slowly, aimlessly at first. He thought about going to camp. That would be his best bet, remaining alone until he was snatched up for a trial and hoping death could reset whatever had been done to him… but his thoughts wandered. Grew distracted. They settled on Fancy, on Icarus. His stomach turned; he needed to let Fancy know. He needed to warn them.

The Fog coalescing around him wasn’t an entirely intentional choice. He was still heavily dazed and walking slowly, off-balance and uncertain of his own footsteps, but his focus didn’t need to be where he was walking. The Fog rose up to meet him, consuming before it cleared away again as quickly as it had appeared, and the woods looked no different. Jake knew where he was, and he followed the golden light of the campfire in the distance.

Exhaustion wore at him. The campfire was close enough, but it still felt so damn far. He couldn’t even properly see the clearing yet, and it had nothing to do with the fogginess of his vision. He groaned and paused, leaning against a tree for a moment so that he could get his bearings. Jake started to try and raise his voice to call out to Fancy, or any of them really, but his voice died in his throat. He couldn’t muster up the breath to shout.

“Fuck,” he breathed softly, closing his eyes and resting his head against the cool bark of the tree. Nauseating vertigo hit him and he swayed, grimacing uncomfortably. It was getting harder to keep his balance—and then he lost it entirely, slipping to the ground after a stumbling step, muscles loosening and contracting in all the wrong ways. He was on his hands and knees for a few moments before those gave out too.

An exhausted whine left him, rattling in his throat. His limbs would barely listen to him.

God, he was so close.

[heejinnien]

bts | roses chapter three

word count: 3.0k words

pairing: bts x reader

synopsis: y/n is a member of the seoul behavioral analysis unit. usually, she’s the cat in the typical game of cat and mouse played with the criminals they catch, but when a mysterious string of murders has her on edge, she discovers she’s caught the attention of one of a dangerous criminal — and he’s determined to make her pay for it.

or, not all attention is the good kind.

genre: horror, angst

warnings: yandere themes, descriptions of gore, descriptions of violence, murder, the reader carries a gun because they need to defend themself against bad guys, guns, manipulation, victim blaming, this is overall just a very dark fic

author’s note: originally, i was going to end this series at this chapter; however, i think it makes the most sense to end this chapter where i did. note that i updated the rosses masterlist according to my new plans for roses. as always, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask or dm, or just let me know your thoughts! i would be happy to explain things to you, and i would also love to hear your feedback or who you think is suspicious. as always, adhere to the warnings and do not read if any of those things trigger you.

roses masterlist

You pace the length of the ER’s waiting room, chewing your bottom lip nervously.

The rest of your team is assembled around you in various states of being, the same gnawing worry that you feel reflected on their features. Jungkook sprawls listlessly on an overstuffed armchair, Jimin stares stoically at nothing, Hoseok holds an angry staring contest with a potted poinsettia, Namjoon speaks furiously into his phone, and Jin buries his face in his hands, fingers tugging at the locks of his hair. You have never seen your team look so despondent, so heartbroken before, and the sight makes your heart wrench.

The sound of footsteps cause your head to snap up.

“Agents.” A kindly looking woman gives you a sympathetic smile, eyes raking in the various states of your team. Her white lab coat signifies her status, and your heart jumps at the sight.

“How is he, Dr. Chou?” You ask, reading the ID card pinned on the doctor’s coat.

“Please, call me Tzuyu.” She clears her throat, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “Dr.  Taehyung had a lot of bleeding, both internally and externally, and, quite frankly, it’s a miracle he didn’t bleed out on the way here.”

“Was all of the bleeding from the stab wounds?” Namjoon asks, managing to retain his professionalism and composure despite the fact that it’s Taehyung that you’re talking about.

“The external bleeding was,” Tzuyu confirms. “The internal bleeding was due to damage to some of Dr. Taehyung’s organs. It appears that whoever attacked this young agent also beat him, causing this damage.”

The thought of Taehyung — sweet, loveable Taehyung — being beaten and stabbed by the unsub your team has been trying to catch makes your head swim. Your hand shoots out, using the wall to hold yourself up, to hold yourself together. You feel Jungkook stand, resting a hand on your arm and murmuring something consolatory, but it feels as though nothing can take away the deep ache that has formed inside of you.

Tzuyu continues talking, but you can’t bring yourself to care. After all, who gave you the right to be here, alive and well, when Taehyung lies on his possible death bed?

“All I can say is, it’s lucky you found him when you did, Agent Y/N.” Your name from the doctor causes your attention to return to the current conversation, the crashing guilt pushed aside for a moment. “Much longer and Dr. Taehyung may have bled out.”

Tzuyu gives you another sympathetic smile, before gesturing behind her. “I have to return to work, but you’re welcome to visit your teammate. Unfortunately, there’s no way to tell when he’ll wake up, but we’re hoping for the best.”

Namjoon gives Tzuyu his thanks as you attempt to process the doctor’s words. Jungkook’s hand is warm against your skin, and you’re sure if it wasn’t there you would be lost, ungrounded from the world.

You’re a federal agent, for God’s sake, so why can’t you pull yourself together?

“Y/N.”

Your head snaps up as Namjoon calls your name, eyes coldly appraising you. His face is expressionless, but Namjoon subtly threatening to remove you from the case rings in your head. You notice that sometime while you were lost, drowning in your uncertainties the rest of the team stood from their various positions around the waiting room, faces grim. They gather around you and Namjoon, waiting to hear your leader’s next move. Now that your attention is focused on him, Namjoon clears his throat, no trace of any emotions except professionalism apparent from him.

“Y/N, Jimin, and Hoseok, I would like you to remain here. Jimin and Hoseok, run through a cognitive interview with Y/N and see we can determine anything that might indicate as to why the unsub attacked Taehyung. The rest of you will come with me back to the station. We’re going to be working similarly on the unsub’s motives, but we’ll be using the evidence we’ve gathered so far to see if we can link it to Taehyung.”

Your teammates nod, the team’s usually determined energy following the command of orders now subdued. Jungkook squeezes your shoulder reassuringly before following Namjoon out of the waiting room, Jin giving you a small smile and following suit. You stand after they’ve gone, shifting awkwardly. You’re too embarrassed by your unprofessionalism, by the way that this case has affected you when the rest of your team seems to be keeping themselves level.

“I know after everything doing a cognitive isn’t exactly what you want to do right now, but…” Hoseok’s voice trails off as he and Jimin stand beside you, uncertain.

“I get it,” you say, giving Hoseok a tight smile. “It’s all part of the job.”

Jimin motions for you to take a seat on the overstuffed armchair Jungkook had vacated earlier and you do. Tension seeps through each of your limbs, and Jimin notices, grabbing one of your hands and sitting across from you.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. We’re right here with you,” Jimin says reassuringly.

You swallow dryly, nodding. Your free hand taps against your leg, and your back is stiff as you sit as straight as a rod. You close your eyes, exhaling, and force yourself to return to when you found Taehyung.

“Walk us through how you stumbled across Taehyung’s body,” Hoseok says, voice sounding from your right. You nod, swallowing quickly.

“I stayed late to review the case files. It was getting late, and I knew that the team had taken the rest of the unit’s vehicles so I was looking on my phone for a rideshare service app.” You pause, taking a shaky breath. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I remember pushing open the doors to the station, and I had only made it a few feet when I tripped. I remember falling forward, and when I regained my bearings I noticed that my hands were coated with blood.”

You swallow harshly, free hand clenching into a fist. “You’re doing great, Y/N,” Jimin coos, rubbing his thumb idly against the back of your hand. You force yourself to count to ten before continuing.

“The first thing I noticed was a foot, and that the foot was attached to a leg, and I followed it upwards until I saw… Taehyung. He was unconscious, and there was so much blood everywhere.”

“Can you remember anything specifically about the scene?” Hoseok asks gently.

“I just remember the smell of all that blood.” You choke out. “I think it was still seeping out when I found him.”

“So he must have been attacked not too long before you found him, then,” Jimin assumes.

“What was Taehyung doing at the police station?” Hoseok presses. “Did you hear anything from him?”

“No, I thought he left with you guys,” you say, frowning.

“He did, but when we heard that Taehyung had been attacked and we went to drive here, one of the vehicles had been taken,” Jimin supplies. “He must have taken it to get back to the station, I’ll call Namjoon and see if the vehicle’s there.”

You furrow your brow in confusion. What was Taehyung doing at the station that late at night? 

“Surely you know something.” Hoseok says, voice infused with a cold undertone that you can’t detect. Your eyes snap open in disbelief at his statement, and Hoseok coldly appraises you, as if you’re lying.

“I’ve told you everything I remember,” you say defensively.

Despite your refusal, Hoseok continues, coiled like a snake about to pounce on its victim. “Maybe you called Taehyung back to the station so you could attack him because he knew something you didn’t want us to find out. The unsub has taken an uncanny interest in you Y/N, why is that?”

“Hoseok, enough,” Jimin stands, his chair rubbing against the hospital’s floor loudly. The sound makes you wince, and Hoseok pounces on the sight, striking.

“Everyone thinks you’re this perfect little angel, Y/N, but why don’t you tell us the truth? I bet you enjoyed hurting Taehyung, feeling his bones break as you beat him repeatedly. You try to act innocent, but sweetheart, I can see right through you.”

The gleam in Hoseok’s eye is feral, sadistic. Jimin shoves him backwards angrily, but the action is drowned out as you’re lost in the anger in Hoseok’s eyes.

You feel so small, so powerless, and something inside you snaps.

“Go to hell, Jung Hoseok,” you hiss, shoving past your teammates. You don’t care where you’re going as long as it’s away, and you swipe furiously at the angry tears that have fallen. You ignore Jimin’s cries for you to come back, your feet on autopilot as you shove open doors and storm down unfamiliar hallways. 

Somehow, you find yourself on the hospital rooftop. It’s still dark out, and a soft breeze gently wraps around you, ruffling your hair and slipping under the edges of your clothing. It calms you, and you wander to the rooftop’s edge, leaning against the iron railing wrapping around the rooftop’s length.

Since it’s the crack hours of the morning, the sound of traffic is dimmed. Neon lights and gentle hues paint the city skyline, and it feels peaceful.

You used to be naive until you joined the NIS. You didn’t believe that people were capable of such vile and despicable things, and most of all you hadn’t known the true depths of the evil that reside in the city, in the world, unless you had seen everything that you had. You don’t think you can ever get used to the sadness you feel whenever someone innocent loses their life, the disgust or horror you feel whenever someone commits a heinous crime.

The soft creak of a door being pushed open pierces the night’s tranquility. Quiet footsteps sound behind you until you see a familiar profile from your peripheral lean beside you. You aren’t ready to speak, to face the reality that is outside the peacefulness you’ve constructed for yourself here, and so you are content to remain, unwilling to break the fragile silence.

“It’s beautiful up here,” he says finally, and his voice drags you back to reality, forces you to accept the truths of the world all over again.

“It is,” you say honestly. “It makes you forget the horrors that happen down there on the streets.”

He hums noncommittally, and you wonder what’s going through his mind. Out of all of your teammates, he always seems to be the most collected whenever you hear news that makes you want to vomit, the most unflinching when when trying to reason with the most depraved souls, the most calm when you hear that yet another innocent life has been taken.

“Things won’t always be like this, you know.” He says, pulling you out of your once more spiralling thoughts. “I was like you, at first. There will always be bad guys, but it gets easier.”

You shudder at the thought that one day, the loss of an innocent life may not bother you anymore, may not matter as much as it should.

“I hope not,” you admit, and you know it’s true. You turn, scanning the face of your teammate for any traces that he feels the way you do. Jimin’s face is unreadable as he studies you in return, pain and frustration filling the void between you and melting away to tenderness and care.

“For your sake, I hope not, too.”

“Let’s review our profile.”

Your team gathers around the conference room table, grim expressions adorning their faces. Taehyung’s vegetative state weighs heavily on your minds, and you’re all blatantly exhausted. You feel powerless — usually you’re the cat in a game of cat and mouse with your unsubs, but this time you’re the one being preyed on. Namjoon speaks from the head of the table, pinning crime scene photographs on a bulletin board behind him as he speaks.

“So far we know our unsub is calculated, controlling, and sadistic. They’re most likely a he due to the strength required to subdue the victims, as well as the violent nature of the wounds inflicted upon each of the victims.”

“We also know he loves taunting us, which factors into his control,” Jin adds. “He took a huge risk using lamb’s blood and leaving roses — both of those could have easily been traced back to him.”

“But they weren’t because he’s smart enough not to get caught, which speaks to who he is,” Hoseok chimes in. “Maybe he has some sort of criminal background.”

“He chose high risk victims,” Jungkook says, clearing his throat. “Speaks to his confidence in his abilities.”

“For the first few victims he dyed their hair,” Jimin adds, confirming Jungkook’s statement. “He used excessive overkill when he murdered them, and then dumped their bodies in alleys to be found.”

“The coroner confirmed the victims had been dead for at least twelve hours by the time they were found, but each victim went missing a few days before then.”

“He even sent me notes directly, which means he wants us to feel that he’s in charge.” You stare at the mahogany table as you speak, Hoseok’s gaze burning. You refuse to meet his gaze, instead choosing to flicker your gaze between your other teammates as you speak. Hoseok’s accusation still rings in your head, and you’ve refused to speak to him since then. Your other teammates have noticed the icy distance you’ve kept from Hoseok, but nobody has dared to mention anything. “He’s toying with us, this is all a game to him.”

“Yet he said it was our fault, as if he’s telling us we’re supposed to stop him,” Jungkook says. He nods once in your direction — brief, but you know that it is his way of showing you support. The action causes a warmth to spread through you, as if he has helped you to gain footing in a tumultuous storm.

“As the unsub murdered more victims, he got sloppier. The stab wounds were less deep, which is probably due to the decreased amount of time the unsub kept the victims for.”

The sound of a phone ringing cuts Jin off, and Namjoon turns, pulling out his phone in one motion and setting it on the table, saying, “What is it, Yoongi?”

“So, I was doing some digging and apparently the cardstock that each of the notes were written on can only be bought online from a specific retailer.” He snorts, and the sound of typing fills in Yoongi’s silence. “Our unsub has expensive taste, I’ll say that. That cardstock is not cheap. So, I tracked the most recent shipping to an abandoned apartment complex, and, get this, the address also had a bouquet of roses sent to it recently.”

Your heart races as Yoongi’s words register. Around you, your team is already in action and you struggle to keep up, shoving your case file in your bag and checking that your gun is holstered.

“Thanks, Yoongi,” Namjoon says, already grabbing his phone and turning on his heel. “Let’s get this guy.”

“Hey, Taehyung.”

You stand by Taehyung’s bedside, staring at your teammate’s broken and listless form. The steady beeping of a monitor sounds in time with the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the smell of chemicals makes your nose burn. Taehyung’s cheeks are hollow, sunken, and his skin is ashen. You grab your teammate’s frail hand, fighting the rising sadness within you.

“I stopped by to tell you we’re going to capture the person who did this to you.”

Your voice cracks, and you quickly swipe at the moisture forming at your eyes. The sight of Taehyung’s listless body makes your heart break, and anger and pain rush through you. “Jimin and Jin are waiting in the car, but I just had to see you first. I’m so sorry that this happened to you. It should have been me, not you.”

You close your eyes and fight to breathe, your inhale shaky and ragged. You force your feelings down, wrestling them away. You’re so focused on evening your breaths that you miss a slight rustling, miss the feeling of the hand against yours pull away.

“Y/N?”

You gasp as a familiar voice calls your name, your eyes snapping open. Taehyung moves, head lilting from side to side. His eyes flutter, and he groans.

“Taehyung, oh my god.” You quickly move closer. “How are you — ”

“I was on my way to tell you it’s someone on our team.”

Taehyung’s confession is like a splash of cold water, dousing you. You blink your eyes rapidly, trying to process his statement.

“What are you talking about?”

Taehyung opens his mouth to respond and is cut off by an intense bout of coughing. He doubles over, the beeping of his heart monitor increasing in frequency. Your hands flutter as you panic at the sight, unsure what to do.

“I’m going to go get a nurse — ”

“Stay.” Taehyung’s hand shoots out unnaturally fast, capturing your wrist and halting your movements towards the door. He turns his head as he lets out another cough, his grip not loosening for a moment. “I have…to tell you…about what I found.”

As Taehyung speaks, his voice loses its power. His grip on your wrist weakens, and he leans back against his bed, groaning. His eyes flutter closed as he lets out another cough.

“Taehyung?”

You receive no response, and you shake Taehyung’s hand desperately.

“Taehyung, please, I can’t do this without you,” your voice cracks as the realization that Taehyung has left you once again hits you. You close your eyes as a single tear escapes. You count to ten slowly before opening your eyes, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to Taehyung’s forehead.

“We’ll catch the person who did this, mark my words,” you vow, turning on your heel and storming towards the vehicle where Jimin and Jin are waiting for you.

Whatever happens next, you’re ready. And you’re determined to make someone pay.

send me an or dm if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist!

tagging: @kassrole​, @hoebii​, @biaswreckme​, @taegularities​, @moccahobi​, @scarlet2007​, @deepdarkdelights​, @birbdae​, @mieohmy​, @samros95​, @ggukkieland​, @glossiestrawberry​

[morihaus]

Dawn

The loss of Aldmeris came swiftly and without warning. The whole of the land shook beneath the Aldmer, interrupting the comfortable routine of their lives and forelives, snapping the spirit-mer out of their reverie and rememberance of the dawn.

Bolts of light punctured holes in the bright golden sky, leaving dark voids in their wake. The nobles, the most divine and wise of them all, made calls to all their kin to flock to the harbors, to crowd onto the great ships, to be safe with their pilots and protectorate sorcerers.

The decision was rapidly reached, though not made lightly: they must flee their homeland, Old Ehlnofey is lost to the earth-splitting storm and the swell of the ocean. And the people wept, for not all could board in time; and the people wept, for they had lost their home; and the people wept, for they were afraid, who could say what fate awaited them beyond their waters?

Trinimac, Knight-Champion of Auri-El, stands aboard one of the greatest ships of Aldmeris, beside its pilot, beside the High King, and beside at least a hundred scared Aldmer, huddled together and cowering behind the protective barriers of the spellcasters. His footing is unsure on the deck, for he has never been fond of the sea, and if ever a sea were to take him under and swallow him hole, it would be the roiling dark waves which the vessel now navigated.

A terrified family are within his grasp, a couple and their two children under one arm, his other wrapped around the thick pillar of the mast to keep them righted. Kneeling in the space between the god and the mast is King Aurthelel, divine son of Auri-El, who trembles and clings to his knight protector, his face pale and uncertain, his composure broken for the first time in several centuries.

He looks to the pilot and sees her arms trembling as she keeps hold of the wheel, knuckles white as the rains whip around her and the waves crash against her ship. Two more mer are helping her keep steady, heeding her as she barks orders and assisting in righting the wheel. The ship hits a large wave and for a moment seems to soar over the water- Trinimac tightens his grip on the mast and holds the frightened elves closer to his breastplate as he feels his feet leave the floor, hearing cries of panic all around him- before crashing back down with a massive splash, dousing everyone on deck with frigid ocean water and knocking many of them to the floor. Trinimac holds fast, gritting his teeth and bending down to keep the wailing children dry. Their father whispers assurances over and over between prayers to Auri-El, weeping and holding them close with their mother. The embodiment of the golden god is shivering and hacking up a lung full of saltwater. He offers nothing to the family. It's unclear they even know who they stand beside.

People are pounding at the doors to be allowed below deck, but the lower decks are full to burst with both passengers and crew, trying to mend cracks in the hull and huddling together in fear. It feels scarcely better to be below than above.

The pilot's haggard voice cries out: "UP AHEAD, LOOK!!! SWING PORT, SWING PORT!" Eyes gritting for lack of a helm, Trinimac casts his gaze in front of the ship. What appears to be a massive cyclone stands before them, a towering spiral of wind and water, lightning crackling at its head. His body tenses as he spots what looks like an eye, then another, then another, until the head of the cyclone is lit by a hundred tiny circles of light. He feels the ship rolling beneath him, fighting the waves to try and turn away, but they only seem to raise higher now as they're being pulled to the foot of this storm- this entity.

A massive limb of rippling magic shoots forward from the cyclone, crashing down towards the ship as a hand swats a fly.

The pilot screams again. "BRACE YOURSELVES!"

The ship, almost by chance, rolls to one side, but the near-miss takes affect as it crackles through the water, sending the ocean bright blue and surging a massive wave forth, hitting the ship with such ferocity as to turn it completely on its side.

The pilot and her assistants are able to right it just so in midair, a combination of the turning of rudders and powerful force spells. But they scarcely have time to be thankful, even after the ship lands once again- another wave of cold water soaking everyone aboard the deck- Trinimac looks and sees the eyes of the cyclone turn to face the ship, now doing its best to roll and rock along a path away from the storm. It retracts its limb of light and then raises it again.

"Hold on to the mast." Trinimac quickly says to the family, as well as his liege, and at once he turns and runs to the stern. His gleaming silver boots thud against the wooden floor, and as the ship rolls unpredictably, he almost trips in his haste. But he leaps, almost glides, to stand behind the pilot, who cannot spare the time to look over her shoulder at him. He levels his blade, Penitent, and his shield, and glares up at the limb of the many-eyed giant. "COME THEN!" He yells, his divine voice cutting higher than everything else. "MATCH BLADES WITH ME IF YOU DARE!!!"

The limb descends with greater haste, provoked by his demand. He reels back his sword arm and, with such strength as had never been needed in Aldmeris, cleaves straight through the massive hand, lopping it off at the wrist.

A horrible howl emits, more than just the wind of a storm, and a huge pulse of energy sends the ship skimming forward at a much greater pace. Trinimac is blown clear over the pilot by the force of impact, thudding against the deck below.

As the ship continues on its path, the storm subsides. The sky and sea settle, the clouds part to make way for the golden sky again- but it is not golden, as it always has been on Aldmeris, but deep red, and the great light hangs lower than any Aldmer could ever remember seeing it.

"What- what has happened to the sky..." A young boy asks.

None could answer him, they had no knowledge of this. None but Trinimac, stood again, offering aid to the wounded passengers.

He looks down to the child, who shrinks away at the bare face of the knight, sharp tusked and horned, yet radiant with a light that now seems a dim requiem for their home. "The sun sets here." He wears a frown as he scans the horizon. Nothing but a dull blue sea. Yet he knows where they must be. "We are in Mundus."

Gasps ring out from the few not still in shock. Many cannot bring themselves to believe it. "We... we are in the trap?" One woman asks. "The lie of the doom drum?" Many huddle closer to their loved ones, scandalized by the words she dared utter.

Trinimac only nods.

Silence overtakes the mer on board. The red sky slowly darkens, and again, the Aldmer are scared. None of them have ever lived in a changing world, a world where light fades, where summers set. Little dots of light give them some peace, they slowly fill the sky as the sun made way for them, a procession of sorts. Many distracted themselves by trying to count them all.

This is interrupted by the arrival of more objects in the sky. A girl looks up, eyes wide, and screams.

Everyone quickly looks to see, and now there is only stunned silence.

Many shake and tremble at the terrible sight in the heavens, others begin to sob, some scowl and curse the doom drum and all his wicked works, for it is he who delivers this revolting vision of horror and fear.

Trinimac feels bile in his throat. He turns, for he cannot bear to see the moons.

The Dawn is forever lost. The sky is full of corpses.

[rhydium]

fuck it starfinite drabble

its 12pm n i haven't slept, @ the two (2) other fans of these dumbasses come get yall juice ig ???? played around w/ a concept i had n figured i'll just ... post it. why not. this takes place in my android infinite au, pre-relationship!! u don't rly need context other than that tbh ((but feel free to ask me abt it i will gladly infodump))

cw: loss of limb (infinite's arm; it gets reattached), references to blood n stuff in the context of intrusive thoughts. please lmk if i need more!!

×

"what on earth were you thinking?" starline near shouts, his voice exasperated, shaky with adrenaline. he's angry and he's afraid and it's, it's stupid, really, he can fix this, but his hands tremble as he rummages through his toolbox, eyes darting over to infinite; missing their right arm, wires sparking, broken and it's sickening. he has to look away again. breathe.

"you can't keep... you — you're being too reckless!"

"i don't have much other choice." infinite says, so simply, so infuriatingly calm, so calm, such disregard for the fact they just had a limb blown off.

starline finds the last screwdriver he needs, but continues to sift around, poking and prodding and inspecting wrenches as if he's still looking for something. if he stops that means having to face this and he isn't ready — he needs to, but he can't.

"why?" he asks, ignoring the way his voice cracks, swallows the dry lump in his throat, "why, infinite?"

"is it really not obvious?"

starline grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut. his hands grip the edge of the box. "no!! it isn't!"

"i can be repaired. rebuilt. you can't. it's not that complicated. if one of us gets hit then logically it should be me."

his chest seizes as the words sink in, sink through his skin and down, down, down into his stomach like a stone; his gut churns and twists with guilt.

no... no, that's —

"that's stupid!" starline hisses. that self-sacrificing, idiotic...!

he whips around, locking eyes with infinite, don't look at their arm, don't look at it, don't look at the socket.

"don't speak like that. ever again."

whether it's his expression, his tone, infinite seems taken aback, almost appearing to flinch. they stare at him, frowning, though in a way more indicative of confusion than anger.

"like what?"

"like you're disposable!!"

...fuck.

there's a long moment of silence after starline's outburst. he pulls in a deep breath, pinches the bridge of his bill, averting his eyes to the floor, anywhere else, anywhere but infinite. he thinks about apologising — he shouldn't have yelled like that — but infinite is, this can't continue, they're being nonsensical, they keep endangering themselves, it can't.

"i... you just don't get it, do you?" he murmurs, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair. a small, strained laugh escapes his throat, voice thin. "do you have any idea how it makes me feel, watching you get hurt like this?? throwing yourself around like some kind of — like a living shield??"

he's not going to cry. starline is not about to cry.

"you... could have died." infinite says quietly. "all those times, and today, if i hadn't stepped in — for you those blows would have been life changing, if not fucking fatal. do you know how that makes me feel, star?! i can't let that happen. it's so easy to just, imagine you laying there, not moving, the blood, and..." their fingers — god, the ones they still have — twitch restlessly. infinite picks at their claws.

starline can hardly restrain the choked noise that fights its way out of him.

they're doing this for him, to protect him, this is all his —

"it's not your fault." infinite speaks firmly, as if sensing his thought process. "but objectively..." they wave a hand, sighing, "you know? this doesn't even hurt me."

"it hurts me." starline exhales through his nose wearily. "emotionally."

"i'd rather you be a bit emotionally distressed than dead," infinite scoffs softly, "let me repeat; the damage i take isn't permanent or painful. you, on the other hand, are one accident from being... i don't even want to imagine it."

"then what am i supposed to do?!"

"be more careful and i won't have to get involved." infinite shrugs.

starline groans.

"why does it bother you so much?"

"are you kidding?!"

the lack of response would point toward no, apparently.

"because i care about you, you absolute fool!"

infinite falters for a moment.

"...but. i'm not in pain. i can be fixed. what are you afraid of?"

starline gazes at them wordlessly.

i'm afraid one day i won't be able to fix you.

i'm afraid i'm going to lose you.

i'm terrified of losing you because i love you but you don't know that and you can't know that.

"...star?"

"i — look, forget it. i just, i don't want to talk about this anymore, i need to repair your arm."

"you're hiding something."

"aren't you perceptive..." starline can't help but mutter.

"are you okay?"

does it look like it?

"i'm fine."

"could at least put a little effort into it if you're going to lie." infinite mumbles.

"would you just...!" starline takes a deep breath. "be quiet. please."

infinite briefly opens their mouth as if preparing to protest, but ultimately falls silent. they look away, absently staring off at the far window.

starline grabs his tools. he just... has to focus on work. this will probably take a while, he realises. it's easily the most damage infinite has ever taken — at least during their time with him. he's worked with robotics a long time, but infinite is a highly advanced android, and they require extra care, presicion.

infinite's shoulder sparks again. they don't react.

"...you really don't feel anything, do you?"

infinite raises a brow.

oh. right. i told them not to talk.

they shake their head, and starline nods, uttering a quiet "sorry."

no reply.

"can i... start the repair?"

"...you're not just going to go ahead and do it?"

"no. never. listen, i've made habit of asking for your consent and i have no intention of breaking it. it's your body."

"...i don't mind."

"alright."

starline supresses a sigh and begins to tackle the rather daunting task of fixing up and reattaching infinite's lost arm, which has been laying motionless on the table for the past ten minutes. despite the lack of blood, absence of stench, as would be had if infinite was organic, it's still disturbing somehow. he shivers at the thought of dealing with dismembered flesh, of muscle and bone, and finds himself suddenly a lot more appreciative that infinite is an artificial being.

despite the knowledge infinite can't actually feel any of what he's doing, starline proceeds slowly, gently. regardless of whether they can feel it, their body deserves to be treated with respect. he fiddles with their wires delicately between his fingers, turns bolts and adjusts joints with only as much firmness as necessary, apologises when he has to snap certain supports back into place. now and then, he glances at infinite, who looks oddly tense, contemplative... uncertain.

"are you... uncomfortable?"

"what...? no, i... i told you i can't feel it, didn't i?" they say distantly.

"well — yes, but, what about mentally? are you alright...? do you want me to stop? i'm sorry that these procedures are so... invasive, and it probably, after —"

— no, no, what are you doing don't bring that up —

"...ah. nevermind."

infinite blinks, as if processing his words, and then their expression shifts in understanding.

"you're fine. i mean, this is.... i'm fine." they affirm.

"...okay."

"i mean it. it's... you're nothing like him."

there was once a time starline would have found such a statement insulting. nowadays, he can't be more relieved infinite thinks as such. he adjusts his glasses and continues tinkering away, figuring he won't get much else out of them, at least for now. whatever is on their mind, he'll let it be. the rest of the repair goes smoothly, time passing in a silence that is isn't uncomfortable, nor fully comfortable. he can't help but feel bad about the... was it an argument? he isn't sure, really. maybe that's what infinite was thinking about...?

as he wraps things up, closing the last panel on their forearm and preparing to request that infinite run through a few tests to make sure everything is working correctly, they finally speak; though it isn't anything starline was expecting them to say.

"you could destroy me," infinite utters softly, and they just kind of... look at him, something in their eyes that starline can't put a name to. "if you wanted to. you could rip me apart from the inside."

"i... guess i could." starline murmurs, his fingers lightly trailing over the panel, hidden beneath infinite's fur, the only sign of its existence being several small ridges and the bump of a screw head. "does that scare you?"

infinite smiles. "it's terrifying." they reply. "to allow myself to be so vulnerable... to — to want to let my guard down."

starline blinks in surprise.

to want to...? they want to let me in?

"then why...?" he tilts his head curiously. his hand stills, but lingers where it is.

infinite shrugs loosely. "it's you."

oh.

starline, don't you even think about it, that isn't what they mean...!

he clears his throat awkwardly.

"er... is that... supposed to explain it?"

"it's all i've got." infinite replies. the small quirk of their lips broadens a bit, and they chuckle. "sorry."

...starline finds himself smiling back.

god, he's tired, the past hour has been immeasurably draining, but... this, this makes it all worth it. seeing them like that... it lifts all the stress, the anxiety. he feels lighter.

"thank you."

"huh?"

"for trusting me. i know it... must take a lot."

infinite shifts their hand — the one that hadn't been damaged — and hesitantly, very slowly reaches over. they look between starline's hand still resting on their inner arm, just above the wrist, starline's eyes, his hand again, and starline goes to withdraw — but before he can do so, infinite places their own over it.

"thank you." they whisper. "for treating me kindly. for treating me like... a person."

starline's breath catches in his throat. oh god, he cannot mess this up. infinite never — they never initiate contact like this, ever. he can't scare them away, he knows it's difficult for them to be touched, let alone how much faith they're showing in him to touch, and he will not squander all their progress. nothing will ruin this moment.

"you are one."

"...i care about you too, star."

"i — what?"

"you said earlier that you cared about me. i care about you too," they elaborate, a flicker in their eyes, this time something starline recognises, as quickly as it's hidden again; fondness. a very specific kind of fondness that... no — he isn't sure if he's imagining this or not. he has to be. surely, he's making it up. wishful thinking, seeing what one wants to.

"...a lot. more than you know." infinite finishes.

starline gazes into their eyes steadily, searching, trying to find it again. infinite stares back, almost like they're looking for something, too. oh, how easy it would be; to lean down, move in, to kiss them, but starline is not going there. he has no confirmation infinite likes him like, well, that and, it would be far too fast even if they did. not to mention he certainly wouldn't do it without asking.

"...you're hiding something too, aren't you?" starline settles for asking vaguely.

infinite's eyes widen slightly, then glitter mysteriously, amused.

"aren't you perceptive?"

[damienthepious]

owo please have a fic comprised of 90% tender touching

Less Like A Deadly Weapon

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Rilla, Lord Arum

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Early Relationship, Post-Episode: s02e36-41 Second Citadel - The Battle at World's End, Facial Shaving, Trust, (lots of tender touching tbqh)

Summary: Sir Damien asks for a little bit of help with his grooming, now that he is no longer too busy charging through the wilds on a desperate rescue mission to bother with something as mundane as shaving.

Notes:my work life has continued to be trouble, but i've wanted to get this one out for a while now! hope y'all enjoy, kiss a lizard, et cetera, i love you! title from the song Sword by IAN SWEET.

~

There are not all that many mirrored surfaces within Lord Arum's Keep. The lizard is a proud creature, certainly, but he is apparently not afflicted with that particular breed of vanity. They've been recuperating for a few days already (the first two tucked safe in a hidden outpost in the swamp, the latter inside Lord Arum's enormous, living home) before Damien happens to finally notice, leaning over a cupped leaf of water that the Keep has provided as a washbasin, that he looks-

Not terrible, really. Rilla has taken great care to treat his injuries, and the Keep has within it a fascinating system of running water with which to bathe, and Damien has slept more soundly these last few days than he has in... months, perhaps? He thinks he may have lost track, somewhere in the darkness of his pursuit. He does not look terrible.

He does look somewhat unkempt.

He thinks he lost the tie for his hair... possibly while stuck upon that impostor slug? No great loss, he supposes, and his hair is clean now even if it hangs in loose waves, tucked behind his ears. The shadows beneath his eyes have mostly faded, scratches and bruises softened by Rilla's careful treatment and a little bit of time. But his face- well, he has gone rather a bit beyond stubble, at this point.

He hasn't shaved, by his estimations, since the morning the Festival of the Three began.

On the proverbial (literal?) warpath while traveling with Sir Angelo and the others in turn, he hadn't had a mind for much beyond finding Rilla. He hadn't a mind for anything, really, and taking care of his appearance was certainly not among his priorities, beyond splashing his face when his fury heated his cheeks, or when he needed to wash away some fresh tears or lakeside muck or specks of ash. His straight razor remained packed away for the entire journey.

(He remembered it, once or twice, along the way, in those too-brief moments of rest. He remembered, but he did not reach for it. He did not want to take the blade into his hand, truthfully. It is not shaped at all like anything made for combat, but still the edge sang and resounded through Damien's memory, he couldn't take the shaft into his hand, could hardly look at it without hearing that hissing voice in his mind, couldn't bear the echo of like a butcher, little knight, treat it with some respect-)

(That particular memory feels somewhat different, now, than it did then. Warmer, perhaps.)

Well. He supposes he should take care of the situation, now that he may finally slow down enough to do so.

His arm is an issue, of course. That pig managed to break his dominant limb, whether in luck or in strategy Damien dare not guess. He could attempt the task with his off hand, but-

Rilla has instructed him rather fiercely not to overexert himself, while they nurse their wounds together.

And, frankly, Damien needs little excuse to request his flower's soothing hands upon him. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that Rilla has assisted him after such an injury, after all.

She agrees with a grin the instant he broaches the subject, one of her hands teasingly on his lower back as she all but shoves him towards the washroom.

"Oh, Saints, yes. C'mon, I miss that pretty face of yours," she says brightly, and Damien feels himself flush as she lovingly manhandles him to sit by the washbasin. "I wanna see it again."

She nudges him to sit back, drapes a warm damp cloth over the bottom half of his face and then presses a kiss to his temple for good measure, making his eyelids flutter closed in pleasure. She plays with his hair for a minute or so after that, chattering enthusiastically about the understanding of the Keep's aqueduct structures that she's managed to glean so far, and then she starts working up the lather as she speaks instead. Damien tries not to mourn the lack of her hands upon him; he knows they'll return soon enough, after all.

Arum finds them when Rilla is nearly done working the foam into his softened beard, his expression wary and uncertain as Rilla greets him with a cheery wave.

He eyes Damien with curiosity, and from his position leaning back in his seat with Rilla's hand pressing to his clavicle, Arum's attention makes Damien feel more than a little exposed.

"Dare I even ask?" the lizard murmurs, his tone a perfect mixture of amusement, irritation, and confusion as he gestures at- well, at the entire scene laid out before him, Damien supposes.

"Damien needs a trim," Rilla says warmly as she finishes swirling the lather below his jaw on one side, and then she tilts his face the other way to finish up. "And he decided to be a good boy about it and actually ask for help instead of trying to muddle through on his own with just his non-dominant arm."

"Is that why you look so- so smug about it, then?" Arum asks, arching his brow imperiously even as his eyes draw over the brush and the razor and the bottles of oils and creams and balms with inquisitive attention.

"I like when Damien lets me take care of him a little bit," she croons, and Damien makes a small, warbling noise of protest, looking up at her with pleading eyes. She meets his gaze with a grin, though, utterly unfazed. "It means he's not overexerting himself. Plus, he just deserves to feel pampered now and then, don't you think?"

She shoots her sharp eyes towards Arum, and the lizard looks vaguely startled for a moment before he glances towards Damien again, a light growl rumbling in his chest.

Damien swallows automatically as he locks eyes with Arum, and then the monster's expression softens, and he steps closer, his curiosity clearly getting the better of him.

"Of course he does," Arum agrees in a murmur, and then he tilts his head. "I should mention, however... what I am gathering, here, is that you lot can, in fact, take off your hair."

Rilla pauses as she sets the brush back into the cup of lather, and then she scowls at the monster while Damien blinks in confusion.

"Okay," she drawls, "technically, sure, in the same way that you can trim back your claws and have them grow back eventually, but it's still not the same as just taking off your damn cape and washing it when someone playfully gets antifungal spray on it-"

"I feel as if I may be missing some context," Damien murmurs, and Rilla rolls her eyes as Arum chuckles low.

"Not important," she says, waving a hand absently through the air before she settles beside Damien again and lifts the razor into her hands. She angles his jaw with her other hand, then presses her fingers beside his ear as she angles the blade, and a few feet away Arum makes a small, confused noise.

Damien blinks, and Rilla pauses to glance towards Arum as well. His eyes narrow at the attention, but his frill still flutters uncertainly by his neck as he watches the pair of them with clear confusion.

"Part of your grooming routine involves scraping a blade against your skin, now?" he asks, dubious, a flash of alarm in the violet of his eyes, and Damien feels affection thrum hot in his lungs as Rilla gives a gentle laugh at the lizard's expense.

"Very, very carefully," Rilla amends. "But... yeah? Pretty much. We could just trim it back, but Damien wants a proper shave, so."

"Hrm," the monster says, obviously unconvinced as his eyes narrow further.

"Do you wanna help out?" Rilla asks, drawing her hands and the razor back away from Damien's skin altogether, and Arum blinks, the dubiousness in his expression instantly replaced with a flustered sort of panic.

"Ah- well, I- certainly I should- should leave it in your hands, I think, Amaryllis, I don't-"

"It's not that hard," Rilla says, her tone casual and easy. "I know you're good with a blade."

His frill swoops, half-flaring out before it sinks to flutter by his neck, almost distracting from the way Arum's face twists into a wince. "Not in this particular context, Amaryllis," he says quickly. "I- I am not adept in using a blade to do anything except to draw blood, I-"

Rilla leans towards him, taking his wrist gently in her free hand and rubbing her thumb soothingly across the scales over his pulse. He makes a small noise at that, a gentle whirring at the back of his throat as the tension in his shoulders eases just a little, and then Rilla presses the handle of the razor into Arum's hand, her mouth curling into a smile. "C'mon. You'll be fine, I promise."

"Amaryllis-"

"It's alright," Damien says gently, his face feeling rather hot beneath the lather. "You- if you are uncomfortable, clearly you need not... you should not feel that we are forcing you. I would-"

"You are not forcing anything, honeysuckle, it is only-" Arum snaps his mouth shut, then glances down at the razor in his hand suspiciously, as if it might misbehave. "I don't... it is only that it seems... a rather large degree of... of..."

"Trust?" Rilla finishes after a moment, her tone surprisingly gentle, and Arum jerks his eyes up towards her, his expression going entirely still.

Damien's ribcage feels too small, his heart wreathed in heat as he recognizes the nervous tension curling the corners of Arum's mouth. Trust-

Of course it is rather a large choice, to press a blade into the hands of a monster, to close his eyes and bare his throat and simply trust.

It is as large a choice as a monster tossing his own blades aside into the mud, hoping that the human in front of him will choose to stay.

"Rilla can show you," Damien says, keeping his volume low so as to prevent his voice from shaking. "I have seen your clever fingers work, Lord Arum. I know that you are more than capable of the task, if you would be so kind as to offer your assistance."

He glances towards Rilla, and she flashes a warm sort of grin in agreement and nods quickly. "You can just watch, if you're really, actually not comfortable. I know I can be pushy, but Damien's right. I wouldn't want to-"

"If- if you think that I..." Arum trails off, then exhales a vague hiss. "If you- trust that I can. That I won't- won't..."

"I trust that I can teach you what to do," Rilla says with a shrug and a smirk, but her eyes are fond and warm as Arum gives her a look that Damien would describe as a pout.

"I trust you," Damien offers, smiling very slightly and lifting a hand to brush his fingers down the scales of Arum's forearm. "I know you'll be careful."

"I have cut you before, honeysuckle," Arum reminds, his voice soft enough that Damien cannot quite pluck out the feeling beneath the words.

Damien smiles, curling his fingers around Arum's wrist and drawing it closer. "Once," he says, his voice quite low. "Only once, and I know that you would never willingly do so again."

Arum's eyes flick between his own, vivid and soft, and then he exhales with a hesitant sort of smile, his chest rumbling with that low, inhuman purr that Damien is growing very quickly to adore.

"Ridiculous," Arum murmurs, unconvincing and fond, and then he sighs and raises his eyes towards Rilla again. "Very well. Show me, then."

Rilla grins again, something of the fox in the curve of it, and she guides Arum's hands to gently angle Damien's head.

She instructs him firmly and carefully, her hand curled around his own scaled one and guiding for the first few strokes, showing the lizard the proper way to hold the blade, the correct angle, the slow downward stroke, and Damien-

Both of their attention so keen upon him feels like too much altogether, the intensity of their eyes making his heart hammer fast in his chest, and after the first stroke of the razor he allows his eyes to slip closed. Rilla's fingers tilt his face gently where she needs, and then Arum's cooler, more delicate touch supplements her own intermittently.

Rilla guides Arum more directly to outline the shape of Damien's goatee, and then again when they tilt his head back to draw the razor down beneath his jaw, her low monologue of instruction both methodical and gentle. Arum, for his part, remains mostly silent with the exception of small noises of acknowledgment, accompanied beneath by his subtle rumbling purr as his uncertainty fades.

Damien blinks his eyes open when Rilla maneuvers him forward to rinse his face after the first pass, and then she shows Arum how to lather him for the second, meticulously explaining each step as they go.

Damien watches Arum's face this time, utterly enthralled by the depth of the focus readily apparent in his expression as he draws the blade so utterly careful against Damien's skin.

Arum only notices his gaze just as he is about to finish, and the monster exhales with a worried flick of the tongue before he glances towards Rilla, a silent inquiry that makes her smirk, and then she reaches to grip his wrist again to help him with the finishing touches.

Arum leans him forward this time to rinse his face ("Cold water for this one," Rilla chirps helpfully), and then Rilla gently pats the balm into his cheeks, leaning close enough to place a playful kiss on the tip of his nose, making both himself and Arum laugh in tandem.

Arum helps him to his feet, then, and he reaches up carefully, ghosting his hands over Damien's newly bare cheeks without quite touching him, his expression utterly focused, utterly enraptured.

"There you are, honeysuckle," Arum murmurs, and then he brushes his thumb gently down the stripe of hair left on Damien's chin. He repeats the motion with a subtle smile, and this time Damien kisses the pad of his thumb, and the monster exhales in surprise. "Ah-"

"Thank you for the assistance, Lord Arum," Damien whispers against Arum's scales, and the lizard flicks his tongue before he slips his hand further up, cupping Damien's cheek properly.

"Yeah, no kidding," Rilla says with a grin, clearly enjoying the way that Arum's frill flares with his embarrassment. "Thankyou."

Arum wrinkles his snout, but his expression softens again when Damien lifts a hand to cradle Arum's own against his cheek. "I... yes, I- I suppose it wasn't all that difficult, after all. With proper instruction."

"Told you," Rilla chimes, still smiling, and then she leans to press a tender sort of kiss to Damien's other cheek, humming lightly.

"And... you didn't mind, honeysuckle?"

"Mind?" Damien repeats, and Arum ducks his head, his frill fluttering again.

"Rather- it doesn't- it isn't a bother to have me- to have us-"

Damien laughs helplessly, utterly baffled that Arum might think he would find his and Rilla's assistance a bother, and then he pulls Arum's hand down, so he can cradle it in both of his own and press it over his heart instead.

"Oh," he says, trying to sound less breathless than he feels. "You- oh, Arum-"

Arum makes another flustered noise, glancing away with the folds of his frill flushing a darker purple. "Honeysuckle-"

"My only concern is how completely overwhelmed I feel to have the attention and hands of yourself and Rilla both so intently upon me, all while I cannot even speak my heart for fear of impeding your delicate care, my darling monster, oh-"

Rilla laughs fondly at his rambling, and Arum blinks for a moment before his frill settles again, his expression going pleased and embarrassed both.

"Well..." he says slowly, and then he presses his palm more firmly over Damien's heart. "That explains this racing, here, I suppose, if our attention... overwhelms you. I was concerned that you- that you- were afraid I would- cut you."

Rilla snorts incredulously as Damien exhales a pained noise, and then he leans forward, still holding Arum's hand to his chest as he presses his face into Arum's neck.

"Oh-" he feels his throat going tight, and he shakes his head lightly against Arum's scales to fight the feeling back. "Rilla is right, you are completely absurd, Arum- I-"

"We trust you, Arum." She folds her arms over her chest, giving Arum a fond, exasperated smile. "I thought that was pretty obvious by now? Saints but you're dense sometimes. I know you trust us, or we wouldn't be here in the Keep, so why wouldn't it be mutual?"

Arum growls, glaring at Rilla over Damien's head, and then he sighs, lowering his face so he may press his own cheek against Damien's, flicking his tongue out beside his ear before he murmurs. "Old habits, I suppose. It is... hard to believe my good fortune, at times, with the pair of you."

Damien tilts his head to the side, kissing Arum's jaw, and then his cheek when the lizard exhales a pleased little breath.

"Well," Rilla says warmly, "maybe you'll be used to it by the next time Damien needs help shaving, yeah?"

Arum raises his head again with a laugh, and Damien feels Rilla's hand drift down his back as she leans to kiss Arum over his shoulder.

Arum lifts his hands to Damien's face, then, tilting his chin up so he may grace Damien with a kiss as well, the thin scaled line of his mouth pressing against Damien's lips with delicate care before he meets Damien's eyes with an affectionate smile.

And with Arum's cool palms cupping his tender cheeks, with Rilla's warm hand on the small of his back, Damien knows with utter certainty that he has entrusted his heart to the most worthy care in the world.

~

End Notes:  bless wikihow articles i have never shaved a face in my goddamn life, let alone with a straight razor

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 18 -Chemistry

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, what will they do?, 2.5k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

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

“Two, three, four!” Alex counted off and the band sprung into action inside the studio. The one good thing about the drums was that it made him hyper aware of every limb on his body. There was no room for distractions or intrusive thoughts when he was keeping time. It was almost like the euphoria of being dizzy, only without the dizziness. He could be okay in this state for a little while - just long enough to reset his mind and declutter itself.

As they finished their take, they heard a familiar voice from the sound booth.

“Sounds incredible boys!”

Caleb. There went the whole ‘reset and declutter’ thing he had going.

Each of the guys looked around at each other, knowing they would have to do their best to pretend they didn’t know anything. This was the first time they were seeing him since Alex had given the news to the rest of the band. None of them had actually discussed what they would do the next time Caleb happened to stop in. Setting down their instruments and slowly filing into the sound booth, they all greeted Caleb, trying to appear happy to see him.

“Let’s hear that playback, shall we?” he said as they all sat together. He pressed a few knobs on his soundboard and they all listened closely to their own song. It was just gonna be another session with notes on where they could dub vocals here and there or duplicate tracks to fill things out - it had to be normal, Alex prayed.

“And let’s stop here for a minute,” Caleb was saying after getting into a couple minutes of the track. “Reggie. What happened to the bassline?” Reggie sat up, blinking at being called out. “That’s not what was on your demo; why did you change it?”

Reggie’s face had already fallen as he made flustered attempts to respond.

“I-I...I just liked that line better...I think it fits the style and the direction of the song,” he stammered, shoulders slumped, avoiding eye contact. His hands came together in his usual fidget - the one he did when he got yelled at. Alex saw Bobby’s hand curl into a fist.

“Alright, alright, trust me,” Caleb placated. “I understand, probably more than any of you, why improvising a part feels so good. I wouldn’t host a jazz club if I didn’t get that. But here the difference is that no one knows your songs yet, boys.”

“We’ve had faithful fans for years,” Luke interrupted.

Caleb cut him off with a mere look. Shutting his mouth, Luke scratched the back of his head nervously. After taking a breath, Caleb simply let out a sigh.

“Boys.” His tone was really drawing on the charisma, Alex noticed. “My job in helping you reach the stardom that you all one hundred percent deserve is to help you create a footprint on the walk of fame. A footprint means as beginners we can’t mess with the core elements that make your brand. These songs need to stay consistent until we have thousands of fans singing back to you in the audience the very lines you wrote in your humble garage. They need to know the first few seconds of that drumbeat and recall who you are on the radio. They are going to learn those basslines and those chords and add them to their own repertoire while they aspire to be legends like you! Don’t you see how important that is? I know. Playing around is fun; experimenting with new ideas and sounds is the whole reason we’re here. But from now on, I want you boys to stay in one lane, and I will match your speed.”

Eyeing each other warily, they all awkwardly murmured and nodded to agree with him. None of his words had been all that comforting. Alex was stuck thinking about how Caleb had made an appeal to every single one of them and somehow been right on the nose. It was like he could read their minds and it felt rather invasive.

“We’ll remember that,” Alex told him. He knew the other three were battling with their fight or flight responses and it would be suspicious.

“Oh, good,” Caleb replied. “I can see we’re having an off day, but maybe Alex can get the rest of you on board. Let’s run that song again.”

Exchanging glances, the guys stood up and headed back into the recording booth.

“Man, chemistry sucks,” Bobby complained from his seat in the armchair in his garage. Books were spread out around him, as well as about a dozen crumpled up pieces of notebook paper. “Reggie would get this.”

Alex looked up from the history homework he’d been focused on. He was gaining such an ear for whenever Reggie or Bobby mentioned one another and it made him laugh inwardly. For now, though, he had to hide the smirk.

“Well, I would call him, but he’s taking care of his sister tonight.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t want to bother him anyways.”

This was one of the rare occasions where it was just Alex and Bobby together. Usually at least Luke would be around, but he was out on some date with Julie and there was no telling when he was expected back. Bobby had been helping Alex with history for a little bit but about half an hour ago remembered his own homework in a panic. Now they were both having trouble focusing. Their time in the studio that morning was clearly still on both of their minds.

“Hey, did Reggie tell you we were playing for his cousin’s wedding?” Alex asked in a non sequitur fashion.

“What?” Bobby said, finally sitting up and tearing his eyes off the diagram he was making. “No, he didn’t. Since when was that happening?”

“I’ve known for a couple weeks,” Alex told him casually.

“Oh.” Bobby looked down at the floor. “Any reason you haven’t mentioned it until now?”

Alex shifted in his seat on the couch at the suspicion in Bobby’s voice, but tried to play it off with a shrug.

“I just forgot. We’ve had a lot going on since he mentioned it to me.”

It did the trick. Still, Bobby sat in thought for a while, playing with his tongue inside his mouth absent-mindedly. Alex physically bit his own tongue to keep himself from asking what was on Bobby’s mind and pretended to turn his attention back to his history work. There was a long, static pause.

“Reggie’s been really weird lately,” Bobby said.

“Is that so?” Alex didn’t look up this time.

“Yeah. I mean, he’s always been goofy and everything, but I mean, he’s been unusual even for him. You know what I mean?”

“I guess I haven’t been paying as close of attention.” Alex flipped a page in his text book. “But I’ll take your word. Are you worried about him?”

Furrowing his brow, Bobby frowned in thought.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I mean, I always worry about him, you know, cuz of everything he deals with at home. But I don’t know...this is different.”

“Is it because of what Caleb said today?”

“I didn’t like that either, but no, that’s not it.”

He looked so serious that Alex couldn’t find it funny anymore. Actually, Bobby seemed so distressed by it that it was making Alex distressed.

“Hey,” he said with concern. “Why do you look so bummed about it?”

He received a glance as though a great weight sat upon Bobby’s shoulders. It was so familiar it shot him in the chest. His friend looked so lost and uncertain, so afraid to speak his mind. And Alex thought Reggie had been conflicted. It was a little worrying.

“I think you actually know what's going on, huh?” Bobby said in resignation.

Nope. Now it was just frustrating. Alex sat up and looked at Bobby directly.

“Okay, I know expressing yourself isn’t your strong suit, Bobby, but please say it out loud. You can do it. Especially with me.”

His friend’s eyebrows knit together even further, trying to convince himself to get it off his chest. A minute passed, and finally he shut his chemistry book, set it aside, and faced Alex.

“I have feelings for Reggie.”

Thank god.

“Good job! You’re officially the last to know!”

Bobby’s face fell into a confused expression.

“What?”

Alex merely shrugged. They were so helpless, but luckily he was better at trying to solve others’ problems than his own.

“I had to let you come to your own conclusion. It was exhausting; you took forever.”

Bobby folded his hands and fidgeted with his thumbs.

“How long have you noticed?”

“Technically? Since before playing at the Pearl. But that’s when it really started to be obvious.”

Smirking, Bobby just bowed and shook his head.

“You know,” he began. “When I was first getting to know you, I didn’t trust you. Luke and I were already so close, and he introduced me to you and Reggie and you two already were such good friends. For a while I couldn’t figure out when you were being sarcastic or serious and I didn’t want to admit I was too sensitive. Reggie helped me figure out the difference and I just sort of dropped anything I was upset about.”

Alex listened carefully, nodding at his words.

“And now you’ve started getting all personal because you know I’m the most trustworthy one here, right?” he half-teased.

Nodding, Bobby smiled a little.

“I guess this is the part where you tell me to get my crap together and tell Reggie?”

“Yep,” Alex said. “But go at your own pace. The last thing I want is you two making things even weirder than they already are by trying to discuss things when you’re not prepared. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great, but don’t forget the rest of the band in the process.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bobby pondered. “You have a point. Speaking of weird business, I’m still not cool about us pretending to go along with making the album while knowing what we do about Caleb.”

“Me neither, but I think Luke was right. We’re just being careful.”

“Since when is Sunset Curve careful, though? We would just set up and play wherever we could until we got chased off the property, and then we’d just find a new location the next night.”

“The difference is we were nobody fifteen year olds who didn’t have contracts signed. You said it yourself, we could risk losing the rights to our own music if we break things off.”

“We read the contracts, though, right?” Bobby insisted. “I made sure we did. I don’t remember anything that seemed too controlling in them.”

“Would we have known what to look for?” Alex responded.

Sighing heavily and flopping back into his chair, Bobby stared up into the ceiling. It felt like no good answer could be given. Alex was frustrated too, but he remembered what Tía Victoria had told him as well. He believed Willie, of course, especially since Victoria hadn’t actually seen or spoken to him. She hadn’t been able to get a sniff of Caleb’s true nature, and she was a professional investigator. If Caleb could fool her that easily, he’d tied their hands while they willingly held them out.

“Bobby,” Alex started. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we should stop laying ourselves on the ground and letting him walk all over us. None of this ‘establish the brand’ B.S.”

Straightening his posture, Alex sat up and folded his hands. That was exactly what he wanted to do, too. Even if he didn’t know anything else about Caleb, the way he’d gone after Reggie had left a sour enough taste in his mouth. Before he could say anything else to Bobby, Luke stepped into the garage.

“Guys, I was thinking - ” he started.

“You wanna go after Caleb too?” Bobby said.

“Whoa, how did you know?” he sat back in surprise.

“Bobby and I were just talking about it,” Alex told him. Luke raised his eyebrows as he flopped onto the couch beside Alex.

“Were you guys mad when he singled out Reggie, too?”

“Yes!”

“Nobody shames Reggie like that!”

“Bobby, you should go cheer him up,” Luke suggested. “We all know you’re in love with him.”

“Oh my god!” Bobby cried, throwing his arms into the air in exasperation. Immediately he stood up and gathered all his books. “Just for that, I’m turning in you guys. Have a nice night, Alex. Luke, I hope it’s cold.” He stormed out of the garage and into his house while Luke and Alex simply laughed together.

“I, uh… I already gave him a speech about it,” Alex told Luke, smirking.

“Thank you!” Luke cried. “I know they tease me about being dense but at least I go for what I want! And so do you!”

Smiling at the acknowledgement of him and Willie, Alex slowly started packing up his homework. He could finish it tomorrow night.

“By the way, how was hanging out with Julie?” he asked.

Placing his arms behind his head, Luke got that dreamy far-off look on his face. The ‘Julie on the mind’ look. He smiled like he’d seen an angel and the angel had smiled back in kind.

“Oh, she’s awesome. She’s way better at roller skating than me. I wish there were two of me just so one of us could hold her hand while skating with her and the other could sit down and watch.”

Alex made a face at the odd visual, but he understood what Luke was talking about. He wondered what he and Willie looked like from an outside perspective. Did they look as happy as he felt? Did Willie bring out something in him that he’d never seen in the mirror? Or even something the rest of the guys didn’t know yet? That was something he really wanted to discuss with Willie now.

“I can’t wait until her mom gets out of the hospital,” Luke was saying. “I want to learn everything she can teach me. She told me she took two years just working on the production of an album for her band. Imagine what we could do with our songs if we had her in the studio instead of Caleb.”

“Wow,” Alex commented. “At this point, I really wish we were working with the Molinas. At least they seem to get us.”

Luke looked at him and Alex knew he’d heard all the underlying meaning in that sentence. All the guys had been accepted by Julie’s family in a way none of their own seemed capable of. Alex almost wished he hadn’t said it out loud because it only tempted him to forget about heading home.

“Maybe one day, we will, Alex,” Luke said, giving him an encouraging smile.

He chuckled as he shouldered his backpack and headed out the door.

“Yeah. That’d be sweet.”

[siennahrobek]

Obi-Wan could smell it before he even thought of lowering his shields enough to feel it. It is the tangy and coppery smell of blood. The Temple is drenched in it and even though it no longer flows, he can nearly see it flowing down the columns and steps, once beautiful and magnificent. Once home. There is fire and blood, smoke that fills his lungs until he feels he can no longer breathe.

There are corpses everywhere he turns, he cannot escape the sight. The clones had not done anything with the bodies, they had just shot elderly, sick, teachers, children and younglings, in the back and moved on to shoot another and another and another. His stomach was rolling in continuous waves and his feelings are nothing but nauseous.

He has seen many battles, many fields strewn with bodies of both the enemy and the innocent. Has seen his own men across these fields, fighting to protect those who cared very little for them. Fighting and dying in defense of the innocence on the planet they happened to be on, shielding them from mortars and blaster fire. Countless shot, blasted, crushed, ripped apart, fallen. There are few horrors he has not seen and witnessed.

But it has been many years since he last witnessed a place so soaked with the demise of so many children. But this time, this time, there is no one left to keep on.

*

Obi-Wan is drifting. Drifting through the halls, an aimless and futile search for survivors. The clones are good at what they do, battle and war. They carry their orders well. They do not leave survivors. They never left a single droid unbroken and operational on the countless battles he has fought alongside them with. He does not understand. He thinks he never will.

It does not escape his eye, however, that some bodies did not sport the death wounds of blaster shots. Many had been beheaded or relieved of any number of limbs. The cauterized wounds a lightsaber makes.

Someone led the troopers into the Temple, someone they trust and someone the younglings thought they could trust.

A jedi.

There was yet, another traitor.

Obi-Wan travels deeper and deeper, letting his feelings guide him. There is nothing left, he finds, only the feelings of horror and betrayal lingering. The oppressing cold of the dark side. It screamed at him, a mournful wail. Perhaps it is suitable, he thinks, if he died here, if he wandered so deep, became so lost, he could not return. The thought it almost appealing, he thinks, because this must be what his destiny is. Something so lonely and terrible that only he would survive it, because, in the end, for some reason he cannot fathom, he is the one who continues to stand, continues to survive. He is nearly to his knees, leaning against a cold stone wall when he hears it and in the beginning, he is not entirely sure that it is not his brain playing tricks upon him. Because if the sound is true and real, nothing would be the same. A hushed sound brings him back to his senses and he reaches out, hesitantly, carefully. Something reaches back. That sound changes his life.

*

There are survivors. A gaggle of children huddling behind a clone with askew armor and a lightning scar over his head. A tiny horned head pops over the top of it, little hands gripping the armor and eyes wide with curiosity. The clone went to cover it but upon the younglings cry of joy at the sight of the jedi master, his shoulders roll and with the motion, so does the tension. He somehow expects a battle, an enemy. Obi-Wan can relate.

Firework, the trooper supplies. Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize him and the clone barely knows who Obi-Wan is either. As the younglings cry and try to grab hold of the jedi they know, Firework spill out. He does not understand what is happening. He knows about as much as Obi-Wan does. He does not understand why his brother have done something so awful, so cruel, so out of character.

He thinks something must be wrong. Obi-Wan isn’t sure he can think about it right now, so he does not. He just stares at what is left, down at the bodies that are wriggling to get close to his presence, as if he can offer them some amount of safety. He is uncertain what he is able to offer. Out of ten thousand, it is not much, but it is something. It is everything.

It is hope.

He leads them to the communications and information hub for answers, for something else. He contacts Bail Organa on the way, his only known ally, and requests for a bigger ship. They have more cargo to smuggle now. The senator seemed relieved at the prospect. Firewok glances at him, cautiously. He doesn’t know who to trust, especially when it comes to the government, to the senate. Obi-Wan can relate.

He relays a message to any surviving jedi to not return to the Temple.

The darkness and tyranny has risen, the Republic, fallen.

That time is gone and passed. A future that is uncertain, no longer safe.

There will be challenges, trust, faith, friendships.

There will be a new hope, he assures.

He really does not know who he is trying to convince. The children listen, quiet and attentive but once he is done, all of the questions bombard him. What is happening Master Kenobi? Where will we go? Why are our loved ones dead? Why are our loved ones killing us?

He does not have the answers for them.

Instead, he directs Firework to lead the children out of the Temple, sneakily and quietly and away, as Bail’s awaiting ship approaches to take them far from this place. He tells him there is something, one other thing, he must do, and he will catch up for certain. There are security tapes near everywhere and he has accessed them. He must know.

“It will only bring you pain,” a voice, a little Tholothian youngling, declares, her voice mournful and sympathetic, but it is too late. The recording plays and his heart twists, his chest lumps together and he can no longer breathe. Because, of course, he knows that face. He knows that face, but he does not recognize those eyes. Those yellow eyes.

Anakin.

He doesn’t refute it. Not with a youngling around. Not when she witnessed the horror. Who is he to question her trauma, just because he does not want to believe it? Perhaps, if she had not been there, he would have muttered denials. Because it seemed impossible. Anakin was capable of a great many things, but he never would have thought that he would slaughter children. Not this.

He doesn’t say anything else on the matter. He just stares as his beloved apprentice, his beloved brother, kneels at the feet of a Sith Lord, declaring himself and pledging himself to the Master. Anakin was always so concerned about becoming a slave to anything, Obi-Wan supposed the young one hadn’t realized he had just walked into it willingly. “You must go with the others,” he says instead, his voice cracking and somehow, it has become hoarse. Unusual, considering he has not been screaming or crying or even talking that much as of late.

“You must come with me,” she replies instead.

“There is someone I must warn,” he counters, the words coming out of his mouth before his brain can catch up. Somehow, he knows who he must warn but he wants nothing to do with it, not really. She will not believe him.

“You can call her,” she adds, patiently. He wonders if she knows who he is thinking of. She almost acts as though she does and perhaps it is true. They had never been one for subtly. Anyone could know rather easily. “There is no one else we can trust. Please.”

He nods but his mind is full. How can he not? “I apologize for my inadequate behavior,” he says in express regret, tone quiet and subdued. She takes his hand, curling her fingers around his larger one, and starts to lead him away from the recording, playing on a loop. It will stop automatically in a few minutes; he realizes but he cannot summon the strength to turn it off. He can hear a few sounds, but little else from it. “I do not know what I am thinking.”

“It is okay,” she assures, squeezing his hand, gently. The touch grounds him, brings him back to the present. He is tired, he knows, but not enough to cease action, not enough to stop moving forward. “But you survived. You are everyone’s best hope to survive too,” she points out, shuffling closer to his side. “Our only hope. Help us.”

“I have survived,” he agrees, although his voice is rather bland. He isn’t sure exactly what she is saying he has survived. It could be any number of things. Conflict, war, pain, death. He still wonders why him, out of all people, all beings, that keeps surviving these things. But then again, he does know, doesn’t he?

Infinite sadness, a nonexistent wind whispers.

Right, he thinks. He hadn’t lost everything yet. He has not yet become a near powerless, lonely old man in the desert.

Life had more to take.

Firework had been on the verge of absolute panic upon discovering the youngling’s absence when they got to the docked ship. All of them were aboard and he appeared ready to dive back into the horror scene that was once their home. Obi-Wan nearly could swear the clone nearly fainted in his relieved sigh when he saw the two of them, hand in hand, approach the ship. Bail had a rather large air craft waiting for them to rendezvous with. No one knew what would happen know and they looked to Obi-Wan for answers.

How could he tell them that he didn’t have any? Not one?

Obi-Wan, after getting the children to sleep, called Padme. It isn’t a pleasant conversation, and it drags out, no matter how many times he tries to excuse himself. She has questions. And once again, he does not have answers. He warns her of Anakin, of what he has done and what he could do. She does not believe him. But there is something there that she does know, he just can’t read it through the call. He lacks surprise at her disbelief, she is even more blind to Anakin’s faults than he is, apparently.

But Obi-Wan knows the truth. He just cannot convince her of it. He suggests she get help, a lot and fast, if she wants to survive her pregnancy – the jedi cannot help her now. This she is surprised by although Obi-Wan doesn’t know which part. Is she surprised that he knows about her pregnancy, or did she not believe the jedi would have helped her? It does very little to matter.

They are gone.

He musters all his sympathy.

But everything falls away when a little mirialan youngling comes to him for comfort. The child is scared and unsure and does not want to frighten anyone else with his own fear. He wants to be strong for them, to help Obi-Wan and Firework in what way he can. He tells Obi-Wan this, staring up at him with dark eyes, green skin flush but determined and steadfast. Obi-Wan just stares, his eyes and gaze softening; everything about him tempering. Because at this point, he has no lost everything, not as of yet. He still has something to hold onto, something to live for, to love and cherish and protect. And he will, the jedi vows.

Obi-Wan’s resolve strengthens to near nothing he has felt before. It is invigorating somehow. His arms lose the ache of use to hold the child to his chest with warmth coursing through the surface of his skin. His heart intensifies, beating in time with the youngling’s own. He feels it, so does the child. They stare. The soreness in his legs cease significantly, as the will to lift him up continues to rise. He no longer feels the need to collapse, his legs no longer feel like they will collapse underneath him, unable to support his weight. Because now, he can support the weight of them all. He will continue

He will continue until he has nothing left. Until his bones crack and shatter, until he can physically no longer stand or sit or go gone. Until his heart gives out and his mind can take no more. Until he can no longer see with his eyes, see with his senses, see at all. Until he can no longer smell or taste or touch. Until he can no longer sense, danger, the force, the love and care that they have for him, and he has for them. Until his memory is long gone, and he cannot remember even how to breathe. Until he can no longer teach and protect and love. And then he will continue, beyond, still.

None of it mattered because he will continue, always, consistently, never with falter. There will be no giving up. If only for them. His love is not finite, and they will know it, he vows.

*

Somehow, someway, they end up in the medical facilities on Polis Massa as if they are meant to be there. Perhaps it was the senator’s droids that contact them, maybe it was the will of the force guiding them, perhaps it was even just plain coincidence. He does not know. But standing over her, surrounded by jedi survivors, jedi children, trying to keep her from dying, while holding her two bundles of light, he does not remember how they got here. And of course, as it all comes to be, he does not care much either.

They are beautiful.

And his jedi children, his strong and incredible jedi survivors, were trying so hard to keep Padme alive. They pull and pull, no matter how much she tries to withdraw. Obi-Wan does not know what she saw or what happened when she went after Anakin and confronted him, in any capacity. He cannot imagine that it had been good or productive, especially considering the state she is in and her lover’s absence. But she could not be so selfish to give up her life because of him, because of one man that gave up everything else in hatred and power, not when she had two innocent babies that needed her. He would not let her. She may not have cared for the genocide and murder of his people and his children, but Luke and Leia are two that are hers.

In the end, they do keep her alive but do not know when she will awaken. The doctors say she is exhausted and weak and needs a lot of time to regain her strength, if she is even capable of it at all. Obi-Wan nearly wonders why, a little, because how can she be so exhausted and weak, so ready to give up when she knows, when she knows that she has children depending on her. But, in the end, he supposes, it does not matter. What is done is done.

He gathers up his gaggle of younglings in his arms and praises them for their good work. He tells them how good jedi they are, and he is infinitely proud. He will always be infinitely proud. They beam and love and he just wants to bask in their light forever. After everything they had been through, the intense horror of their people’s genocide, they are still so light, so strong and so remarkable.

They are amazing.

Bail himself eventually makes his way to them soon after. From then on, it is just them who does most of the planning. Bail seems to be the Jedi’s nearly only ally as of currently, at this point. The war had done a number on them, the propaganda, even more so. But it is the new emperor’s statements and rise that really seals the jedi’s fate once and for all, at least, for now. They believe him, somehow. They all believe that the jedi are traitors, that they are evil, power hungry monsters. That their children deserved to be slaughtered in their beds. Never before has Obi-Wan wanted to truly commit to a move of sai tok on a person.

Ideas are bounced off between the two of them, as they search, as they plan. One thing is for sure – the Empire cannot continue to stand. They talk about what is next for them, for Obi-Wan and the younglings. Bail offers to take Padme, to their healers and doctors so she can rest and heal. For now, he can hide her away until she awakens and can make a choice on what she would like to do next. He offers to take Luke and Leia to raise as their own until Padme can do it herself and Obi-Wan hesitates.

It is not that he does not trust Bail, he thinks, especially after this, Bail is one of the few that he continues to trust, continues to in a galaxy where everything and everyone is against him and his people. He has no doubt that Bail and his beautiful wife would do a magnificent job raising children, even ones such as them. He knows Bail well and he has come to know Breha as well. They are quite wonderful people that he will continue to care for. But Luke and Leia are highly force sensitive. One could be hidden perhaps, quite easily even, but the two of them were bound to feed off one another’s emotions as they grew, eventually. They are twin suns.

In the end, somehow, he relents. They negotiate and compromise and once more, perhaps it helps that Bail can and is willing to hide all of them away. It helps that he is willing to hide them in the mysterious and remote mountains of his home planet, a place to treacherous to travel, it would be likely that only a jedi could really find passage. It may be right under the emperor’s nose but Obi-Wan has a feeling that this can work.

He is right.

It helps that Bail makes it clear that he will continue to help them.

They leave the medical facility quickly, in fear of who may chase after them, but their talks continue. He plans to start work in the senate, in the government, in the galaxy, immediately. He, Padme, and several others had already started a movement before this had happened, that could be turned into something of a rebellion. It would be slow coming, but it will come.

Bail nearly has a heart attack at the sight of Firework when he and Obi-Wan go into the ship with the younglings. He was nearly killed by clones when he had stopped at the Temple the first time, in the midst of the genocide. He was saved by a padawan. But after a conversation, it is agreed – there is something horribly wrong with the clones. No one is certain that what has happened to them is their fault. Bail promises them, he promises Firework, holding his hand to secure his words and his vow, to look into the issue. Perhaps kidnap a few to test and understand what can compel them to turn on the jedi. A few out of millions would hardly be amiss, Bail says. Little does Obi-Wan know at that point, Bail is already scheming to steal the 212th Attack Battalion back for him.

Breha is as kind and beautiful and strong and amazing as always. She is more determined and steadfast as ever in her support of Obi-Wan and his people and somehow, someway, has already started searches out for any surviving Jedi, to find them and bring them to their new home. He presents her the twins of Luke and Leia, and she tries not to fall in love with them immediately. She probably does not succeed, as Obi-Wan had not succeeded either.

She promises to do all the things Obi-Wan recommends when it comes to rearing the children so sensitive to the Force and tells him he can visit whenever he wants or needs. She even tells him she will bring him to their new home and place when he would request. She is willing to do virtually anything for the betterment of these children, Obi-Wan realizes and even questions about keeping them together and not with others of their kind. He offers her a few reading materials and some tips. She gives him the most secure comm link that is around for the two of them.

The trip to their mountain hideout is as treacherous and dangerous as Bail had warned him, but in the end, being a jedi was nearly the only way to get there without getting themselves killed. And Obi-Wan was right, it was the perfect place to hide away from the Empire. Alderaan itself might be close and suspicious in the Empire’s purview but not only was this place, carved deep into a mountain so remote and difficult to find, it hid them away, physically and spiritually.

It would need some cleaning up, but it was mostly untouched for however long it had been since the ancients had left it or died out. It was beautiful and although everyone is a little hesitant, he thinks and they think, they can somehow, someway, eventually call it home.

They stand in the grand fall after the third entrance, where the walls swallow and the ceiling reach high up, held together by study columns. They are all holding one another. The littlest ones in the adult’s arms and tucked against their chests, the others holding hands tightly, as if they release one another, they will disappear forever.

And then, it is just a lone jedi master, a single clone, and a gaggle of children.

And until the Empire was dead and gone, until the people in power no longer thought of his people as traitors, monsters, and evil ones, they are forced to run and hide.

[dear-yandere]

hiraeth (ii).

hiraeth (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

yandere! don! giorno giovanna x f! reader. collab with @ddarker-dreams​​. read part one here! do not re-upload or use our writing without permission.

› warnings: angst, blood and gore, poisoning, canon-typical violence, death. › word count: 9.3k. › art credit: spearthymint.

Intrusive, lifeless eyes watch on from afar with tangible disgust. Hatred being the driving point behind his entire existence, all positive emotions are but a long forgotten memory of the past. To see the devil incarnate rejoicing in the fine pleasures of life is sickening, enough to make his head spin in further abhorrence. Observing from a safe, undetectable distance has been a rough challenge. All for the sake of procuring revenge, to fill the hole in his heart Giorno Giovanna tore out all those years ago.

Fueled by malice, the Stand, Snake Oil, slithers in the shadows of false paradise. More akin to a hybrid between human and snake, Snake Oil is the size of a fully grown man when stretched out to his fullest. His appearance is similar to that of a cobra, clad in ebony scales that serve as armor and dull, ruby eyes. Despite his imposing physique, it is truly unfortunate; having seen Giorno up close, Snake Oil knows killing him is impossible. So he’ll go for the next best possibility, inflicting the same pain he felt all those years ago. Having what you love most in the world ripped from you, torn apart before your eyes until nothing but blood and flesh remain. This is the bleak world of gangsters. To take and be taken from. To maintain equilibrium, vacillating between the highest of triumphs and lowest of defeats. Snake Oil has known nothing but the latter, surrounded by loneliness and bitterness that festers like an open wound. The scars of that day remain, the corpses of his family attempting to defend one another a grim reminder. A reminder that he’ll grip until his last breath, his only anchor in this world.

An eye for an eye.

The two of you are a picture perfect scene; pity how such beauty is fleeting. All it’ll take is a single opening. Giorno’s guard is lowered considerably, but he clings to you like an insistent shadow. How irritating. If only he left your side for a few more moments, then you’d be within range to kill. To have revenge just within grasp feels surreal in the best of ways. It brings a rush that the Stand hasn’t felt in years. The pain that makes up his resolve has yet to fade, pulsing and growing stronger as he searches for an opening. 

There’s a visible shift between you two. 

Snake Oil’s uncertain of the nature of things from this distance, gathering clues to the greater picture through body language. You’re on edge, impulsive, as you separate from Giovanna’s clutches, however momentary it may be. Snake Oil realizes this is the best opportunity he’ll be afforded. It isn’t the ideal set of circumstances, with your insistent shadow nearby, but it’s enough to be out of Gold Experience’s range. The Stand possesses great speed, a skill that will be fully taken advantage of in this course of this plan; in this moment, it seems more like a blessing than a skill, given who he’s going up against.

Checking to make sure the Don doesn’t follow you and remains seated, fate finally seems to have smiled upon Snake Oil today. This is the best opportunity he’ll get. 

Slithering from his hiding spot amongst thickets, he lunges at you from behind. A horrified shriek leaves your lips at the constricting sensation surrounding you, body feeling like it may explode at any second. The air is forcefully pushed from your lungs, breathing growing erratic. Out of instinct, you struggle in hopes of freeing yourself, to no avail. 

Two, phantom-like apparitions phase through your neck. You cry out, but the sound is pitiful and choked, dying mid air. The skin of your neck is raw, the insides slightly turned out and exposed in order to accommodate the invisible fangs of your attacker. The area pulses, quickly numbing when a venom is injected into your veins. The change is immediate, your eyes widened to their brim and your screams choked into your throat like spit. Your vision darkens slowly, the grip you once had on your consciousness now gone; the last thing you remember is the shock on Giorno’s face.

Giorno rises in an instant, a flash by his side procuring Gold Experience Requiem to come to your defence. Before any more movements are made on either side, Snake Oil takes control of the situation by speaking in a booming voice. It commands authority, knowing that leverage is within his grasp. That this wicked man wouldn’t dare endanger your life.

“Make one, tiny move, and I snap her neck.” 

This is the plan, for better or worse. For Snake Oil to utilize its ability, a fast acting venom that’ll kill you within minutes. The in-between time of injection and subsequent organs shutting down will take place. During this period, he’ll finally find satisfaction in Giovanna’s suffering, helpless to aid you in fear of making it worse. Changes in your skin should be taking place now, veins growing dark as it carries the lethal dosage to the rest of your body. It’s acting slow, Snake Oil realizes. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light, a false concern born from his anxiety about the situation.

It's a tricky situation, one which requires Giorno to act fast and tread carefully.

“I take it you won’t tell me who you are.” Giorno chooses his words with the utmost care despite the shock and anger rolling from his body. Gold Experience Requiem hovers closeby, the same rage thinly veiled beneath the Stand’s imposing and threatening presence. As Giorno’s Stand, GER has always been utterly taken with you, having no need to hide its affections like its user must. He is a pure amalgamation of Giorno’s love for you; the sight of your life endangered is no doubt a blow to its usual composure and restraint. Neither party wants nothing more than to destroy their enemy in an instant, but there’s no guarantee you wouldn't be caught up in the fray.

“You say that as if you remember the names of every person you’ve hurt,” Snake Oil does little to hide his animosity, keeping an eye out for any tricks Giorno may have. “It made no difference who I was before. Not until I threatened your little prisoner, that is.” The Stand sneers, its arm coiled around your neck. Its tail is strung around your lower half, restricting any flailing and movement should the poison’s effect be prolonged. 

“What is it that you want?” Ignoring the Stand’s treatment of you, to the best of his ability, Giorno tests the waters. Every word the Stand speaks is funneled into his mind, searching for hints that can be taken advantage of, for any cracks that can be slipped through. The top priority is to get to you out of harm’s way, no matter the cost. Composure on either end is unfaltering, a duel of wits to secure a victor. This is a matter of life and death. And still, Giorno hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to see your body, your skin pallid and your limbs motionless, cradled in the arms of a man who intends you harm. His composure falters at the mere sight. That Stand isn’t just holding you; he’s holding Giorno’s happiness, his future, his heart in a vice grip. He sees the way your eyebrows knit and your body winces, the Stand’s grip far too tight to insinuate any goal other than to kill.

Snake Oil only smiles in response, not yet wanting to ruin this moment of pure distress radiating from the Don and his Stand. The sight itself is rapturing; it’s not everyday that a lowly civilian such as himself gets to see one of the most influential men in the world come apart.

Unabashed, Giorno considers what information is presented to him. From how this Stand speaks, its user is older, if not a bit inexperienced. No slang or other terminologies from a younger generation are present in his words, it’s far more removed and bitter. As if the user has seen the worst the world has to offer, callous in his direct approach; as if the user is betting everything on the line for a small chance at attacking the Don of Passione.

He needs to get you out of the Stand’s range. Since the Stand didn’t attack him, the main source of his user’s ire no doubt, it’s likely a long-range Stand. Any suspicious movements will lead to your death. And, from a quick look around, there are no suspicious vessels within a 10 km radius of the island; he would have seen them approaching long before, had there been. Its user must be far, and the Stand must be operating at its maximum range. Engaging in close-range combat would be the best bet if you weren’t engulfed in the Stand’s arms, its poison already blackening the veins around the entrance wound. Killing it might prove to be the only antidote, but on the other hand, it’s a risky trade. Perhaps the Stand’s power doesn’t include producing an antivenom — killing it early would slash any chances of saving you before the poison spreads further into your system. The only option for Giorno now is to provoke him, upsetting the Stand to the point where a mistake is made. In that opening, Giorno will strike.

“It must’ve been a lot of work to make it here,” Giorno begins his plan with a cautious comment, searching for any outward reaction. Nothing. Assuming he’s safe to continue, he offers his observations. “If you have any demand, make them known now.” 

It’s not so much stalling, but rather, testing the waters. To see how much resistance he can offer without you being placed in any more danger, igniting sparks that will only gain strength with time. Each word is selected with great care, not wanting to further upset the emotional user and trigger an undesirable outcome. Under the face of immense pressure, Giorno steels himself. It’ll do you no good otherwise.

The Stand lets out a distorted chuckle, its grip on you unwavering. “Demands? Of course, someone in your line of work would naturally come to that conclusion. You think I’d go this far for power? Money? Drugs?”

Giorno’s eyes narrow, and he mentally checks off one motive. 

“There’s nothing then? No affiliation, no desire for material gain?” Giorno’s incessant line of questions come to a halt when the Stand tightens its grip around you. Sensing that Snake Oil’s growing irate, Giorno can only assume it’s because this encounter isn’t going as planned. Given how frail you are, the poison should have spread to major points in your nervous system, your death imminent. While Giorno has his theories, ones he can only hope to be true at this very moment, they’re placed on the back burner for the time being. 

“How could I forget? That’s all that matters to people like you.” The Stand’s tone is low, prudent. Giorno’s interrogation is getting somewhere, it seems. The Stand’s grip on your shoulders have loosened slightly, only to retighten within a moment’s notice. Giorno’s heart tightens in response, the unpleasant feeling not showing on his face in the slightest. “Gain. How to make more at the expense of others, a greed that cannot be sated no matter whose life is taken in the process.”

Ah. Perhaps...

“You say that like nothing could satisfy you.” The tempest unfolding in Giorno’s mind begins to calm. His answers lie at the eye of the storm, waiting to be found. It’s an easy enough feat for someone of Giorno’s caliber, as his job requires quick-witted thinking and observation. So he presses forward, his words more daring, his answers more confident.

The Stand can’t help but grimly agree, darkness spreading over its inhuman face upon realizing how unaffected the don is. “Nothing can.”  

It’s brief, but Giorno catches a glint of sadness cross the Stand’s features. A trick of the light, perhaps, as he’s yet to see any Stand capable of showing emotion; and yet, this one reeks of resentment and regret. He’s closer to his answer.

“Not even her death?” 

“It’s a place to start.” The Stand hisses in a displeased tone. This isn’t how he envisioned this encounter in his mind, the countless outcomes that all ended with Giorno Giovanna in the pits of despair. He should have known better; the Don of Passione is cruel. A monster who wouldn’t be phased even by the loss of his beloved. Still… an element of unknown is always present in Stand battles. Your immediate death should’ve been carried out by now. That’s how it was meant to be; the venom is fast acting on normal people, only slightly less-so on stand users. He draws bated breath and lets his expectant gaze flicker toward you. The moment you breathed your last, Snake Oil would have true satisfaction, witnessing Giorno lose everything he holds dear, just as he had all those years ago. Ultimately, he’d be killed for his transgressions. But he’d come to terms with that long ago, the final chapter of his life ending in Giorno’s grief. The ultimate satisfaction, even if it sends him to Hell. Even if it keeps him from his family.

But your face is pristine, calm despite the painful wound on your neck and the quickly blackening vessels under your skin. You… you’ve stolen that opportunity from him. Why won’t you just die already, like you’re meant to? Why can’t you die as quickly as his own family died before him? It can’t be due to Giorno’s Stand. If you were within Gold Experience Requiem’s range, that meant Snake Oil would be as well. The battle would be hardly fought, the Stand’s sacrifices for nothing. If that were the case, Giorno wouldn’t be watching from afar, the great Don of Pasione helpless to save his own beloved. 

Something is wrong.

He can’t let it be for naught. Not after all the sacrifice, after all the hellish years that plagued him. Even now, Giorno waits patiently, an air of dignitary grace and poise befitting someone of his position. His eyes never once stray from the Stand’s physique, not even to check on his beloved, presumably searching for an opening to end the Stand’s life. There’s no chance to give it more thought. The power the Stand wanted to hold in this moment is faltering, slipping between his fingers like fine sand.

“How long ago was it that I took something from you?”

He’s going out on a limb, an educated guess more than anything else. He almost feels pathetic, betting your life like this, as if you’re another bargaining chip in Passione’s plans, another expendable pawn. But there’s no other option in his sights, his thoughts filled with saving the light of his life from the darkness of his own past. 

There’s no longer an immediate response from the Stand, nor a sarcastic quip full of loathing. It felt like the most logical explanation, revenge being the greatest motivator known to man. Giorno knows he made the correct assumption, or something close to it, considering Snake Oil’s change in attitude. Did the Stand think Giorno would remain in the dark until the end? 

“What… what do you mean?” 

Hesitation.

Giorno’s lips twitch into a small, satisfactory smile, his nerves having earned some rest upon guessing correctly. He continues, this time with a barrage of thinly-veiled accusations rather than questions. “It must’ve been longer than a few months, with how much planning this would’ve taken. So when was it? A year, two maybe?”

The most drastic changes were made within Passione during the first six months of Giorno taking over. 

“Why does the time even matter?” He bites. “All the people you’ve killed, they’re nothing but faceless names on a list to you.”

Giorno wants to laugh; for someone so bent on killing him, he took the bait far too easily.

“While that holds some merit, you’re no better in that regard.” He begins, shaking his head and shifting his weight onto the other foot, looking awfully lax despite the context of this conversation. He takes note of the way Snake Oil’s fingers twitch with arrogant annoyance. “Wanting to involve an innocent life who has nothing to do with this, you don’t know the first thing about her.” 

“You’re wrong. I know plenty about this girl who had the misfortune of meeting you,” Snake Oil’s blank eyes flicker towards your incapacitated form. You look more like a helpless pup than the wife to a mafia boss; perhaps… perhaps that’s why he chose you. For your vulnerability, for your innocence. “Not that you made it easy. Having virtually every aspect of her existence wiped from the planet, going so far as to pay off police to end their missing person search… scum never has hopes of growing, do they?” 

Giorno has no reason to justify his thoughts to a stranger who intruded on your paradise and put your life in peril, no matter what injustices he might have caused the man in the past. Only for the motive of provoking him further does he respond. “For the sake of protecting her from those who’d do her harm.” He quips, his expression unchanging.

“Is that what helps you sleep at night, Giovanna? A pat on the back for kidnapping some girl from her life, taking away all her freedoms? Letting her family search and search, only to be fed lies that there are no leads, that the case has gone cold?” Snake Oil’s grip on you falters slightly, a wave of pity washing over him at your poor predicament. How unfortunate you are to have earned the attention of a demon… “You don’t know the first thing about losing someone precious to you, do you? What you’re doing to her isn’t protection. This is greed, meant only to benefit yourself,” the Stand accuses. “Considering how greedy you lot are, I’m surprised it hasn’t occurred to you that, if it weren’t for your manipulation, she would’ve slit your throat weeks ago.” 

Giorno is wholly unfazed; he has been called worse, by you even. Nothing the Stand says or will say could come close to the unfiltered hatred he’s heard from you. “Believe what you want, Snake Oil. It makes no difference to me.” 

“... So it doesn’t. I suppose labels hold no significance in your life — you’ve come to terms with what you really are. You're a fool, thinking someone like yourself is capable of love. A murderer can experience no such thing.” 

“And that’s what I am to you,” Giorno deduces, scouring the Stand’s mannerisms for any clues that may be of use. “A murderer.” 

“It’s not what you are to me. It’s an undeniable fact.” 

Giorno doesn’t give him the luxury of a response nor the slightest change in his own expression. His stare is blank, even with your life on the line, even when you hang uselessly from the enemy’s arms. The venom is spreading, creating a thick, void-like trail along the paths of each vein it reaches. Starting from the entrance wound in your neck, your blackening veins look like tendrils, crawling up your face and down your chest — toward your brain, your heart. So that is his Stand power...

“Does she know, Giovanna?” Snake Oil hisses, handling your unconscious body harshly. Giorno bites down on his bottom lip at the mere sight, composing himself; now is not the time to strike, not over something so trivial. If that were the case, he would have used Gold Experience Requiem the moment this enemy laid a single finger on your person. Snake Oil barks out more questions, clarifying himself. “Does she know who you truly are beneath that mask?”

Giorno returns his gaze to his enemy, the look in his eyes hardening considerably as he chews on the question. Is that his motive? To use you as a bargaining chip, a means to lower his guard far enough to strike? It’s clever, if nothing else, but Giorno is poised in the art of manipulation. The chaos unraveling in his head, jumping from conclusion to conclusion over your current state — even that is pushed to the far reaches of his consciousness. Lashing out will do the Don no good. It’s a strength right now more than anything, the ability to stuff his own emotions and humanity into the recesses of his mind. Considering how emotional this Stand and its user must be to find a remote, isolated island and its sole inhabitant — regardless of Passione’s extensive influence over the territory — this man has a personal vendetta against Giorno himself.

But he should have never involved you.

Occupied with their back and forth, the pair of men fail to take notice of how your finger twitches by your side. The movement is subtle, easy to miss; even Giorno is too caught up in the situation to pay you any mind for once. The slightest movements of your incapacitated body are the least of his concerns, right now, his mind filled with one thought: you haven’t awoken. You are dying, and that is far more than Giorno can take.

“She doesn’t need to know.” 

The Don smiles sardonically. Gone is the ray of light that usually graces his features when he sets foot on this island, when his gaze lands on you. This man keeps speaking of you as if he knows you. If you were awake right now, you’d be easily swayed, your thoughts a mess and  your mind easily malleable. This could ruin everything, everything he’s built here, everything he’s built for you, with you. You won’t look at him the same. Not like this morning. Not even like the weeks before, spent in harrowing isolation, flinching at his very presence. You’ll look at him like you would a monster; horrified.  

But you aren’t awake. You are on the brink of death and he’s made next to no progress in your rescue. What a pitiful excuse he is. For all his power and influence, he can’t even protect you. He can’t even protect the very thing keeping him alive, the only person that showed a semblance of genuine love for him, even if it was hidden behind a hesitant and doubtful countenance. He was making progress. You were making progress.

“I am a murderer, as all gangsters are, but my reasons are just. I don’t need to explain them to someone such as yourself.” He laughs blithely. “Who did I kill that was so important to you?” He asks the same way one would ask for the time.

Snake Oil doesn’t answer.

“For you to come here, you must believe their death to be unjust. Who was it?” Giorno dwells on the thought for a second, deducing that these unknown variables must be closely related to this Stand’s user. “I can hardly recall their names, much less their faces. That begs the question: what did they do?” His smile grows, one-sided, as if knowing something his enemy does not. “I wonder… was it human trafficking? Narcotics?”

His only response is a glare, the Stand’s arm tightening around your neck like a noose. But, the Don head only cants to the side, testing the waters further. 

“No matter. If I wasted time doing so myself, they must have deserved to die.”

It’s spoken like an irrefutable fact. An ultimate dismissal of human life, of their own autonomy. An insult to the memory of those Snake Oil held dearest. The words aren’t only indifferent, but spoken with implicit confidence. In the recesses of his mind, he knows what it is Giorno is trying to do. Rationale is snuffed out, replaced with righteous fury. 

“You… you don’t deserve to speak of them. You know nothing.” 

“Do I now?” The Don’s body relaxes, now knowing what the Stand is after. The investigation falls; the interrogation begins. “Ah, I remember.” His lips twitch into a cruel smile, enjoying the act of playing with this enemy’s feelings. To be ruled by one’s feelings, to the point of enacting revenge on a man you haven’t a chance of winning against — this Stand and its user wouldn’t make it in the world of gangsters for much longer. “A wife, and a….son was it? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? For revenge.” He tests the waters with a contemplative tone despite already knowing the answer, the Stand’s body language holding a tension and enmity it hadn’t moments before. “I don’t recall their faces or names, really, but I remember their screams. Your wife was groveling at my feet, begging for mercy. She had this look in her eyes — betrayal. You didn’t tell her your true profession, did you?” The Don’s lips twitch when Snake Oil falters, the latter’s eyes wide. “And your son… a prominent member in the very drug routes Passione aims to quell. I remember he tried to bargain with me, sell you out in exchange for my mercy.” Giorno laughs at the irony. To not even be trusted by your own family… “Like father, like son. He deserved to die.”

Snake Oil draws a sharp breath.

“And your daughter… such a sweet little thing. She didn’t understand what was happening.” He recalls with faint disinterest. “The look on her face was so tragic. I almost felt sorry for her. But she is related to you by blood, and scum can only breed scum.” An idea formulates, the words pressed past his lips as easily as breathing. “It’s a pity, though. She got away before I could…” He trails off, relishing in the way Snake Oil chokes pathetically on this information; his daughter… his only family is alive, somewhere, and... “I suppose I'll have to find her, take care of what I started." Giorno finishes.

“Shut up!” In his anger, Snake Oil’s grip tightens around your neck, squeezing at your already-suffocated veins. Giorno’s eyes flicker, taking note of the blackening nerves beneath your skin. “Don’t forget who’s in control here, Giovanna…!”

It’s all talk meant to rile him up, create an exploitable opening. Snake Oil refuses to fall into the trap, a ploy meant to keep him from enacting revenge. The words are heavy, a weight over his shoulders, but the Stand has you. While you should be dead by now from his ability, there are other ways to kill. Messier methods that he didn’t wish to stoop to, not until now. Giorno Giovanna, in all his sadistic glory, has dug a grave for his own beloved; an end truly befitting a monster such as himself.

“The pain I felt that day… you get to experience it now. You’ll pay for your sins in blood,” the Stand sneers, its expression full of countless years of pain. His gaze turns toward your unconscious body, his mind already concocting plans of a painful death. “Her blood.” 

"You view me as a demon, but do you have the resolve to stoop to my level?" Giorno quips, his resolve quickly running thin. The air is tense, suffocating, but he can’t let his mask falter. It would mean the end to this. An end to you. An end to this paradise, this false Eden.

He’s not ready for that. Not yet. Not when you were finally...

“So sure of yourself, so confident…” Every word drips with malice, forced out from a dark place. Every syllable is a shot to Giorno’s heart, to his willpower, Snake Oil feels his goals shift, wanting nothing more than to prove Giorno wrong. That not everything can fall into place as he sees fit, that he isn’t as omnipresent as he believes himself to be. To see those calculating eyes widen in horror, knowing that he made a grave error. 

It’s wishful thinking. Nothing in this world is that simple. If it were, Snake Oil’s family would still be by his side,and he wouldn’t be here, threatening an innocent girl with the displeasure of being involved with the worst scum society has to offer. He wouldn’t have had to stoop to the levels he did, likely disappointing those he cared for in the distant past. He wouldn’t have to stoop to Giovanna’s level and kill a blameless soul.

Monsters can only breed monsters.

Should the poison fail, so be it. It’s a messier death, a far less merciful one, but Snake Oil no longer has the capacity to care. How could he, after being taunted, when it was Giorno who was meant to be cowering away in anguish?  The Stand’s grip around your limp body strengthens, intent on strangling out all signs of life. This is it, the final act of dishonor to end it all. Within a few seconds, you should be reduced to nothing but a corpse, a shadow of your former self, that sadistic light in Giovanna’s eyes long gone.

Time is at a standstill. It all happens in the blink of an eye. 

At his torso, there’s a forceful shove that sends him sprawling backwards, air knocked from his lungs. Snake Oil lets out a shocked gasp, noticing the surprise on Giovanna’s own face; it’s clear he wasn’t expecting this turn of events, either. This attack… it couldn’t have been him. So that means you’re…

Before Snake Oil can dwell on his revelation, Gold Experience Requiem phases into the Stand’s field of vision, its speed unmatched and its strength beyond anything he’d prepared himself for. He knew death was coming should he mess up, should he let that monster creep under his skin. And yet, it still ends like this, a hole driven into his chest, just as it was meant to be. The pain is nothing new. The loss of everyone he’d ever cared about hurt far worse, but this… this is comforting. A release, a mercy. A promise that he will soon see his family, again. 

The gentle wave that washes over him is short lived; the blow had sent him flying, his back pierced by a nearby rock. There’s pain, briefly, before it washes away all the same. Washes away into nothing. Death, he’s come to realize, feels like nothing, and yet everything all at once. Even death has a heart, it seems, a vague sense of clemency and calm that life lacks. All the memories of a time long past, all the regret and the pleasure that comes with living. Sweet memories, bitter memories… memories of his family, killed at the hands of a man who acts like a God dictating who should live and who should die. A God who slaughters innocents, under a false moral code. A God who locks away his own lover, as if her life means nothing; a God who looks at her the same way the stars admire the sun.

And yet, in Snake Oil’s last moments, that same God looks down at him the same way one would a fly before you kill it. The same insignificance, the same detachment. Like he meant never meant anything of value. And he realizes...

Death does not discriminate; life does.

Giorno gazes at the dying man with a look of vague disinterest, a sight he’s grown accustomed to. There’s no anger, no pity, no emotion. Those were stolen the moment your eyes snapped shut and your blood started rotting. Snake Oil will find no satisfaction in this squandered death, his life squelched out and amounting to nothing. 

“Go to Hell. They’re waiting.”

The words fall from his lips so easily, so listlessly, without a shred of remorse. Snake Oil’s last moments are far from peaceful, those precious moments prior having lulled him into a false sense of security. They? Who are they? The Devil? His enemies? Or…. 

Realization hits. His blood has started to clot, and yet it boils with anger with indignant realization: he will go to Hell for his sins. He will go to Hell, and his family won’t be there. A sinner has no right of choice, only a punishment and its executioner. Even in these last moments, he’d hoped Giovanna would grant him the mercy of solace, the sympathy of a human rather than the malevolence of a monster. But that hope was misplaced from the start.

“Y...y-you’re a…. dem—”

But it’s too late. Snake Oil worked with diligence, but the devil works faster.

The storm has passed. The corpse, in its final moments, is gagging on thin air and it occurs to Giorno that its user is dying. Gagging on his own bile and vomit someplace far off, someplace Giorno can’t reach in his current state. If your life wasn’t in immediate danger, he’d hunt for the bastard himself, ensuring that his life has come to a permanent end. But you are more important. You will always be more important.

When he turns, he expects the worst. He expects to see your skin sallowed and your face sunken. He expects to see a lifeless husk, a goddess without the glow he’s come to admire. But that light is still there. You are still there, just as radiant as you were before your Eden was corrupted. The rise and fall of your chest is unmistakable, no matter how shallow your breathing may be. You’re alive. You’re alive, and Giorno’s legs nearly give out at the thought. Seeing you this close again, even as you cling to life, feels too good to be true. Giorno’s not sure who to thank, be it fate or having the devil’s own luck, but you’re still here. Still with him. This was too close to the chest. Pesky little details will be examined later, to ensure nothing like this ever has the chance to repeat. Security being tightened, loose ends removed… there’s an abundance of work to be done. For now, he allows himself to think only of you. 

He’s by your side in an instant, checking your pulse and breathing. Gold Experience takes note of the movement beneath your wrist, pulsing as it should be, yet rapidly dimming. Any flesh wounds he can spot are immediately healed with a featherlight touch, fearing the unattended wounds may harm you further. He holds your limp body to his chest, gently trying to shake you back into consciousness. To bring you back to him. 

“Let me see those gorgeous eyes of yours, amore.” His voice is so quiet and weak, it’s drowned out by the ocean waves. “I’ll be here as long as you need me. We need to finish our date, right? There’s still so much we have to do. I’ll clear my schedule, so just open your eyes and...”

He chokes, eyes wide with bitter tears. Your color is paling at an alarming pace, lips becoming a sickly blue. The flower he made earlier now looks out of place against your skin, its vibrant yellow petals so vivid in comparison — mocking you. Giorno chokes on his own spit; there’s no escaping it: you are dying, and he may as well be too. Giorno’s grip on you falters due to his own trembling, forcing him to steady you entirely against his chest. Every breath he takes is laboured, the weight of the world dragging him down. He’s seen this sight too many times before, and in his heart, he knows what this means. Without full knowledge of Snake Oil’s ability, there’s no way to treat whatever wounds were inflicted on you; he can only grasp at ideas from the previous encounter.  It’d take hours to find and deliver the proper antivenom, and by then, it’d be too late. He knows this, and he hates himself for it. He hates his knowledge, his experience that allows him to come to this horrific conclusion. Giorno wishes he were a fool so he could delude himself into believing you’ll continue to live with him.

“You said you wanted a frog for a pet, didn’t you…? I’ll make as many as your heart desires, I swear it. So, please…” The words die at the back of his clenching throat. His entire life, he’s told himself that crying is useless. That it achieves nothing, a waste of time and effort. Action is always the best course, the only path that amounts to overcoming grief. It’s been the philosophy of his life, and yet; he kneels here on the verge of tears all the same. “Please, please, please…”

Another shake, more urgent than the last.

“I wanted—” he gulps back a telling lump forming in his throat, “I wanted to do so much with you. Cooking together is just the start, there’s so much more...” His voice is a low whine, like a child begging his parents for their time and affection. It’s a battle against time, a battle that he’s losing. “So much more…” His words are incomprehensible at this point, slipping from his mouth before he can gather himself. “I love you, [First]… I love you, I love you. Please, God…” The words are unschooled, said without thought — genuine. There has never been a moment in his life where he believed God to be real, not after everything he’s seen, not after everyone he’s lost. You can’t be another causality — he can't lose you too.

For the first time since he was a child, Giorno cries.

He cries for everything he put you through, for everything he took from you. Every wish you had, every dream he never got to hear. He stole them like his family stole his own. He promised to be better, a better man — someone who could change the world, someone with a good heart. Growing up, he wanted nothing more than to prove his parents wrong. His step-father, cynical and drunk and good-for-nothing. His mother, neglectful, always chasing a high, as if her own family was the lowest of the low. And his real father, his origins and identity unknown; a man who no doubt would not want to be part of Giorno’s life, his own son’s life. Giorno didn’t want to be like any of them, didn’t want to grow up to become a monster in the shape of a human. That sentiment feels hypocritical right now, having just lost his composure and temper. The remnants of a man’s own soul is not too far off, mangled and destroyed beyond recognition, its user dead on the shores of a monster who stole his family.

Giorno Giovanna is not a good man. His tears are more for you than anyone else; you truly did have the misfortune of meeting him. The Devil could drag him to Hell right now and his last thoughts would still be: “Let her go to Heaven.”

There’s a gradual change. 

To the untrained eye, it might be too subtle to pick up on. Almost like a transparent sheen hovering just above your skin, a low hum of energy resonating alongside it. Giorno’s lip twitches as your complexion practically shines, eyes squinting to combat the light's growing strength. Too much is unfolding before him, a complex mystery where he remains in the dark. Snake Oil… he’s certain that Stand is no more. That’s when a chilling realization hits, like a bucket of ice being poured over him.

Gold Experience Requiem remains by his side, the Stand at the ready to attack as Giorno constructs a plan. Could Snake Oil have had a Stand that stays active upon death, like Notorious B.I.G? Giorno freezes at the thought, knowing full well the power a Stand like that would have. Hunting down its target for eternity. Did Snake Oil place an ability on you that triggered after death? In that case, precautions need to be taken to ensure you’re not placed under any further harm. There’s still a chance to save you; even Notorious B.I.G. had its flaws, no matter how terrifyingly powerful the Stand at first seemed.

But… something about it is off. The energy convulsing from you feels different, almost familiar. Warm and enveloping, unlike Snake Oil who conveyed nothing but bitterness and lost hope. What is this…? 

The luxury of thinking is replaced by a raw desire to act, to salvage what little remains, not willing to patiently assess the situation any longer. Not after that’s what led to your possible death sentence in the first place. Divine light radiates around your limp body, and Giorno reaches out, prepared to fend off the perceived threat. His trembling hand inches closer to your iridescent skin, tingling at the sensation rolling from your person like a barrier, and then— 

He’s flung back against the ground, as Snake Oil was before him. Gold Experience Requiem releases a fierce battle cry, lashing towards the presumed threat that envelopes you. Your person lets out a disgruntled noise at the attack, eyebrows twitching and body regaining itself. Cheeks flushing with color again, long eyelashes fluttering against your face. Rest is a coaxing concept, though something deep inside you commands that you wake.

Your eyes open.

Blood. Your vision is filled with a thick red, the beautiful blues and golds of the beach but a distant memory. The scene before you is a battlefield, its only remnants thick puddles of fresh blood. The liquid mars the beautiful beach sands, crimson revealing a story you weren’t meant to witness. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, dulling various areas that should be screaming out in pain. There’s too much to chew on, your thoughts in complete disarray. Your body feels prickly, vitality making a swift reappearance. And yet, there’s an unfamiliar pain at your chest, where Gold Experience Requiem’s hit landed. It’s dull, as if there is a layer of protection between your skin and the place the Stand’s fist had landed, but the very thought of Giorno hurting you, no matter the circumstance, has your mind reeling.

It doesn’t take long to piece together scattered pieces of the puzzle. In your delirium, you’d heard everything. It evokes disgust and shame, knowing you willingly went along with Giorno’s qualms. You had lost yourself, giving into him for frivolous comforts. He’s harmed too many, you’re not the only person to be on the receiving end of endless pain; you were just lucky enough to be on his good side. Morality and running a worldwide crime syndicate do not go hand and hand, no matter how many times Giorno tries to humanize himself to you. It’s all a facade. 

This was all a mistake. You shouldn’t have come here, not so willingly, not with him. 

“You’re a monster.”

A fact you’ve known for months now, and yet the words struggle past your teeth. A week ago, you wouldn’t have hesitated to say that and much worse to his face, relishing in the hurt that would momentarily cross his features. You had some semblance of power over him during those moments, using his twisted sense of love against him. You felt powerful, in control for once, having one of the most powerful men in the world grovel in wait for your affection. Before you, he wasn’t Don Giorno Giovanna, boss of Passione. He was just a boy, a psychopath, a man who had taken the world from you and expected your love in return.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last. He will always have the upper hand, some sort of control or advantage over you. You were a fool to think whatever you two possibly had — a relationship, if you could call it that — could work. Humans aren’t meant to be with monsters, and monsters aren’t meant to fall in love.

You realize that now.

“[First]...” For once, he’s speechless. Even saying that much is difficult. Gradually, he stands from the spot he’d been flung to, wearily making his way toward your crumpled body. His hand reaches out, shaking; were you slipping in and out of consciousness the entire time…? How much did you overhear? How much did you see?

“Don’t come closer!” You blink back tears, your vision focusing and unfocusing in the midst of it all. Your fingers, your hands, your… your body is glowing. The light is faint, weak, like the remnants of a flame before its wick gives out. “I-I… W-what happened? What happened to me?”

The puzzle pieces fall into place in his head. Giorno draws a sharp breath, his thoughts reeling to provide an explanation that won’t frighten you any further. In this state, you’re running on a high, coming down from the power your body has just awakened to. Having just defended yourself against a deadly venom, your body is running on pure adrenaline just to keep yourself upright. Your mind is reeling to rationalize what’s happening. Every nerve in your body felt like they were on fire, burning you up from the inside out. It’s as if you’re being overclocked, forced to work at full capacity, threatening to crash at any moment. Power rolls off your body in waves, as if it was meant to be there, as if it was there all along. And there’s an energy in your veins that feels wholly foreign, simultaneously yours and someone else’s at the same time. The ringing in your head is disorienting beyond compare; it feels as if your mind has been invaded, as if there is something else, someone else in your consciousness.

“What did you do?!” You don’t want to look at him, not in this moment, but the situation leaves you no choice. Your eyes flicker, briefly glowing with unadulterated rage when your gaze meets his. It couldn’t be possible, he couldn’t have… “You… you made me a monster just like you.”

“[First], I can explain everything, but you need to rest or—”

“No. God, I’m such a fool.” Your gut wrenches when you accidentally turn your gaze upon the battered corpse, its body mangled and face unrecognizable. Its heart hangs from its chest; you shudder to think what his human counterpart looks like. His death must have been painful,  agonizingly slow — an end befitting a monster more so than a human. And he… he’s surrounded by a sea of blood — your husband is surrounded by a sea of blood. 

“How could I forget? W-what you are…” Your eyes are fully glowing, pulsating with a holy energy when they meet his, but the sight is far from terrifying. You’re trembling. You’re crying. You’re pleading with him, just as  you had when you first arrived on this island. You’re scared. “W-Will you do the same to me?” 

His heart shatters.

Even now, as broken as you may feel, you cannot let yourself fall apart. If you break now, you won’t escape. He won’t let you escape. It will just be worse this time. You’ll always know the truth, the fact that countless lives have bloodied his hands — that he killed in cold blood then looked at you like your life is the only one worth keeping. 

“You’ve already taken everything from me. You took my family from me. My friends. My life. My future. How am I any different from them? From any of the people you’ve hurt?” His expression wavers at your endless accusations, but he doesn’t defend himself and you take that as a confession to his sins. “That man was right. Do you remember all of them? All of your victims? All their faces? Their dreams and ambitions?” Air catches in your throat, realizing something the enemy had divulged; your family. They’d been… they’d been lied to, and that revelation does nothing to quell your anger.“What about their families? Are they still looking for them, too?” Your voice cracks, coinciding with your crumbling heart.

That’s right, your family looked for you. They searched for you; they mourned, they were betrayed. They think you’re dead, that you left without saying goodbye — without saying “I love you”. And you were deluded into thinking that everything was going so well, that you could forget, that you could start anew. You were happy, for once, for the first time in what felt like years. As close as you could get to happiness. Finally having set out on a path of healing, recovering pieces of yourself and putting them back together where no one else could. This illusion you allowed yourself to believe dissipates, the fog over your eyes lifting to reveal barren reality. A reality Giorno himself designed and held full control over, like a God, and you his sole obsession. If he is a God, he is cruel. To think otherwise is to be seduced by the enemy. 

“You lied to me. You said I was safe here, that I could trust you.” Your voice breaks at that word — trust. What a pretty word, for such awful lies. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

Giorno gathers his senses, his head ringing with your hurtful words, his heart tired. He is losing you all over again; this is the only thing he can defend, as all your other accusations are more or less true. “[First], I had to. He was going to—” 

“No. There’s never a good reason to murder, not when you have the power to stop them instead.” Your eyes flicker to Gold Experience Requiem, knowing full well of its powers. Giorno holds his tongue, realizing you’re right. He didn’t have to kill the enemy, not… not in front of you at least. Your eyes are not meant to see bloodshed or pain, and yet, he let his feelings get the better of him — and this is his price. “You didn’t have to, but you did. You killed him, Giorno. You killed him.” You can’t bring yourself to look at the corpse any longer. “That’s what monsters do.”

Each word stings more than the last.

He’s analyzing you. Mentally reciting and testing dozens of different explanations that might serve to placate you, even if it’s a temporary fix. Anything to get that stinging look of repulsion off your beautiful face, anything to make you look at him the way you did earlier. This is far more detrimental than the times you spoke down to him before now that a third party had been involved. The damage is already done, nature of himself that he tried to hide from you now out in the open. 

There may be no coming back from this.

“You’ve been through a lot.” Giorno takes one step closer to you, stomach dropping when you flinch at the tentative action. All the progress has been undone, though he can’t mourn that now. He has to keep a straight face, lull you down this high filled with fear and adrenaline. Get under your skin again… make you trust him. “Come, let’s go inside. You must feel tired.”

“No. No, no, no, you liar. You’ve put me through a lot,” you correct with a weak glare, holding your hand to your chest. The same hand that had finally come to accept him just minutes prior. Recalling his touch makes you want to scrub the skin raw, knowing how bloodied they were.  “Just… stay away from me, p-please.” Your demands sound more like pleads, the shock of your new abilities still paralyzing your system. Your wings encircle you still, their transparent silhouette coursing with a power you know not what to do with. Their presence alone makes you feel safe, a much needed barrier between you and him. It even withstood a direct attack from Giorno’s own Stand…

The possibility of escaping is becoming frighteningly real.

Giorno withdraws his outstretched hand, not wanting to scare you any further. It’s clear you don’t want to listen to him right now, and he’s not sure he wants to continue persuading you; the trembling of your body, the look on your face, like a frightened doe — you’re scared of him. The same girl that had looked at him with hesitant admiration, that had played with him, that had gotten to know him, that had kissed him — she’s gone, and some deep, hateful part of him knows she won’t ever come back. He’s walking on eggshells again and he knows it. In the terrified state that you’re in, there won’t be any deescalation. You’ve seen too much, know too much. It’s troublesome, too many factors at play to safely talk this out. There’s still the problem of your safety, and monitoring your body for any further repercussions from the earlier Stand attack. Giorno considers all of this, and with a silent sigh, makes a swift decision on how to best fix this. More roadblocks are set in the path of recovery, but he’s determined to see this through. That’s how he’s always been, and how he’ll always be until the day he draws his final breath. You are no exception; you never will be. Not when everything he does is wholly for you.

You realize something is amiss when he doesn’t respond any further to your pointed accusations. Normally, you’d see a flicker of hurt flit across his features — the only time he ever lets his guard down, even slightly, is with you. That’s not the case now, not after everything you’ve heard, everything you’ve seen. Lips parting, you’re about to inquire what it is he’s plotting, but by then it’s far too late. From the blood by your feet, roots start to form at the base, coming to life by Gold Experience Requiem’s ability. An unidentifiable substance leaks from them, sapping away at the remnants of your consciousness like parasites. It acts as a salve, soothing the snake bite on your neck and the skin covering your blackened veins, but its true purpose is far from that, meant to constrain you, to confine you. It’s a terrifying sight, being restrained by vines tainted in the blood of a dead man, being restrained by an entity that had made you gifts and brought you joy only minutes prior.

He’s using his ability on you.

Gold Experience Requiem, an entity that had excitedly made you a crown to place atop your head, looks almost distraught as he covers you from head to toe, confines you like his user has for as long as you can remember. They are one and the same, you realize; how foolish it was to believe this man was capable of anything but tragedy. You had been charmed by pretty lies fashioned to ensnare you for eternity. His words, his actions, everything about him was a lie — a forbidden fruit.

Standing becomes too arduous a task, your body crumpling to the ground in a pathetic show of weakness. The world around you grows blurry, your eyelids fighting to remain open only to lose and sink into the sweet call of sleep. Everything feels so far away. The call of the birds, the crashing of the ocean… even the sand that rubs against your skin doesn’t register. The only thing that does is the look on his face, so unlike the monstrous, dissociated expression he had when he took a man’s life before your eyes. Even that, all the pain, dread, betrayal, it’s all slipping away, to some place you cannot reach. Not anymore. The light that stems from your back flickers, the remnants of your holy wings shattering like fragments of glass. Giorno approaches you as the disorientation continues and your Stand deactivates, having protected you long enough. He wants nothing more than to take its place as your savior, your protector, his arms reaching out to catch and prevent your body from further harm. You’ve been through enough. You were right; he’s put you through enough.

As consciousness fades, you hear the Devil whisper one final promise.

“I’ll fix everything, just give me time.” 

[galaxyedging]

When you have some time to kill, love Din and like Cobb..

One shot fluffy smut. Cobb x reader. Din x reader. Am a sucker for romance with Din at the minute.

I Do

When you found him he was propping up the bar. Appearing at the door, your eyes caught his. A slight grin tugged at his lips before he downed his drink and made his way out to you. Neither of you spoke as he lead you down the narrow back alleys to his home. The cool night air did little to abate the heat of your skin. Opening his front door he gave you plenty of room to pass him. He played the part of the respectful gentleman perfectly.

Until the door closed, concealing you from prying eyes. His hands, lips, tongue, body engulf you in a way that was far from gentlemanly. He had you on the bed, half naked and arching into his touch before he spoke a word. "I could get the helmet if you like." he drawled. There was no judgement in his tone, just a genuine offer. In all you unspoken conversations about this moment you seemed to have said too much. He knew. Saw your feelings for Din. You couldn't help the anger that flared in you. In a second you had flipped your positions. Straddling his waist, fist gripping his open shirt tightly, pushing him down into the bed. "Easy sugar. I didn't mean to offend." He held his hands up, to placate you. "I pride myself on being a good host to visitors to my town. So it wouldn't be proper to deny you want you so sorely need." he emphasized the last part by rolling his hips, tantalisingly slow, underneath you. Pressing his hard length into you. "I guess I just felt I should make things clear, am not looking to get in between you and the Mandalorian. He's a good man." Thankfully, your eyes were still closed from the pleasure he had giving you by pressing into your heated core. He couldn't see the tears that glazed your eyes at his kind words about Din. "He is...and he nearly..." you cut yourself off.

"So that's what this is? His near death experience is running through your veins." His finger tips trailed down your bare arm. This whole time you had been naked from the waist up, legs spread over him but you didn't feel as exposed as you did in that moment. He laughed lightly "I've had my fair share of 'Thank the Maker we're alive sex' in my experience it's usually with the person that almost died, Sugar." The tension in you snapped, laughing hard, you rolled off him and lay your head down on him. "What if he doesn't feel the same?" you whisper into his chest, absently fiddling with his shirt." I think we both know he does. He stiffened like a fence post every time I gave you my attention." Smiling you're compelled to press a chaste kiss to flesh, a silent thank you for acknowledging what you were too scared to. He returns one to the top of your head. It's a sweet moment. Both of you enjoy it. Both of you know it's a sham. The touch is real but the tenderness behind it is meant for someone else.

"Come on Honey." He sits up bringing you with him. Handing you your shirt he throws his legs over the side of the bed, readying himself to stand and giving you some privacy to dress. "You should go back to him and tell him, before you lose him." His voice is wistful as he reaches for an open bottle of his dresser and takes a gulp. Once you're dressed you come to stand in between his legs, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Thank you Cobb."

He stands wrapping you in his arms as he reaches his full height. "Just being a good host." he tips his imaginary hat at you.

"Maybe it's not too late for you." you press. He blushes a little, tries to stammer an excuse. He wasn't the only one who could read people. "Go to her. If she's into the armour, you better move before Mando collects it in the morning."

His eyes sparkle as your suggestion. "Ok. A kiss for good luck?" The gentle, closed-mouth kiss you place on his lips soon grows to something more, your lips part as his tongue seeks entrance. His hands are on you again. The adrenaline in your system offsetting any guilt you would have had as your hands pull him closer. It's a nice moment to you, as if you're kissing something goodbye. No more seeking out cheap thrils like this. From now on Din is the only person you want. Thinking of building a life with him gives you a different type of thrill. Feeling ready to take that risk you pull away from Cobb. Walking over to his dresser you retrieve his helmet. Placing it firmly on his head you wish him luck before leaving.

The quiet walk back to the Crest did nothing for your nerves. The silence afforded you too much time in your head. So much so that you were half way up the ramp before you notice Din standing at the top. He was still. His stance was foreboding.

"You went to see Cobb." it wasn't a question or a accusation more like a bleak observeration.

"I did." you confirmed, there was no point lying.

"Why?" he simply asked.

You wished the answer was as simple. "I...I don't know." not exactly a lie but not the truth. You knew your motivation, why you went to Cobb and not Din but in this moment, standing before him none of that made sense. Why had you been so scared? The chance to call this man, this beautiful, brave, sweet, honourable man, your own was worth all the risk. He rocked slightly putting his weight on one leg looking at the ground. "I was scared." you continue. "Scared I almost lost you, scared I could still lose you if I..." your voice catching in your throat brought his head up to you. "..I just needed a distraction, comfort, something physical.." the last part just slipped out.

"You wanted sex." his shoulders slumped slightly.

"Yes. We didn't...but that's all it was going to be, just sex." you try to explain.

"Why..why couldn't you get that from me?" he murmured.

"Because with you it would never be just sex." you confessed. The weight of it lifting from your shoulders.

His shoulders pulled back. His back and limbs straightened. At a glance he looked furious. As he walked towards you, you thought about all the quarries you had seen in Carbonite. Their faces contorted in what you thought was pain from the freezing process. Right now you wondered if their faces were filled with residual fear from him stalking towards them. He was a terrifying sight. Determined, resolute. As his hand came up, no matter how much you trusted him not to hurt you, you couldn't help but flinch. His hand violently rip off his helmet. The sound of it crashing to the floor echoed around the ship. Before the sound even faded he was on you. His lips crashing to yours, it was inexperienced, sloppy, all teeth and tongue. All too rough. All too perfect.

He pulls at you, trying to get you closer despite the fact that there's no space between you. Throwing his gloves off he cups your face, his beautiful brown eyes looking deep into yours. "You're mine. My riduur. My everything. You will never lose me because I cannot lose you." Before you can react he's kissing you again. His previous words apparently in his touch. Pieces of his armour clatter to the floor as he keeps you pinned between him and the ship. You let him. You've given yourself to him completely now. He's in control. It's chaotic and calming. Overwhelming yet not enough. It weakens you and strengthens you beyond anything you thought possible. You are his. That makes him yours. Regaining some control of yourself you stop his movements. His brow twitches in question. Reassuringly you caress his face "I love you."

"You do?" he asked suddenly adorably uncertain.

You would have loved him no matter what he looked like but you couldn't help but be taken by the way his grin lit up his handsome face. "I do."

[littleladymab]

Fluff idea: the party telling/showing Azu how amazing she is and caring for her

HOLLERS LOUDLY WHAT DID YOU SAY? IT’S LOVING AZU HOURS????? SIGN ME UP!!!! 

++++

Hamid calls a meeting because he doesn’t know what else to do. “I’m worried about Azu,” he says, legs folded up beneath him as he settles onto the floor pillow. “It’s been almost two days, and she’s still under the weather.” 

“She’s a healer,” Zolf says, even though there’s something in his tone that belies his concern. 

“Yes, but that hasn’t helped, has it?” 

“Are you lot like… unable to cure the common cold?” Cel asks, feet kicking out in front of them.

Zolf hesitates before he realizes that the question is apparently addressed to him. “It doesn’t really… work like that.” 

“Hm,” they answer, and pull out a notebook to write something down. “How does it work?” 

He makes a few flustered noises before shrugging. “Now’s really not the time to discuss that.” 

“Right. Yes. Of course.” They spin their pen between their fingers before pointing it at Hamid. “Do you think she’s stressed?” 

Hamid and Zolf exchange a brief glance before immediately looking away from each other. “Perhaps…” Hamid agrees. 

“It’s not the veins,” Zolf concedes. “She’s been cleared of that.” 

“Well then. There you go.” Cel’s hands flap down into their lap as if they just finished solving a great equation. “I know that when I get really caught up in a project and forget to sleep I also get a cold. Mix that with anxiety? And wooah boy, that’s a nasty cocktail.” 

Hamid taps his chin in thought. “She has been pretty much going non-stop for… A long time.” 

“We all have.” There’s something… not quite accusatory in Zolf’s tone, but it rubs Hamid the wrong way. 

“Some of us deal with grief differently,” Hamid says politely.

Zolf doesn’t answer. 

Cel seems to have forgotten the conversation they were in the middle of and is scribbling in their notebook again. “I’ve made a list!” they announce. 

“What?” Zolf asks with a sigh. 

“Why a list…?” Hamid reaches out for the notebook when it is handed over to him. “METHODS FOR CURING AZU OF WHAT AILS HER” is scrawled across the top of the page in Cel’s messy block handwriting. He skims the list, eyes widening as he goes. “Oh, Cel, this is actually very sweet!” 

They beem. “Do you think it will work?” 

Hamid hands the notebook over to Zolf, whose expression softens as he looks at what is written on the page. “It’s worth a shot.” 

“Great! So, here is how we get started…” 

——— 

Azu feels a strange sort of disconnect between everything. She’s never been sick a day in her life, but now she can’t stop sniffling and her head hurts something fierce (and not the I just drank a ton of orcish moonshine so at least I must have had fun last night sort of headache). Her limbs ache, and her heart is heavy and too sluggish in her chest. 

Aphrodite did what comfort she could, but Azu knows that it’s deeper than that. 

She takes comfort in the small things to try and fill that little void that appeared after the letter. If she closes her eyes, she can pretend for a moment that she’s at home on a cool summer night, and the tatami mats don’t feel all that different from the ones in her village. She wears a simple cotton yukata, patterned with flowers, that reminds her of the dresses she wore before armor. 

The little things, she thinks. Focus on the little things. 

The door to her room slides open and she looks over to find Cel with a tea tray gripped in their hands. 

“Don’t mind me,” they whisper loudly, and do an expert shuffle on their knees across the room while not spilling a drop. “Keep on relaxing.” 

Azu sits up, careful not to waver as her head protests the movement. “I wasn’t really—” 

“It’s fine if you were!” They sit back on their heels and deftly prepare a sweet smelling tea into a small, too-delicate cup. 

Azu watches, startled. She manages to hold onto the cup that they press into her hands before they begin to immediately pull several candles from the bag at their side. “What— Isn’t that—” 

“Nonsense!” Cel sets them up a respectful distance away. “I made them myself. Perfectly fine.” 

“We’re in a wooden house. On rush-mats.” 

Cel hums like they’re not listening and struggles with a match for a comical second before getting them lit. A soft scent, rather like wildflowers, floats to her on the ocean breeze and Azu can feel her shoulders relax — despite how nervous she is that they might fall over and set everything on fire. 

Satisfied with their job, they sit down cross-legged across from Azu and grin. 

She stares back, confused, then down at her tea. 

From the still open door, Zolf pokes his head in and makes a move it gesture. “Cel!” he hisses when they ignore him the first time. 

“Oh! Right. Sorry. Just keep on relaxing!” They wink and hop up to pad out of the room on bare feet. 

Azu watches them go, then slowly looks down to where Zolf is handling yet another tray, this one ladened with what might be a combination of breakfast foods and pastries. 

He moves with more deliberation but equal care, setting his tray down alongside the tea tray. “I’m not much of a baker,” he says by way of explanation as he rearranges the plates and uncovers a few of the bowls. “And neither is Cel, despite what they might say, so. Apologies for the appearance of any of these.” 

“No, it’s—” Honestly, she doesn’t know what it is, and she’s also uncertain if she’s feeling choked up because of her cold or her emotions. “It’s lovely, thank you.”  

Zolf pauses, incredibly still, obviously debating if he wants to say something else. Then he just gives a curt nod and leaves much in the same fashion as he arrived. 

Azu picks up one of the small desserts that she does not recognize and takes a tentative bite. Strawberries and cream fill her mouth with a gentle sweetness, and she sighs despite herself. 

“A-Azu?” 

She looks over to find Hamid standing awkwardly halfway into the room. “Yes?” He doesn’t move, so she gestures to the spot alongside her. “You can sit.” 

He does so. He’s not carrying anything, though he does make a small little hand gesture and set a soft pink peony on the tray with her tea. “I just… wanted to check on you.” 

“It’s just a cold—” 

Hamid shakes his head, and he looks so incredibly small that her heart hurts. “I know it’s more than that. And I know I’ve been in my own little world recently—” 

“A lot has happened for you—” 

“Not just me. We… We lost a lot.” He reaches forward, and Azu takes his offered hand. “Friends, and time, and a chance to simply relax.” 

Azu looks down at her tea. She sets the cup down on the tray, and reaches for Hamid’s other hand. “I understand that the world won’t wait for us to catch our breath.” 

He gazes up at her with determination in his bright eyes. “It doesn’t mean that we can’t take a moment. It doesn’t mean anything if we’re run too ragged to be of any use!” 

She sighs, her shoulders heaving with the motion. But she manages a smile, and it feels honest and that’s the important thing. “Thank you.” And then, because she can hear Zolf and Cel failing at being stealthy in the hall, she raises her voice to say, “All of you. Thank you.” 

“No problem!” Cel says, though they give a startled squawk as Zolf shushes them loudly. 

Hamid huffs an embarrassed laugh. “We’re not very good at this.” 

“What, you mean the comforting?” Azu pulls Hamid in for a hug, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders gratefully. “It means a lot to me.” 

“You mean a lot to us, too, so take care of yourself. And let us know if you ever need anything.” 

“You do the same, alright?” 

He sniffles and nods, but his smile is bright and that makes her feel better.

[joonbird]

Heartbeat | 9

➭ “You’ve always stayed far away from the Kingsnakes, the coldblooded gang that runs the dark heart of your city. That is until your life collides with the intriguing and dangerous Jung Hoseok.“

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: gang!au, angst, smut

wordcount: 14k

part one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

** warnings: Overstimulation and cumplay. Very explicit descriptions of violence including the use of a knife. Graphic descriptions of injuries and blood. Dark themes incl. hurt, pain, death, gang activity. Light derogatory language during sex, rough sex.

hi, before you proceed please know that this chapter ends on a major cliffhanger. if these make you uncomfortable, i suggest waiting until chapter ten (final chapter) is posted.

Snakes plague your dreams, wrapping taut around your limbs and sinking their fangs into your skin.

Since you started having the dreams, they’ve always appeared in groups - writhing bodies, a mass of scales. In your dreams you always drown in them, they suffocate you until you awaken with a pounding heart and shaking hands.

But in tonight’s dream, there is only one snake. The lone creature is directly in front of you, its body coiled up. It isn’t touching you or making any kind of move to indicate that it wants to attack. Instead it is frozen as if it is paralyzed. The only sign that it is alive is in the tiniest flicker of its forked tongue. Onyx black eyes lock you into place, and you are caught in its stare, trapped in place like prey in front of a predator.

It reminds you of something. Someone. 

It reminds you of Hoseok.

You jolt awake, a gasp shedding from your lips. 

Your face is dotted in sweat, and you feel your heartbeat begin to slow as you adjust to your surroundings. You are curled up in your bed, tucked into Hoseok’s chest. You can hear the faint sounds of the day beginning to break, birds awakening and singing their song outside your window, the houses that neighbour yours starting to stir awake. 

You take a deep breath, placing a hand on top of your heart. It is hammering away in your chest, your palms clammy from your surreal dream.

You crane your head up to see Hoseok snoring softly, eyelashes fluttering with each breath. He looks completely serene, and you allow yourself a moment to look at him properly. The tension is beginning to release from your body, and you let out a sigh as you turn your head away and glance absently at the ceiling. 

The birds are still chirping and the night sky outside your window is beginning to melt into a streaky, moody purple. It has been three weeks since the night Hoseok came home, drenched from the rain and sporting a black eye. 

Every night since, you have had recurring dreams about snakes. It had gotten to the point where you had almost become accustomed to the confronting dreamscape, but tonight’s dream had shaken you up. You wince involuntarily as your mind flashes back to that one snake, its flat black eyes that had pierced you with its stare. 

The dream has left a knot of dread that sits low in your stomach. You ignore it, returning your attention back to Hoseok.

He looks so peaceful like this, face completely free of any stress or pain. That evening when he had grabbed you and held you to him so tight that you almost couldn’t breathe, his body heavy with rain soaked clothes... he had felt like an entirely different person. 

He had never held you like that before, like he was desperately checking that you were still alive. His entire body had been shaking, and small pitchy sounds were coming out from somewhere at the back of his throat. His voice had only steadied when he whispered to you that he wanted to be with you, that he was out of the Kingsnakes, for good. That night he had kept his hands on you the entire time, like he was afraid you would materialize into nothingness if he let go. 

He had been so urgent. So desperate. That night he had slept fitfully, garbled, fearful nonsense words falling from his lips as he dreamt. And that had been the first night you dreamt of snakes.

In the three weeks since, most of the fear and urgency you felt dwelling within Hoseok has subsided. Hoseok never told you what happened that night, and you never asked. You sensed that it was something he never wanted to talk about, given the haunted flash of his eyes at any mention of the Kingsnakes. 

So time passed, and although Hoseok seemed to grow lighter and lighter as each day went by, you felt the weight of uncertainty grow heavier. 

It was over, Hoseok had said so, and you had tried to get your mind to settle and smooth out the creases of doubt you felt.

For the most part, each day had been fine - better than fine actually - as you and Hoseok had a new unspoken thing in place where you hadn’t spent a night apart in the last three weeks. More often than not he stayed at your place, you’d eat dinner and spend time together before going to sleep. Those nights felt safe and secure, even when he went quiet and you could tell by the broody set to his eyes that he was lost in darker thoughts. 

Other nights you went for walks, fingers brushing against one another as you shivered in the night air and talked, slowly uncovering the little pieces of each other’s lives. You learned that Hoseok had been afraid of ghosts when he was a child, that he hated broccoli, and had his first kiss at nine years old with a girl named Sarah. They were such little, nothing things, things that in the scheme of it all just didn’t matter. You knew they didn’t matter and he knew that as well. But still - you both talked about the small things like they were important. Long winded conversations, teasing arguments, even just thinking out loud, you both seized whatever you could from one another.

Some evenings you went out, eating at hole in the wall restaurants or watching whatever blockbuster was on at your local cinema. You could tell Hoseok was on edge those nights, eyes darting around to see if any of the Kingsnakes that lingered around the fringes of your city would react to his presence. But when you did bump into them, they all stared right through him as if he were invisible. Hoseok didn’t say anything about it, but you could hear the unspoken words and see the way his shoulders relaxed. It was done, that chapter was closed.

You know it’s selfish in a way, to love doing this with him - ignoring the past and just spending time together like you were two normal people. You tell yourself that that quiet evenings that you have been spending with him are doing something in healing the wounds you know Hoseok carry with him. That it can’t be selfish if it’s helping him, if each teasing comment and silvery laugh of his acts as a balm to the soul. You tel yourself that you’re intentionally choosing not to ask the questions you want answers to, that you don’t need to know more about his past and what happened that night from tree weeks ago. 

But now, at this hour when everything is uncertain, when day and evening are stuck in limbo and the sky is a mottled purplish grey - you can admit to yourself that you are being selfish. That more than anything else you want Hoseok, even if that means pretending that everything is perfectly okay. 

The loud buzz of your phone interrupts your thoughts, and the light from your phone screen illuminates your darkened bedroom. Taehyung’s face fills your screen, a silly selfie that he had taken and set as his contact photo months ago.

You are surprised to see that he is calling you, and you carefully disentangle yourself from Hoseok’s arms as the phone keeps ringing. 

You haven’t heard much from Taehyung in the last couple of weeks. Immediately following the assault that had happened at his gallery, you’d visited him a few times in hospital, always alone and at an hour when he would likely not have too many visitors. You had run into his other visitors sometimes, Taehyung was a well-liked man and had a lot of friends and admirers who stopped by to share their well wishes. His bedside table at the hospital was always laden with gifts, baskets of food and arrangements of beautiful delicate orchids. Everybody who knew Taehyung knew that orchids were his absolute favourite flowers. You can still remember the unexplainable sadness you had felt while looking at the fragile but beautiful flowers that surrounded Taehyung while he lay in that hospital bed.

During his hospital stay the police had stopped pestering him, figuring that they weren’t going to get any intel on the Kingsnakes from the badly injured but stubbornly silent Taehyung. The patient clipboard that hung by his bed listed out all his injuries: four broken ribs, internal bruising, a fractured jaw and a dislocated knee. The clipboard didn’t to mention the bruises that bloomed all over his body, nor the perceptible shift in his personality from happy go lucky to completely withdrawn. 

Each time you visited Tae, neither of you mentioned the Kingsnakes, or Hoseok, or Ara even. It was like there was no middle ground to act as a bridge between you two, and no matter how hard you tried to reach him, he kept you at arm’s length. Back then it left you floundering, feeling lost and disconnected to one of your closest friends.

Since then you know that Tae has been discharged from the hospital. You have barely heard from him, save for a few late, vague messages. Your attempts to catch up, to visit him at his place, to talk on the phone: all of it has been carefully sidestepped. Ara is another story entirely, your messages to her always went unanswered, phone calls going straight to voicemail. 

Your phone is ringing. You know that you should answer, but something stops you. Guilt, fear, uncertainty... you can’t place what is is but you let the call ring out. When your phone screen goes to black, you feel a twist in your chest. Since when have I become such a coward?

Your phone vibrates with a text message notification. The last message in your thread with Tae was one sent a week ago, you checking in on him with no response.

Taehyung [6:09AM] hey sorry im replying so late and for calling so early. Im doing good, injuries healing quickly

Taehyung [6:09AM] are you free tomorrow? Can we meet up?

You [6:10AM] glad to hear you’re doing better… and of course. I’m working until late but can do anytime after work! :)

Taehyung [6:13AM] okay. How’s coffee, 7pm at parole?

Your fingers hesitate. Fleetingly, you wonder if you should say something. Anything to stop things from being so awkward and tense between you and Tae. But you don’t. You can’t. 

It’s like my situation now with Hoseok, you think to yourself. The sky is beginning to melt into blue outside. It’s no longer that dusky morning hour. I just want to keep pretending that everything is okay. 

You [10:13PM] i’ll see you then!

The next day you arrive at the small cafe ten minutes early, hoping to have a few minutes to settle yourself before Taehyung gets there. When you walk in you spot Taehyung sitting at a small table, two coffees in front of him. It’s textbook Taehyung, who is always early to everything, dependable to a tee.

When he spots you, a smile flits across his face and he nods at the two coffee cups. “Cappucino, right?”

You nod, sitting in the seat opposite him. “Uh huh. Thanks Tae.”

He looks tired, dark circles feature under his brown eyes. You can tell by the slow, careful way he picks up his coffee cup that he’s still in pain from the injuries. 

“How are you doing Tae?” You probe gently and he smiles at you, that same happy, effortless Taehyung smile that you know like the back of your hand. The smile doesn’t fully reach his eyes though and you know that he’s putting on a front for you, for himself even.

“I’m doing much better. Turns out broken ribs are a real bitch to recover from, though.” 

“Yeah, I’ve heard that actually - that it hurts to laugh, even?”

Taehyung lets out a small chuckle and then winces. “Hurts to breathe,” He says drily. The two of you fall into light conversation, before eventually it lapses into quiet.

You take a sip from the cappucino. The cafe you are sitting in is busy even at this time in the evening. Recognition hits you - this is the same cafe that I was sitting at with Taehyung and Ara all those months ago. This was the exact spot where you had been complaining about your boredom, talking about wanting things to change. This is the same spot where Taehyung told me he didn’t see me as a sister. This is the same place that I realized he cares for me. You can still recall the expression on Taehyung’s face then, the confident words and warm, easy smile. It’s a ghost of what he’s like now, pale face and sunken eyes, wincing as he gingerly drinks his coffee.

I got what I wanted all those months ago, you think to yourself, everything’s changed.

“I need to tell you something.” Taehyung’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “And it’s going to be hard to say it, but I need to, and I’d just… I’d appreciate it if you listened. Until I’ve said it.”

Taehyung is nervous. You’re not used to seeing him like this, hesitating over his words and so uncertain of himself. You nod, and he takes a deep breath.

“It’s hard to be around you.” His voice is quiet. “It’s hard because I care about you, and I’m really… I’m scared of what might happen. I don’t want anything bad to ever happen to you, I don’t know how I would deal with it or what I would do. Whether you’re in my life or not, I don’t ever want you to be hurt.” He looks down at his hands, letting out a sigh. “And if we’re going to be honest here, it’s hard because I’m selfish. Because I want you, because I hate that you’re with him, because I am trying my best to be understanding... but all I want to do is tell you that you’re making a huge mistake by being with someone like him. I know I should trust you. But I… I can’t let go of it. I can’t let go of what happened. I can’t let go of you.” Taehyung looks up and stares at a spot behind you, not meeting your gaze. You let out a shaky exhale.

His eyes are watery with tears as he continues. “I want to be a good friend to you but it’s just… this whole situation with the Kingsnakes is bringing out the worst in me. I know you said they’ve let him go, but I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. And I don’t know whether that’s because my feelings for you are clouding my judgment, or the nightmares that I’ve been having every night since they broke into my gallery are turning me into a crazy person, I don’t know. But something is telling me that It’s not done. That they’re not going to stop until they get what they want, and you’re being dragged into the middle of it. That no matter what, Hoseok will always be one of them, he’ll always be a Kingsnake. It’s driving me insane, and I… It’s making me think and act in ways that I’ve never before. You know I nearly bought a gun the other day? Me?” His voice breaks off harshly and he sighs, squeezing his eyes closed. 

His fingers reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose, the creases in his brow fan out. You can see his lips moving, he’s counting his breaths, evening them out. You feel a pang in your chest.

“I’m going to go away for a bit. Travel, see the world, I don’t know. I need some space, I guess. I’ve booked tickets, that’s what I wanted to tell you today. I need time.”

Hot, regretful tears swell in your eyes because you can see the different emotions that are working across his face - the anger, the hurt, the fear. 

“Taehyung…” 

He shifts, opening his eyes. He’s still looking down at his hands. 

“I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry about everything. You’re important to me. Ara is important to me. And I’m just sorry that you had to get involved in any of this. I’m just so, so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Taehyung looks up and offers you a small, sad smile. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t blame you. I just fell in love with the wrong person. Silly me, huh?” You can tell he’s trying to make a joke of it, but it falls flat. 

You’ve hurt him, even though it was unintentional, and your heart twists in shame. 

You never wanted to hurt him or hurt Ara, but somehow along the way you have. Taehyung’s words hang in your mind, I just fell in love with the wrong person. You wonder briefly if you too have fallen in love with the wrong person. If in another universe, you could’ve loved someone like Taehyung - someone safe, someone steady. But instead you’ve fallen in love with Hoseok -  with the dark and terrible sides of him, the light that is slowly beginning to show. 

Maybe i have fallen in love with the wrong person, you think, but how can that be when it feels so right? If everything was to fall apart with Hoseok, if the Kingsnakes were to wring the strength out of you like they have with Taehyung- what would you do? Would you leave, like Taehyung is doing now? Is Taehyung right - that things aren’t just as resolved as you are blindly telling yourself they are? That Hoseok will always be one of them?

You hate the questions that are bubbling up inside of your head and you try desperately to silence them. 

“Taehyung.” You sigh out his name. “I want things to go back to normal between us.”

You know as soon as the words have left your mouth that things won’t go back to normal - the scars on his body and the memories of the Kingsnakes that are embedded in his mind attest to that. You want desperately to believe in Hoseok, and in what you have with him. Even if he was the wrong person to fall in love with, you are still in love with him.

“I want things to go back to how they were too.” Taehyung says quietly. “They will. I believe it. And Ara will come around. Give her time and space, y’know? I think it’s just one of those things that needs time for everything to heal.”

Your eyes suddenly prick with tears. “Okay.” 

You know he’s talking about the two of you as well, and you both fall quiet. After a moment Taehyung changes the subject to where the places he wants to visit on his trip. You appreciate that about him - how Taehyung smooths things over, even when he’s hurting. How he offers you words of assurance even when he is in pain. 

In the background of your conversation, you send a silent prayer out to whoever in the universe is listening, for things to heal between you and Taehyung, and you and Ara.

The two of you stay in the coffee shop for another hour, light and meaningless conversation that acts as a gloss for what you are both feeling. Eventually the evening wraps up and you bid your final farewells. 

Taehyung - a broken man, brutally snapped into pieces of he used to be. You - a woman who has questions that she’s too afraid to answer.

You fish under the doormat for Hoseok’s spare key. The house is silent, and you’re grateful for the quiet as you hang up your coat and head into the living room. Hoseok is sprawled out on his couch. By the soft snores he lets out with each breath, you can tell that he is fast asleep. You perch yourself on the edge of the couch, next to Hoseok’s body.

The entire walk home from the coffee you have been unable to get rid of the unease lodged in your chest. It isn’t until now that you feel that tightness begin to fade. Letting out a burdened sigh, you reach out and gingerly brush the hair away from Hoseok’s eyes, deep in thought.

“Hey.” Hoseok’s voice is thick and groggy, his eyes still closed as his clears his throat, “Are you just sitting there watching me sleep?”

You continue brushing your hand over Hoseok’s forehead, carding your fingers through his hair. He leans in to the touch, and you smile. 

“Maybe. Can’t help it, you just look so cute when you’re sleeping.”

Your voice is teasing, he lets out a scoff, and a “Creepy much?” but his words have no bite. Not like they did when you first met him. 

Instead of muttering out a retort, which is the expected Hoseok response, he keeps his eyes closed and lets out a long yawn. 

“Mm… feels nice.” He mumbles at the soothing movements of your fingers. You can see him unwind from just the tips of your fingers, and you smile at the sight of him so relaxed. 

“How was seeing Taehyung?” His voice is carefully neutral as he poses the question, his face doesn’t give anything away. You let out a noncommittal hum.

“It was okay.” You say quietly, and he opens his eyes, eyeing you down. You shift in place, knowing that he is staring at you and trying to decipher answers from the troubled purse of your lips. 

“Oh? What did he have to tell you then?”

You shrug, raking your nails softly over his temples. “He’s going away for a while to travel, and he said he wants some space from me while he’s gone. I think I really hurt him.” 

Neither of you speak. Hoseok reaches out, pulls you down and onto the couch properly. You obediently wriggle down so that you are lying next to him, hands clasped in front of you. Your face is mere inches away from Hoseok’s, you can feel the wisp of his breath on your cheeks.

“He’ll get over it.” He says gruffly, and the two you share a fleeting glance before Hoseok pulls you in closer, enough to mumble into the tiniest space that separates the two of you, “Just give him time.”

You make a tiny murmur at his words, words that nearly mirror what Taehyung had said to you exactly. 

“Time and space, huh?” You say aloud, more to yourself than to him. You catch Hoseok looking at you with an indecipherable expression on his face and you waver. “Does time and space really work, though?”

A wry smile tugs at Hoseok’s features. “Well. It didn’t exactly work for me. So I guess I can’t really talk.” 

You tilt your head back to look at him properly. “Hm? And what do you mean by that?”

He shrugs. “When I first met you, it just felt like no matter how much time or space away that I tried to take, it didn’t do anything but make me want you more. It was annoying.”

You can’t help the small coquettish laugh that bubbles out of you from hearing Hoseok’s muttered words. Hoseok lets out a huff. “He’s different to me though. He’ll be fine. He’ll get over it. Unless… you don’t want him to?”

He throws out the question casually but it’s a carefully placed one, one that makes you tense up briefly.

“No, that’s not it. I just want things to get back to normal between me and Tae. And me and Ara too.” You hesitate, sneaking a glance at Hoseok. He’s looking directly at you with dark, challenging eyes. The words come out in a burst of courage.

“P-plus, the only one I want is you, anyway.”

Neither of you move. You know he’s not dense, that he’s completely aware of what you’re subtly implying, what conversation you’re dancing around. It’s funny how small of an issue it had been during all your past relationships - a quick conversation that defined the borders of a relationship, the assigned title of boyfriend and girlfriend, you always blurting out the words ‘I love you’ like they were any other. With Hoseok, everything is flipped. Everything is more intense, more vivid, like the saturation and vibrancy has been turned up in volume. Saying the words ‘I love you’ doesn’t feel meaningless, at least not when it comes to Jung Hoseok.

Hoseok reaches forward with his hand and crooks his pinky through yours, meeting your hand where it is still folded into your chest, above your heart. 

“Well. You already know that you’re the only one I want.” His voice is clipped and short, but he tightens his pinky around yours and pulls you in even closer.

You burrow your face into his chest, letting out an exhale. It just feels so right to be here with him like this, crooked into his body, with your pinkies interlaced. Whatever doubts you had earlier ebb away as you breathe in Hoseok’s scent, relishing in the feeling of him tucked around your frame.

I just have to trust in you and trust in us. The thought flits through your mind and soothes your nerves. I trust you, Hoseok.

“Hey…” Hoseok starts, and you shift your body so that you are facing him properly. Your bodies are still cocooned close, barely fitting on your narrow couch. “I was thinking.”

“Mm? About?”

“Well a few days ago I figured that I should probably do something right? Now that I have all this spare time. Like… I don’t know, get a real job, or.. or...” 

A moment of hesitation.

“Or I don’t know. Community college or something.” Hoseok’s tone is brusque, he throws the words out carelessly like they are meaningless. But you can tell by the frown on his lips that he cares, that this has likely been simmering on his mind for days. 

“I know I’ll be a lot older than everyone there, and it might be a huge waste of time but I dunno. It’s something I really wanted to do when I was a kid. There used to be these dance battles that happened late at night between different college crews. I’d sneak out at night and watch them dance. And I was just a kid, but they always seemed like they had it all together. They had it made, they were happy, they were...” Hoseok’s eyes are gleaming and he breaks off mid sentence, a wry smile wrangled on his lips. “They were cool. That was the big dream back then. Go to college, make my mother and sister proud, become one of those guys that I used to idolize so much.” The light fades from his eyes and his lips contort into a conflicted frown. “Before… everything happened. I mean, this is only an idea. God knows if any college will even take someone like me- I mean...” The words rush out and he frowns. “I dunno. It’s probably a stupid idea, I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“Hey. You can do it Hoseok.” Your voice dips softly and you reach out, running your fingertips down his jaw. You can’t help but picture a younger Hoseok, a kid, all bright eyes and hope for the future. He’s still a part of him, as much as he had pretended for years that he had left that kid behind - he’s still there.  

“You should apply.”

“You really think so?” He asks, his tone suddenly somber.

“Yeah, I really do. You should apply Hoseok. Seriously.”

Without even realizing, your fingertips brush absently over the tattooed snake on Hoseok’s hand. Hoseok looks at you silently and the vulnerability in his eyes disappears, he closes off.

He lets out a grunt and gets up off of the couch, walking to the kitchen. You watch him leave, a frown toying on your lips before you get up and follow him. He is standing by the sink pouring a glass of water, a tense set to his shoulders.

“Am I being crazy? For doing this? Talking about college and all that?”

His voice is harsh with irritation.

You frown. “You’re not crazy-”

“Okay, crazy was the wrong word… am I kidding myself? Would a college even want to take someone like me?��� He scoffs derisively at the end of his sentence and your frown deepens.

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t-

“Because of this!” Hoseok’s voice cuts through yours as he yanks out his wrist. Your eyes track down to the snake tattooed on his wrist, you don’t speak. He lets out a loud, frustrated sigh. 

“What college would take in someone with a gang mark tattooed on their body?” His voice is twisted in bitterness.

“If you got good test scores, if you do a good interview - which I know you can, then I don’t think a community college would care about your past, Hoseok.”

“You really don’t think they would care?” Hoseok’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Are you aware of this thing called reality, princess? You might want to try it out sometime, but then again facing up to reality isn’t exactly your style, is it? I mean that is what led you to me in the first place, right?”

You let out a hiss at his words, feeling anger swell hot in your chest. His words are sharp, they cut at a nerve and the sting that follows is searing. 

“What the hell is your problem, Hoseok?” 

He falls silent at your words and it’s only then that you notice his chest is rising up and down rapidly, he is blinking fast and hard - like he’s trying to hold back tears. Even now he’s struggling so hard to keep up that guard, to stay tightly locked up.

“Hoseok… What is it?”

He lets out a frustrated “tch”, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “I’m- I’m being a fucking ass right now aren’t I? God damn it... I knew I’d fuck this up, I’m - I’ll stop, I’ll go- ”

You step closer to him, you place your hands on his wrists, stopping him. He looks down at you, eyes impatient and mouth set into a firm, determined line.

“Don’t go, don’t run away just… just talk to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

He freezes in place and for a moment he looks completely stunned. 

“What?” He repeats, voice hoarse.

“Just talk to me, Hoseok. You can tell me anything. I’ll never judge you.You’re a fucking ass sometimes that’s true, but that’s okay. I’m a bitch sometimes, you’re an ass, it is what it is. But no matter what, I’ll listen to you. I don’t understand you all the time, but I want to try. But I can’t do that if you’re pushing me away.”

Hoseok stares at you and you can see his guard falling, eyes darting back and forth in a conflicted, uncertain way. Finally he sighs, the anger from before completely falls from his features.

“I’m not good with words.” He starts, his voice is shaky and low. “I know I’m not and I’m… I’m trying, I really am.”

Your fingers move down from his wrists to his, you lace your hands together.

“I know.” 

His eyes are cast downward and he closes his eyes.

He looks at you for a long moment before he sighs again. “I just… I can’t help but think that I don’t deserve this. Do I deserve to feel this way? To be with someone like you… to talk about things like going to college? Do I even deserve to think about a future?” His voice breaks off and his eyes are haunted.

“I’ve done a lot of terrible things. I ran with the Kingsnakes for years and they were my livelihood, my family, my identity. I did whatever I was told and I never questioned it. Back then, I didn’t even feel guilty.” His eyes are full of loathing and you stay quiet, letting him continue. 

“Do you remember that night when I came home in the rain?”

You could never forget that night, the memory of how tightly he had held you, the shake to his shoulders as he clutched at you still fresh in your memory. 

“Yeah,” You say softly, thinking back.

“Well that night I stood by as Sungmin - Z - killed someone. He shot him right in front of me. And then he turned to me and tried to shoot me too, except there were no bullets left in the chamber.”

Your face slackens in shock but Hoseok isn’t even looking at you, his eyes transfixed on his hand, on the snake’s tail that curls up to his thumb bone. 

“Maybe it was luck, or some twisted act of fate but he let me go that night. And I’m glad to be out but... it’s still in my mind, you know? Everything I’ve done. Who I was. I still don’t know who I am outside of the Kingsnakes. But that doesn’t matter.” His voice is rough and you realize he’s close to tears.

“I’m not a good person.” He whispers and his voice is choked. Painfully, it reminds you of that night. It all makes sense now, the pieces slotting together. You have so many thoughts running through your mind but you push them aside, reaching forward to squeeze his hands and do the same thing you did back then. You loop your arms around his body, hold him close and hug him. 

“You don’t see yourself like I do, Hoseok.” You whisper. “The Jung Hoseok I know is kind. He doesn’t let many people close, but he never lets shallow things precede his loyalty for those he cares about. He’s clever, and bold, and stubborn as hell once he’s made up his mind. But that stubbornness is real, its human. And as much as he tries to act like he isn’t… he’s warm. He’s strong. He’s thoughtful. He’s not Hoseok the former Kingsnake, Hoseok the gang member. He’s just... Hoseok.”

Your sentence tapers off as you glance at Hoseok. You are so used to seeing Hoseok composed, in control of himself - but right now he is completely open, all big eyes and slightly parted lips, and a stricken expression on his face that for once, isn’t restrained in the slightest.

Something grips in your chest. Tightens and squeezes and refuses to let go. 

“How? How can you say those things… how even now, do you look at me like that… ” Hoseok whispers, his voice vulnerable. His eyes are clouded with doubt. “Like I’m a good person.” Swallowing hard, he looks up and meets your gaze, your heart stutters and that feeling in your chest, in your heart, is ravenous and all consuming.

“You are a good person,” You affirm softly. Hoseok shakes his head, lets out a tiny scoff but the glow in his eyes gives him away. “Hey,” He murmurs, his voice capturing your attention. A long silence hangs between the two of you and the expression on Hoseok’s face is so tender that it makes you ache.

“Thank you.”

Hoseok steps closer. He’s standing close - so close that you can see the tiny constellation of freckles that dust over his temple, feel the hum of his body heat close to yours.

“It’s because of you...” Hoseok murmurs, “That I....”

He tilts his head, meeting your gaze. For a moment he doesn’t speak, but you can see him swallow, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat. 

“Just… thank you.” He finally speaks, his voice lowering.

You let out a shaky breath. He is standing so close, that for a brief, fleeting moment you wonder if he can tell that you are breathing in a little deeper, needing more oxygen ,because feeling breathless seems to be a common side effect of being in the proximity of Jung Hoseok.

“Don’t thank me, I didn’t do anything, it was you who-”

“Ah,” Hoseok interrupts you, “You’re wrong. You did a lot. For me. You do a lot… for me and you’re… you believe in me, and I just.. I mean God, you’re so...”

His words are a little harsh and clumsy and they rush out in a jumble. There’s a flutter in your chest, a butterfly beat. 

“I’m what?” You ask, and Hoseok reaches back, rubs the nape of his neck. His lips curve and he rolls his eyes, gathers himself up again and lets out a low “tch” right at the back of his throat.

“You already know, don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” You repeat teasingly, stifling a giggle because Hoseok is so flustered, a touch irritated as well, and it strikes you that somewhere along the line you memorized his subtle nuances. That you stopped putting up your guard around him, and gave him all of your heart. 

“You’re… you’re great.” He says simply in a short voice, voice a little husky. “I dunno, the word great doesn’t really properly cover it, cover you, but I mean fuck, I don’t know. You just are. You’re great.” 

The flutter in between your ribs gets stronger, you feel a twist in your belly, an ache in your chest. 

Hoseok rolls his eyes and huffs, but his cheeks are tinged pink.

“Hoseok-” you breathe out, “-you’re great too.” 

A rare smile spills across his face and neither of you look away. 

And then he leans in.

His mouth brushes over yours - a soft kiss that is bundled up in anticipation. And just like you knew he would, he deepens the kiss. You feel his tongue lick at your bottom lip, seeking entrance. 

It’s slow, intentional. Your hands curve around the small of his back, you revel in how good it feels to have him holding you close - one hand at your waist, the other caressing your face. 

He pulls away, his lips wet and eyes wide. 

“What are you doing to me,” He says wryly, under his breath, and before you can respond he leans closer, lips brushing against your earlobe, “You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger princess, y’know that? I’m all yours.” 

You shiver from head to toe. All the times you had fantasized about this, idly daydreamed about what it would feel like to have Hoseok holding you carefully and tenderly, whispering in your ear that he’s yours - none of it, none of the daydreams and fantasies you’d had, even minutely compares to how good it feels. 

His mouth, working delicate kisses down the slope of your neck, fingers slowly massaging against your hip, working closer to your inner thigh. You can feel your heart rate quicken as the kisses against your neck get more urgent, his teeth nipping against the sensitive skin. 

You feel so hot and wet and desperate that it’s all you can really make sense of - how badly you want this, want him. 

You roll your hips up against him, curve yourself around his thigh. You can’t even control it anymore, you want him, so badly that a moan tumbles out of your lips as you grind against his leg like a fucking desperate teenager. But you don’t have time to think about it, too consumed by the wet of Hoseok’s lips against the dip of your collarbone, the groan he lets out as you rut against his leg. 

The sound of his voice - a muttered, throaty “Fuck”, you can almost feel it as much as you can hear it, his arms tightening around you. He captures your mouth again in a kiss, this time it’s laced with nothing but want. 

You can’t help the small gasp that leaves your throat as Hoseok bends down and picks you up effortlessly, pressing himself harder into you. Your legs are wrapped around him, your fingers clinging into the curve of his shoulder blades as he begins to slowly, achingly push his hips against you. Your gasp melts into a moan as his hips rock against you, tilting up until you can feel his rock hard erection against your core. 

Even through the layers of clothing that separate you, you can feel how hard he is - you are lost in the way his breath stutters against your neck, the feeling underneath your hands of his shoulders as they start to tremble ever so slightly - perhaps from carrying you and pressing you against this wall, or perhaps from sheer arousal. 

You whimper, wrap your thighs around him in a hungry attempt to lock him into place. Your body is wound tightly around his, but still you want more. With Hoseok, you are always wanting more. He obliges, continuing to rut his hips against you, at a rhythm akin to him fucking you, slow and teasing, like there isn’t the thin black cotton of his sweatpants and the lace of your underwear separating your bodies. 

“Hoseok please,” You moan out, and Hoseok lets out a dark chuckle against the shell of your ear.

“Be quiet princess.” 

He accompanies his words with another firm push of his hips against you. You shudder, heat pools over your face. You are so fucking wet, the lacy fabric of your underwear soaked. Hoseok knows it, you know it. 

“Please baby, I’ll do anything, please-”

Hoseok claps a hand over your mouth. 

His eyes glint as he smirks at you, lowering you until you are standing again on your own feet. He keeps his fingers against your mouth as he leans in. His lips trail over your collarbone until he mouths a wet, hungry kiss against the nape of your neck - your tilt your head into it, squeeze your eyes shut. You moan against his hand, it comes out muffled as Hoseok’s teeth nip teasingly at your skin, you moan louder.

“I told you to be quiet.” Hoseok’s voice is low and commanding, words hissed and throaty against your ear. He pulls back, you stare at him. His hair is messy, cheeks slightly flushed. He’s turned on - you recognize the hungry gaze, the way he licks his lips, stares at you like you’re a dish to be eaten, like he just can’t fucking wait any longer. His eyes scan over you and you moan again against his hand, he smirks. 

“You want me?” He murmurs, he reaches over with his other hand and guides your palm until it presses against the tent in his pants. 

Your fingers wrap around his hard length, you feel a deep, aroused knock between your legs. 

“You want this?” He urges, hand still clamped over your mouth. You stare at him and nod, letting out a desperate, muffled yes against his palm.

“Can you be quiet for me?” He asks, voice low. You nod, he lets go. 

Your breathing is heavy, you want him so badly that it’s beginning to simmer over your skin. His eyes flash, he tilts his head and bites his lip. Absently, you remember how he had looked at you after the first time you had ever slept with him - fucked him, really - with this same determined, hungry, intrigued stare. Well, not exactly the same - he’s softer, he stares at you a little more intently, his eyes nowhere as cold as they had been then. 

He puts a finger to his lips, and you nod, he smiles. 

“Good girl,” He says in a husky, approving voice and something dark and slick with arousal entwines over your lungs at those words, you gasp in a little deeper for breath. 

“I love how good you are for me. That you do what you’re told.” He steps closer to you again and kisses you, it’s a slow and teasing kiss - tongue working over yours, hands cupping your ribs just underneath the curve of your breasts. 

It’s a kiss designed to drive you even crazier than you already are, to get you more wrapped around his little finger with want - and then he breaks away, kissing down your jaw.

He kisses with confidence, mouth working a wet, slow trail down your neck, at the top of your breasts. Your breath hisses in as he kisses down yet again. You fight to keep quiet as he plants a slow, long kiss on the curve of your breast - only centimetres away from your nipple. 

You can feel his breath over your nipple, it’s rock hard and you are painfully aware of how badly the ache is emanating from between your legs. He looks up at you, and a slow smirk spreads over his face. 

For a second you imagine what you look like from his perspective - staring down at him with wide desperate eyes, lips clamped together to prevent fervent pleas from escaping your lips. 

Only Hoseok can get me like this, you think, only Hoseok can get me so hot and desperate and turned on that I have to literally curl my fists into balls to stop myself from begging him to touch me. 

The thought is running through your head like a spool of ribbon - touch me touch me touch me touch me - and then Hoseok’s tongue flickers over your nipple.

You fight against the moan that threatens to slip out of your mouth, Hoseok tilts his head back to watch. He likes this, watching the conflicting pleasure and frustration flicker over your features, knowing he has you in the palm of his hand. 

He always has, since day one, since the day he fucked you in the bathroom of that filthy dive bar, and he likes this now, watching you unravel in front of him. 

His tongue presses flat against your nipple and you tremble. Even though it’s the slightest of touches, the barest teasing of his wet mouth against your body - it’s finally some release and your back involuntarily arches. His lips curve around your nipple, and fuck does it feel incredible. You can feel pleasure buzz over you as he slowly sucks your nipple, lips gentle and teasing and intimate all at once, tongue flicking over you teasingly every few seconds, and then sucking harder with a little more pleasure. He lets out a moan as his other hand caresses over your free breast, fingers pinching your other nipple. 

Fuck, you think blurrily, there is a hard thudding pulse between your legs, deep in your cunt, it feels so good that I might actually come from this, from his fingers pinching and teasing over your nipple, his mouth carefully suckling your other one, fuck I’m going to - your voice, a sharp, muttered “Hoseok don’t stop, I’m going to-”

You glance down and see Hoseok’s eyes looking up at you, a split second of surprise before he swirls his tongue over your nipple a little harder. 

Fuck. You feel that familiar anticipation start to climb, your thighs involuntarily squeeze, you hold your breath as you tilt your hips desperately - you’re so fucking close. And then you feel Hoseok’s palm press against the top of your cunt, fingers feathering over your underwear, pushing the wet, soaked fabric into you, tongue still working on your nipple. 

He lets out a little hum, and each stroke of his fingers elicits a groan from your lips. You are completely under his control, hips tilted upwards in a silent plea for him to continue teasing your clit with his fingers. 

Your eyes flutter up, Hoseok is gazing at you with that dark, hungry expression on his face- like he wants to devour you whole. 

You love it, you’re madly in love with this - the way he lingers on your lips, how he lets out a tiny groan every time you whimper out his name. Fuck! Your thighs twitch as he presses particularly hard against your soaked slit, your fingernails claw down his back but Hoseok barely reacts, transfixed on you. He doesn’t show any sign of slowing, his fingers curling upwards through your sweet flimsy cotton panties.

And then you feel it- a wave of satisfaction, of pleasure, of slow simmering heat and release spreading from your core all over your body. 

“Look at me,” Hoseok commands, you barely flicker your eyes open as Hoseok continues to work his fingers on you. 

“Good girl.”

Those words topple you over the edge.

“Hoseok - H-Hoseok-” You are shaking as you come, Hoseok slows his movements in time with the throbbing of your cunt, the waves of your orgasm.

With an elongated moan, you feel Hoseok leaning forward, finding your lips and capturing them in a long kiss. 

“Such a good girl,” He croons, his fingers don’t slow. 

He hooks your underwear to the side roughly, exposing your bare cunt. Your jaw is hanging open, a choked moan slips out of your lips as Hoseok thrusts his index finger inside of you. 

You are so wet that is slides in with no resistance, his thumb expertly plays against your over sensitive clit. 

“Hoseok-” Your voice is shaken and choked, it’s too intense - you can still feel your orgasm riding through your body, your pussy throbbing and clenching - but Hoseok isn’t slowing down. 

His finger pumps in and out of you, thumb stroking your clit hard and fast. It feels good, so good that it’s overwhelming - the tension is immense and you let out a scream as your thighs clench desperately. 

“Hoseok - fuck, Hoseok - God!” 

You squeeze your legs together, it’s so fucking much that your head feels like it might explode, but Hoseok pushes your knees apart and you tilt your head back, eyes screwing shut. You can see stars behind your lids, vaguely somewhere you are faintly aware of Hoseok’s low voice murmuring out silken encouragement. Your back is arched against the wall, you are dripping with it, the overstimulation searing through all of your senses as the second orgasm builds.

“Fuck!” Your scream is mingled with desperation and pleasure as you collapse against him. The second orgasm was so quick, almost painful with how sharp and overwhelming it feels, and you feel Hoseok wrap his arms around you as he pulls his fingers away. 

He showers your neck in kisses, you feel completely overcome by the sheer intensity of the orgasm. 

Letting out a shaky moan, you burrow your face into the crook of Hoseok’s neck. He kisses the top of your head, fingers stroking through your hair tenderly. 

“Too much?” He asks in a low voice, you know that he’s checking that you’re okay. 

“H-Hoseok,” you whimper, your voice breaking over the words, you’re still not fully pieced back together in coherency as Hoseok presses a kiss against your forehead. 

He runs his fingertips over your cheeks, skimming over your temples until they comb through your hair. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and he keeps his lips to your forehead. 

“You okay?” His chest rumbles and you blink slowly, nodding. Your eyes are still glazed over from the intensity and overstimulation of two overpowering, consecutive orgasms, your legs still shaking involuntarily form how good it had felt. 

“I feel amazing,” You breathe out, your voice steady. You pull back from his embrace, meeting his gaze. His eyes, darkened with lust but still slanted in concern, dark hair a little messy, hands still in your hair - something skips in your chest and you feel your legs start to quiver harder. 

Even now, when you’ve been driven to the point of messy insanity thanks to his touch - even now when you are so undone by him.... You still want him. 

His eyes scan over you quickly and a smirk twists at his lips as he recognizes the hungry keen to your eyes.

“Can you keep going?”

There’s a slight challenge to the pitch of his voice and you shiver.

“Yes,” You breathe out. Hoseok’s fingers tightens around your hair almost imperceptibly. 

“Oh?” He asks, voice dipping lower. “You still want more? Such a needy, desperate little slut for me, are you?” 

His voice is tinged with a hardness that makes you ache. You whimper, nod, gaze up at him with widened eyes and a bite on your bottom lip. 

Hoseok’s eyes flash and he lets out a tiny groan.

“I love the faces you make...” He murmurs, “What am I going to do with you…” 

He pulls on your hair, hard enough to tug you closer to him so that your bodies are flush against one another. He kisses you deeply, teeth catching on your lip, a kiss that is messy and desperate like you both have something to prove. He is tugging on your hair, wrapping your strands around his fingers like reins, kissing you deeper and deeper until the only thoughts running through your mind are drenched in filth. 

You can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, all too aware of how he slowly begins to gyrate his hips against you. He rocks his body like he’s dancing to a song that only the two of you can hear - slow, sensual beats that have you counting down in your head, whimpering with need between wet kisses.

“Hoseok,” You pant out, he pulls away, breathing ragged. “I want you.”

You stare at him and you don’t even have to muster the pleading, innocent look of pure need because it’s written all over your face.

“You want me?” Hoseok affirms, he bends down and scoops you up in one effortless motion. You gasp a little as you are swung into the air, over his shoulder. 

He walks towards his bedroom, you can feel his shoulders shake as he chuckles. 

“And how do you want me to fuck you today, princess?”

Hoseok pushes the door of his bedroom open with one foot, not bothering to turn the light on. 

“I want you on top of me, filling me up… I want to see you enter me,” Your voice spills out as he lays you on top of his bed, your hair fanning out underneath you. He crawls over to his bedside table, switches on his lamp and the room is filled with a dim, flattering gold glow. 

“Oh?” He hums, pulling the sweater off of his head. You watch, seeing the way his abs ripple with the movement, the curve of his shoulders and collarbones.

“You like seeing your sweet cunt stretched out over my cock, do you?”

You nod, a little moan escaping from your lips, you clench hotly in desire. 

“God yes, fuck yes, I want it.” Your arch your back involuntarily as Hoseok slides off his trackpants and underwear, now fully naked. 

You are still wearing your dress and ruined underwear, and with Hoseok hovering above you, bare body and cock standing up straight, tip leaking with precum, you feel a desperate sense of lust begin to heighten. 

You let out a whine and grab at the hem of your dress, moving to pull it off - but Hoseok’s hands lock around your wrists, holding you in place.

“You want me?” He asks again, letting go of you and gripping your dress. He slides it up and off of your body, tossing it behind him as his fingers hook around your underwear.

“I want you so fucking badly, I’ll do anything-”

Hoseok’s eyes flash, suddenly, he moves so that he’s closer to you - face only a few inches away. 

His eyes are dark, demanding and he tugs your underwear down, harshly almost.

“Beg.”

Your eyes widen. He doesn’t move an inch, eyes intent on you. It takes a moment for your mind to register his words, too focused on how close he is to you, the possessive smirk on his lips, the way he is easing your underwear off you completely, his demand for you to beg.

“Please,” You whisper out, and then again louder, your voice thready with desperation. “Please.” You tilt your hips upward, spread your legs, voice scratchy as you repeat yourself, “Please Hoseok, baby... please!” 

Hoseok lingers, teasing you as he lowers his body, enough that you can feel the slick tip of his cock brushing against your slit. 

He is so close to you, that you feel like you’re being driven completely wild. 

And then Hoseok pushes in, not all the way, just enough to have you gasping out, desperate and pitchy breaths because you want all of him - and then he slides his entire length in. 

You let out a groan at the feeling of him filling you up, stretching your tight walls. Hoseok is looking at your pussy, at how his entire length is buried inside of you, entranced by how when he pushes even deeper into you, you tilt your head back and moan. He adores the sight of you wrapping your legs around him like you want even more. 

You, similarly, are loving this - the few seconds of adjustment that you both take, breathing in with ragged laboured breaths as you drink each other in. You let out a contented sigh, enjoying how good it feels to finally have him inside of you, relishing in the sight of him on top of you.

The moment of stillness doesn’t last long, as Hoseok begins to thrust in and out of your walls. He’s a little rushed, a little desperate and rough as he pins your wrists with his hand, leans down so his forehead is pressed against yours. He fucks you deep and teasing, a staccato thrust of his cock that leaves you wanting more. 

After months of this, his body entangled up in yours - he knows every angle, every which way to press himself into you and make you unravel with want. You moan, letting out a breathy “Fuck!” with each slap of his skin against yours, each rough thrust of his hard, leaking cock that pushes deeper and deeper inside of you.

“Hoseok that’s so good, please keep going, don’t - don’t stop oh my God-”

Your voice cracks over the words and Hoseok growls, fingers locking around your upper thigh as he tugs your legs wider apart. 

You are deliciously spread wide for him and with his hand still locked around your thigh, he fucks even deeper into you. 

He is groaning loudly now, and your back is arching up into him, your wrist still pinned in place, leg locked in position. He has you completely under his control and the thought of that - that you are all his in this moment, that it is you who is causing the glowing spark of desire in his voice and the gloss in his eyes - drives you even wilder. 

“God you’re hot,” He pants, eyes focusing in on you beneath him. He lets go of your wrist, hand reaching forward to cup your breast, caress your nipple, enjoying the way your eyes flicker in pleasure. 

“Mm I could worship your body, you know… I want it to be mine.” He punctuates his words with a deeper thrust, and you whine out shakily. 

You are close. You can tell you are from the small giveaways - a thrum that begins deep in the coil of your belly, the curl to your toes. Hoseok knows you’re close too, and he grips you tighter, fucks you even deeper. You know that the grip he has around your thigh is likely to leave a mark, but your hands reach up and tighten around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. 

You want more, you need more. Your voice strains around his name, around the dirty, filthy slick begging that is coming out of your mouth. 

You, telling him that you’re a slut for his cock, that you’ll do anything for him, that your body is his, that you need him, want his cum all over you - filthy words that fill you with heat. 

You suddenly tense, feeling your entire body tighten. 

“I’m, I’m-” You chant out the words and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Hey,” Hoseok snaps, “Look at me, I want to see you cum.”

Your eyes weakly flutter open, you are dangling so close to release. So, so close.

Hoseok’s dark eyes meet yours and he breathes out, “I wish you could see how you look right now,” He murmurs, dark and delicious words meant to drive you to the point of release. “You look amazing, such a beautiful wrecked mess for me. I love it.” The words have something inside of you snapping - and your entire body folds forward, pleasure and intensity coursing over your skin. 

It’s a deeper orgasm than your earlier ones, not as sharp and jolting - instead this one melts your bones into butter, sinks over you like a blanket, wraps you in a layer of euphoric bliss. 

“Hoseok,” You whine out, your voice a little edged in pain from the intensity of it. 

“I got you,” Hoseok murmurs. He slows down, holds you, and you are faintly aware of him peppering soft kisses over your entire body. “I got you,” He repeats in a mumble. 

He doesn’t stop, kissing your eyelids, the tip of your nose, your chin, trailing down to your neck and your breasts and your stomach until he works his way back up. 

He kisses you like he is starving for your skin, lavishing you with focused, loving kisses and it makes your orgasm fade out slower, gentle waves that wash over your skin. 

You feel so good, so satisfied and so beautiful with each press of Hoseok’s lips up over your neck. 

The final kiss is on your lips, your orgasm is ebbing away into soft tendrils of pleasure as he kisses you, gentle and slow and breathy. His forehead is dotted in sweat, his hair a mess, his breathing heavy - but he kisses you long and slow and sweet, and you feel as though you may fall apart for an entirely different reason right then and there.

“Hey,” Hoseok grunts, and you just hum in response, eyes still closed as you drink in how good this feels, wrapped up in him. “You’re so fucking pretty, y’know that?” 

You don’t respond, you just squeeze your eyes tighter. It feels as though your heart is about to burst. 

I love you, you think, the thought drums in your head louder and louder. I really fucking love you. It takes every inch of your will not to say it aloud, instead you let out a long sigh, opening your eyes and smiling at him. You shift your hips so that he can pull out of you, you wince a little - you are going to be sore later - and your fingers wrap around the base of his cock. 

He is slick with your wetness, and you begin to work up and down his shaft.

“I want you to cum on me,” You whisper, enjoying the way his eyes widen, a reverent expression flickering across his features as his eyes dart up and down from your face to your hand. 

“Oh?” Hoseok breathes out, his voice is ragged as his eyes hone in your petite hand, how it caresses up and down his entire length. 

He loves it, how firmly you grip his base, how you work his cock with long and teasing strokes. He can tell that you are still completely fucked out, mind hazy with bliss - yet you are putting your all into it, putting your other hand on his cock to twist and slowly as you slide up and down his shaft. 

He loves it when you put both hands on him, on all of his hardness, like you just can’t get enough. 

“Where do you want me to cum?” Hoseok grunts out, and you meet his eyes, letting your voice dip into a sultry, dulcet tone.

“Normally I would tell you to cum wherever you like,” Your words are silken, and you take a moment to relish the transfixed look on Hoseok’s face. “But today I know what I want… where I want you.”

Hoseok lets out a groan as you begin to pick up the pace, leaning forward to place slow, lingering kisses in the shell of his neck and against his ear. Your tongue darts out against his earlobe, he groans loader, his cock twitches in your hand. 

“I want you to cum all over my face.” You whisper in his ear.

Hoseok lets out a low breath, groans. You are still stroking his cock, kissing his jaw and sucking on the soft, tender stretch of his neck. You nip with your teeth, your other hand finds his nipples and stroke them gently. 

Hoseok begins to buck his hips against your palm, and you smile to yourself. You love this - having things reversed, having him be the one to pant out your name and writhe under your touch.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy…” Hoseok moans out. “Fuck! That’s so fucking hot, you’re so fucking hot...” His voice is shaky and you can tell by the tremble in his thighs that he is close. 

He reaches to you, snakes an arm around your waist and just holds you. “I…” Hoseok breathes out, “I wanna look at you, please-”

You draw back, eyes meeting his. His face is flushed, eyes dilated, bottom lip caught in his teeth. He stares at you with a wild, lust-driven expression on his face.

“I could do this all day,” He mutters, you are still pumping his shaft up and down, his eyelids flicker - he is close, you can tell. “I could look at you all day - fuck! I’m close-”

You pull back and shuffle down so that your face is by the base of his cock. He cranes his head forward to stare at you, you smile at him - and he lets out a long groan. 

Hoseok tips his head back and grits his jaw and ropes of cum shoot out of the pink, glossy head of his dick, all over your face. You instinctively close your eyes, feeling his seed all over your cheeks, on your lips, everywhere. He groans loudly with his orgasm, thighs twitching from under your palms.

You open your eyes to see him moaning out softly, looking dazed and blissfully fucked out as he gazes at you with an expression that can only be described as complete awe.

“Oh my fucking God... baby that was amazing.” he whispers scratchily, and you pull yourself up, landing with a flop onto your back beside him. 

“Tell me about it.” His arm is looped around your neck, and idly he grabs your hand, toying with your fingers as the two of you lie side by side, breathing in the afterglow.

I love you. 

You want to say it again, but instead you keep your eyes closed, fighting the words down. You haven’t even established if you are in a relationship, what exactly is that you two have. How can you say the words I love you? You shake your head, as if to get that thought out of your mind.

“Whatcha thinking?” Hoseok asks quietly. You hesitate.

“Just that… I l-like you,” You say lamely, and you feel Hoseok chuckle. 

“I like you too, idiot.” His voice is tender, and he laces your fingers in his. You suddenly feel adrenaline in your veins, you hesitate around the words that so desperately want to come out. 

Should I tell him I love him? Your eyes are still closed, your heart beating faster. And then you feel him shift beside you, moving off of the mattress. 

For a split second you feel a flash of worry that he’s doing what he has done so many times in the past - pulling away, retreating once he feels that he has gotten too close to you, been too vulnerable - 

And then he is back. You feel him gently dabbing at your face, cleaning it. You begin to open your eyes but you stop when you hear Hoseok make a “tsk” sound, poking your cheek.

“Don’t open your eyes when I’m trying to clean you up, princess.” His tone is scolding, but playfully so, and you stay obediently still as he wipes your skin clean of his seed. 

“All done?” You murmur out, and Hoseok hums out an affirmation as you open your eyes. He is still hovering over you, head tilted to one side.

“You looked good with my cum all over your face,” He muses, that familiar smirk on his face, “Who would’ve guessed that a good little girl like you was such a freak in bed?”

You roll your eyes, reaching forward to push against his chest. “Shut up,” You grumble, “I had you completely at my mercy and you know it.” Your cheeks flush and he smirks wider, leaning over to his bedside table to turn off the lamp.

It’s dark in his room, you think to yourself absently that it’s likely very late at night by now.

“Kinky little princess,” He teases and you groan, rolling your eyes, muttering out another “Shut up.”

He just laughs louder, landing beside you and snaking his arms tight around your waist. He burrows his face into your hair, pulling you into his chest and wrapping you tight in his arms. It’s so affectionate that you pause, annoyance slipping away and rolling off of your skin.

“I love it,” He whispers after a beat of quiet. “Always a surprise with you.” 

You feel him stroke your belly with his fingers, idle touches without intent. Like he just wants to touch you, to hold you.

The two of you stay quiet, there’s an unwritten promise in the air that neither of you will speak. You both don’t want to ruin the moment, break the stillness in the air with words. Instead you stay close, his arms circled around your waist, fingers stroking lazy circles against your skin. 

“You’re mine.” You hear Hoseok mumble in your hair, his voice husky and vulnerable. 

Your entire body blossoms with warmth from those jumbled words, you squeeze your eyes tight and smile into the darkness of Hoseok’s bedroom.

Hoseok clears his throat and changes the subject, he’s talking about small, nothing things - plans for tomorrow, how he wants to maybe hit up a local dance crew and see if they’re up for taking more members - and you’re only half paying attention. A part of you still can’t believe this is happening, that you and Hoseok are entwined together like this, Hoseok pulling the blanket up over your bare bodies, talking softly and animatedly even now at this late hour. 

Your fingertips skim over his wrist, you can’t see it but you know the Kingsnake tattoo is there. A slight unease that you can’t explain runs like a thread through your thoughts before you extinguish it, pulling away from his wrist and the tattoo. 

“Hey,” Hoseok’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “Are you even listening to me?”

You giggle, shaking those unwarranted worries out of your mind. “Nah,” You say teasingly, “I never listen to you, don’t you know that by now?”

Hoseok just lets out a little noise of complaint, poking your ribs and making you laugh. 

“Okay, okay, I’m listening.” You laugh out, lacing your fingers through his as you fall into easy conversation with him. 

You stay up with Hoseok for a few more hours - the conversation shifts from light, effervescent banter to something a little deeper as he curls his body around you and talks about things you’ve never heard him discuss before. His family, his childhood, his fears for the future. 

You notice how when Hoseok talks about the future, he talks tentatively, like he’s afraid that speaking about it with resolution will cause it to slip away. 

Still, he says things aloud that you’ve never heard him say before, talking about how he is scared of losing everything, of his past catching up to him somehow. You don’t offer advice or solutions, you just listen without judgment - as you had promised you would. 

The two of you finally begin to fall asleep when the sun begins to rise, still wrapped up in each other. 

By the time Hoseok is deep asleep and you are about to succumb to your own tiredness, your earlier concerns drift back into your mind like tendrils of dying smoke, and then sleep swallows you entirely.

You wake up to an empty bed.

Blearily, you sit up in bed, your spine straightening as you realize that you are alone. Hoseok’s sheets, cold under your clenched fingers, are crumpled. You reach out, your palm skimming over where he had been lying asleep only hours ago. 

Hoseok’s side of the bed is cold. If not for the slight indent in the mattress, you never would’ve known he had been there in the first place.

“Hoseok?” Your voice is scratchy, you swing your legs around to the side of the bed and stand up.A little dizzy, you sway on your feet as you rub your eyes. It’s colder than you had anticipated, the morning dew casting a grey filter in the light of Hoseok’s room. 

Silence. 

Uncertainty pricks over your palms as you quickly grab Hoseok’s hoodie off of the floor, shivering as you step out of his bedroom. The hoodie is warm and smells like him - faintly smokey, woody and masculine, mixed with his shampoo. The sleeves fall over your hands as you peer your head around the corner of Hoseok’s bedroom door.

“Hoseok?” You repeat. You don’t know why you are suddenly feeling so scared. You open your mouth, worry creeping into your voice. “Hos-”

“Hey.” Hoseok’s head pops out from where his kitchen is. Relief washes over you as he flashes you a grin. “C’mere, I’ve got breakfast sorted - hey, what’s wrong? You look worried.”

His brow creases as he steps out into the hallway properly. He’s just wearing black trackpants, slung low on his hips. The v-lines of his muscles peek out from the waistband, and you breathe out slowly as you hurry down the hallway. The house is quiet, the only sound is the patter patter of your foosteps.

“I wasn’t worried,” You lie, “Just cold.” You reach him and he smirks down at you, sneaking his arms around your waist and tugging you in. He presses his forehead towards yours, eyes flashing in amusement when you let out a little squeak. 

“Want me to warm you up?”

“Um, y-yeah that sounds good-”

He cuts you off with a laugh, pulling away. He reaches up and taps the tip of your nose affectionately.

“After we eat, yeah? I’m fucking starving.”

You follow him to the kitchen and glance over at the countertop, seeing a haphazard pile of waffles. 

“You made this?” You ask incredulously as you walk over, sitting on one of the high stools. Hoseok shrugs, reaching over and grabbing a waffle. “Does heating up store-bought waffles count as cooking?” He asks drily, and you shrug as you grab a waffle and pop it on a plate, squeezing a bit of syrup on top.

“I’d say it definitely counts.” You manage an air of confidence around bites of your food, Hoseok rolls his eyes at you. 

“Eat with your mouth closed, princess.” He teases, waffle in hand, and you snap back immediately - “Eat with a plate, you ass.”

He tips his head back and laughs. He pulls out a plate, putting his half eaten waffle on it, and leans against the counter opposite you. He is quiet, staring at you with a soft, intense expression on his face. You stare back, feeling a little self-conscious as you reach up to smoothen down your hair. His eyes track your movements.

“Nice bed-head,” He teases, eyes still soft, “Nice hoodie, too.”

“Shut up.” You grumble, and he just laughs again as you eye him irritably.

He looks unfairly good for first thing in the morning, the only thing that mars his handsome features is the nearly faded purple ring under his left eye. He picks up on you looking at it, looking at him, and his expression grows serious.

“Hey,” He says quietly, his voice low. He walks around the counter until he is standing in front of you, he reaches out and cups your face in his hands. “I know I said this yesterday but I want to say it again. Thank you.”

He has an almost burning intensity in his eyes and you don’t dare look away. Your heart is beating fast in your chest as you reach forward, hands instinctively looping around his waist. He’s warm to touch.

“For what?”

You whisper, and Hoseok stares at you, suddenly looking nervous and uncomfortable and awkward, all at once, a blush deepening over his cheeks.

“For… for being you. Listen, I’m not good at this, at talking about my feelings and all that shit, but I want to tell you how I feel, about you and about uh, us, and… well I… I-”

He is cut off by the sound of his front doorbell ringing. 

Jumping apart, he glances down the hallway.

“Who is that?” His brow crinkles finely as he shrugs and turns back to you.

“Sorry, I-”

It rings again, causing Hoseok’s frown to deepen.

“I’ll go and get rid of it, it’s probably some door knocking sales person or something. God they’re annoying.”

“Hoseok-” You stand up too, and Hoseok turns back, head tilted to one size. “I’ll be back in a sec, princess.”

He turns and leaves, and you watch him go. 

It’s still so cold, and you wrap your arms around your body. You glance at the clock, it’s Sunday morning, 11:37AM. You hear the door bell ring again, and Hoseok yelling out, “Alright, alright, calm the fuck down would’you, I’m coming.”

Something isn’t right. That same prickle of unease and dread that you have been pushing away time and time again keeps eating at you. You push your plate away and run to the front door.

You are coming up behind him, just as he opens the door. There is a man there, hunched into himself. He’s shaking like a leaf, and Hoseok frowns, opening the door wider. 

“Jimin? What are you-”

And then it happens.

The younger boy reaches forward, claps a hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. Akin to a friendly gesture, except it isn’t. The boy is still shaking, so violently that you can see it from where you are standing. He is holding Hoseok in place. 

“I’m sorry. I have to do this. They’re making me. I have to.” Broken, ragged words. His eyes are like saucers, desperate and begging. 

Hoseok doesn’t move. His voice is low, calm, but you can hear the fear in his voice. 

“You don’t have to do-”

Something flashes, something metallic. It all happens so fast that you can’t move. It’s as if you are rooted to the spot, frozen.

It’s a knife. Its serrated edges have caught on the light and your stomach drops. Sinks. 

It’s the same sensation you had when you were a child and went to the beach with Ara and Taehyung, having been dared to jump off a cliff’s face into the water. The same feeling you had when Z threatened you at that Kingsnake party months ago. The same feeling as when you received the call from the hospital informing you that Taehyung had been assaulted. Only this time it’s amplified, multiplied, a sinking feeling that runs through your veins like tar.

Fear and exhilaration and anxiety and complete and utter dread. All of it festering into a huge, black knot right in your gut. The knife, a long, ugly one, it glints in the morning air. Hoseok’s calm, low voice. Jimin’s wild, frantic eyes.

Jimin drives the knife into Hoseok’s stomach. 

Hoseok doesn’t make a sound, you see Jimin’s fingers crooked around Hoseok’s shoulder as he pulls the blade out. 

Your knees are shaking, your palms are cold, and you cannot move. You are stuck. Just like in all your dreams, you cannot move. Jimin pulls back, the knife slides in again, harder. 

This time, Hoseok’s body jerks from the blade that is sinking into him. Jimin steps back, his hands flutter up to his mouth and his jaw falls open. The blood on his hands is all over his face and he is saying something to Hoseok and crying, but you can’t hear it, you can’t hear anything. All you can hear is a drone in your ears that grows louder and louder. 

Hoseok’s body crumples. 

Finally, you can move. Your legs go before your mind can catch up, you are running to Hoseok, already behind him as his body slumps. The knife is still embedded in his stomach. 

“Help! Please! Somebody, call an ambulance!” You are screaming the words you think, but you can’t hear them. You can’t hear anything but the roar in your ears.

There is red everywhere, so much deep, crimson red that you feel like you are going dizzy from it. There is a loud roar in your ears, it blocks everything out, as you look at Hoseok, terrified. His eyes are unfocused, his breathing hissing in and out in large, desperate breaths. 

The roaring is fading and you can hear again - you realize that you are speaking, words tumbling nonsensically out of your lips. You are begging, pleading, crying - words that don’t make sense. 

All you can see is red.

There is so much blood that it stains the air, it’s metallic and horrible and Hoseok’s. This can’t be happening. Your hands are shaking as they hover above the knife, you don’t touch it because you should never remove a weapon... where had you heard that from? Your mind flashes back suddenly to  an instance two weeks ago- you were watching true crime shows with Hoseok, and they said you shouldn’t remove a weapon if it’s been used on somebody and left behind. A brief memory flashes in your mind of you and Hoseok watching the show together, him laughing as you hid behind your hands, unable to watch the goriest scenes, Hoseok pulling you close and telling you that he’d protect you, the TV voiceover in the background saying that you should never remove a weapon... you feel like you are spinning out of control. Why are you remembering that now? Now of all times? You are crying, and through your tears your eyes fall on the knife.

The knife sticking out of Hoseok’s stomach has a crudely painted red, white and black snake painted on it. 

You are free falling, and you shake your head, a sob escaping from your lips, tears blurring your vision. 

No. No. No. 

Faintly, you are aware of commotion in front of you. Somebody who had been walking past with their dog, is now screaming for help. They’re calling an ambulance, somebody is coming. You can’t focus on that though because your eyes are locked in on Hoseok who is in your arms, Hoseok who has gone so pale that his skin is almost translucent, Hoseok who only moments ago was leaning across from you in his kitchen.

“No,” Your voice is broken, you are keening for breath because it feels like you are getting crushed. A fist is being wrapped tightly around your windpipe, choking the breath from your body. 

Hoseok is trying to speak, but he can’t - his breath bubbling brokenly as his eyes flutter closed. There is the sound of an ambulance siren in the distance, but you can’t concentrate on anything but Hoseok, who is stirring. 

“Hoseok, God, you’re okay baby, you’re okay, an ambulance is coming, it’s fine…” Your voice is thready and unfamiliar to your own ears as you lie through your teeth, you don’t look at the pool of blood that is all over the ground, all over your hands and clothes. You stare at Hoseok with fierce, unyielding eyes. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay, oh my god oh my God-” you are trembling and Hoseok splutters out for breath. 

“Take… it… out.” He wheezes. You blink, and he draws in sharply for breath.

“Get rid of it. P-please - get rid of it-”

It hits you like a strike of lightning that he wants you to take out the knife. Your blood runs cold. 

“Take it out.” His voice is so weak that it almost falls apart around the words. He can’t move. There is blood, so much blood, and you know that if you take out the knife the bleeding will get worse. You feel sick, faint, the sirens are getting louder, and you are frozen in place yet again. You are vaguely aware of the fact that you are crying, crying so hard that your throat is raw from tears.

Hoseok, arms around you, a smile on his face. The TV still droning on in the background, uttering the importance of never removing a weapon from a body. Hoseok, leaning closer, whispering in your ear. “You don’t have to be such a scaredy-cat, princess. I’ll protect you no matter what.”

Nothing is registering. 

This cannot be happening. 

No.

“I-I can’t, you’ll bleed out-”

“You have...to.” He whispers out, words choked. “Please. Now.”

Why? You are shaking as your hand grips around the base of the knife. Why, even now, is he protecting them? You have to pull hard to get it out, and blood flows rapidly out of the deep wound that’s left behind. 

The knife is heavy in your hand and you stare at it with wild, wide eyes. 

The snake that curls around it’s holt, at the crimson red blood still dripping off of it’s blade. 

“Get… rid…” Hoseok groans out and you twist your body. You look around with eyes that can’t focus properly. 

You don’t know where the person who had been walking by before has gone, but you can hear the ambulance approaching, the siren is getting louder. It drowns everything out as you throw the knife, it skitters across the ground and goes into one of the bushes at the front of Hoseok’s house.

You look down at Hoseok. His eyes are closed. There is so much blood and desperately, you place your palm over the wound in his stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. 

“Please,” You whisper, tears swelling hot in your eyes and blurring your vision completely. 

“Wake up. Please. Please, no, no, this can’t be happening.”

Why?

The ambulance has arrived. Two paramedics jump out, all action as they bark urgent commands to one another. 

They see him. 

His still, ragdoll-like body is slumped in the lap of a girl whose entire body is shaking. He’s barely breathing, barely alive. His blood is all over the ground, pooling around the two people. There is so much of it that it doesn’t seem fathomable. 

They see her. 

The front of her hoodie is stained. Her eyes, swollen red with tears, and shoulders that are violently shaking. She is folded over him, and her hands are covered in blood as she cries out his name.

amynote: OKAY MY LOVES WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE END. SO SO CLOSE, ONE CHAPTER AWAY. Can i just say... it really hurt my freakin heart to write that final scene - but i’ve known since chapter one that this was going to happen, so i’ve had 8 chapters to prepare for it! in fact, there are subtle foreboding hints to this happening scattered throughout earlier chapters. 

as for the final part - i will do my best to get it written as soon as possible, but i cannot guarantee when exactly that will be at this point. i want to do the final chapter justice, i want to put all of myself into it, because the ending is very intense and will wrap up everything. all loose ends will be tied! so, please don’t send messages asking me when the final chapter will be up. It is honestly really stressful to receive a plethora of messages/asks about updates, and trust me - it’s on my mind, and i’m working on it.

i really hope you liked reading this chapter, thank you so much for reading. love you all lots and lots ♡

[sunflower-swan]

Wofstar Chapter 11

A/N: Here’s what you need to know: I created this story for Writer’s Month 2020. Every day is a new prompt, and therefore a new chapter. This is an AU Wolfstar where Remus is a tattoo artist next door to Sirius who manages a flower shop. James and Lily are alive in this universe and own a coffee shop across the street. And to make parts of the story work with the prompts, Remus is about 10 years older than Sirius. It also takes place more or less in present time, minus Covid-19.

This is chapter 11 of a multi-chapter work. If you’d like to start from the beginning, here is chapter 1.

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. I just like to play with them.

Day 11 Prompt: Light

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1183

Tags: anxiety, panic attack, angst

Chapter 11

Sirius

Bruno Mars, “Count on Me”

If you ever find yourself stuck in the middle of the sea,

I'll sail the world to find you

If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can't see,

I'll be the light to guide you

Sirius tried to stay at his own place that night. He had made it through the previous days at home alone mostly through a haze of firewhisky. Now he stood sober in his living room and stared as memories flooded his mind.

After their second date, Sirius had invited Silas in. They spent hours cuddling on the sofa and lazily making out. The first time Silas stayed over, he tried to make breakfast. He burnt it so bad they had to keep the windows open all day, and it still smelled a little smokey for a few days. Their last day together...

Suddenly, his arms tingled. He looked down at his hands and they were shaking. He felt his heart palpitate and his forehead broke with a cold sweat. Sirius gasped for air and ran out of his flat before he fell apart completely.

He appeared in Remus' living room with a POP, and fell forward on his hands and knees. The air was sucked from his lungs.

“I… I…” he gasped.

Remus rushed to his side. “Lay down,” he ordered.

Stars were popping behind Sirius’ eyes. He felt dizzy.

“Sirius.” Remus’ calm voice sounded like it came from down a long tunnel. “Roll over and drink this.”

He did. He rolled over and sat on the floor. He drank what Remus had given him. Whatever it was, it tasted like lavender and mint.

Remus sat behind him with his chest to Sirius’ back. He placed his palms on Sirius’ chest and said, “Breath with me Sirius...in through your nose…” He took a slow breath in. “...and out through your mouth…” He let a slow, audible breath out. 

This continued for a few minutes, and eventually his breathing slowed to match Remus’. The stars stopped popping behind his eyes. His hands were still shaking, but his arms didn’t feel tingly anymore. He felt his shoulders lower and he relaxed into Remus’ chest. 

“Unclench your jaw and take your tongue off the roof of your mouth,” Remus instructed.

Sirius did. How did he know?

He tilted his head to lean on the side of Remus’, and closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered.

~~~~~

Soft morning rays filtered through the window when Sirius fluttered open his eyes. The scent of old books flooded his nostrils like a balm on his broken soul. He looked around and realized he was on Remus’ couch again.

Remus had fallen asleep in his chair opposite the couch. He was slouched down with his chin to his chest, and he was snoring softly. Sirius watched the steady rise and fall of his arms crossed on his chest. The hazy events of the previous evening played unbidden through his mind.

Sirius' breathing slowed and he relaxed into Remus' willowy body. Remus helped him to the couch and pulled a blanket over him as he laid down. 

“What was in that potion?” Sirius mumbled and cuddled into the blanket.

The couch cushions sunk from the weight of someone sitting on the edge. A gentle hand brushed hair out of his face.

“Calming Draught,” murmured Remus. “Get some sleep, Sirius.”

He felt the weight on the couch lessen, and he reached out a hand to stop them. “Stay with me?”

“Ok.”

The tiny light in his chest grew to a tiny flame. He blinked away tears, uncertain if they were happy or sad, or a combination.

Remus gave a snort and adjusted position in the chair. Then he wriggled his nose and scrubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. He stretched out his limbs and gave a yawn. Sitting up, he blinked open his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Morning,” Sirius said, sitting up.

“Morning,” Remus replied through another yawn. He leaned forward with his arms on his legs, clasping his hands in front. “Did you sleep ok?” His eyes were bloodshot.

“I think so...whatever you gave me could have knocked out a hippogriff.” Sirius scruffed his hair and blinked. “I still feel a little loopy.”

Remus rubbed his palms together and lowered his head. “Sorry about that. It was a pretty strong Calming Draught, but it was all I had that would help.”

Sirius silently wondered why Remus would need such a strong Calming Draught, but decided not to ask.

“You’ll feel better once you start moving around,” Remus advised as he stood.

“Hey, Remus,” Sirius said.

Remus’ arms dangled at his sides. “Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Would you mind…” Sirius tugged at his earlobe. “...not telling James and Lily about last night?” He raised his chin to peer at Remus. “Or how I was yesterday at my flat?”

With a nod, Remus said, “Yeah...ok.”

Sirius didn’t want James and Lily to worry about him more than they already did. It was a fortunate day for him when Remus decided to open the tattoo lounge next door to the flower shop.

~~~~~

He went back to work that day. Although Remus had assured him he could stay as long as he needed, he didn't want to feel like a burden, and returned to sleeping at his own flat after a few nights on Remus’ couch.

It wasn’t easy to be there alone. Remus had taught him some coping techniques for when it all felt like a bit much, which was most of the time at first. Over the next few weeks he slowly started to come out of the darkness, thanks in no small part to Remus’ help, understanding, and friendship.

The first time he realized he had gone an entire morning without thinking about Silas had been a shock. Then the first time he laughed -- really laughed, not a forced smile and chuckle -- Sirius was stunned by the reaction. He actually couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. And it wasn’t even anything very funny, just something dumb Remus had said or did. Something exceptionally everyday and ordinary.

One morning, about six weeks after Sirius had received word of Silas’ passing, he and Remus were enjoying their usual morning coffee at Potter’s Wheel.

“Sirius, you look healthier every day I see you,” said Lily, giving Sirius a side hug because she was holding a coffee pot in one hand.

Sirius felt healthier than he had in -- what felt like -- ages, even though it had only been a few short weeks. The concept of time had lost meaning after Silas was gone and he was lost in an empty dark pit. Coming out of that darkness now, new life was breathed into him, and everything around him seemed a little brighter.

“Thanks, Lily,” he said, hugging her back.

She gave him a smile and a wink, and ambled away.

“You have good friends,” Remus said. He was looking down into his now full coffee cup.

“Yeah, you are,” Sirius agreed.

Remus met his eyes, a slight flush on his ears.

Sirius said, “Remus, you’re the one who pulled me out of that darkness.”

“Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light.”*

*Madeleine L’Engle (author - A Wrinkle in Time)

Next Chapter: Chapter 12

[kittsfics]

Come What May

Time had stopped having any sort of meaning, some times had pain, some just nothing, an endless nothing. He wasn't sure which was worse. Free once again from a physical form, everything feels different, some things heightened, others dulled, blurry. But always endless, with no control over anything, even himself. He drifts, he hurts, he dreams, he… lives? Not even sure who is, or was.

But for the first time there's something else, intermittent whispers, a voice he almost recognises, rising and falling, giving him something to focus on in the emptiness. Something settles in him in response, something he hasn't felt for a long time, a time before he was here. Then other sensations start to return, phantom limbs and an ache in his non existent chest, a feeling of loss, of something missing. Someone? More? A family? Was that what he's lost?

Then a sudden pressure, crushing him down to nanometres, then stretching him out over miles. A burst of light, excruciating after so long with nothing, and his hands come up to cover his newly formed eyes, stumbling backwards on shaky legs. A voice nearby, the voice, the one he's been hearing for the last however long, calls a name, his name? The shape of it sounds right.

He takes a deep breath and slowly uncovers his eyes to see a man struggling to his feet, limping a couple of steps closer, one hand braced on the table, the other outstretched towards him, stopping a few inches shy of his face, close enough for him to see the tremors.

"Dean." He doesn't know where the name comes from but it's evidently right as Dean makes a small choked sound, his hand coming up to frame his face, callused fingers against his cheeks. And he remembers.

Years of phone calls, of car drives, of fights and sleepless nights, of bad decisions and good. Of Dean, of Sam, of Bobby, of Jack, Charlie, Claire, all the other parts of their little family. Of fond looks and lingering fingers, of soft smiles and whispered confessions. Of love, most of all.

He tugs Dean closer, pressing his face into the soft material of his shirt, a small part of him marvelling at the texture, most of him just overwhelmed with having Dean so close. The familiar smell of smoke and gunpowder, hands tangled in each other's clothes, Dean's breathing ragged by his ear.

They pull back after a long moment, Dean's hands going to the lapels of his overcoat, Cas' lingering on his waist as he takes him in. There's new wrinkles around his eyes, the little weight he's put on and the limp imply he's no longer fighting fit, as it were. Likely no longer hunting himself, or not often.

"Fuck Cas." He clears his throat, and brushes away the moisture gathering at the corner of his eyes, his other hand now flat over Cas' heart.

"How?"

"Had to repay the favour right? Sorry it took so long."

Before he can answer there's a rapid clicking sound and a pale bundle of fur appears in the doorway behind them, followed a moment later by a giggling toddler. Dean reluctantly steps away, patting the head of the dog as he passes and scooping up the child in a seemingly well practiced move, settling them on his hip where they give a shy wave before burying their face in Dean's shirt.

Cas takes in their surroundings for the first time, it looks like they're in one of the little study rooms in the bunker, redecorated since he'd last been here. There's new photographs on the wall, the people he knew, many looking a handful of years older, interspersed with ones he doesn't. The one in the centre is of Sam and Eileen sprawled on a sofa and holding a baby, Dean off to one side, all three of them laughing. He assumes it's this child that Dean brings closer now, glancing over at the photographs before gently bouncing them. "Cas, this is Jo, Sam and Eileen’s little menace, and Miracle." The last is said with a quick nod to the dog, "Bug, this is Cas."

"Like from the stories?" They untuck themselves with an excited squeal, looking over at Cas with awe.

"Yeah, that's him." The depth of emotion in Dean's voice catches him by surprise, as does that fact that Jo knows who he is, that they’ve told their child about him. Dean clears his throat, before setting them back on the ground, avoiding Cas' gaze. "Shoo, go find your dad." With one last wide-eyed look at Cas they disappear back out into the main room, Miracle clacking along behind them.

Later he'll hear about the ritual Dean's been performing, repeating phrases over months with things burnt or buried at the solstices. Later he'll meet the others, and Sam will cry, Eileen grinning with Jo in her arms. They'll call the rest of their hodge podge family, and get more screams and tears. Jo will tell him very seriously that Dean is their favourite uncle, and that he tells the best bedtime stories and always remembers to check for monsters under the bed.

He'll find out what's happened in the years that he's been gone, the roles people have fallen into, and the ones they chose. The hunts they've been one, the injury that left Dean taking a supporting and organising role, and how much he loves it, that he’s the one keeping more people safe. He’ll also find out about the people they've lost, the ones he knew, and the ones they’ve met since, and they’ll raise a glass in their memory.

Later still Dean will hesitantly reach out, linking their fingers to tug him down the corridor and they'll curl up on his bed and talk. About what Cas said, about what was left unsaid, about Cas's humanity and the future.

But right now Dean steps close again, like he can't bear to go too far now that he has him back. Brushing knuckles along Cas' sleeve to reassure himself he's real, and hesitantly reaches up to rest a hand on the side of his neck, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He draws back, looking soft and uncertain, and Cas can’t help but pull him closer again, letting Dean bury his face in the side of his neck again.

Everything is going to be okay.

[matteredloyaltyaa]

@yukikorogashi​ asked: 💞💖💘💕 tigger bounces in with these 👀

positivity meme -- slow, still accepting

Send 💞 and my muse will say something nice about your muse

    The house had grown silent in the late hours of the night, Arthur burning the midnight oil as he was prone to do. Mind running a mile a minute, and not really getting much from late night television, he opted to sit in the office across from Itsuki’s bedroom. At the thought, he found himself glancing toward the slightly ajar bedroom door, letting in a dim bit of light from the one he kept on in the hall for her. Aside from a small conversation about her day and a request for a story from his own, it seemed like she had fallen asleep pretty easily once he had started talking.

    He was never sure if he should take that as a compliment or not when it happened, but at least ONE of them was getting some much needed rest.

    As he could feel his thoughts starting to circle, he let out a small sigh from his nose as he shifted to pull a familiar book from one of the shelves. The pages were starting to become worn with use, Arthur about halfway into his current journal. He flipped open to the current page, a partly complete sketch of their newest addition to the household: an old collie that Itsuki had affectionately named Mochi. As far as he was aware, the old guy was asleep on a chair in the living room.

    Arthur huffed lightly out of his nose at the thought, turning to the blank page and started to scribble down some thoughts.

Itsuki’s growing in so many ways every day. It honestly surprises me sometimes.

I wasn’t the only one who question my decision to adopt a kid at first. Hosea had cast me that uncertain look when I first mentioned it, and the social worker...well, I could never really get a read on them, but somehow I managed to impress someone because here we are.

She’s healthy, hasn’t lost mind or limb. I figure I’m doing something right.

I know I’m not around as much as I wish I was, and Hosea’s been a great help in keeping an eye on her. Teaching her things in that special way he has, which is probably better for her than whatever I can give. Still, I catch the odd eye or word from him about spending more time with her, which I’m trying to do. It must be working, she certainly hasn’t come to hate me or resent me being home when I am. Yet.

Still, I love that kid. The odd nights she opens that bedroom door of mine to tell me about a nightmare or storm outside and we have to stay up a little later until she can sleep again, the way she races to the truck when I pull up to the school (even during the times where I know she’s had to wait for me,) it’s all something I never thought I’d see in my life or know it to be something I would miss if it disappeared.

I want nothing more than to see her happy, and she’s always the brightest person in the room when she is. If I can help with that, that’s all I want.

Though, maybe what’s best for her is me getting some sleep so I’m not spacey and distracted with her tomorrow.

Send 💖 and my muse will say something nice about you, the mun

    “Could’ve certainly picked a worse night for this,” Arthur commented, casting a glance upwards.

    The sun had dipped below the horizon, the sky cast in a blanket of stars as the orange glow of the fire he had built cast him and his companion in a warm light. A rabbit was slowly roasting over the flames, something he had hunted earlier for the coming night. Thankfully, he had been getting better with a bow. It had saved him the embarrassment of picking out shell casings from the meat in front of her, at the very least. He dropped his gaze back down, watching the fire for a few moments before he glanced toward her.

    “I’ve certainly had worse company ‘round a fire, too. Some folks are more likely t’ greet you with a barrel of a gun shoved against the back of your head, but...nah, y’ don’t seem the type. I know you been fightin’ things in different ways, though. Kid’s always goin’ on ‘bout how STRONG y’ are, and I can see why. Life...life’s got a funny way ‘f workin’ things out. Lots ‘f good things happenin’ out there, yet there’s a lotta bad happenin’ t’ folk who don’t deserve it. Whatever good’s out there, I know it’s due t’ come your way. Hell, I’d give ya some of mine--lord knows I ain’t done anythin’ t’ deserve it.”

    He let out a vaguely humorous huff, glancing back to the fire for a moment before meeting her gaze once again.

    “Guess what I’m tryin’ t’ say is that there’s a lot of people out there who are on your side. Can’t get too far in life without people y’ can trust, and you’ve proved time and again that you’re one of those who can be that for someone, and it’s a fool who don’t see that and won’t return it. Y’ deserve more than y’ get, much as that might not mean much from someone like me. Y’ got a lotta fight in y’, and you’ve never had a point a gun t’ prove it. Folks see that.”

Send 💘 and the mun will say something nice about your muse

I remember seeing Itsuki for the first time all those years ago, and jokingly I was like “who’s lost child is this?” lol

However, I can honestly say with my whole heart that I am so glad to have been introduced to her character. However, I can’t say much to how she is portrayed on her blog, as I am...completely unfamiliar from the media she is from. (And considering some of the horror stories I’ve heard about the fandom, I’m very content with hers being the only blog I follow from it lol.) Yet, I feel like I’ve known her character for so long through how often she’s appeared on my blogs and all the relationships I’ve built with her through my own characters. Good, bad, everything.

Itsuki is such a strong character in not just physical prowess, but strength of will and mind too. No matter what blog I am on, I can almost always trust her to be this force of optimism and child-like joy and curiosity. Even on a blog of mine starring a certain baptist, even in the face of someone who wouldn’t appreciate her for who she is, somehow Itsuki still manages to handle that in a way that is both absolutely a joy to write with and great to play off of.

I know I’ve said it before, but often I do find myself thinking about how a character would interact with her when I am making a blog. Not only is it me trying to make room for interaction, but it is also good for general character development. She has become such a staple on my blogs, which honestly rarely happens and for as long as it has with her.

Send 💕 and the mun will say something nice about you, the mun

Becka!!

Much like you wrote in this section for me, I am also sorry this took so long because I also wanted to make sure everything sounded right. Especially after coming off a long semester of university, I’ve been trying to come back into my writing. Lol Honestly, what can I say about you that I haven’t said a million times? I always say this, yet I know it bares repeating because I know everything I feel about you to be wholly the truth. You are such a great friend, and even when you’re not feeling like you are, or you are in the middle of a falling out, or stuck ruminating on something that didn’t work out with someone, I know for a fact that you have done your absolute best in that friendship. I know you have done nothing but show me support, love, and a deep kindness since the day I met you and I know I can say absolutely that you are one of my best friends.

Hell, I know even my family asks about you sometimes because I know I’ve mentioned having our late night talks often enough. Lol I know you have helped me through so much, even in things you may not even be aware of. Being able to write with you, knowing that you’re out there doing you and being awesome, it’s everything I could ask for in a friend. It’s 3 am while I’m writing this so idk if I’m rambling like mad here, but I have a lot of feelings for you. Lol Mostly, I’m just grateful. That you exist, that we’re as close as we are, for the conversations we do have. I love you a TON, and I hope you know that. I ALWAYS want you to know that, even in the deepest darkest pits you may fall in.

I am always happy to see you, to talk with you, to write with you. I love you, and you’re always in my thoughts and I hope nothing but the best for you and I’m always so excited and happy when I do see that happening for you.

[princessselene126]

So Much Blood

This took me a hot minute because I had to go back and look at some of the chapters in Winter to make sure I was getting this as accurate as I could. For the people that I know haven’t actually read or finished tlc yet this fic does contain Winter spoilers. Don’t read past this if you haven’t read Winter. Someone requested “Kai’s perspective when he found Cinder with the knife in her chest and how he was acting until she woke up.” 1873 words of lots of angst. Literally only angst. TRIGGERS: Blood, mentions of death, mentions of surgery, 2 swears?

masterlist

Kai raced back through Artemisia Palace when he heard a gunshot echoing through the halls. He should have gone through the tunnels with Luna’s nobility, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave without Cinder. She’d probably get mad at him, say he would be more of a liability than a help, but he didn’t care.

The sash across his chest bounced into his face  with every stride. Annoyed, Kai ripped it off and tossed it behind him. He only vaguely remembered where the throne room was, but he knew it was close. He could only hope he was heading in the right direction.

Kai rounded a corner and saw Wolf carrying Cress in his arms. Thorne and Scarlet followed right behind him. The closer Kai got, the more he afraid he became. Cress was drenched in blood, her skin already turning pale from the loss. Throne cradled his hand to his chest, he too was bleeding. Scarlet and Wolf both appeared unharmed for the most part.

Kai’s stomach sank. They were supposed to be with Cinder.

He stopped in front of them, heart pounding so fast he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. “Where’s Cinder?” he asked. He tried sounding nice about it, but it came out more like a demand than a question. He couldn’t help it. 

He was panicking.

There were very few times in his life that he felt true panic, true helplessness, and this was at the top of his list. He was on a different planet, in the middle of a revolution, and his wife was trying to kill his girlfriend.

“She’s in the throne room still. Wolf get Cress to a doctor,” Thorne said. He looked as scared as Kai felt, but there was determination there too. Thorne turned, starting back the same way they came. “I’m going back with Kai.”

Wolf nodded without hesitation then swiftly carried Cress through the hallways.

Scarlet grabbed Thorne’s wrist to stop him. “Don’t. You’ll distract her.” Her eyes shot to Kai. “Both of you. She needs to do this alone so Levana can’t use us against her. We don’t need what happened to Cress happening to either of you.”

He sensed an “especially Kai” in there because he was the emperor, but she didn’t voice it. He was grateful for that. Kai was tired of everyone acting like his life was more important than anyone else's--everyone else’s. When it came down to it, he was just… human. He wasn’t special because he was royal.

Thorne tensed for a moment, looking guilty.

That look was all Kai needed to understand what happened to Cress. Throne shot her, but it wasn’t him. It was Levana. Throne couldn’t possibly feel responsible for that...

“Scarlet, I have to,” Kai said. What if there was something he could do to sway the odds in Cinder’s favor? He couldn’t live with himself if she died and there was something he could’ve done to help.

“We won’t get in the way,” Throne said. Though he sounded confident, his expression and posture was uncertain.

It was promise.

Kai wasn’t so sure he could say the same.

Pursing her lips, Scarlet let go of Thorne’s wrist with a sigh. She looked back at Kai. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“As much as I want to, we don’t even have time for me to ask ‘what about me?’” Thorne looked at Kai. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Never am, but I always have to be. Let’s go.”

Thorne nodded. “This way, Your Royal Majesticness.”

Kai didn’t bother correcting him about how wrong that title was. Scarlet went toward the medical wing while, they sprinted in the opposite direction. Turning right when they came to a split, the throne room finally came into view. One of the large double doors was wide open, but they couldn’t see anything inside.

Thorne stopped as they drew nearer, signalling for Kai to do exactly as he did. Together they leaned against the cool wall and snuck closer and closer to the doors. There wasn’t any sound coming from the room. 

Did they go somewhere else? 

Were Cinder and Levana both dead?

Kai shook that thought away. He had to believe that Cinder was alive, that she would make it out of this alive. She’d beat worse odds before. She escaped his entire army in the Farafrah, and from her prison cell in New Beijing, and… and she had to escape this too.

Thorne moved to the closed door, keeping his back against it as he looked inside the room. “Shit,” he breathed. He rushed through the door, not giving Kai time to ask what happened.

Kai followed him, confused and frightened about why Throne was so eager to get inside the room. “Thorne, what are you--fuck.” He rushed ahead when he saw two people on the ground.

He barely even glanced at Levana as he went straight for Cinder. There was a dagger sticking out of her chest, right where her heart was. 

Kai knelt down where her blood was pooling, tears streaming down his face, and pulled Cinder into his arms. Her mousey brown hair had fallen out of her ponytail and over her eyes. He brushed it back so he could see her face better.

Her eyes were open for only a few seconds before they closed.

She was dying. She lived through a fire and a terrible stepmother and nearly drowning in the lake, but she couldn’t live through this. There was no way.

There was so much blood.

He looked over his shoulder at Thorne and yelled for him to get help.

“Don’t pull the knife out,” he said before dashing away.

Kai turned his attention back to Cinder. He sobbed, burying his face in her hair. “You’re going to be okay,” he said more to himself than to her. “Just hang on, Cinder. Please don’t leave me now. N-not after all this. Not when we’re so close to everything we’ve fought so hard for. Please.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he cried like this. He was too young to understand what death meant when his mother passed. And he was too focused on keeping the peace with Luna and the rest of the world to grieve when his father passed. But now… Now Luna wasn’t a threat and he could breathe for the first time in months. 

Only Kai couldn’t.

Cinder was dying in his arms and all he could think about was how much he wanted to talk to her, celebrate that they’d won with her.

Kai didn’t know how long he sat there with her in his arms, but it felt like ages. He talked to her the entire time, telling her it would be okay, that she was the strongest person he’d ever met and that she would make it out of this alive.

When the doctors showed up, he backed away and let them do what they needed to do. They rolled her to the medical wing on a gurney. Kai stayed with her as long as the doctors allowed him too. He didn’t want to leave her side, but knew he had to when she went in for surgery.

Though it was a drastic wound, the doctors were confident that Cinder would be fine. The knife penetrated one of the cybernetic heart chambers, not her heart itself.

Nevertheless Kai anxiously paced back and forth for the hours she was in surgery. Iko joined him not long after Cinder went in, carrying a tray of food for him to eat. She set it down on the little end table next to the couch. He politely declined it.

Iko didn’t have lungs, but she dramatically sighed as if she did. “She’d want you to eat, you know.”

Despite himself, Kai’s lips tugged up into a small smile. “I know, but I can’t right now. I will when she gets out of surgery.”

Iko raised an eyebrow at him.

“I promise. And if I don’t, then you can force feed me.”

“Alright.”

They waited and waited and waited together. Neither spoke until one of the doctors emerged, pulling her bloody gloves off as she walked toward him. “Your Imperial Majesty,” she greeted.

Kai eagerly walked over to her. “Is she okay? Is she awake?” 

“Her Majesty will be fine. We repaired the tear in the cybernetic chamber without any trouble. As you requested Doctor Nandez will be here in a few hours to work on the damage to Her Majesty's limbs and any other damages there may be to her systems.”

“Thank the stars,” Kai breathed. “Can I see her?”

“We’re moving her to a recovery room now and you’re more than welcome to see her.”

“Show us the way, please.”

The doctor took Kai and Iko through a maze of hallways and finally opened a door for them. “She’s being monitored 24/7 so if there are any unexpected problems we’ll be in right away.”

Kai nodded. “Thank you.” He hesitated to enter the room, maybe he should let Iko go first. She was such a big part of Cinder’s life.

Sensing his reluctance, Iko squeezed Kai’s hand. “You go ahead, I’m going to check on Cress.”

“Okay.” That was all the push he needed to enter the room. Cinder was hooked up to a few IVs and he could see the heavy bandaging across her chest beneath the hospital gown she wore. Her skin looked slightly ashy, but better than when he found her in the throne room. 

It finally clicked in his mind that she was safe.

She’s alive.

They were all alive.

Cress was in suspension, but her recovery looked hopeful. Thorne lost a couple fingers, but was otherwise fine. Scarlet got a minor concussion. Wolf… well they were trying to figure out if they could undo the changes they made to him, but that was unlikely. He seemed fine with it though. Jacin had some injuries, but seemed to be doing fine. Winter was the only person that they were still concerned about.

They didn’t know how to get her mind back in the right place.

Kai spent the entire night in Cinder’s room. Any political work that needed to get done was brought to him by Torin. Iko made sure he ate after she got back from checking on Cress. At one point he accidentally fell asleep, but was woken when a nurse came in to check Cinder’s vitals.

A few hours after that Dr. Nandez arrived and started working on Cinder’s cybernetics. Kai asked questions about what she was doing and how long she thought it would be until Cinder woke up.

Once she replaced something in Cinder’s head, Dr. Nandez started working on her hand.

Seconds later, Cinder’s eyes sprang open and her hand jerked away. The doctor fell to the ground, some metal tool in her hand clattering next to her.

Kai rushed to Cinder’s side, helping her to sit up so she didn’t accidentally pull her stitches. “It’s alright,” he assured her. Her hands immediately went to her chest as if feeling for the knife that was there last time she was awake. She looked panicked and flustered and ready to fight her way out of she had to.

Recognition slowly melted into her features and she relaxed against his arms.

Kai had never been so relieved in his entire life.