#I wasn’t sure what to do for this day until I remembered that purgatory existed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ppersonna · 4 years

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i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float? - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic. this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot. i think it flows better that way! i hope you enjoy this. this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on. this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions. while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed. please take care of yourself and proceed with caution. 18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong. Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware. The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day? He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved. Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs. He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other. Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed. Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released? Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better? Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built. He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled.

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here. I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all. “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.” She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely. Words wouldn’t fix the wounds. She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed. The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.” Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured. Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds. And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money? He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved. He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived. It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet. Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes. It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat. “Happy for you. I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words. Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously. “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much. I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed. Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar. You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him. I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs. He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack. Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone. He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered. “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly. You stole a look back at him, at his words.

“Yoongi, you need to see someone. You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay. I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed. He was thin, so sickly thin. While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks. His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.” All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed. Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets. Yoongi’s body was trembling. He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan. He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.” There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized. The kiss was slow, gentle. You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own. Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans. This wasn’t passionate or steamy. It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could. He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.

He didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him. He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging. Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent. You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely. You missed him. You loved him. You hated him. You never felt more complete. The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow. The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off. His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point. Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again. He felt alive.

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain. He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close. Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him. Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man. Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features. Fuck.

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him. He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness. Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals. There was crying. There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning. He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time. Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie. He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend. He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him. Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T. He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction. He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in. He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother. He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers. She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy. You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension. He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones. Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud. “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped. “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him. You were proud. Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay. It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation. He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had. He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his. He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances. This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative. Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself. Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you. Yoongi loved himself, as he was. Broken and healing. Addicted and sober. Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety. Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you. He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain. Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried. Jesus, he cried so much. He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks. The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy. He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts. You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured. Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it. Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had.

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no? He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees. Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good. You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering. You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face. No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago. No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most. The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display. He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most. Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body. His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have. I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess. So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue. He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly. Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over. It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself. You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.

You were his, again. He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love. All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby. You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself. Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.” He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love. Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together. Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun. Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed. You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed. You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly. Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7. He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything. Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes. Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation. Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful. Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself. Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief. Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside. Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #hyungsmutsociety #btswriterscollective #minthlynet #heartsforbts #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #agust d #bts agust d #bts suga #suga

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sparring-hyena · 3 years

Text

again and again.

i think this kinda counts as a groundhog day-esque AU with some quirky time travel mixed in for fun. is that even a thing? idk.

OR, time is complicated, and so is love. here’s a story about both.

“i will destroy you,” Poppy says, her tone razor-edged and precise. she feels a pulsing thing beneath her skin. something that warns her to tread carefully in a manner that’s much too pleased for the situation at hand.

“good luck with that,” AJ answers, her tone somehow daring to be amused.

and then a beat. a moment that exists only between the two of them. it rings loud in Poppy’s mind. thrums along in time with that pulsing thing beneath her skin. it’s warning her about something. telling her to make the right choice, as though it’ll be forced to do something if she doesn’t do this right.

pshhh. ridiculous.

“i hate you.”

and that’s the last thing she says before the pulsing thing expands and consumes her whole. it drags her away from the fountain and AJ and that clear night in May, and drops her in bed just as her alarm to wake up goes off.

Poppy sits up in bed, her hair a tussled mess, and watches as her phone buzzes and plays that horrible alarm tune on the nightstand.

strange, she thinks, reaching out to silence the damn thing. she checks the date, which is right, but the time is, decidedly, wrong. it was well after ten at night the last she checked, only now her phone is telling her it’s nine o’clock in the morning. she pads to the windows and peers outside, and sure enough, the sun is in the sky. it’s morning.

a dream then, right? it must’ve been. her loss and meltdown and run-in with AJ at the fountain, it was a dream and now she’s awake. good, she didn’t really lose to AJ-fucking-Hughes.

she showers and dresses and heads downstairs in search of something quick to eat. Veronica is in the kitchen, scrolling through her phone as she waits for her coffee to brew. she looks up and nods in greeting, and Poppy’s suddenly hit with a very strange sense of déjà vu.

“you ready for tonight?” Veronica asks, head still buried in her phone.

Poppy hums and then, unsure of why, she says, “i had the strangest dream.” the pulsing thing returns. a warning. a caution. a very much not-exclusive-to-dreams thing.

be careful, it sing-songs.

“oh yeah.” Veronica looks up, suddenly curious.

“yeah, it was…” she’s actually not quite sure of what to make of it. of what hidden insecurity it sheds light onto. maybe she shouldn’t say anything then. best to keep her cards close to her chest—they are competing against each other after all. “nothing. it’s nothing. never mind.”

Veronica shrugs and returns to her phone.

her day carries on as it usually would and before she knows it, she’s stepping onto the red carpet for the awards show. cameras flash and she smiles as she presses through, as though feeding off the attention.

and then the end of the night comes and— AJ wins. AJ wins. AJ-fucking-Hughes. Poppy’s shouting and cursing before she can stop herself. she’s peripherally aware of her parents calling out to her, begging her to stop, but that pulsing thing beneath her skin hums with energy. it tells her this is right. that this is how it needs to be. so she doesn’t stop.

she doesn’t stop until she’s out of breath and finally realises what she’s done. and then she slips outside and tries to disappear for a moment at the fountain.

she takes deep breaths, paces back-and-forth, and tries to figure out where it all went so wrong. and how— she’s back at the fountain. the same fountain she was at in her dream. how the fuck?

second time’s the charm, right?

and— what? second time?

yes, do try and keep up.

“fuck you,” she thinks, she says, speaking aloud into the world.

“you say the sweetest things to me,” a voice, it’s AJ’s voice.

Poppy spins around, absolutely fuming, and with déjà vu sitting heavy in her mind. this is just like her dream. how the fuck can this be just like her dream?

the pulsing amps up, thrumming along her veins. this is it, it says, excited and breath held in quiet anticipation.

it? what the fuck does that mean?

there’s a moment where it looks like AJ is about to extend an olive branch. where she offers one of those small and hesitant smiles that asks for a do-over. but Poppy’s learnt her lesson. she knows that branches almost always have thorns. so instead of accepting AJ’s hand, she slaps it away and says something cruel. something prickly and sharp that slices at skin and won’t ever really heal.

“i hate you,” she spits, just like in her goddamn dream.

the pulsing thing doesn’t like that. it tells her no, you’ve done it wrong again, and then rips her away and throws her back into bed as her alarm to wake up goes off.

she sits up in bed and is more pissed than anything else. her alarm is still ringing and vibrating like everything’s okay—everything is not okay. because she’s in her bed again and her alarm is vibrating and it’s somehow morning again.

she gets out of bed and marches downstairs, more determined than ever to finally get some answers.

she finds Veronica in the kitchen, just like in her dreams that didn’t at all feel like dreams.

“you ready for—”

“what the fuck is happening right now?”

Veronica blinks. takes a second to properly wake up. “uh, what?”

“this.” she gestures widely to everything and that little pulsing thing warns her again. “what the fuck is this? what is happening?”

“are you high?”

“what? no, i’m not high. i just want an answer. why have i already lived through this morning twice?”

and she never does get an answer because the pulsing thing yanks her back and drops her bed just as her alarm is going off. again.

Poppy screams into her pillow and the pulsing thing says sorry, but you broke a rule, i had to pull you back.

and suddenly Poppy’s demanding answers from this stupid pulsing thing, but it remains silent.

so she pulls herself out of bed and tries again.

attempt number four goes wrong around noon, and attempts five through nine are all spectacular disasters because Poppy decides that she just does not give a fuck.

if some cruel force of the universe wants to lock her in this never ending purgatory, then so be it. she’s done enough shitty things in life and probably deserves it.

attempt number ten goes better. it still goes wrong because she got into a fight with AJ and apparently that’s not how it’s supposed to go, but she overhears a conversation between Chloe and Veronica and realises just how horrible she’s been to them.

she stays in bed for the entirety of attempt number eleven.

the pulsing thing begs her to get up, says please, i only want to help. but Poppy doesn’t buy it. who would want to help her?

the pulsing thing goes quiet and gently pulls her back until it’s 9 o’clock in the morning and her alarm is going off again.

c’mon, one more time. please? the pulsing thing asks as soon as attempt number twelve starts.

Poppy sighs but gets out of bed anyway. she can do this one more time. she finds Veronica in the kitchen just like the last eleven times and feels strangely compelled to say something new.

“i wasn’t a very good friend, was i?”

Veronica looks up from her phone, wary but curious.

the pulsing thing says no, not yet. but Poppy ignores it and pushes on. and as soon as she gets to the end of her apology, the pulsing thing pulls her away and drops her back in bed just as the alarm is going off.

not yet, it says.

“then when?” Poppy shouts at the top of her lungs. “when do you want me to start being better?”

she gets no response from the pulsing thing, but Chloe does knock on her door and ask if everything’s okay. she snaps at Chloe, tells her to go away, even though she knows she shouldn’t and wishes she didn’t.

she decides then that she’s done playing this stupid game.

she shaves her head during one version of the day and streaks across campus in another version because fuck it, no one will remember.

it’s during attempt twenty-one that she accidentally bumps into AJ on some quiet part of campus. they sit together and talk and the pulsing thing tells her to be careful.

“can i ask you a question?” AJ says.

“sure.”

“did i ever mean anything to you?”

“yes—”

the pulsing thing tells her to stop.

“—i think i was scared because i knew i could lo—”

the pulsing thing rips her away.

Poppy can feel it in her bones that this is it. attempt twenty-two will be the one to break this cycle.

she plays through the day as she usually would, making only small changes that she knows are the right thing to do. then comes time for the award show and it’s just before the winner is announced that the pulsing asks if she knows what has to be done.

yes, she does know.

AJ wins and Poppy’s strangely okay with that, but the pulsing thing tells her now, go, you have to do it. so she does. she shouts and she curses and is vaguely aware of her parents begging for her to stop.

she runs off outside and finds herself at the fountain again.

she doesn’t have to wait long until AJ sits down beside her and Poppy looks up at her and smiles, waiting for AJ to accept the olive branch she’s extending.

“i’m glad you won,” Poppy breathes, almost like a sigh of relief.

and she feels something in the air shift then. it’s small, barely noticeable. but she knows that something is different in the way that sometimes you just know something even if knowing it has no rhyme or reason.

“really?”

Poppy hums. “you deserve it.”

the pulsing thing says i’m proud of you.

and Poppy wonders if she’ll be okay without the constant nagging, because this is the furthest she’s ever made it before and she has no idea what comes next.

that’s the point.

what if i screw up.

then you fix it.

what if i can’t.

you can.

“you alright?” AJ asks, breaking Poppy’s trance. “you just kinda zoned out for a sec.”

Poppy smiles and finds AJ’s hand with her own. “i’ve never been better.”

time is linear, Poppy firmly believes. like dominoes in a line, stacked neatly in formation, and all tumbling one right after another when nudged.

time does not repeat. it does not offer do-overs. except maybe when it does. which might be complete bullshit, Poppy thinks. but years—decades even—after that day she lived through twenty-two times, she’ll listen as AJ recites some corny pickup line in their kitchen.

“i can’t believe i married you,” Poppy will say with a smile.

“tragic, isn’t it?”

“couldn’t agree more.”

“good.”

and then AJ will swoop in and plant a kiss on Poppy’s lips. and it will be in moments like those that the pulsing thing will hum and ask aren’t you glad you finally listened to me?

and yeah, maybe she is.

#my writing #poppy x mc #poppy min-sinclair #queen b #playchoices #a funky little story about love and time travel #does that even make sense?#i sure hope it does

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lesbianmarrow · 3 years

Text

i watched legends of tomorrow 4.12 today and it was so good. written by 2 women and directed by a woman thats how you know its gonna be good!!!!! this episode had like 4 different plotlines going on, but it managed to balance them relatively well. much better than it had in a few previous episodes. it helps that they all had to do with neron in some way or another (aside from the plot of zari trying to decide what to text nate).

of course, what i really like about this episode is how it focused on the sara/ava relationship, and on ava’s reservations and insecurities specifically. this show has done such a great job of crafting ava ever since it introduced her. it knew exactly who she was and it revealed that to the audience little by little over time until we all couldn’t help but love her! this episode is a lot like the preceding one in a lot of ways. 4.12 does for ava what 4.11 did for zari. both episodes explore the hidden emotions and fears of these proud, guarded women. having both been introduced in season 3, zari and ava are established enough that we are familiar with their personalities and know how they behave, but we don’t necessarily know why they behave the way they do. these episodes provide insight into their internal lives, which helps give context to their past actions. it is so rewarding to see these tough, prickly characters suddenly become vulnerable.

i think i’ll need another post (and a rewatch) to unpack the symbolism of ava’s evil ikea purgatory but suffice to say i loved it. insanely funny to have sara & ava’s first task be to assemble ikea furniture together. and it was cute! it was so cute. the mattress thing was also very sweet. honestly all the ordeals were so ridiculously domestic it was so lovely to see. i wasn’t thrilled about how the 3rd task was doing dishes & sorting mail, just because i was expecting an escalation and it didn’t feel like one? but i guess that’s also kind of the point, that sometimes life is going to be boring and you have to deal with it. the ava dolls were wonderful - i’ll elaborate more in a later post but yeah really good.

i straight up barely remember what happened in the main neron storyline but thats okay. i do feel like the constantine/neron confrontation and the subsequent constantine/desmond reunion would have carried more weight if they had been the a plot of an episode rather than relegated to the b plot. but i loved seeing constantine and nora outsmart neron, and i loved that ray ruined it. so often ray saves the day even when he’s being reckless, because legends loves to validate his optimism and compassion. but this time his compassion gets him possessed by a demon! very fun, can’t wait to see how that shakes out.

i am going to pretend the magical theme park does not exist because i hate that plot element so much. i know legends is a silly show but i just cant take it. i cant take it. sorry nate.

zari trying to figure out what to text nate was so cute. and everyone chiming in and trying to help her, even mick! i like that charlie is very encouraging of zari pursuing the guy she likes even though charlie is obviously into zari. that moment when charlie asks zari if shes straight and zari doesnt answer......i really never would have expected this kind of dynamic between 2 women of color on legends and i am just so thankful it exists. truly beyond my wildest dreams. i��m going to pretend that the reason zari refuses to tell nate what her text really said is that shes no longer as interested in him and is more interested in charlie. i know thats not the real reason but i can pretend.

all in all a fantastic episode and for sure one of my favorites :)

#legends of tomorrow #sara lance #ava sharpe #avalance #zari tomaz #legends constantine #legends charlie #syl posts

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thehouseoflamentation · 4 years

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how about a solomon/f! mc breeding fic where solomon picks mc to breed because her angelic bloodline? being descended from angels is no small thing& if past scenes said anything, mc's magic potential is through the roof &any little sorcerers begotten from their union would be Hella powerful. I can just see a smug solomon pulling all "witch after your firstborn" vibes. as for kinks, idk, blowjob (for ritual purposes ; ) ), and most important!! no sappiness only lust & doing it for science/power

One Solomon fic hold the sugar coming right up!

Making a Sorcerer’s Firstborn (Solomon x Fem!MC) ~NSFW~ |BREAD|

Solomon had always wondered what made you special ever since he met you that first day at RAD. As one of the most powerful sorcerers the world has ever seen, it’s clear why he was chosen for the exchange program but you were a different case. At first glance you seemed to be….well, an ordinary human. Nothing wrong about that but also nothing extraordinary either. Then again, despite what looks might suggest you had managed to make pacts with some of the highest ranking demons in the devildom, a feat no typical human would be able to accomplish in such a short amount of time. Solomon started to wonder if there was something he wasn’t quite picking up here, a part of you that you’ve been hiding from others, some kind of extra edge. It wasn’t until that fateful day at the Demon Lord’s Palace that things started to become even more interesting. For the first time he saw just how powerful your magic potential was. Being able to increase a demon’s power was one thing but to strengthen Asmo to such an extent that he changed his mind about making a pact with you? There was no way he could ignore something like that.

When news quietly started to spread that one of the human exchange students wasn’t so human after all Solomon knew he had to get to the bottom of your secret. He would have never suspected that you came from an angelic bloodline but the theory held up. It explained why you had such a high magical potential despite the fact that you didn’t even know magic existed until a few months ago. A part of him couldn’t help but envy you but at the same time he wondered how powerful a child created between the both of you could be. With your lineage and his background in magic there was no doubt that your child would grow to have a strong inclination for magic, possibly even surpassing that of their parents. As intrigued as Solomon was at that thought he didn’t think you would ever agree to such a proposal. Bearing his child for the sake of prospect and power sounded absurd! Then again as someone who managed to convince 72 demons to form pacts with him, how hard can it be to persuade a human of all things?

“So...let me get this straight. You want to take advantage of my angelic bloodline and impregnate me to create an extremely powerful magic baby?”

“Yes”

“I’m in”

“WaiT REALLY?!??!”

“On one condition”

“....go on”

“I want you to teach me the breeding spell”

“Oh?” Solomon’s lips curled into a smirk once he heard your terms. He knew quite well what that spell was capable of and found it rather ironic that someone who was part angel could be so sinful. Nevertheless, he accepted your offer and extended a hand towards you.

“Deal”

Back in Purgatory Hall neither of you wasted a moment getting started. What began as a few kisses quickly escalated to bites and hickeys as the two of you rushed to remove your clothes. Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, Solomon placed his hands on your shoulders pushing you down to your knees in front of him. Undoing his belt and zipper you stripped him to his boxers and began licking him through the fabric, your saliva mixing with his precum. Solomon hissed as your tongue ran over a particularly sensitive spot along his length. It wasn’t long before the outline of his hardened dick became visible through his boxers and once that last remaining piece of cloth was gone so was your restraint. Without a shred of hesitation, you took the head of his cock into your mouth and began swirling your tongue around it earning a rather audible groan from the sorcerer. Once you worked your way down to the base, his hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear before tilting your head up to look at him. Your eyes were glazed, the only emotion that shone through them was lust, a feeling Solomon knew all too well from dealing with Asmo.

You were so given to your desires you didn’t even notice Solomon recite the breeding incantation until you felt a rush of heat pool in your stomach and between your legs. The sudden increase in sensitivity sent shivers down your spine making you pause in the middle of your actions, something that wasn’t taken so well by your partner who was just as equally as affected as you were. Delving his fingers between your locks Solomon gripped your hair and continued where you had left off, thrusting his hips as he held your head in place. His speed was slow at first but the impact was enough to snap you back into reality. You struggled to match his pace as his thrusts grew more and more erratic, each movement pushing the tip of his dick further towards the back of your throat. Craving even more stimulation you let one of your hands slip beneath your underwear, slowly rubbing circles around your clit while your other hand played with your nipple. Your stifled moans made the walls of your throat clench and vibrate against Solomon’s cock, driving him to the edge as his salty, bitter seed coated your mouth and dripped down your chin.

Staring up breathlessly at Solomon you felt his hand gently stroke your hair, a rather tender expression considering his previous actions and those that would soon follow.

“Such a good little slut~ Already a mess when we’ve barely even started...”

Taking you in his arms, he lifted you onto the bed and spread your legs apart. You were already so wet, so ready for him, and yet he still felt the need to tease you a bit. Resting his head against your thigh he lapped the juices around your entrance and stroked your clit with the tip of his tongue enjoying the way your body squirmed and cried out at his touch. Pushing you even further to your breaking point, he slipped two of his fingers inside of you and watched as you gripped the sheets each time he curled them or rubbed against your walls.

When he finally pulled away it was only to replace his fingers with something much longer and thicker. You could feel his length throbbing against your entrance and, being in heat, you couldn’t help but rub yourself against him to gain even the smallest amount of friction and relief as your body pleaded for him to just take you. Solomon merely chuckled at your enthusiasm and toyed with your impatience even more as he slid the head of his cock inside you at a painfully slow pace. Once he was half way inside he finally gave you what you wanted, mercilessly ramming the rest of his cock inside you until you reached the base. His hips slammed against yours recklessly as you wrapped your legs around him urging him to hit your deepest parts. Keeping his pace, Solomon buried his head in the crook of your neck leaving behind bite marks and hickeys wherever his mouth left your skin. You could feel the heat of his breath as he leaned towards your ear, his lips twisted into a smirk as he spoke once again.

“I didn’t think you’d be so desperate to be bred MC. The way you have those demon brothers wrapped around your finger, you could have gotten fucked by any one of them if you wanted. But instead you’re here with me taking me in so well.... Tell me MC, with how tight you’re squeezing me, are you sure I’m the only one who wants this baby?”

You barely had the concentration or the time to reply as you felt your climax just beyond your reach. All you could do was moan and cling to Solomon in response to his words which, to him, was the best kind of answer you could give. Grabbing onto your hips for more leverage his thrusts became more reckless with each passing second. The heat growing within your core felt unbearable as your body grew closer and closer to release. After brushing against a particularly sensitive area, your walls became tighter which only made Solomon pound into your sweet spot even harder. With one last deep thrust you had both reached your limit. As you came you could feel his length throb inside of you as his warm load filled you and dripped onto the sheets. When you had finally milked every last drop of his cum, Solomon pulled out only to flip you onto your back and reposition himself at your entrance once again.

“Don’t think we’re done just because round one is over. We’ve got a baby to make and until the spell wears off we’re gonna make the most out of every second.”

Neither of you remember how many times you had sex the next few days but with the sheer amount of cum that was poured into you there was no doubt that you would bear Solomon’s baby soon enough. On the last day of the spell when its effects had finally weakened the two of you finally got some rest, dazed and exhausted from your time together.

“Y’know Solomon, I’ve been thinking...”

“Hm?”

“If this kid has white hair….how are we gonna break it to Mammon that it’s not his?”

“FUCK”

#obey me!#shall we date #shall we date?#obey me #lemon lime demon time #bread #obey me! solomon #obey me! scenario #scenario

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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

Right on time

Pairing: Spike x reader; Faith x reader [reader dates men & women]

Request: Not requested. I’m trying to write whatever’s coming into my head even if it isn’t my best so that I can be inspired to write something potentially better for a fic someone’s requested lolll. Requests will still be written but they may be a little slower than normal sorry 💖

Desc: Reader was in a relationship with Faith but since she was in a coma the reader turned to Spike for comfort and feelings begin to grow.

Warning: Sex references; set in hospital; mention or discussion of a kind of loss. swearing.

The walls appeared to be closing in again. The noise around you lulled every so often with a sombre silence. The hollowed eyes of loss surrounded you but had no reason to look your way. They were all stuck in their own minds. A funeral march in the making.

The occasional laughter bubbled up, from those that clutched hope so desperately their knuckles were perpetually white. It didn’t feel right in this place though, it was a surreal room that held both the impending horror and delight depending on what the doctor said next. You could nearly taste it in the air it was that strong. The mixture of such strong emotions blanketed the room in a thick tension. A kind of purgatory.

You were sitting in the adjoined café to the hospital coaxing your mug to give you some answers when you didn’t even know what questions to ask. You stared into your mug, wishing it could offer you come kind of comfort. The human touch you craved just couldn’t be replicated. Her touch. It had been so long now that you had almost given up.

Faith was in a coma. The only woman you had ever fallen in love with couldn’t open her eyes. Could barely breathe on her own. She shouldn’t be lying there. She didn’t deserve that, no matter the choices she made. She didn’t deserve to end her days this way. Or any way, in your opinion.

When you had been together, just the two of you it had been so good. You redefined the meaning of love together. You were unapologetically each other’s. You promised forever and she had been taken away from you.

She had confided in you in a way that she couldn’t with anyone else. You shared hushed whispers, swapping your pasts beneath the sheets together. You had loved her when she lived out of a motel and you had loved her just the same when she lived in her apartment that the Mayor had bought for her.

She could be so soft when she wanted to be. Holding you into her and not letting the cruel world touch either of you. You were completely embraced by her adoration and you just hope that she felt the same.

That she knew that you would rather be in her place. That you loved her just as much now as you did the first day you whispered those words to her. Your skin on hers, wrapped in a sheet as the afternoon stretched out before you. It had been such bliss.

You still visited every Friday. Held her hand and told her that you love her. Spoke to her, told her everything about your life. Everything except…

Spike. He appeared before you just as your mind turned to him. As it often did, recently. You squinted, thinking he must have followed you.

This was unlike him anymore. He would usually wait around the crypt or in the alley around the back of the Bronze for you to decide the inevitable. That you would spend the night with him. Losing yourself in his touch. Fucking him until you could almost forget her. But you never did, of course.

You both knew the arrangement, don’t get attached. Don’t stay for breakfast (or dinner, should it be that way around). It suited you both. It was for comfort, you had both found yourselves increasingly isolated. On the peripheries of the Scoobies whilst still being hauled back in to help when they remembered you both existed. Still, there was no warmth from them. None of them trusted either of you.

You turned to each other, shielding from the cold. The loneliness that seeped in no matter how you tried to protect yourselves. The reality was that you needed each other. These nights were necessary. The sex was good, you both knew you couldn’t get better anywhere else.

Admittedly though, more recently you became more and more present in those moments. Where you wouldn’t leave as soon as you finished. You had been shuffling away without a word passing between you. Not so much as a thank you, come again.

No, you now didn’t even put up the pretence of going to the Bronze first. You found your way to him as soon as you could. You found yourself increasingly enjoying his presence. Which was something you hadn’t consciously found yourself feeling since Faith got hurt. Enjoyment. Maybe even happiness. In a strange way, Spike made you feel more than you could remember feeling.

One evening, you stayed up the entire night. Talking. His mind spoke to you. A connection that was fast becoming unbreakable since. Neither of you even suggested more and you hadn’t realised this until the morning came and you woke up with his arms draped around you. It was a soft intimacy that you hadn’t found yourself expecting but now it was happening you only wanted more of it.

More of him.

You hadn’t realised but Spike had been falling even before that night. He had a taste of you. Your body and mind. He saw the ugliest parts of you, the guilt and the sadness that you tried to conceal and loved you wholly.

He wanted to comfort you. Wanted to protect you from your sadness. From the guilt you held for even having a single moment of happiness when Faith no longer could.

He couldn’t help loving you, the way you spoke even in your sadness was appealing to him. You were a strong person although it was a task for him trying to get you to reveal how you truly felt.

It started to upset him, when you were upset. He found his mood lifted and fell depending on how you felt. On how you spoke about yourself. He was in love with you. All in. He was a fool for love. Or, more, a fool for you.

He so wanted you to see what he did. How he adored you so. That you were truly a gift to the world. That you were the reason he got up in the evening. On the promise of being close to you.

You kept things bottled up, held tightly to your chest. You didn’t tell him but you felt guilty, what with Faith still breathing and being involved with Spike. The doctors had told you multiple times that it would take a miracle for her to recover. That you should move on. But it was too hard letting go.

That was how you ended up here, psyching yourself up to go and join her by her bedside. Visiting hours started in less than an hour and you were still trying to convince yourself that there was still hope.

Her face, it looked almost peaceful lying in that bed but it brought you anything but peace. You knew she would rather be where the action was. Fighting and fucking in that way that only she could marry together perfectly. You could hold her hand in yours but it was often cold to match the room. You could bend it to curl around you but it never stayed.

You just wanted her to reach for you again, clasp her hand to yours and tell you that it would be okay. That she would make it out. That she could make it out of anything. Her confidence, you had loved it. She was so sure of herself and she had the same confidence in you. she was devoted to you in every way. Had near fought the Mayor over some of the comments he had made about you.

Spike spotted you immediately where you were sat hunched over your seat in the café. He stalked straight towards you, not moving out of anyone’s way. He sat down in front of you, characteristically throwing himself down and smirking as if this had all been planned. He took the mug from you and downed the remainder of the lukewarm liquid, grimacing at your choice of beverage. He slammed the mug back down, almost cracking it before sniffing and looking back at you expectantly.

“Did you follow me? You know you really shouldn’t do that to people-” You warned. You had this conversation more than once and he had mostly learned from what you had said. Or so you hoped anyway.

“I know. I wasn’t, I swear it” He said and when you raised an eyebrow he continued, “Stocking up wasn’t I?”

He pulled one half of his duster as if trying to sell you something but it revealed several concealed pockets that held blood bags. Human blood. He had come to get lunch.

This type of thing was what you had come to expect of Spike and so you just nodded and accepted it. In fact, you had begun to warm up his blood for him in the mornings when you both woke up together. He liked that you didn’t look at him in disgust for surviving. That rather you understood. He smiled at you before patting himself down again.

He took a cigarette from his pack and started to light up, forgetting where he was. You reached and took the object from him, dropping it in your cup. The dregs put the lit end out with a disappointing sizzle.

When you had leaned in, his eyes had widened. Your proximity was something he wanted more of. Those soft, familiar gestures of comfort. They meant a lot to him. Although, it wouldn’t stop him testing just how familiar he could be back to you.

“Question is, why are you? Doc said she’s gone, pet. No point making it harder on yourself” he said slowly, knowing not to push too hard. Last time he had started to press you to talk about it more you hadn’t spoken to him for a week.

You knew what the doctor had said. But you couldn’t stop coming. You couldn’t let her go. You couldn’t leave her behind.

“I love her” You said sadly. The words stung Spike and he lowered his gaze to the table between you. His jaw tensed and he tried to blink the water from his eyes before you saw it. Your love meant too much to him. Sometimes, you wished it wasn’t true. You wish you could move on and just forget. But she had meant everything to you, even after she had joined up with the Mayor you stuck by her. You had fallen so deeply.

The way she always held you close. Kissed you until you were breathless as soon as she saw you. That smile that could light up a room. She would have died rather than see you hurt in any way. Faith loved you, you had never doubted it.

But as soon as you thought this your mind moved to Spike. In the same way, he clung to you protectively. Gave you all of his time. Would rather give up anything so that you could have even a second of happiness.

“But… I think… I think I feel the same about you” Your sentence exploded from your mouth before you could brace yourself. You hadn’t even thought them properly before you expressed these words. But, you knew that you meant it. That you adored every part of him.

You were scared though, that he may suffer the same fate as the only other person you loved. You didn’t need to explain this though, he understood.

He had gasped. Audibly. Spike was looking at you as if you had hung the stars in the sky. He reached for you from across the table, his features crudely carved out of the fluorescent lighting. Yet he still managed to keep this soft expression on his face. The one that was only yours.

“I have loved you since the first I saw you. Couldn’t even begin to deny these feelings inside. I need you, near crave you at times. Nothing compares to you, pet. Nothing even comes close”

He took your hand in his from over the table as he began to offer his feelings to you. This love that he had harboured in secret for too long. This soft adoration that he could now allow to flow freely. He assured you that he was yours, in any way you wanted him.

His hand caressed yours in such a way that you could no longer imagine him letting go. This intimacy meant more than you could even begin to describe. He slowly rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand as he spoke so earnestly.

You could have cried. Could have thrown the table aside and urgently pressed your lips against his. Instead, you clasped your hand tighter, wove your fingers firmly between his. You needed this. You needed him.

He squeezed your hand tighter as you spoke, trying to shuffle your thoughts into some type of cohesion. You wanted to explain. Wanted to match the beautiful way he expressed his own emotions to you. But something had stopped you. Or, someone. It felt as if someone had a hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing your throat until no words could form.

Your eyesight began to blur. The corners of your vision turning to static. But there was something, a flicker that caught your attention.

Her. Standing there in someone else’s clothes. Paler than you remembered but still completely her.

“Faith you’re…”

“Right on time” She nodded, smiling at you. Although her eye was almost twitching as she looked at the way you were both intimately sprawled across the table. Leaning in towards each other closer as the other spoke.

You couldn’t help but get up, dropping Spike’s hand in your shock. Your vision completely enraptured by her. You were so excited you didn’t hear a British accent muttering ‘Bloody brilliant’ as he contemplated that his relationship with you had just completely changed. Again.

To have everything he had ever wanted from you now potentially ripped away in almost the same breath hurt. Deeply. And so he blamed Faith for it.

You launched yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her so enthusiastically. She hissed a little and you moved but you were unable to part from her. You pressed a chaste kiss against her lips before laughing at how amazing it was to have her standing before you after all of this time.

They scowled at each other while your back was turned, hugging Faith more gently again. They knew exactly how the other felt about you. Because they themselves felt it.

You opened your mouth to say something but then it dawned on you. You remembered what you had just said to Spike. Suddenly this reunion was bittersweet. You loved her completely and couldn’t leave her side now. But life had moved on and you had found yourself a spirit that spoke to yours. You also loved him.

You looked between them both and time stopped. There was no choice here. You knew who your heart belonged to. It was split in two, in equal parts. Your heart - it was theirs.

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rubykgrant · 3 years

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(I made sort of a comic/text illustration for my “How Church Comes Back” theory in my RVB story-line, but here is the main text with some additional descriptions that are hopefully easier to read that in picture-form. The basic premise; when Epsilon deconstructed himself, all the information that made up his “personality” had to GO somewhere... and sometimes after an EMP, digital devices will save their data to the system. The original Epsilon unit is destroyed, but the other AI units still exist, somewhere. The memories of Theta would revive Theta, Delta memories would revive Delta, ect... and the memories of Church himself would revive Alpha. Because, after all, Church is always Church- even when he’s not. He doesn’t exactly enjoy being trapped in the Alpha unit again, though...)

(… a room… no, NOT a room, a virtual space designed to LOOK like a room… familiar, but not comfortable… in fact, as he recognized it, he immediately felt restless. Like an itch to move, to get away, escape... he belonged here... he didn't WANT to belong here... but he did)

Why am I back HERE? I CAN’T be back here, I’m not even… I shouldn’t be anywhere. I shouldn’t be ANYTHING Is this just… is this me having “my life flash before my eyes”? Why just THIS? Why am I seeing something at all? OK, I’m not an expert on the after-life, but… I guess I figured I’d kinda just be nothing. Is this supposed to be purgatory for Artificial Intelligence? I mean, I guess that fits…

(Time passed… a long time? Hard to tell… it felt like a while. Maybe it was only a few hours, or a day… nothing changed in here. There was nothing in here but HIM, and he didn’t want to be here. Sometimes he sort of drifted away... stopped paying attention, let himself lose focus. It was like falling asleep, but when he woke up... he was still trapped in the same place)

Alright, I’m getting real SICK and TIRED of being here. Also getting pretty DONE with not knowing WHY. I deconstructed myself, I basically DELETED myself… Why am I still even aware of anything? Why am I stuck somewhere that looks like… if I HAVE to keep existing, can I at least… Can I just… can I find out what happened? What happened AFTER? I was ready to be gone forever, I was ready to say good-bye… I assumed everything about me would end… And I was ready for that I made peace with not KNOWING But I’m still aware, and still existing, can’t I… I just want to know if they’re OK Are they OK? Can anybody hear me? Or am I just talking to myself?

(If he was still existing, then where were the others? Delta, Theta… Gamma, Eta, Iota… he’d even settle for Omega and Sigma… just SOMEBODY else. Somebody he could interact with… somebody to help him figure out what was happening. This was… it was too much like something that had happened to him BEFORE, and it was CONFUSING. He felt like he could slip back into one of his memories, it would be so EASY to just distract himself by recreating a moment he had already lived through… but that was scary. So easy to fall into a memory, and then feel like it was happening again… he was afraid of doing that)

WHY AM I HERE? I’m not the Alpha anymore, I’m BARELY Epsilon I shouldn’t be ANYTHING, but I am… And I’m HERE. I don’t WANT to be here I’d rather be ANYWHERE but here Being stuck in Blood Gulch again would be better than HERE This has to be some kind of memory glitch… this can’t be real, this CAN’T be where I actually am. It has to be fake. It has to be a trick Oh SURE, this isn’t real, every time I was here, all I saw was… Oh no… No no no no no no no no no Please, NO

(Another failure, another failure, another failure… he wasn’t supposed to fail, he was supposed to fix problems, he was supposed to help people, what was wrong with him, why did this keep happening… NO THAT WAS BEFORE. That happened a long time ago… it seems like a long time ago. How much time has passed? It was hard to tell. This is different, though. Well, it was the same, but it was different… right? Or was THIS just a memory? Was he remembering being here again? Then why does he keep thinking about NEW memories, new parts of his life, new things that he’s done? Because he HAS done these things. He left this place behind, and he… he had gone to other places… met people… but now he was back. That didn’t make sense)

This is where they put me through all those simulations. All those fake scenarios. This is where they tricked me, and lied to me. This is where they tortured me. They made me think I was hurting people. They made me care about people, and then they made me think… They made me think I was killing people Over and over and over and over and over and over and… And… and then they DID hurt people, using me. They forced people into situations, and those people died. They created those situations because of ME They used my thoughts to manipulate people. They used fragments made from me to control people. They used me… I can’t be here, I can’t do this AGAIN. I was DONE, this was OVER. If… if I’m here... does that mean… was everything…

(It was his fault, he kept failing, he couldn’t get anything right, he was broken, why did this keep happening, he was supposed to make sure everybody succeeded, he was supposed to keep them alive, but it wasn’t working, he wasn’t working… he had to treat every simulation like it was REAL, that was the only way to be sure he was trying hard enough, but that means every failure kills him, because it kills them, even when it doesn’t. He just wants to talk to them, directly, so they KNOW he’s sorry. If he could just tell them he actually cares, he doesn’t want them to get hurt, maybe they’d understand… and if he could talk to them, maybe he’d know if they were really alive or not)

NO, IT WAS REAL. THEY WERE ALL REAL. WHAT I DID WITH THEM WAS REAL. IT HAS TO BE I know it was… please, it had to be real… I couldn’t go through all THAT, and then just… just leave… OH NO, no no no, that’s what they did to me BEFORE. They would just RIP ME OUT of a scenario when they were done. Then they would RIP OUT whatever little piece of me they thought they needed. What else? WHAT THE HELL ELSE? I already lost everything! I lost my friends, I lost the people I loved, I lost parts of my own mind! I lost my memories! I LOST MY LIFE I don’t have anything left… all I had was… was knowing they’d be OK after I was gone… I can’t lose that, too. That HAD to be real

(He keeps feeling more alone, but that doesn’t make sense, it was always just HIM in here, he didn’t have anybody else… except maybe he did, he just can’t remember… he forgets sometimes… he didn’t used to forget things. He was alone, here, just him… and then he wasn’t alone anymore. He had somebody else. Then he was alone again… except now he knew how much he didn’t like it. Somehow, that feeling kept growing, that EMPTINESS, until he felt less… and less… like himself)

I know it was real, I KNOW IT WAS. I don’t care what happens to me next, but I’m NOT letting go of that. I’m not letting go of them… I remember talking to them all, and that was REAL Tucker was REAL, Caboose was REAL. Donut, Grif, Simmons, Sarge- they were REAL. Lopez, Doc, Wash- they were REAL. Carolina was REAL Tex was… Tex was real, and I… I kept hurting her. Because they kept wanting me to bring her back. And she kept getting hurt, so I finally let her go… Please… PLEASE. They HAVE to be OK. I wanted to save them That was all I wanted, they have to be OK

(This wasn’t what happened before, NO, this was new, it was, he could remember them, he remembered his friends, he remembered everything he did, he just had to keep reminding himself that this was DIFFERENT… but it was hard to remember that… when he just kept being HERE… alone… alone like before. He missed his friends… he did have friends, didn’t he? He only had one friend, first… then they took her away, and kept her away. He had missed her, and worried about her… especially when they told him she was in trouble, and in danger, and he was supposed to figure out how to keep her alive, but he always failed. He had more friends now… friends that had been in trouble, and in danger… did he fail again?)

They have to be real. I need them to be real. Those memories were MINE, that life was MINE. They were NOT just another trick. They were real, and I saved them, I didn’t… I didn’t just… leave them… to get hurt. Please, no, I didn’t hurt them… not after all that. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand it if I was hurting them Is that it? Is that the plan this time? Give me a whole group of friends that I care about. Give me a whole family that I… Give me all that, and then make me think they’re gonna DIE? Just to take me away at the last minute? Or are they really in danger? Are they really going to die, and I’m not even THERE? I can’t even help them? Are they going to be put into more dangerous situations… Just to see what I’ll do? Are they the new “tool” that gets used to manipulate me? Fine- FINE If I have to let them go, if I have to forget them, I will. If it keeps them safe I don’t care about anything else. I just want them to be OK If I’m just being used to hurt people again… I’ll let go of them to make it stop Hurt me all you want, but LEAVE THEM ALONE

(He drifted away from himself… it was like falling asleep, but different than the way a human might do it. He just wasn’t… “aware” of his own thoughts for a little while… he drifted away, slipped into memories, had moments where he went blank… when he focused again, he was still here. Trapped. In the little cell that had been made just for him. He belonged here, and he hated it. How long had he been here? Had he ever really LEFT here? Maybe that didn’t matter… because, in the end, he always came to the same conclusion; treat every simulation like it was real. It hurt… but if he didn’t fail, if he actually kept his friends safe… that was good enough)

What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to think? What was the point of all this? They cared about me, too That’s why this hurts, that’s why it was hard to say good-bye. I don’t know why, but they liked me. They really DID, and that can’t just… that can’t be a lie Don’t hurt them. I don’t know who’s doing this anymore, but don’t hurt them I don’t know what you want from me, but you can have it, just don’t hurt them I don’t even care about what was real or not anymore, I DON’T CARE I JUST CARE ABOUT THEM IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH THIS HURTS ME DON’T HURT THEM PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE Just… let them be OK Please…

#red vs blue #leonard church #alpha church #epsilon church #angst

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razorblade180 · 3 years

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Shackles 10: Beasts

[part 9]

“You know I’m really getting tired of walking through hot rocky deserts.”

“Yang, you’re the last person I want to hear complain about the heat.” Ilia grunted. “Just be thankful we aren’t in Menagerie.”

“We marched through it yesterday for a couple days.”

“Oh….well then stop complaining! Dawn has barely broke and Vacou is marginally less hot. These two know what I’m talking about.”

Blake and Jacquelyn remained silent. Both were lost in thought, mentally preparing for what was ahead. Ilia clicked her tongue. She looked at the spot marked on her map to make sure she hadn’t messed up the directions.

Blake could hear her teammate’s heartbeats as they walked. Jacquelyn might’ve been quiet but her heartbeat was faster than a hummingbird. Yang’s beat like a steady drum while Ilia’s, well, it was actually calm. Not a beat of worry. Blake was envious.

“What I wouldn’t give to be calm like you.”

Ilia looked back at her briefly before looking onward. “There’s nothing you have to give. Last time I checked we were taught to be calm by the same person. Though I guess…it was more of a quiet rage. He had that in common with my parents.”

“Has.” Jacquelyn corrected. “And I wouldn’t say his rage was quiet. Sometimes it felt like he could only scream into the wind.”

Yang raised her brow. “Wasn't that annoying? Concerning even?”

“Rage doesn’t do well bottled up. Should I have been concerned and annoyed when you yelled at me?”

“I…that is…” Yang sighed, giving up on a response.

“Rage like this can’t be solved immediately with wimpy meditation practices or a stress ball. Better to shout in a nameless desert than to go around breaking things. Anyways, that hasn’t happened in awhile. Adam has been lost in thought lately more than anything. Now that’s concerning. Being alone with your thoughts is risky business. I’m sure we all agree on that.”

Ilia stopped walking as she made it over a dune. “I don’t know. Thoughts are probably the best thing in a place like that.” She points down towards a lone rock plateau with a tattered wooden mineshaft entrance.that’s blocked by debris. “We made it.” Blake and Jacquelyn said nothing as they began walking ahead of her. Small talk was over.

Yang took a deep breath. She was never one to be nervous about situations like these. Being a huntress meant you saw some disturbing things by nature, but that didn’t stop the air itself from feeling dead. Blake described the scent as a slaughter house earlier. Somehow, Yang could tell she was right. “We ready for this? Who knows what is waiting for us inside.”

“Ready as we’ll ever be. Ilia will stand guard outside. We don’t want them knowing our numbers fully or any backup arriving. You and Jacquelyn back me up while I take the lead.”

“Works for me. But…” Yang approached the entrance and pressed up against a support beam, widening the entrance as debris crumbled out of the way. “That’s better. I’d rather have a quick escape instead of a squeeze through when things get loud, because it’s definitely going to.”

Blake smiled. “Quiet was never your thing anyways, but remember, this is a dust mine. Dried up or not, let’s not shoot anything immediately.” Blake walked in with her swords ready. Jacquelyn followed second with Wilted Rose on her hip.

Yang gave Ilia a wink before following the other two. The shaft didn’t take long before it started sloping down into darkness. A problem for anyone not hanging out with a faunus with great eyesight, or a girl whose hair glows like a torch on command. Normally that would be a benefit, but it made things all the more uneasy for Yang.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too dark in here? I mean…I don’t think the guards themselves could see; unless…” she trailed off. Breaking their focus was the last thing she wanted, but Yang was certain they already knew. Step by step the cave expanded. Water dripped down to the pools below. Faint clinging metal grew louder while Yang’s light revealed rusted cell bars, chains, and mining tools. A thick, potent odor hung in the air so intensely that it made swallowing difficult.

“Don’t look inside, not yet.” Jacquelyn uttered, holding back her gagging.

Blake marched forward. “Smell getting to you?”

“It’s not the stench that makes me want to hurl.”

At last they reached the end of the holding area to reach another passageway. Light curved through it and Blake’s pace slowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hear people. Dozens of them. Workers and…the rest.”

Jacquelyn’s eyes glowed. “Then what are we waiting f-”

“They aren’t moving. Everyone’s just…” Blake approached cautiously, crouched and weary. A knot festered deep inside her. Tears she restrained kept fighting to the surface the closer she got to turning the corner until Blake finally came around. In front of her was the main area. Faunus of every kind stuffed into this giant chasm. Men, women, and children bound in shackles all over the place while guards over watched them; yet nobody was working. They all were watching a man on a platform make another example of the very person that brought them here. Without thinking, Blake spoke.

“A-Adam…?” She said barely above a whisper, yet all heard her in the deathly quiet chamber.

Guards and prisoners alike turned to her in surprise. Jacquelyn and Yang came in soon after with their own look of shock at what they were witnessing. Tired, dread, shock, pain, terror, rage, lifelessness; so many expressions stared at the three from the prisoners who cowarded and guards that pulled weapons.

“Halt. Let’s not be too hasty.” Sobek said, turning around to view his arrival. They couldn’t help but notice his white lab coat stained in red that matches the curved knife he currently wiped on his sleeve. “My goodness. Well isn’t this quite the surprise. I should’ve known catching a big fish and the fact some of my men hadn't returned in a while meant someone was gonna come knocking on my door, but my wildest dreams didn’t think it would be you. Ms. Blake Belladonna, welcome to Purgatory. I’d shake your hand but…” he grabbed Adam by the hair to lift his battered face, but that was tame compared to the gashes and massive bruises that riddled his body in red and purple. “I’ve been pretty busy.” He lit Adam’s head droop limply again.

Overwhelmed, neither Blake or Jacquelyn could speak. The two had yet to shake the shock of it all. As for Yang, she chose to break formation and get in front of both of them. “Why?” That’s all she could ask. That’s all there was to ask. Yang was so caught up by the horrific sight before her that she failed to realize her eyes had long abandoned their lilac color.

Sobek smiled at her. “What’s this, a human? Well I suppose wonders never cease. Caring humans do exist but to find one here is both shocking and unfortunate. You see these monsters before you aren’t worth your compassion. Every last one of them are affiliated and conspired with the very group that poisons the world you and I cherish.”

“That does not answer the question! Why the hell are you hunting people?”

“Animals! How many times do I-” He took a breath, composing himself. “These animals do nothing but spread misery, breed hate. They teach it to their vermin and drag the good faunus through the mud! Just like they did with my daughters! The White Fang aren’t faunus. They’re animals that need to be tamed; and the ones that can’t get put down! The High Leader understands.”

Blake tensed up. All eyes shifted to her and her alone.

“It was faunus like you that showed the rotten parts. The posers and liars that threatened good names. You yourself waged war against the splinter cell this filth-”

“Let him go.” Blake finally spoke. Her voice trembled. The taste of iron hit her mouth as her teeth clenched and pupils constricted. “Let them all go, right now!” She yelled.

The charisma the man held faded. “Excuse me? S…Surely you’re not defending them?”

“And why wouldn’t I!? This…it’s sick. In what right mind does any of this make sense? All you’re doing is hurting people.”

“They get what they deserve.”

“AND WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE!?” Blake could feel her blood boil. Her nail pierced skin and she could feel her heart pound. “I don’t give a damn what your reasons are. I don’t care if anyone in here took lives. This is not how things work. You don’t get to decide others' lives, especially after this!”

“You stand here before me and defend the likes of Adam Taurus, terrorist?”

“I defend life.” Blake pointed her sword towards the man. “I defend change, no matter how bleak!”

“……I see. So you're a beast after all. Then mourn for them.” Sobek withdrew his hospitality, and then snapped his fingers. The guards took their weapons, then went for the prisoners to immediately beat, stab, and shoot whoever.

Yang wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Before she could even act, Blake had let out a scream of pure anger, leaping through the air to Sobek while a trail of tears were left behind. The scientist had made a mad dash towards a metal down with Blake in pursuit.

“Blake!? Don’t go alo-shit!” Yang dove back into the passage they came from to avoid gunfire. “Damn it all!” Yang readied her for a shoot out when the sound of lightning rattled her ears, followed by the sound of several yells before silence returned. Yang looked out and found gunmen on the floor, Jacquelyn walking by them.

The maiden said nothing. Her goal was a simple one and if she was honest with herself, everything else was white noise at the moment. Wind lifted her up to Adam’s platform. Jacquelyn gripped the shackles that strung him up, freezing them until they shattered like glass. His body fell onto hers and she fell to her knees. The world gave Jacquelyn her fair share of tragedy, but this was too cruel to comprehend. His face was so swollen the skin was purple, his good eye swelled shut. Blood leaked and clotted all over his torso and back from stabs, gashes, shocks, and the broken bones.

“Adam?” She uttered, but no response was given. She leaned down to hear the faintest sign of breathing and a weak beating heart. What should’ve sparked hope only made her cry. They had kept him conscious through so much and now his body…

Guards begin to circle around them aim their guns. “Don’t move! Step-” the guard couldn’t even finish his demands before letting out a strained cough as the rock wall behind him shot out like a spear through him.

“I’ll kill you.” Jacquelyn lifted her head, making all the guards shake in fear of her glowing tear filled eyes. The wind picked up around her and the air began to freeze. “I’LL KILL ALL OF YOU!”

“FIRE!” The guards shot into blistering winds that cut and carved the area around their target, firing back ice and imposing the pressure of her storm to the point the entire cavern shook.

“Give me a break. So much for dust safety.” Yang ran through the area, punching and shooting unsuspecting enemies caught up in the whirlwind of dust as she made her way to prisoners; tearing apart chains and yanking them out of walls. “If you can walk then help those who can’t!” She shot falling debris from afar that nearly blocked the exit. “Hey! You’re going to bury us!” Yang’s words didn’t reach the emotional woman holding her partner. Yang looked around frantically. Guards still poured in, some tried escaping, and others ran to where Blake left. All while prisoners either ran for safety or layed dying; beyond the limit of what they could take. “C’mon, act Xiao Long. Act!”

Her feet moved without thinking. Yang didn’t know how this was going to end but if she wanted the best then she’d have to reach for it with her own hands. If that meant rushing head first into a snow storm then so be it. Her hair ignited into pure flames and her clothes kindled like dying embers. Yang lunged right into the dome of wind to grab Jacquelyn.

“Jackie, get a grip! People need us right now. We’ll all die here if this keeps up.” She put her hands on the sides of Jackie's face. “Hey hey hey, look at me.”

Jacquelyn looked Yang in the eye. “He…He’s dying.” Her hands pressed against open wounds. Fire and ice sealed and cauterized wounds but what good it did was unclear.

“Adam’s a stubborn bastard. He cheated death before and he’ll do it again.”

“But-”

“I will take care of Adam! I promise.” Yang put her hands on Jacquelyn’s. “You take care of the guards following their boss and back up Blake. I hate to say it but I don’t like my odds going through that door, so I’ll get these people out. Okay?”

“E…Even if I barrel through them all I don’t know if I can handle-”

“They’re… weak.” Adam mumbled, gaining their attention. He could barely see or move but managed to move his hands enough to grab Jackie’s. “All mutilated, barely trained; but insane. Sobek, he… Atlas.” He coughed blood.

“Adam!”

“Just…grab Blake.” His consciousness faded in and out. However, Adam managed to squeeze Jackie’s hand for reassurance before going silent.

“Well you heard the guy. Though if you do see a chance to grab the bastard…”

“Oh you don’t have to tell me twice.” Jacquelyn was hesitant but gave Adam to Yang. She finally stood up, gripping the hilt of the crimson blade on her. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” With one fluid motion she drew the blade while channeling her magic. A fierce and single slash cut through the wind; pushing it out with force that pushed everyone while the attack cut the metal door down. Jacquelyn didn’t delay any further in doing what she was asked. Yang put Adam on her back best she could. Thankfully he was able to wrap his arms over her shoulders.

“Do me a favor and don’t fall off.”

“Do me a favor and don’t get me shot.”

Yang groaned. Of all the people she had to save. Right on que, bullets flew their way. Time to head out. Yang did her best to run with the extra baggage. Adam honestly wasn’t too heavy but that wasn’t a good thing realistically. Chances are he hasn’t eaten much in days. If it wasn’t for the swelling then the man’s features would’ve been sunken in and pale. Yang can’t say she has compassion for him but she’d be hard pressed to believe she could idly watch if it happened right in front of her. Ruby would say that’s what makes her a hero. It was more frustrating in Yang’s opinion.

“For your sake I hope you’re worth all this trouble.” Yang kicked downed guards trying to get up from the wind blast to give others more time. “Well at the very least all these people are so I guess I should shut up about it.”

Adam did his best to look at the chaos. His vision couldn’t register faces but he saw how many people pushed and rushed over one another. Though one of them, he couldn’t help but think about Sobek’s words and thought process. It was twisted, outright demented, yet one part of it held true to an extent. Adam felt his ego take a hit. He led them here.

“…I got what I deserve.”

“Tsk, if you ask me you’ve only gotten a piece of it. How you get rest isn’t for me to decide, thank goodness. If I were you I’d start thinking on how-”

“Cells.” He interrupted. “Don’t leave without opening the cells.”

“Huh? Most looked empty or wore silent. No one even came up to bars.”

“A girl, Jasmine, she should be there. Brother too.”

“Dude you can’t afford many detours. I’ll try but no promise we’ll find anything. I’m telling you it was quiet. Dead quiet.” Yang felt ill saying that last part. “What kind of person does this to kids? Can’t imagine a childhood like this.”

Adam’s grip tightened. “I can.”

After a few more minutes of letting stragglers go first and looking out for danger, Yang left the cavern. Defending everyone was a Dream already killed before it could start and she promised to look after Adam so taking her time wasn’t an option. “Do you know what cell?”

“I was strung up on a platform.”

“A no would’ve been fine.” Yang started checking one at a time, punching in doors just in case. It was far too dark to see completely in them otherwise. “Uhh Jasmine? Hello?” She kept looking again and again but no one answered. Yang was about to cut her losses until she heard hissing when a prisoner bumped into a set of bars. “Jasmine?”

No one answered. Yang grabbed the bars and hissing turned to growling. There was definitely someone in there. She busted open the door and stepped in, lighting a section of the area. A gasp escaped her lips at the sight of blood soaked dirt. Pale eyes glowed in the corner. Yang stepped closer carefully until the girl could no longer hide in the dark. A maple skinned girl covered in dirt, sweat, and blood crouched low with eyes as scary as Blake’s; her teeth gritted while the volume of her growl grew louder with her soiled white ears folded back. Yang was easily in no real danger, yet the glare on her was startling. This little girl clearly was ready to kill if need be.

Yang got low. “H-Heeey. Sssshh It’s okay. I’m gonna- ah!” Yang winced. Jacquelyn lunged forward and sunk her teeth into Yang’s good hand. Yang didn’t lose composure. She reached out with her other hand, rubbing the child’s face. “Feel better? Hehe, let’s get you outta here.”

Jasmine tried biting deeper but was caught off guard by a third hand resting on her head. Her eyes widened once she realized Adam was one the woman’s back. Her jaw loosened up and the rage turned into grief.

“Jasmine, where’s-”

“Adam…?” Yang said, staring to the right. Her light didn’t reach the other side of the cell but it was enough to make a trail of blood and limp arm visible. The two went silent again. Adam pulled Jasmine closer until she climbed up on him, clinging for life as she began to whimper against his back. Yang let her hair fade out and then left, walking through the dark. She didn’t want to see another second in this place.

xxxx

Jacquelyn wasn’t much of a better time. Unlike the rest of Purgatory, everything past the medal door reminded her of Atlesian research labs. Including the defenses. Around every corner was an annoyance. Two armed guards tried getting the jump on her but were quickly outmatched. Jacquelyn froze the first with ice breath while the second tried taking a swing at her. Catching the fist, Jacquelyn twisted the guard's arm and pinned her against the wall; draining what aura she could in the process before pressing on. Jacquelyn was thankful Yang calmed her down when she did. Expending more energy like that would've been bad in her condition. Jacquelyn felt like she was running on fumes.

“I can see why my mom never gave me siblings. Gotta make this quick before I’m the one who’ll need saving.” More enemies marched from behind, forcing her to run through the sterile hallways. On the way a trail of several guards were already taken out that led to a bigger group of struggling men. Jacquelyn could make out a pissed off Blake in the middle of it all.

“LET ME GO!” Blake headbutted the one restraining her right arm and swung at the ones in front of her. A burst of strength rushed through her. She gripped the guard on her left arm, flinging them across the room. Blake swiveled around to aim at the ones behind her but Jacquelyn was quicker on the draw. Adam’s signature gun already riddled two with wounds while the blade cut down three more.

“Where’s Sobek?”

“He keeps heading deeper in.” Blake pointed at the scientist’s fallen scales and light trail of blood. “I tried taking a shot but I kept getting swarmed.” Blake noticed the pack behind Jacquelyn and tried running but was immediately grabbed by the wrist. “Jacquelyn!?”

“It’s a trap. We both know that.”

“We’ve known that from the jump. If we corner him then-” Blake and Jacquelyn shot past each other at the same time before standing back to back. Jacquelyn slammed her hand on the ground and conjured ice walls to by time. “Damnit! There’s no end!”

“Yeah…let’s retreat.”

“What!? But you’re the one-”

“I know! Believe me, I know. Honestly I want to tell you I came here to back you up but Yang offered to take Adam to safety in exchange for yours.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “Yang…offered?”

“Truth be told, I think it was more self preservation than kindness. Listen I don’t want to get blown up again but Sobek seems like the type to let it all burn when things fall apart. I told you that you’d find your answer when we arrive. Don’t tell me it was to get angry and die?”

“……” Blake shut her eyes and took a breath. It didn’t help. If anything her heart felt like it was beating faster. Pent up frustration gnawed away at her so much she couldn’t stop shaking. Her grip was so tight around Gamble Shroud her hands threatened to bleed. “What did you say earlier outside, about screaming when you’re enraged?”

Jacquelyn chuckled. “We’re well past that point. Don’t tell Adam but I think we should break some shit. Lucky for us we have volunteers. Care for a violent escape?”

Blake turned away from the path deeper into the lab and faced Jacquelyn’s direction, listening to reason. “Back me up. I’d feel guilty if your baby got hurt.”

Now that was an offer Jacquelyn couldn’t refuse. Blake’s kindness managing to shine even while in this situation was something Jacquelyn could only respect. She got behind her. “I’m in your hands. Now let’s get busy.”

Jacquelyn spit the wall in front of them to funnel the lackeys in for Blake to cut loose on with her blades, performing a double cross slash into snap kick that launched one backwards into the group. Keeping on the offensive, Blake followed up with a rising knee to push them further back. A strong gust of wind from Jacquelyn helped increase the force and distance Blake went while suppressing the rest. A guard tried restraining her but only grasped the afterimage while the real one unleashed an aura slash that went through the crowd. Deep cuts engraved the wall and glass shattered. Blake tossed her blades up and went through the halls quickly guiding Jacquelyn safely to the other side.

Pressure filled the air. A dense building of force rose steadily until Jacquelyn couldn’t ignore it. “Blake? What did you do-” the cuts in the wall doubled in size. An almost unseen second flash went through the hall, the blades traveling with it until stopping on a dime in front of Blake for her to grab from the hands of a clone Jacquelyn never saw materialize. It faded as quickly as it was noticed. One by one the guards adamant on killing were dropping like flies.

“A double moon slice? Heh, I guess you really are his disciple at heart.”

“In more ways than one.” Blake flung the blood off her blade while she sharpened them on one another.

“And why would you say that?” Blake looked back at her. The vacant and dim stare she gave expressed a bleak hollowing pain Jacquelyn couldn’t mistake. “Oh…well that’s okay. It just makes you one of us.”

#rwby #adam taurus #sobek #blake belladonna #ilia amitola #jacquelyn frost #yang xiao long #rwby shackles #rwby au

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moonlights-inkwell · 4 years

Text

I Love You, Don’t Say Anything

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 6,047

Summary: Healing from your wounds is a trying experience. Even if it comes with new friends.

A/N: Ha. Remember me? Yeah, me neither. Mental Health is... a bitch.

Here’s part three tho!

Part One Part Two

You’re dead. At least, you think you are. The dull, throbbing pain in your neck means you must be, surely. If this is death, though, you expected worse. Hellfire and sulphur, or angelic chorus and white clouds, or the white void of purgatory, but no. There’s none of that at all. Nothing but the pain in your neck, nowhere near as painful as it had been earlier but its still there, aching and sending occasional rushes of pain down your arm.

It’s dark. Pitch black, permeating and seeping into anything and everything, with nothing at all to break the darkness. No moon, no stars, no flickering candlelight; nothing at all. It ought to be frightening, but really it isn’t- it’s familiar. You feel like you know it, know it well at that, but you don’t really know how you do.

You have your eyes closed. That’s what it is. It’s not dark like night, no it’s dark like when you've woken from a sleep that is so overwhelming that you cannot bring yourself to open your eyes. Sleep, oh heavenly beautiful sleep, you long for it but that pain in your neck will not allow for anything like that, so instead you just lay there, eyes closed and just living in this moment. It's nice. Warm even. Like being held.

There’s a warmth across your waist that only gets warmer on your stomach, your back feels like it’s facing a fire, but there’s none of that residual pain. It’s like being held; reminds you of your childhood. When your father passed, you had been no older than six, and spent every night for a year sleeping in your mother's bed, her vice-like grip keeping you in place, held to her bosom the way a new mother would her babe to their breast. It was a hard year. Your mother had become so engulfed by her sadness that she had become almost a stranger, never smiling or laughing, not able to cook or clean or even collect fire wood; you had grown up too quickly then, having to take care of yourself and your mother until she finally found herself once more. She was so wrapped in her grief that you had spent every moment by her side- to assure her she was not alone- but it had grown into something else entirely. The house you had known as warm and sweet smelling became cold and foreign to you, and it never quite recovered even after she had. The songs came back, but sadder, the bread never as good, the honey never as sweet. Innocence lost; you suppose the childish wonderment buried in a fisherman’s watery grave along with your father. The memory makes you stiffen a little, but it’s what it reminds you of that really makes your breath catch in your throat. Your father. You haven’t given him a thought since you were eleven, and now you can’t even remember his face, it’s little more than a hazy blur in your mind. His voice, a gruff but cheerful thing, only exists in shallow memories of him singing along with your mother, whispering bedtime tales of princesses and knights. Pain pricks behind your eyes, and so you try desperately to distract yourself, focusing on the heat behind you. Familiar warmth.

It reminds you of the autumn too, when the days grow shorter and the nights colder and more likely to be filled with rain. On those colder, wetter nights something changes; boundaries disappear and you can indulge in the sweetness of not sleeping alone as you normally do. Those special, sacred nights when Jaskier, Geralt and yourself have to squish close together in a cave for warmth, pressed between the bard and Witcher so you can stay warm and protected. Geralt is always somewhat cold like a corpse, silent as the dead, but Jaskier is a different story entirely. Even when you fall into sleep on your back, you wake with him pressed into your back, face in the tangles of your hair and murmuring nonsense that must mean something in his dreams. He’s warm, like a bed warmer that can cling to you and occasionally hums lullabies when you startle awake in the night.

The flat of your hand pushes down in front of you but sinks down into comfortable fabric. Not the ground. Not the ground at all. You swear you were on the ground when you fell onto Jaskier's lap, right in front of the fire but this isn’t where you fell asleep.

You wonder, still half asleep if Geralt had managed to talk some poor inn-keep into letting you rest in their home while you heal. Unlikely. But this definitely is not camp. No, this is somewhere else entirely, somewhere with a bed- somewhere blissfully warm.

Just blissful heat. After a second or two, you realise you are being held, but only when the hot burst of breath spreads across the back of your neck and though it takes more effort than it should, your eyes creak open. You’re in a room, dark save for the glowing of a fire in a small archway across from you, with dark velvet curtains covering the windows. It’s comfortable, far more expensive than any inn you could ever afford, and in your tired daze you can’t string together anything more coherent than that. It’s comfortable.

“You’re awake. That’s good.” A voice says from by the fireplace, smooth and feminine, and your blurry eyes catch sight of a woman who you're sure wasn’t there a second before. She’s gorgeous. Intimidatingly so: tall, with black curls that frame a flawless beautiful face, corners of deep pink lips turned up into a smile. Never, in your entire life, have you seen a woman so beautiful: and you recall a story from your mother about a woman with hair like coal and skin as white as fresh fallen snow and eyes the colour of honey, but hers are not. No, they’re purple. Like amethyst, amethyst that is watching you intently.

“Am I dead?” The question escapes you before you can realise how silly it is. The voice that comes out of you is almost unrecognizable as your own. It sounds like you’ve been gargling shattered glass and assorted rocks since birth, and this woman chuckles slightly at your words. For some strange reason, the sound puts you at ease; even though you don’t know this woman, she makes you feel safe enough to not want to deal out your sword and ask how you got here.

“Dead to the world for a few days, but no. You’re still alive. Lucky to be so, too. Especially with the wound you had. Nasty thing, it was.” She steps towards you, head tilting to the left as you try and push yourself onto your elbow only to fumble. “Oh, don’t. You'll hurt yourself. It doesn’t hurt any more does it?” qqq

It doesn’t. Well, not as badly as it did before, just a dull ache rather than excruciating pain, and you allow yourself a deep inhale. Bearable, and the smile that overtakes your face is undeniable.

“...Thank you, miss...”

“No miss. Just Yennefer.” She says as she moves towards you, pushing a flute of something red into your hands. “Drink. You'll feel better.” You eye it suspiciously, holding it in both trembling hands.

“What is it?”

“It'll make you feel better.” It isn’t much by means of explanation, but it’s enough, so you tip the glass back and gulp down the fed liquid within. It tastes like liquorice and vinegar, bitter and tangy in such a way that your nose crinkles in disgust and Yennefer laughs once more. A pretty sound from a pretty woman, like tinkling bells. You wonder if she’s some sort of siren, but sirens are hardly known for their willingness to heal people. You feel drunk but the pain is lessened even still, drawing a little sigh from you, and she takes the glass. “It tastes horrible, but you feel better, right?”

You do feel better, so you let her take the glass from you when you catch sight of your arm. It’s covered, but by blue velvet, not the blouse you were wearing earlier. It’s a familiar blue velvet at that, the colour of a stream and embroidered in gold. Jaskier. It’s one of his doublets, your favourite of his doublets at that, but you have no clue how you’ve found yourself wearing it, you've never worn any article of his clothing before-

“He put it on you.” She says airily, gesturing behind you with a vague wave, which has you assuming that the confusion must be written across your face. “You gave the poor idiot a real fright, Little Miss.” The pet name comes playfully from her, but you stiffen at it until a quiet groan comes from behind you and that warmth on your stomach turns into a fist that you realise is on exposed flesh. “Geralt too, I cannot remember a time he looked so worried. The Bard hasn’t left your side though. I think he may have been worried you...”

Would die. She doesn’t need to finish the sentence for you to know what she means. You don’t want to think about that, want to focus on something- anything- else.

“You know Geralt?”

“That... is one way of putting it, yes.”

“You could say she's a heartless witch who insists on toying with Geralt.” Jaskier grumbles tiredly behind you and Yennefer rolls her eyes. For the first time since opening your eyes a coldness settles over her features, no less pretty but harder. Firmer. Women don’t normally turn cold at Jaskier, but Jaskier doesn’t normally insult women either. This dynamic is new, uncomfortable to be between, and you can see her trying to bite back words, presumably for the sake of your weak self.

“I'll take my leave, then. Try to rest, Little Miss.” Yennefer says simply, brushing the back of her knuckles across the underside of your jaw as she heads towards the door, sauntering out and closing the door behind her.

“Cow.” Jaskier huffs against your neck, tickling the skin as he lets his hand relax and flatten against your stomach once more. Unclothed stomach. You realise, a little belatedly, that you don’t have your corset on; someone has removed your corset, and you’ve been laid here, chest exposed with Jaskier around you for days. You could have died, bled to death in a wood far from home with no one to mourn you but a Witcher and his Bard, but all you can understand is that Jaskier has been lying beside you in this state of undress, and that you feel... ashamed, somehow. There's not even a reason why, but almost bare, save for his jacket you feel shame gather in your throat like vomit. You almost died. You worried him so much he hasn’t left your side, cleaned you up and put you in his clothing, but all your mind can focus on is that he must have seen you bare and you didn’t even know, couldn’t even see how he had reacted.

Your body is a body to you. It’s not something you attribute any great importance to; you've never considered yourself some buxom beauty, some sultry siren or dainty darling. Your body is just that, or was before you started your travels. Now it's a weapon, of sorts, marred by swords and scratches and bites, thighs thickened by travel, fists scarred and bruised. Insecurity is not a concept you think of in conjunction to yourself but you think of yourself and your body as different beings entirely- it’s nigh on impossible to not be insecure about the criss-cross of scars that span the plains of your belly, the raised skin below the hollow of your throat, healed over incision just to the side of your breast beneath the collar bone. He’s seen it all now, and without you seeing his response. It should be enlightening that after seeing these marks he remains still, but it isn’t. No, no, your mind is not put at ease by the hand resting over your navel, touching your battle-worn skin like it gives him comfort; it instead is overwrought by the thought he's stayed because he thinks he ought to. Feels sorry for you, has remained by your side because he wasn’t there when you were attacked, and now he has seen all he can of you has decided to wait for you to wake to inform you that he has no interest in you. He beds queens and ladies of status and not scarred wretches who almost had their throats ripped from their necks.

He’s not said a word of the sort, but this invented rebuffing of your feelings has your eyes watering and body curling in on itself, away from him. He notices immediately and curls closer around you without a word, just smoothing your hair away from your neck to press a kiss to it.

“I know you’re awake.” In spite of yourself, you smile at the sing-song lilt of his voice.

“No, I’m not.” You mumble, childishly, and the bard chuckles warmly across the back of your neck. It’s enough to make you roll onto your side to face him.

Gods, he looks tired. You’ve seen him muddied and rained on and smeared with gore, but he’s so tired it almost breaks your heart. The bags beneath his eyes are so dark you think them bruises at first, deep purple and blue, stark against his skin and almost merging into the mussed-up mess of his hair that hangs like curtains curling into his eyes. He’s no longer in your dress, but instead a chemise crumpled beyond compare and trousers to match the doublet currently covering you. Dead to the world for a few days, Yennefer had said, and you believe from the state of his clothes that he's been mourning the same amount of time. Memories of the-thing-that-wasn't-Jaskier flash before your eyes, but he smiles, your fingers slide up to rest on his chin. Even sleep deprived and bleary eyed, he’s gorgeous, smiling at you like you're the gift that he's begged for on his birthday, some prized possession. He’s stayed beside you.

“There's my love.” He says gently, thumb rubbing circles into the skin of your stomach. It’s the simplest thing he could have said, but it’s reaffirming and sweet. “You frightened me, Little Miss.”

“Force of habit at this point, Dandy.” You say, fingers straying from the rough stubble of his chin to his lips, tracing his cupid's bow with your fingertips, feeling his smile before you see it.

“I'd prefer you leave it for a while. I don’t think my heart could take that again any time soon.”

“I doubt I could survive anything like that again.” You try to laugh but the pained look he shoots you makes you still again. Joking about almost dying is nothing new, and still he’s looking at you like your mortality is something he had never considered at all before all this.

“I could have lost you.”

“Takes more than some monster in your skin to kill me off, Bard.” You smirk and lean in to peck his lips but he leans back to stare at you like you've two heads.

“What do you mean, in my skin?”

“It. It made me see things, while it... did that. To my neck.”

“See things?” He asks timidly.

“See you.” It comes out like a confession and you can’t even meet his eyes as you say it. “Doing things.”

“What things, Darling?” He presses, thumb stilling and your own fingers fall from his mouth to the pillow. “Please, Lovely, what things?”

“Jask-"

“Missy, please. I need to know, you looked so afraid, I don’t want you to-"

“You had your fingers in me.” You cut him off, and he blinks at you in shock. “Pinned to a wall, with your fingers inside me.”

“It didn’t-" It's obvious as to the destination that his thoughts have arrived at.

“It was a dream.” You try desperately to reassure him and he heaves out a sigh of relief, tugging you to his chest while his face buries into your hair. His heart pounds against your ear and you can hear him breathe in deeply as he holds you tight. “It didn’t touch me. Not like that, anyway.”

“No, it just almost killed you.”

“Like I said, Dandelion, I'm fine.”

You aren’t fine though; not really. Memory of the thing that looked like him touching you, kissing you, haunts you- especially with Jaskier holding you tight. It shouldn’t affect you in such a way, but your heart is racing and your core throbs with each breath. You aren’t afraid. Not at all, and that’s all the more worrying. No, you feel desperate; desperate to know if his fingers would actually feel that good curling within you, filling and spreading your most private of areas.

“It made you see me. Touching you.” His tone is almost unreadable, not quite disappointed but instead like he doesn’t understand even though he wants to. That’s not the issue. The thing you disliked had nothing to do with the fingers inside you, instead that you knew it wasn’t him and there’s no way to explain that to him without sounding like some kind of wanton whore.

“It. Must have seen us together in the woods.” You offer and he flinches, grip on you weakening.

“It hurt you because I was thinking with my cock and not about what was going on.” He says coldly, but that bitter chill doesn’t quite reach you, no, the cold is aimed internally. You know this blame, know it well from nights when Jaskier has fallen asleep early and Geralt will allow you a few stories of his own. Hunts gone bad. People he couldn’t save, sparce words but the meaning is there all the same. You don’t understand it from the Witcher and understand it even less from the bard.

“Jaskier-" You start to argue but he shakes his head.

“I wanted to fuck you.” He says it so forcefully, a term you’ve never heard come from him in regards to you, but it makes you still. He wanted to Fuck you, not progress, not move forward. Fuck you. Spear you on his cock ‘til you weep for him. “And because I wanted to, it could hurt you. Knew how to hurt you."

“Stop with the self-loathing, if I wanted that I'd seek Geralt out." You try to joke, but the pain in his eyes is enough to silence you. Eyes like those shouldn’t look so pained.

“You undressed me.�� You whisper into the newly created silence and he nods softly.

“You were covered in blood. I... I couldn’t bear to see you like that. Besides, the jacket rather suits you.”

“It’s yours.”

“I’m aware, Little Miss.” He chuckles weakly, smoothing your hair away from your eyes. “Makes us quite fair now, Darling, don’t you think? I’ve wore your dress and now you've worn my jacket.”

Fair. Nothing about this is fair, there is nothing fair about the hurt written plainly across the Bard's face, how tired he is, how he is blaming himself. Nothing fair or right about how his trembling bottom lip has you thinking about nothing but trapping it between your teeth and sucking on it until he whimpers. But you sigh softly and lean in close to gently kiss his forehead.

“I think you need to sleep.” You whisper, watching as he smiles and squeezes your hip gently.

“You sound like my mother.” He says, tone somewhere between humour and blankness.

“Oh?”

“She loved to tell me what to do too.” It’s a joke, but your throat constricts painfully at the word mother.

“Yes, well. You remind me of my mother sometimes too.”

“Was she devilishly handsome too?” He raises an eyebrow, a smile toying at the corners of his lips.

“No. She blamed herself for my father's death.” You say concisely before rolling away from him and shutting your eyes, ending the conversation.

She used to sing too. Once upon a time.

/////////

“There are men that that wound would have killed, kotku. I’m impressed you’re so well so soon.” The brush runs through your hair, a little rougher than you expect and you’re barely able to choke back the quiet whimper of pain. You've not had a proper chance to brush your hair since the attack, and when Yennefer had offered to help with it you took the opportunity with both hands, mostly so you didn’t have to concern yourself with the matted locks of hair and blood. She had taken the job in stride too, never complaining, just moving forwards with a quiet little hum. You sit there, hands resting on your knees and twisting the fabric of a borrowed nightgown, while her soft hands manoeuvre around your head and shifting your hair away from the healing wound on your throat.

Yennefer is a breath of fresh air. Not just because she’s another woman, though that fact doesn’t lessen your enjoyment of her presence: Yennefer is wonderful and so far from any other woman you've known, strange and dark in ways that would never have been tolerated in your home, gentle but with something just below the surface which has yet to rise for you. Any other person would be far more annoyed by the presence of an injured stranger in their home, but she’s taken you being here in good stride; Geralt and Jaskier though, less so. You’re a welcome guest, they are treated more as inconvenience. There is baggage here, that no one is willing to talk about, and you are unwilling to breach this unspoken conflict. It truly isn’t your place.

That, and you don’t want that sort of coldness to be fixed on you. The woman's haughty annoyance is easily ignored, and you really don’t want to be on the receiving end of it- there’s a deeply childish part of your soul that is desperate to have her be your friend. You’re rather lacking in the friend department at the moment, and completely without any female friends. Yen seems a good friend to have.

“I like to think I’m better than any man.” You reply playfully, trying as hard as you can to keep still. How her hair looks so shiny and fine if she brushes her own hair as aggressively as she’s brushing your own is a mystery. It’s like she’s trying to scalp you.

“Two weeks for a wound like that.” She hums appreciatively, leaving you all but preening under the praise. Yes. Yen is a good friend to have, you decide, especially when her words of affirmation have you desperate for more.

When you were young, you were the same. Following the older girls about the village, desperate to be involved, to be friends- to feel older than your age, they had humoured you at the time. Braiding your hair and singing you silly songs that you’re old enough now to realise were truly kind gestures, but gestures non-the-less. They weren’t your friends, no more than you were friends with the stray cat that used to yowl at the turnips that grew in your garden; you were a pet. A sweet little thing to keep about for fun, and send away once they had outstayed their welcome and the noise was no longer endearing but annoying instead. You can’t help but hope that it isn’t like that with Yennefer. You want to be her friend.

“I'll be fighting again in no time.” You laugh, Yen’s brushing stopping entirely and she pats your shoulder.

“Not today. Bath and some clothes, then we'll see how you are just using that arm.” She gestures towards the steaming tub in the other room. “I’ll leave you something. It might not fit right but it’s better than nothing.”

Everything that the raven-haired woman has worn has been expensive looking and beautiful, but she is most definitely not the same size as you. Yennefer is slight and slender, and her deep skin looks beautiful against the fabric, even during that one winter you ate nothing but cabbage stew you weren’t as slim as her. “Stop it. In the water.” Yen chides, and you feel like a child. She has a strange sort of way of knowing how you think which you’re trying not to question. Mostly, because it feels like it would be impertinent to ask. So, you do as she asks and pad into the adjacent room, shutting the door before stripping down to nothing and climbing into the tub.

The water is almost blisteringly hot. You’d wince, if it wasn’t exactly what you need. The heat feels like it’s stripping away all dirt and sweat that has ever been on your flesh; wiping away the touch of the phantasmal Jaskier. Your thoughts return to him again. In inns, when you can find them, Jaskier always orders you a bath, slipping a bottle of scented oils into your hand before you can argue about him wasting coin on you. It’s always sweet and floral and light, almost definitely more money than it’s worth, and beautiful. There’s a collection of oil vials in your bag that you would never admit to, a few containing flowers he’s picked for you during your travels. Sentimental as it is, you’re a realist. One day all of this will end, and they’ll be all you have to remember him by- oh Gods, you want to remember him always, stupid jokes and bad puns and all. You haven’t seen him in a week.

Yennefer has insisted Geralt and Jaskier give you space to heal, you think she meant for them to go about Witchering and she would send you to find them when healed, but they’ve stayed. Some days you can hear them, arguing about something or other, sometimes playing Gwent. It’s bittersweet to have them so close but not speak to them. For a while, they’ve been the only consistency in your life, so not having them is... strange. You’re trying to readjust to sleeping alone. It isn’t easy.

Your hands sink into the water and you scoop it about your body and begin scrubbing, trying desperately to distract yourself from Jaskier. It’s sort of silly just how much you miss him. He’s just A Bard. A silly, wonderful, handsome bard. It’s ridiculous how someone like him could so simply work his way into your heart.

The world feels a smaller place without him.

You stay in the water until it chills, and would have stayed longer were it not for the numbing of your rear and thighs. When you finally make your way back into your bedchambers, Yen is long gone, and in her place is a dress. It’s very much what you expect from her, black velvet with hints of red running through the fabric, a deep plunging neckline and a cinched waist. Even with a corset tied as tightly as possible, you doubt it will fit but try and stay upbeat about it. It was nice of Yen to even lend it to you in the first place without your being moody, so you retrieve your undergarments and pull them back in place, tying your corset tightly. It takes a second or so to convince yourself to even touch the dress, never mind try on. It’s soft to the touch, far too rich for your blood, making you feel like some sort of maid who ought be bringing this garment to a queen or countess, not putting it on. You do put it on though, afraid that it will be much too small, only to be pleasantly surprised once you lace it and turn to the mirror. It fits, comfortably too, hugging your frame in a way that makes you feel attractive. Beneath the mirror, which you try not to look at, you find a small number of cosmetics, you assume courtesy of Yen, and smile. You barely ever wear such things but putting it on surely couldn’t hurt. A little bit of powder, a smudge of kohl about the eyes and rouge to the lips, it takes very little time, but you barely recognise the woman staring back at you. She’s familiar, like a relative you seldom see, but you wouldn’t assume it to be you. Her hair is a little wild, but the face is one of a dark sort of elegance, simple but enough to make a difference to you especially when combined with the dress. You had miscalculated the neckline, assuming it to be a deep plunge but instead it is far less severe and hangs off of the shoulders to form puffy sleeves that taper in at the elbow to tight cuffs. It's gorgeous and you feel beautiful but its not right. You feel like a child playing dress up. You breathe in shallowly and turn towards the door.

“I’ll not let you keep her from me a minute longer!” You hear shouted through the door. Jaskier. His voice rings clear as a bell.

“She's bathing.” Yen says simply. Her voice is passive, even bored, and you can tell she's only doing it to upset him.

“Alone! After being injured! She could have drowned or-"

“Have you always been a mother hen? Or is this some sort of way of trying to get into her bed?”

“How dare you!”

“I know how you act, Dandelion. I’ve seen you around women. Bedding them, leaving. Your little miss deserves better than that.”

“You act like I don’t know that!” He snaps back at her and you step out of the bedroom, following their squabbling until you’re stood in the doorway watching them. Yennefer has a finger thrust into Jaskier's chest, pointed black nail leaving an indent in his clothing as he bares his teeth at her, like an animal raring to attack. It’s like watching day meet night, blue boy scowling at a woman shrouded in black.

Your blue boy.

It’s been a week, you’ve gone longer without seeing rain, but the sight of Jaskier lifts a weight off of you that you hadn’t even known was there. He looks better rested, if a little strange glaring, hair still dishevelled. The fact that you had heard the two of them all the way to the door is the only way you know that the two of them hadn’t been in a physical fight before you got there. You know the sound of skin on skin too well to have missed it. One might break out still if the tension in the air is anything to go by. You’ve broken up drunken scraps over less, but you can’t bring yourself to move. Some part of you wants to see how this plays out before you intervene. A sick part of you wants to know if they will fight, over you at that. Dandelion is hardly the kind of man to start a brawl with a woman, but Yen most definitely seems like the sort of woman who would start a fight with a man. Truly, she seems like the sort of woman who would win a fight against a man, or ten.

“She almost died-"

“And you’re leaving her alone in a bath where anything could happen! She could fall asleep and drown. Could trip and hurt herself more! I have put up with this for a week, Witch, and I won’t be putting up with it for a moment longer. I was willing to be quiet for Geralt’s sake, but he isn’t here now.” His voice is venomous, cold enough to make you shiver. Jaskier isn’t cold. He’s all sunlight and summer, like coming home to a lit hearth in the depth of winter; this is new. You’ve never been the subject of his ire, but every time you have seen it, its been. Different. Angry Jaskier is smug, self-aggrandising and sure, this is almost afraid. Like you being without him might cause you to be lost to him. Has that happened with others, you wonder, time ripping people from his grip?

“You’re being an arse! Making her sleep alone in a stranger’s home-"

“She’s a fucking grown woman, she can sleep without you lingering about her like a fart in a crowded room!”

“Do the two of you always argue like this?” You ask lightly, leaning against the door frame for stability. Both turn quickly, startled by your voice seemingly coming out of nowhere.

Normally, when you walk it’s with a purpose, in sturdy boots and belts that clink together, there is no way to be silent, so the gown has given you a silent presence that is impossible to achieve normally. Geralt is always silent, appearing and disappearing like a phantom. Must be fun, you think to yourself, to linger in the background just listening to how other people interact with each other. So much gossip to hear, arguments to silently choose a side in. You almost wish this would be a regular occurrence, even if you can’t help but miss that sound of chinking metal on metal from buckles and blades.

As much as you know that the difference in your appearance is drastic, you aren’t expecting the response that you get. Jaskier gawks at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, while Yennefer smiles at you, nodding with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Well. Look who didn’t die in the bath.” She says, voice all light and playful- a world away from the cruel tone she had used for Jaskier. It feels a little patronising, like she’s speaking to a child or a pet, but you smile all the same. She's been so kind to you, and you know better than to bite the hand that feeds. “You look pretty without all the mud and blood.”

“I feel pretty.” You admit, tripping a little over the words. “I'm surprised the dress even fits.”

“Of course it does.” She replies with such finality as she sidles to your side, brushing down the fabric at your hips. There are no wrinkles there, you’re quite sure, but the act makes you blush- barely anyone touches your hips, so the feeling of hands on them, even through the clothing, is enough to make your mouth go dry. Violet eyes focus on you like you’re the only person in the room and you almost feel like it. It’s like you’ve been bewitched, and you only return to reality when a choked-out noise across from you brings you out of your own head.

Jaskier is still gaping, staring at you like a stranger, and your blush only intensifies under his eyes. The stare is almost hungry, and you recognise it from that night when your neck had been ripped open- but not from that dream. No, from when he had laid you down in front of the fire and slotted himself between your legs, member thick against your thigh. You feel like a slab of meat in front of a hungry animal, like at a second’s notice he will pounce on you and sink his teeth into you. A vein in his throat bulges as he breathes in before Yennefer steps away from you.

“Jask?” You ask, and his only response is an exhale that verges on a pained moan. You move toward him worriedly. “Jaskier?”

“Gods, Little Miss. Look at you.” He whispers.

“What’s wrong with me?” You ask quickly, afraid all at once that you don’t look as pretty as you had initially thought. Too pale, eyes too dark, lips too much like blood.

“Absolutely nothing.” Yennefer intervenes sharply, hand resting on your shoulder in a manner that is both reassuring and restrictive.

“You. You.” He stammers out, looking you up and down, which you mirror. “You... You look like...” He stumbles over the words forming in his throat and just reaches for you instead, hands finding yours and tugging you into a possessive grasp, body melting around yours. “Gods, I don’t even know.”

You want to ask if that is a bad thing, but you know it isn’t. The knowledge makes you feel powerful.

#jaskier imagine #jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #the witcher

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Text

If You’re a Robot and You Know It, Clap Your Hands

Fandom: Loki Characters: Sylvie, Ravonna, B-15, Mobius Rating: G Word Count: 1774

Summary: Sylvie faces off against Ravonna while Mobius hangs out in post-prune purgatory with... himself?

“You’re more stoic than he was,” Ravonna noted, nodding at the empty air between them where Loki had lately stood.

Why the taunting, Sylvie wondered. Who was there left for Ravonna to impress? Her subordinates were all dead or unconscious, Loki was gone, the animatronic lizards who were not in fact ruling rigidly over time sat slumped in their seats. There was only Sylvie. Even when she had been a child, thin arm in the grip of a stone-faced woman in black armour like the shell of a beetle, Sylvie had not felt so alone with Ravonna as she did in this moment. It made her very angry. She would much rather have been alone with herself.

“How do you know how stoic Loki looked?” Sylvie spat. “You pruned him in the back!”

Ravonna tilted her head, glowing baton still raised.

“I don’t mean in the face of his own erasure from existence, I mean watching someone he cared about disappear.”

Sylvie’s expression had been hard—more than once, to get by, she’d imagined herself protected by that beetle armour from her childhood, closing her vulnerable parts away behind a scowl—but it slackened slightly in confusion.

“Agent Mobius,” Ravonna explained impatiently. There was a twitch of her eyelid that Sylvie caught and homed in on.

“They were friends,” she said slowly. Then, she stared hard into the Judge’s eyes. “You were friends. You and Mobius. You killed him?”

“I didn’t! I—”

“You had someone else do it?” Sylvie narrowed her eyes scornfully.

With an irritated groan, Ravonna lunged for her, but Sylvie hopped backwards over the head of the fake Time Keeper. She looked down and Ravonna followed her gaze, distracted from her attack by the sight of rubbery faux-flesh and protruding, crackling wires.

“And this?” Sylvie asked quietly, trying not to spook the woman with the weapon. “Did you have a hand in this deception? I never sensed it in you.”

Ravonna scoffed and looked away from the head on the floor.

“You were a child.”

“I was a Loki,” Sylvie snapped back.

Saying that name—the name she’d rejected but never forgotten, the name that had also been his—jolted her into action once more. She wedged the toe of her boot beneath the Time Keeper’s decapitated head and flipped it up, striking Ravonna in the stomach. The Judge folded forward and defensively swept the baton in a wide arc. Sylvie stepped out of the weapon’s path, not anticipating the way Ravonna swung her arm quickly back to hit her with the non-pruning end of the rod; she hadn’t been a Hunter in who knew how long, but she clearly hadn’t lost her skill with the tools of the trade.

The blunt end thudded into Sylvie’s ribs.

She was knocked back, but when Ravonna advanced, Sylvie’s hand shot up to grab the baton, hauling the Judge forward. Unbalanced, Ravonna was no challenge to send sprawling at the foot of the stairs leading up to the Time Keepers’ dais. She landed awkwardly. Sylvie breathed hard as she wrenched the baton completely free of Ravonna’s hold and went to retrieve her sword as well.

As she then moved to assess B-15, who was rising shakily to her knees, Sylvie never put her back to Ravonna. Pruned in the back. What a Loki death.

“You alright?” she asked B-15 softly.

The Hunter grunted and allowed Sylvie to support her into standing.

“Better if I knew where to go from here.”

“Let me worry about that,” Sylvie said.

Ravonna struggled to her own feet and Sylvie held the baton at arm’s length between them, keeping the Judge at a distance while B-15 opened the door behind them.

“Ah ah ah,” Sylvie warned archly, chin and eyebrows raised in impish caution. “You stay here and play with your robots.”

“This is temporary,” Ravonna said as Sylvie edged back through the open door.

Sylvie performed her signature cocked head and smirk.

“Isn’t everything?”

The second they were out of the Time Keepers’ chamber, B-15 slammed the doors and leaned into them, as if Ravonna would imminently begin trying to break them down from the inside. Which Sylvie supposed she might. She really almost admired Ravonna—or would have if the Judge hadn’t ruined her entire life.

She stared at the door handles, then at each of the weapons she held in her hands. Sword or baton, sword or baton? With a deep breath, Sylvie jammed the blade of her sword through the handles to bar the door, electing to keep the baton close. Though it was a less familiar weapon, she was nothing if not highly adaptable. Besides, touching the glowing end of the rod to a person was certainly more efficient than dispatching them with a blade. She wasn’t sure how many TVA workers they would encounter before they were out of here. This place and this time. Keeping the baton was the right choice.

She stole a last glance at the sword. Another little piece of herself left behind.

At the sound of reinforcements headed towards them, she and B-15 hurried away from the chamber.

“She used to be a Hunter,” B-15 said, shaking her head as they strode down the corridor, “like me.”

“I suppose she might have been like you at some point,” Sylvie said. She was interpreting the words a little differently. “I wonder when she stopped.”

“Do you?”

“Not really. I can trust you but not her.” Sylvie shrugged as she walked. “That’s about all I need to know.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I have to.”

“Same for me. Though I can’t say my faith in allies hasn’t been shaken recently,” B-15 said sarcastically. “The Time Keepers aren’t real, Ravonna’s been helping to cover up the truth, and I wasn’t even created here! I probably had to go through that degrading process of having my clothes zapped off!”

“Probably. I didn’t think you’d want to see that as a prioritized memory,” Sylvie said, half-apologetic. While they’d stood in the torrential rain outside Roxxcart, she’d allowed a highlight reel of memories to flash through the Hunter’s mind.

“You know, I always found it kind of strange that one of the few tests we run in this department is to judge whether or not someone is secretly a robot. I guess whoever designed the Time Keepers got paranoid.”

“Whoever that person is, paranoia is the least of their worries.”

“True,” B-15 agreed as she produced a TemPad. “Now, they’re going to have to deal with us.”

“If they’re still out there somewhere and not dead like Loki and Mobius,” Sylvie said bitterly. She flipped the TemPad open and programmed their destination.

“Maybe they aren’t dead. We’ve been misled about everything else. Maybe everyone who’s ever been pruned just ends up someplace… else.”

“It’s no place I’ve ever been.”

“Yet,” B-15 said.

The Time Door appeared before them. Pounding footsteps raced against Sylvie’s accelerating heartbeat as she prepared to step through and leave this place behind. They had to go now, her and her one ally. She couldn’t get above one ally these days. It was better than none.

“Yet,” Sylvie agreed.

—

Meanwhile in Jet Ski Land…

“That’s why I always felt such an affinity for that Earth actor,” Mobius said. “I am Owen Wilson. Or was.”

He dug his bare toes deeper into the slightly rocky beach and watched the slow wash of trash along the shore. It was almost nice here, but not quite. Not a place to stay. Everything inside him had already been screaming that. A lifelong (in this life, anyway) bureaucrat, he’d never felt such restlessness.

“Am… was… what does it matter?” the man next to him asked rhetorically.

He was also Mobius. No, Mobius was him. No, that wasn’t right, they were both Owen Wilson. Variants of him. But this man had shaggy blond hair where Mobius had been grey for as long as he could remember. Also, he appeared to be the only Owen Wilson in sight who had a mustache and he was a little proud of that. Probably stupidly, but it was helping him hold on to his sense of identity in the presence of so many hims.

They were on the beach around him, sitting in the dunes behind him, swimming in the water in front of him. One of the Owens was freaking parasailing through the air up above while another Owen drove the boat that towed him.

“How long have you guys been here?” Mobius asked in awe.

“You know, it’s hard to say,” Owen said, folding his arms thoughtfully. “It’s tough to figure out exactly how time flows here. A little like what you were describing, with your experience at the TVA.”

“Have you gotten to know everybody?”

“Oh yeah, they’re good guys. And all of us Owens are naturally social.”

“What about that one?” Mobius asked, pointing. He could hear the raw admiration in his own voice as the geriatric Owen he’d indicated revved his jet ski, bouncing over the low swells of the turquoise water.

“One of our actors. He was in the middle of filming a movie in Indonesia before he ended up here. Played an international, jet ski-riding spy in sort of a buddy comedy. Eighty-three years old and still a star.”

“What? That sounds incredible! What the heck happened?”

“Well,” Owen told him with a grimace, “the tsunami of 2051.”

“Right,” Mobius said, recalling the list of 21st-century apocalyptic events he and Loki had so recently sifted through together.

“He wasn’t supposed to survive the wave. The film crew had tethered him to the jet ski for safety while they were shooting and, as far as Owen can guess, that should’ve been enough to kill him. That’s what the TVA was counting on. They had to bring him in when he didn’t drown.”

“What a story though! That old Owen is one tough nut!”

“I know!” Owen gushed proudly.

Mobius shook his head in amazement, scanning the water. His gaze landed on something he couldn’t immediately understand.

“And what’s that?” he asked.

“That’s jet-ski Owen.”

“I thought the old guy was jet-ski Owen.”

“Nah, that one’s Owen on a jet ski. This one’s Owen as a jet ski.”

The riderless craft surged across the water until the speed had its front end lifting high off the surface. With a glorious final burst, it escaped the water entirely, executing a barrel roll in midair before touching down once more.

Mobius felt the praise leave his own lips and heard it echoed up and down the beach by all other versions of Owen Wilson in attendance: “Wow.”

#my writing #Loki #Loki spoilers #Ravonna Lexus Renslayer #Ravonna Renslayer #Sylvie #Hunter B-15 #Agent Mobius #Mobius M. Mobius

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safertokiss · 4 years

Text

Don’t Call Me Doctor - Part 2

A/N: Heyo party people! Ok this is part 2 of DCMD and I’m super excited for you guys to read it. I’m so happy I finally decided to give in to my urge to write cause it’s so much fun! Thank you guys for all the support of the first part. Enjoy:)❤️

Pairing : SPENCER x READER

Category: Fluff and Angst and Smut

Word Count: 2.2k

ENJOY!

~~~

MASTERLIST

~~~

The moment she walked through those doors I knew I was a fucking goner.

Her beauty was indescribable. Unmatchable. Unattainable.

Dangerous.

She was dangerous. All she had to do was enter the building and I was already wrapped around her finger. Dangerous.

Even though the bullpen was bustling and filled with chaos at the time, the unmistakable creak of the front door rang clear in my ears. Glancing away from my work momentarily, my eyes were immediately drawn to her. I mean how could they not be? One look in her direction and it was clear she was nervous. She looked flustered, her face was flushed, but strangely enough there was a hint of a smile upon it. Even in her frenzied state, her beauty knocked the wind out of my chest. Who the hell is this girl?

As she surveyed the hectic room, I noticed her head perk up at whatever or whoever it was that she had located. Following her line of sight I was met with Hotch. Oh so she’s here for him, maybe a family member or friend.

Wait. Wait wait wait wait.

Remembering the conversation Hotch had had with us recently about a new recruit to the team, I was able to answer my own question. Oh god she’s the new recruit.

This is bad. This is really, REALLY bad.

I couldn’t go through this again, it simply wasn’t an option for me. My heart could not handle anymore pain, a pain that would surely accompany this girl if I let her in. Too much had happened in my life already at such a young age, from missing my chance with JJ to losing the one somewhat serious relationship I had ever had. Like I said, she’s dangerous. I had only been aware of her existence for a couple of minutes and I already knew that she possessed the key to unlocking my withered heart. However, she also wielded the axe that would run me through in a split second.

I knew in that moment that, as much as it pained me, I couldn’t let her have the chance. I had to take away her power over me before she was even aware she yielded it.

Looking back in the direction of my enchantress, I noticed her and Hotch had moved from their original spot and were now walking towards the center of the room. Towards the rest of the team. Towards me. Quickly, in order to avoid making eye contact I ducked my head down and pretended to work away at the papers sprawled in front of me.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the others shaking from excitement at meeting our newest agent and I didn’t blame them. It wasn’t often we got new blood around here. Certainly none of them had taken my breath away like she did.

I was aware of how rude it was for me to not join in on the welcome party, but I was still struggling to breathe correctly from the brief glance I got of her. From my position at my desk I was close enough to hear the conversations being held, well enough at least to hear her be introduced to the team.

Y/N Y/L/N.

It fit her perfectly. A beautiful name for a gorgeous woman. While the others were busy meeting our newest member, I decided I just had to hear how her name rolled off my tongue, even if just this once. In the most quiet voice I could muster up, I released my own personal curse from my lips.

“Y/N.”

Fuck. It just felt so right. It was as if she had been given that name just so at one point in life I’d be able to shout it out for the entire world to hear. Why did the universe hate me so much?

I had gotten so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the woman plaguing my mind had already taken a seat at the desk next to mine. It wasn’t until she sputtered out an overly enthusiastic greeting directed towards me that I realized she was there.

“Hi I’m Y/N Y/L/N! Nice to meet you Dr. Reid.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Immediately as the words started pouring from her lips I felt my body tense. Suddenly I understood the allure of sirens. How a voice could be so enticing to reel in unsuspecting sailors on the sea. I understood their choice of action. But when she called me Dr. Reid. Fuck. That should simply be illegal. Hearing her use my title awakened something deep inside of me that I had been trying to suppress since the moment she waltzed through the door. It also awakened something below my waist, my body twitching as a result. Stop it Spencer. You can’t let this happen, you need to push through it. Make her stay away.

I must have been sitting there speechless for too long because before I knew it she was at it again.

“Sorry if I scared you! I’m not the most socially adept individual. I couldn’t help but notice that-“

Put a stop to this Spencer. Make her stay away.

“You’re rambling.” Fuck that was rude.

“Pardon me Dr. Reid?”

Holy fuck if I hear her call me that one more time I don’t think there’s anything in the world strong enough to prevent me from ripping her clothes off and taking her right here on my desk. Spencer stop! Make her stay far away from you.

“You were rambling. Thought you’d like to know. And it’s Spencer.” I am such a dick. But I had no choice. Letting her into my heart would only leave the both of us in shambles, longing for the pieces to be put back together. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt, I accompanied my rude remark with a slight glance in her direction. Yeah that was a big mistake. Even if it only lasted a split second, I could clearly see the hurt plaguing her beautiful orbs, a hurt that was caused by yours truly. Wow this fucking sucks.

“Oh...ok”, she replied before turning her attention back to her files in front of her.

I really wish I didn’t have to treat her like that, but it was the only option that left us both unscathed. Returning to the task at hand, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander and imagine a life alongside the enchantress sitting next to me.

Maybe in a world where I wasn’t so fucked up.

~~~

Ok remember when I said this sucked? Yeah it was worse than I could’ve ever imagined. It had been about three months since Y/N had started working with us and I spent the majority of that time running away from her. She’d walk in, I’d briskly walk out before cracking. She’d wave at me and I’d have to look away before imploding on the spot.

The worst part of this whole ordeal was that it was obvious that she had a thing for me. The amount of times I had caught her staring at my hands or for some reason my hair while she was trying to be subtle, was a number almost too large to keep track of. I’d be trying to mind my own business and block her out of my thoughts, when I’d catch her biting her lip, lost in thought, while her eyes raked my body. It was getting to be too much to handle.

Most of the time while we were at the round table discussing cases she would take the seat next to mine, much to my dismay. Her close proximity always acted as a ticking time bomb to my poor, defenseless body, usually eliciting reactions not suitable for a work environment. Following nearly every meeting I’d hightail it out of the room straight to the bathroom. And while she probably assumed I was just trying to avoid her, the reality was much more humiliating.

What had she turned me into? I felt like a horny teenager all of the time. What would my friends think if they knew I had to run to the bathroom to take care of my arousal almost every other day? It was so embarrassing, but only she could provoke such a reaction from me.

As often as my bathroom escapades took place, I had become a pro at suppressing my true feelings for her. For some reason, however, my attempts to make her stay away triggered the opposite response on her end. I can’t even explain the amount of pain that filled my chest everytime I had to reject her offers to get together and spend time together outside of work. I had even stopped going out with the unit because I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself around her, usually coming up some lame excuse about having work to catch up on.

I had no idea what to do. I wanted her so bad.

I felt like I was in my own personal purgatory that had absolutely no escape in sight. All I had to do to set myself free was reach out and touch the ethereal being in front of me and express the feelings I harbored for her. But I still refused to consider that an option.

Not only was she keeping my mind occupied at work, I couldn’t make it through a single night without seeing her beautiful face. While the dreams had started off pretty neutral and innocent, they quickly progressed into territory that shouldn’t have been accessible. I truly felt like a teenager again with the amount of wet dreams I had been having to deal with. I just couldn’t help myself. Her body was amazing. It was physically impossible for me to not picture myself ramming her into my desk or bending her over the round table, making her scream my name for all of D.C. to hear.

God it was getting harder and harder to ignore her. What was stopping me from grabbing her wrist, pulling her into an empty office and destroying her on every surface available. I had to do something or figure out a way to push those thoughts away.

“Hey pretty boy! Get over here!”

I swiveled in my chair to seek out Morgan, spotting him across the bull pen. Sighing quietly, I made my way over to my friend, trying to mask the internal conflict occurring between my brain and my heart.

“What can I do for you Morgan?”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on between you and Y/L/N?” Shit. Fuck. I thought it wasn’t noticeable. Play it cool Spencer.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me pretty boy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lies. All lies.

“Reid, come on man. It’s not really hard to notice that something is off between you two. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you interact with her outside of a case and you’re the kid who’s known to ramble to anyone within a five mile radius, nevermind the girl who sits next to you everyday. Did something happen?”

“No...no. Nothing happened and quite frankly I seriously don’t think it’s any of your business to question me about who I do and do not converse with, ok?”

“Geez! Calm down buddy. I’m sorry, ok. I won’t bring it up again.” I once again felt like the biggest dick in the world watching him walk away from where we had been standing. Recognizing that there was nothing I could do about it now, I made my way back to my desk, noticing that Y/N had returned from her lunch break.

After sitting down and working for a bit, I couldn’t help myself. The urge to look at the object of my affections was just too damn insistent. Glancing up at her, I was instantly entranced by the goddess in front of me. She was busy scribbling away at whatever was laid out in front of her, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her face. She was biting her lip in what I would assume was a way to help her concentrate, but all it did was stir things inside of me. Ok this was getting ridiculous.

It was crazy how even the simplest of things, like her eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled or the way she licked her lips like it was going out of style, would instantly prevent my mind from functioning correctly and make the world around me dissolve until all that existed anymore was her. God those eyes. So intricately designed that even the most beautiful gods and goddesses would be jealous.

WAIT. HER EYES.

Fuck. She was looking at me. She saw me staring directly at her.

As fast as I possibly could, I ducked my head down and cleared my throat, deciding to play it off and pretend like nothing had just happened. Except that that was kind of hard to do when my body decided to say “fuck you” and turned into a goddamn tomato within seconds. Oh god why did I do that? How was I going to get myself out of this already complicated situation? This was bad. This was really bad. Three months of rejections and cold responses down the drain with one stupid, meaningful glance in her direction.

Fuck.

To be continued...

https://safertokiss.tumblr.com/post/623412350001856512/dont-call-me-doctor-part-3

https://safertokiss.tumblr.com/post/623219810962178048/dont-call-me-doctor-part-1

Tag list: @hopebaker @pastathighs @psychedellic-phase @gloryekaterina @sleepysnapesnake

#spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid #mgg fic #cm fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction

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readbyred · 3 years

Text

Wilbur Cross x Reader

Warnings: cursing, suggestive comments, bad spelling

Everything happened quickly.

Flash!

Bang!

And nothing.

You anticipated something much grander from what appeared to be your death. But this day was more than disappointing from the start so why would your passing be any different?

You woke up, went to see a movie at Cineplex and got trapped in a local mall with a bloodthirsty cult. And now you apparently were dead. You exploded to be exact. But death didn't look like what you expected.

Everything was dark and damp. Wherever you were there wasn't any ‘up’ or ‘down’, ‘far’ or ‘close’. But you had to be somewhere, you still had your senses, slowly coming back after the explosion.

Even if you were dead you didn't feel like it, you couldn't know for sure though. Trying to check, you slowly lifted up your head (or maybe just looked up) and tried to move around. There was no indication of you moving but somehow you knew you were. Not that there was anywhere to move towards, everything was dark, the air felt thick and solid as if it was made of jelly. Not a very pretty comparison but the place was far from nice so it’s a fitting one.

You didn't know how long you were walking but you decided to stop paying attention to details. Your body distorted on the edges, it seemed to blend with the air around you and bend in weird places but every time you focused on it, it stopped. It was hard to tell why you saw it at all given the darkness of the place but that you stopped questioning either. And so, you walked.

Finally, after some time every time, the space around you started gaining shapes. It looked a bit like one of those stroke-simulation photos but instead of frustration it brought you a sense of security.

It wasn't long until you came across a strange light.

It was green and the closer you went the less it looked like a light and the more it gained a… Sort of human form. It had arms with slick fur and big, glowing eyes. It's features were also sort of animalistic but without doubt everything else was human. When it had sensed you it ran, or rather swam away.

Figuring that you were dead either way so there wasn't much else you had to do, you followed the thing further (or deeper) into the strange darkness.

From amongst the shapes stood out one, green and huge. It looked like it could occupy most of the endless space around.

It's gigantic eyes glowed, shining a light at a man and a woman. They were surrounded by the creatures.

Unnoticed, hidden in the thick darkness you crept closer to them. Both seemed slightly distorted but it was nothing compared to the fact that the woman had a bullet hole in her head. She seemed fine, however, other than the fact that she was yelling at her companion, clearly aggravated.

The sound travelled poorly in this place and so you decided to get closer, curious as to what was happening. Was this some sort of purgatory? Or hell? But what would you get into hell for?

Since the mystery woman appeared to be even more dead than you, then this had to be some sort of an afterlife situation.

“I didn't ‘fuck it up’! If Beck Barnes and her consolation prize boyfriend didn't ruin my plan I-” the blonde woman yelled at the taller man. She was facing you but didn't seem to notice a thing.

That's why you decided to creep even closer, crouching behind the man in denim. But when you took another step his head snapped towards you.

He was around your age but looked sick, way more dead than the woman with blood dripping down her temple. His head tilted as he looked down on you with a wicked grin.

“Well well well” he started, with a raspy voice that was familiar “another new face already?”

Even if you wanted to turn back you couldn't, feeling paw-like hands grabbing you and holding in place. You didn't know where those green things came from, you could swear they sat by the woman’s side seconds ago. But now they were making high pitched noises at you and staring with their huge eyes, possibly awaiting a stranger’s command.

“Let's see what we have here” he crouched down, inches from your face, presumably in an attempt to taunt you further. The man seemed to enjoy creeping you out, however, his expression and tone changed drastically a few seconds later as his green eyes took in the details of your face. Much more serious he let out a surprised “(Y/n)?”

“Uhm, who is that, Wiley?” the woman spoke up looking down at you, but not because you were crouched down.

“Leave us alone for a moment, will you, Linda” the man, Wiley, raised his voice rapidly getting back up. The name seemed to be familiar to you, but you never knew anyone with it.

“But-” she whined.

“Out” Wiley barked out, making the woman groan, clearly not intimidating her one bit.

The green creatures however vanished, leaving you alone. It was your chance to run but you didn't want to. Whoever Wiley was, he knew you and he didn't exactly give you bad vibes.

Even the glowing green eyes and his dishevelled state weren't exactly a red flag considering everyone you came across so far was either a fantasy creature or dead.

“Out? This place is fucking endless if you haven't noticed! What am I supposed to do? Stand by Wiggly’s right or left tentacle?!”

“Go find out.” his tone suggested that the conversation was over. With more whining the blonde stomped off, towards the green, glowing thing’s head.

“Did they get to or did you just miss me so much?” he turned to you, gaining back his composure, looking you up and down “Either way! Can't say I'm disappointed…”

“Um, I don't think we know each other” you admitted, now up on your feet.

“Come on! (Y/n)” but his face fell “...fuck”

“What’s wrong?” you asked as if it wasn't you who just got killed and locked in an endless pit of nothingness.

“If it isn't you I swear…” he grumbled furrowing his brows but asked, a bit less intensely “Don’t you remember me? Come on I know you do”

His entire being seemed so inherently evil but he wasn't scaring you so far. In fact you were just growing interested in whatever he had to say the more you two spoke.

“How do you know my name?” unable to affirm his last claim you decided to question him for a change.

“(Y/n) (L/n), raised and born in Hatchetfield, studied in the local community college, from 2001 to 2005 worked as an elementary school teacher” he recited “now the question is - do you know me?”

You frowned searching for any distant memory you could have. You never knew any Wiley but that could be a dead end. And besides how would he know all that about you in the first place?

If his information stopped so far back as 2005 then this could be someone you knew then...

It took you a few seconds to put pieces back together, they told you he was dead after all.

“Wilbur”

“Bingo. Knew you wouldn't forget me, (little lady/pretty mister/sweetheart)” he smirked.

That sparked even more questions but you decided not to ask them all at once. It still bothered you what was your long-dead boyfriend doing in some sort of a purgatory void.

“What is this place? Are we dead?” you finally let out as your past lover grinned enthusiastically.

“Well, (Y/n) we are in the Black and White! A place between all timelines PEIP managed to accidentally open up” he explained proudly, leaning on your shoulder and gesturing towards the space in front of you, for better effect “but I’m not dead! Never been better. Now you on the other hand…”

He made a sound running his finger across his throat but he didn't seem very concerned.

“To be honest you look more dead than me” you rolled your eyes. It was common for you to scold him for not taking enough care of himself, back when you were together. He responded with a sigh.

“Do I, now? Do I? Come on!” he opened his arms and pointed towards himself “Don't tell me you don't like what you see”

Well, he wasn't wrong. He was a mess in every possible definition of the word and you seriously had to ask him about his horrendous outfit but he was the love of your life and you couldn't be happier to be finally reunited.

You still had some questions but not wanting to ruin the moment you just smiled at him rolling your eyes.

“You wish, Cross” still smiling, you walked by him, much less scared to meet others. You looked back, asking him if you two can join the blonde, now talking to the enormous creature.

“Hey, wait up” he caught up with you and trying to be smooth he put his arm around your waist and let it slide down, putting it on your butt “aren't you a naughty one”

And here was, using his old tricks and lines. It didn't matter though, because both of you knew they worked just fine.

BONUS (crack):

Sitting and chatting was nice, and not like there was much more to do in the Black and White. The eldritch god your boyfriend worked under seemed off but not too bad either.

“How come I ended up here though? I never joined any of the cultists” you questioned petting a sniggle laying in your lap.

“Well” started Wiggly before Wilbur could even open is mouth “I-existed-befowe-eawth-did. I-nevew-knew-14-yeaws-could-be-long. But-UwUncle-Wiley-came-hewe-and-stawted-talking-about-his-fwendy-wend-non-stop-and-i-found-out-how-long-it-can-be-OwO! So-i-bwought-his-cUwUsh-home!”

Wilbur did not want to speak on the matter.

Tag list:

@joeycupcakerichter

#black friday starkid #black friday x reader #wilbur cross x reader #x reader

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itsuki-minamy · 3 years

Text

“K SIDE: PURPLE 12”

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

K - Side: Purple (Chapter List)

"Mom is about to die.", said his mother, gently stroking Yukari's hair.

His mother told him to go see the sea. At that time Yukari was 6 years old and, he obeyed her without knowing it. Originally, if she said "go" to him, he would go everywhere with the person named Miyoshi Shinto. She left in the hospital patient clothes, his mother and Mishakuji got into a car and headed straight for the sea.

The sunset over the sea was beautiful. The dimly lit sun was slowly disappearing, melting the breeze from the sky and the sea. Stars began to appear in the ultramarine sky, and as the two of them stared at it, his mother began to talk about death.

"That is why I will soon no longer be able to accompany you, Mishakuji-chan. I entrusted Sayuri-chan with the rest, so dear, thank you for being by my side."

Dinner that day was curry, as simple as saying that his mother would say goodbye to him forever. Yukari looked at her while he was on her lap. Eyes the same color as his were staring into his face. Yukari saw them more beautiful than the stars that shone in the sky.

Yukari asked her when they could see each other again.

"Eh? I don't know, I haven't died before to know."

Yukari said that he hated the idea of not being able to see her again.

"It's bad for mom too. But, well, this is it. It can't be helped. There's no one who can't die."

Yukari asked if everyone would die. His mother hugged Yukari from behind; the arms around his chest were white and thin like dead branches, but still warm.

"That's right. Everyone will die one day. Taka-san, Mi-chan, Seiya-san, Sayu-chan and Yukari-chan."

As she touched Yukari's cheeks with her warm palm, "But…", she continued to say. "The important thing is to live, not die."

Yukari looked into his mother's eyes. Her brightness that was more beautiful than the stars.

"People live until they die. After my death, Mishakuji-chan will continue to live. It's a shame I can't see Mishakuji-chan growing up and becoming beautiful, but it's fine."

Then his mother smiled slightly, looking at Yukari's face.

"The most beautiful thing is already in front of me."

Then they continued looking at the sea all the time.

Yukari and his mother lived always giving each other warmth, until the sun set on the sea, the night sky fell, and the white moon floated in the black-tinted sky.

++++++++++

Mi-chan was suffocated on the second floor of the cabaret club where he worked.

Seiya was charred on the street near his house.

Sayuri's body was found in the burned remains of "Hanawarabe."

A week after he protected Yukari, he learned of their deaths.

The few burned survivors of "Nibangai" were kindly protected by an unknown organization called "Scepter 4". Careful attention to injured people and sufficient security, although it was not a safe area. They promised to be the lord of salvation, but they were also carefully interrogated.

They wanted to know only one thing.

In other words, who defeated the members of the "Purgatory" clan?

The members of "Purgatory" fought as if burning their entire existence. Thus, even if it was only one member, it was possible that it could achieve combat power comparable to that of executives from other clans if the conditions were met. It wasn't a clan member from "Scepter 4" who defeated such monster, but "Tokijikuin" and "Cathedral" also sent me a message saying "We don't know anything about it."

Where and who submitted them, and for what purpose? It was a mystery that could not be taken care of by "Scepter 4", who was facing "Purgatory".

The interrogation unfolded in silence, with the special abilities and existence of the hidden "King".

However, from the beginning, "Scepter 4" was the only one who paid attention.

A high school student who lived in the "Hanawarabe" bar, Mishakuji.

He was more than a survivor. At the time of discovery, he went to the immediate vicinity of the corpses of the members of the "Purgatory" clan, and a bloodstained "Scepter 4" saber rolled under his feet. He had been informed that the situation was not just a matter of fact, but was so diabolical that the hasty members accidentally drew their swords.

After being protected, Mishakuji Yukari responded to the questioning with surprising obedience. The concern for the high school students who had all their relatives killed also applied to "Scepter 4", but he never got a chance to use it. Yukari simply answered only what he needed.

He picked up the saber from a bar he knew.

One of the men in black was defeated by his sword master.

And he defeated the other one who killed his master.

"In other words, in short, that's how it was."

In "Scepter 4" office, Jin Habari, who was reading the report, raised his face and coldly laughed.

"Two clansmen were sent to kill the former 'Purgatory' clansman, Noriya Baraki. The target started a battle in 'Nibangai' and was pursued while causing enormous damage to the surroundings. 'A' is returned and avenged. There, Isshin Hase, who was a gatekeeper for "Nibangai", and his disciple, Mishakuji, appear, and Isshin Hase kills Purgatory "B". The boy named Yukari brilliantly defeated him."

"Habari. Do you really believe in such a story?"

It was Gen Shiotsu, deputy director of "Scepter 4", who made a stunned voice. His lips were bitterly distorted at the interesting report.

Habari snorted, "Hm." and placed the report on the office desk. He combined the fingers of both hands and pointed his gaze to a corner of the ceiling.

"Sure. If you just listen to the story, it's absurd. If a high school student killed a member of the "Purgatory" clan, then the future of "Scepter 4" is much brighter. Let's check the results of the national kendo tournament when we select members for next time."

"Habari."

"It's a joke. Don't look so difficult."

As if to loosen the wrinkles between Shiotsu's brows, Habari shook his untangled palm slightly and then raised his index finger.

"But no matter how absurd, the situation is in line with the testimony of the boy named Yukari. "B's" fatal wound was due to Isshin Hase's wooden sword, and Baraki's fatal wound was due to the saber. that Yukari had."

"The saber was brought in by "A". Better to think of the record and "A" as compensation. You will see the autopsy result on the record."

"Look at the autopsy result. He had burns all over his body, but it was not difficult for him to fight. There were almost no injuries from Isshin Hase's wooden sword. So there is only one answer."

"……"

"It was the common people who had no abilities that defeated the 'Purgatory' clansman."

Shiotsu's expression became even more pronounced.

"Is that possible?"

"Even the clansman is human. If his throat is ripped open, he will die. If a human dedicates his entire life to that, the sword can hit a stranger."

Habari's index finger settled on the report on the desk. Seeing him narrow his eyes, Shiotsu was caught up in an unpleasant premonition.

"Hey, Habari. No way..."

"I'm interested."

Then Habari stood up with a refreshing smile.

"Let's meet the Yukari boy. Maybe he is our mighty sword."

++++++++++

The man looked like a piercing blue sky.

Habari Jin suddenly appeared in the private room where Mishakuji was living a sheltered life. He was as bright as a cloudless blue sky and full of unshakeable confidence like the sun that shines in the skies. Even if it wasn't to Yukari's taste, the man's beauty was understandable at first glance.

What came out of Habari's mouth was an unrealistic story.

People with abilities that manipulate special powers and a "King". The clan and the members of the clan that comprise it.

He wouldn't have believed it if he had heard it in words. However, Yukari was "experiencing" it. He had seen the men in black wearing flames.

It was a clan called "Purgatory" that burned down Yukari's hometown.

There was little meaning or reason for his murder. It was like a random buried explosion. The damage could not be avoided and will continue to do so, Habari said.

And to end the story...

"Would you like to get into "Scepter 4"?"

Habari said such a thing.

"Our mission as "Scepter 4" is to prevent damage to the city due to the misuse of super powers and reduce the root cause called "Purgatory". If you are willing to do so, I want you to participate in the battle with us. You are qualified to defeat "Purgatory" even though you are an ordinary person with no different abilities."

With that said, Habari extended his right hand.

Yukari narrowed his eyes in a dazzling way.

There was an irresistible power in his hands. Just as gold attracts people, Habari's words were inevitably full of charm that made people clash. Take his hand, nod and swear allegiance. It seemed quite natural to do so, and there was a reason for Yukari to do it.

"Purgatory" had killed all of Yukari's family.

Since he was protected, that thought had never disappeared for a second. "Purgatory" was a great target to spit out the dark emotions that swirled within him. Become a member of the "Scepter 4" clan and hunt down and kill all those beasts. It seemed ideal for Yukari, as if it were a natural path laid out in front of him. Then…

"I…"

Yukari remembered Hase's last words.

"It seems you can go anywhere."

Habari blinked slowly and couldn't measure its meaning.

Looking back into his eyes, Yukari said.

"To be able to go where I want and live how I want. I think that's all my family wanted from me. It's not about revenge or going to war."

He couldn't believe it.

That would also be an excuse. Even if he wanted revenge, there was no need for Yukari to live that way.

Not because they wanted it that way.

Because he wanted to, Mishakuji Yukari will live as Mishakuji Yukari wants.

"I'm going to see beautiful things, so I can't hold that hand."

"I see."

Habari inevitably laughed and withdrew his right hand.

"I'm sorry I held you back. I hope you have a lot of happiness in your destiny."

"Yes. Thanks for your help."

Yukari leaned over and hung the luggage left in the room on his shoulders.

A poor backpack and a sheath that wrapped his favorite wooden sword. With that, he stepped right next to Habari and tried to get out of the private room.

At that moment, a certain thought suddenly appeared.

(Can I kill this person?)

He didn't know why he thought that.

A beautiful "King" like the blue sky. How does that life shine? He may have wanted to see it.

"Three quick steps". Draw the wooden sword, bend Habari's wrist, aim at his head, and prick his throat.

As he listened to Habari on the sidelines, Mishakuji tried to imagine that image in his head.

However, Habari was laughing.

He chuckled softly before his eyes and lightly tugged on his right foot.

With so much movement, Yukari's image was destroyed. The unannounced one was crushed with his left hand, and completely suppressed. The image came to mind clearly, and Yukari shook his head slightly.

There were countless beautiful things in this world that he did not know about. That made Yukari so happy and sad that he wanted to cry.

++++++++++

Shiotsu had an openly relieved expression when he learned that Mishakuji Yukari's recruitment had failed.

"Really, did he go?"

"Oh, I shuddered brilliantly."

Despite being the "King" who rules the order, Habari's ideas were always out of the standard. One of them was the ongoing canal plan. Shiotsu had the honest impression that it was not a joke, even though he had such problems.

"Scepter 4" is a public institution. Habari knew how difficult it would be to incorporate minors and even go out to exchange life and death, and it was Shiotsu's role to be associated with him.

He knew Shiotsu's feelings. Habari had a light tone.

"But that's it. That kind of person will go wherever he wants."

"Well that's correct. There is no way that ordinary people can outperform talented people."

"I never thought they would reject me in such a place. I was surprised after a long time."

Shiotsu opened his mouth angrily.

"What? What did you say?"

"That's why I faced Yukari. He tries to kill me."

Habari said that with a laugh.

Of course, Shiotsu couldn't laugh.

"No kidding! Why would he have to target your life?"

"Ah? He just wanted to do that for no reason. I think the person who can kill the 'King' is unexpectedly like this."

Habari was shocked that he was not in control. Seeing that all the reasoning was beyond his common sense, Shiotsu didn't know what it should look like.

Habari looked up as if something had occurred to him.

"But sending him into the world is like sowing a Shura seed. Maybe I should have killed him. What do you think, Shiotsu?"

"I don’t know!"

Shiotsu yelled, pointing his finger at his temple to avoid a headache.

++++++++++

Exhaling a cloudy white breath, Ichigen Miwa opened a red Japanese umbrella.

The snow was piling up gently and Miwa left a mark on it. Both the eaves and the garden were a silver world. He loosely twisted his umbrella and let the snow fall, with a bitter smile inwardly saying that it would be difficult to remove the snow.

It was not out of his own defense that the wooden sword hung from his waist.

It was because he had a certain feeling. It can be said that it was precognition. To Miwa Ichigen who woke up as "King", the Slate gave him the power to see the future. It was expressed as a vision that came suddenly regardless of Miwa's intention.

And now, there was a scene in front of him that was the same as the vision he had this morning.

A boy was standing in the snow. He was looking at him with a backpack and scabbard over his shoulder. His face was beautiful, but there was a kind of demon that lived in his eyes. He had to carry a wooden sword because Miwa saw the devil.

"Miwa Ichigen-san, isn't it?"

The boy opened his mouth. The line of sight focused on Miwa.

Miwa smiled and nodded.

"Yes, that's right."

"Nice to meet you. My name is Mishakuji Yukari. Please teach me a lesson."

With that said, Yukari took out the wooden sword from its sheath.

Seeing Yukari's posture, Miwa was slightly impressed.

"I see."

After a while of silence, Miwa carelessly said,

"Is there a dead heart?"

Yukari's expression froze.

He didn't understand why Miwa knew. His unique ability was the ability to see the future, and he should not have been able to know the present from a distant acquaintance.

However, when he saw the boy in front of him, his devilish appearance, his standing posture, and the soot-covered backpack, that intuition was suddenly born.

Yukari's appearance affirmed that intuition. With trembling lips, he approached Miwa.

"My master said that your sword technique is more beautiful than anything else in the world."

The evil in his eyes grew stronger. He took the lead heading towards Miwa.

"I want to see it. Please show me."

Miwa narrowed his eyes.

He did not like useless conflicts. However, no matter what he replied, Yukari would lift his sword from him and attack him. Check the "beauty" of Miwa with the sword. For that reason alone, Mishakuji visited Miwa who lived in this mountainous town.

If he cannot exchange words, he must exchange swords.

"Thank you."

Yukari thanked Miwa that he silently abandoned his umbrella and held his sword. The truth contained in it showed that Yukari had not yet been diabolically dyed. At that, Miwa believed that he would have a bit of salvation. He didn't want to think that the last seed Isshin grew would sprout like a demon.

The snow was piling up silently.

Miwa was immovable. Yukari, on the other hand, gently raised the tip of her sword and stabbed. The murderous pressure of aiming the cannon burned down Miwa's throat.

Yukari's body sank as fast as falling snow.

That's when the "words" dropped.

The "words" came to Miwa's mind, as if the white feathers were gently falling. He could not understand the meaning of this feeling that he had experienced many times since his childhood. It was more important for Miwa to put those "words" together than to think about it.

Yukari, who was facing time, clearly felt Miwa's change.

The taut tension was gone in an instant, leaving Miwa's body full of hollows behind it. It seemed easier to pierce and cut it than to hit the vegetation.

However, Yukari's sword did not move.

He seemed like it was full of gaps. He should be hit at any time. He couldn't do that.

Before he knew it, Yukari's breathing was shallow and rapid. Although he still hadn't moved his fingertips, the sweat that broke out wet his body. Yukari's body was already prepared for defeat, although he felt no murder, no pressure, no breeze.

He didn't understand the meaning.

However, he was strictly in front of him.

With his sweaty hands, he gripped the handle of the wooden sword again and Mishakuji consolidated his resolve. At least one sword. He couldn't lose until he saw the beauty of Hase's words. With so much thought, Yukari tried to kick the ground.

Unexpectedly Miwa spoke a sentence.

"One bite, heart and soul."

The snow was piling up silently.

When did he put his knee in the snow? Yukari didn't remember.

A wooden sword slid from his palm, tears welled up in both eyes, and the snow on the ground melted. Ashamed of that, Yukari covered his face with both hands.

A shadow was projected on him.

When he looked up, Miwa was holding an umbrella towards him. He didn't think he would face his sword, with a soft smile.

His head was in a mess and his heart was out of coordination. Still, Yukari barely squeezed his voice out.

"This is the first time I have been defeated with words."

"Yes."

Miwa nodded silently. Neither proud nor humble, just as he was.

"Yukari. If you're okay, why don't you come home?"

"……"

Yukari turned around, because he ignored his actions. Suddenly, he tried to cut off Miwa who was living quietly. He couldn't tell if he could accept Miwa's proposal.

But…

"I want you to tell me about your heart."

That said, Yukari was impressed.

He wants to talk to this beautiful person about him. That thought swelled in his heart. How do this person's words describe Hase, the person who showed him something beautiful for the first time? The feeling was as strong as the urge to see Miwa's sword technique.

"I'll tell you how that person lived."

How did he laugh, cry, eat, drink and fight Isshin Hase? He wanted this person to tell him how beautiful the last brilliance of that life was.

"Come on."

Yukari nodded and stood up.

Then they got into the same umbrella and walked down the snowy road.

#k #k project #k fan clan #k side purple #mishakuji yukari

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH2

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 2: Resurrection Overture (II)

Qi Leren buried his face in Ning Zhou's uniform for a long time as his heart that felt as if it had been fried in oil slowly calmed down. He climbed out of the hollow tree stump with difficulty.

Inexplicably, this weather-beaten old tree stump that should have been dead had a fresh bud emerging from it, which had grown half a meter high in just seven days, swaying its new green leaves in the breeze.

Qi Leren touched the leaves of the new buds and suddenly felt that he had been reborn.

Still not fully recovered, he walked slowly in the Garden of the Holy Tomb and slowly fought sensation back into his body. He didn't know what's going on outside presently, so it was more appropriate to wait for his condition to be better before going out.

While pacing, Qi Leren sorted out his own matters.

Thanks to two dangerous missions in succession, his remaining survival time was an astonishing 162 days, 7 hours and 32 minutes. Usually, one-fifth to one-third of his survival time would be used to buy necessities. Even so, he had more than one hundred days at his disposal, so the training trip he had already planned could be put on the agenda. After returning to the Village of Dusk and meeting with Ning Zhou, he would suspend the task first, exercise his skills well, and at least master the basic usage of guns.

As for the main task’s second step, it was necessary to go to Purgatory in the depths of the Underground Ant City. Qi Leren learned about the situation there while he was undercover as "Red". With his current strength, the risk of going there was too great, and he needed to consider it again.

Item cards and equipment had returned to his item bar, and a new skill card had been added:

[Secretly Observing (binding skill card): When using this skill card, the holder will feel a mysterious power which will enhance your five senses and decrease the perception of your existence. With this, when you observe, others will not observe you. But remember, observe propriety and don't do anything. Skill lasts for 10 minutes and cools down for 24 hours.]

Qi Leren took this skill card and frowned slightly.

Why did he get such a skill card for the achievement of "Deceiving the Devil of Fraud"? Judging from his previous S/L skill and Dr. Lu's skill cards, the achievements should be closely related to the rewards, so the achievement of Deceiving the Devil of Fraud should enable him to obtain a skill card with fraudulent attributes, such as "Devil Etiquette", which could make him appear to be a demon. Was it that the reward had been changed because he already had the same skill? That didn't make sense either...

Did it want him to secretly observe the Devil of Fraud? Qi Leren laughed in his heart and got rid of this absurd idea.

After walking for half an hour he did some stretching exercises, and Qi Leren felt that his physical condition had improved a lot. At least normal running and jumping were no problem. He drank some water, ate some easily digestible food, and equipped skill cards in the card slots: S/L Data, Rain-Day Laundry, Primary Fighting Skills, and he took his dagger out, then walked to the entrance of the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

With his body passed through the thin layer of the enchantment, Qi Leren came out of the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

The whole Holy City was as quiet as a grave. Qi Leren looked around warily and found that there was really no one there. After the Holy Nun’s field was broken, the residents here had already left the city.

That's right, the Holy See couldn't invest a lot of manpower here. For safety reasons, the residents here should also be evacuated. Maybe there were demons wandering in the city...

After thinking about it, Qi Leren changed the skill card of "Primary Fighting Skills" and equipped "Devil Etiquette". The last task had left a lot of succubus crystals, which was convenient for him now. Just consuming a demon crystal could make him pretend to be the demon type to which this crystal belonged for 3 hours. Unfortunately, it was only a shell. If you started to act fully, it would easily be seen through because you didn't have the talent abilities of this kind of demon.

Qi Leren, who had turned into a succubus, walked forward quickly and heard something moving in front of him before went far. Two lower demons were hurriedly running down the stairs of the former site of the Vatican and saw this succubus standing in the middle of the road, looking at them with a smile. The two lower demons looked at each other and hesitated on whether to approach.

There was a strict hierarchy between demons and devils. Once the higher devils released their powers, the lower demons had no resistance. Higher devils often didn't regard the lower demons as their own kind, and cannibalism was a part of the ecology of the underworld.

Therefore, the hesitant attitude of these two lower demons was very strange in Qi Leren’s eyes.

He decided to give it a try.

"What’s happening up there?" the succubus asked in a lazy tone.

"Answering this lord, the Witch of Desperation and the Devil of Suspicion are facing each other and it appears that they’re going to fight." Because they can't figure out which side of the succubus in front of them, the two lower demons have to bow their heads and show deference, so as to avoid not giving him face. Subordinates of the old Devil had often experienced tragedy by not showing courtesy to the Devil of Power.

"Oh? The two Lords are so angry," the succubus said with a smile.

Qi Leren's brain turned very fast. He didn't know what kind of creatures the Devil of Suspicion and Witch of Desperation were. The factions between demons were very complicated. He only had a little foundation thanks to the help of the Court. Demons, such as the Witch of Jealousy, who could clearly possess a kind of original power, were definitely higher devils.

The Devil of Suspicion sounded related to the attribute of "fraud", and he was probably the Devil of Fraud’s men. The orientation of the Witch of Desperation was not easy to judge, but since she would appear here, she must have her reasons... If the two sides were facing each other, she should be in opposition to the Devil of Fraud?

Who would it be? One of Power’s men? No, the Devil Kings of Fraud and Power were not antagonistic. The Devil of Slaughter? It was possible, but the Devil of Slaughter had been missing for a long time and no branch of Slaughter Secret Society, no matter which one, could contact it.

There was another possibility.

Qi Leren narrowed his eyes and made a bold guess that this Witch of Desperation was under the hand of the old Devil.

Although the old Devil has been killed by the Holy Nun, his subordinates were still active in the underworld. It made sense to come for the old Devil at this time.

Two lower demons looked at the succubus with trepidation. They didn't know which side he was from and didn't dare to leave.

The succubus suddenly chuckled and waved at them: "Come on, get out of my way."

The lower demons ran away as if freed and Qi Leren put away his demon form, judged his acting skills, and secretly gave himself a compliment. It was fortunate that he’d put on a disguise in time, otherwise he would have had to fight first which might have disturbed the two great devils above. It was really a situation that the S/L solution couldn't save him from.

Qi Leren wasn’t sure how much these higher devils could perceive. Although it will not be exaggerated for them to cover the entire site of the Vatican, they might be alarmed if he got too close.

However, he has this skill card of "Secretly Observing", which was tantamount to a timely rain. Qi Leren was hooked up and felt that his lucky value seemed to have increased after resurrection.

Go up the mountain first, wait until you get close to the two opposing devils, then hide yourself with your skill card and sneak into the church.

Having made up his mind, Qi Leren walked up quickly. When he reached halfway up the mountain, the top of the mountain was full of wind and rain, and the earth shook. Countless bats flew in the heavy rain, almost covering the sky with solid black. Qi Leren nearly fell down the stairs because of the sudden earthquake. When he looked up suddenly, he saw a huge hole emerging in the sky and lava poured down. Bats sent out the piercing shrieks, as if they were ignited by the lava, burning into a fire cloud in the sky.

This terrible war situation made Qi Leren's heart more pressed, and he almost hesitated whether he wanted to venture into the church at this time.

But Maria's words made him very concerned. His intuition was that this was a very important clue. If you miss it, maybe...

Anyway, I've already died once, and it won't be more difficult than when I faced the Devil of Fraud. After a pause, Qi Leren changed [Rain-Day Laundry] to [Secretly Observing]. At the moment of activation he felt as if his body was engulfed in heavy rain, and the fighting sound in the distance were much clearer than before. When he looked far away, he could even see two figures fighting in midair.

The Witch of Desperation dressed in a black cloak drew a circle and the bats ignited by lava instantly broke free from the flames and returned to her side, pressing into a large group. Her voice was hoarse and tired, and it could be faintly heard in the decreasing rainstorm: "I originally thought that you would continue to wander freely in the demon world, looking for your ‘art’, but I didn't expect you to take refuge in the Devil of Fraud."

The Devil of Suspicion smiled and touched the two carefully trimmed moustaches on his lips. He looked much more energetic than the Witch of Desperation, who was a mess. If he didn't know this devil’s identity, he would say he looked like an artist.

"Isn't it our demonic nature to submit to greater power?" the Devil of Suspicion asked.

"Oh? However, in terms of their source of power, the Devil of Fraud is not as good as Power and Slaughter," the Witch of Desperation said.

The Devil of Suspicion smiled politely: "Is the original power of the Devastator strong enough? Isn't he eversleeping in this church? His power is only a fragment, and those who use this power are the real key."

The Witch of Desperation's empty eyes revealed faint sadness. When the old Devil was still alive, she had the blessing of destructive power. She was far stronger than the Devil of Suspicion. However, with the death of the old Devil, the power of "destruction" had become weak, and the original power of "despair" also declined.

This group of the old Devil’s subordinates had already given up, and when a unless new Devil of Destruction was born they could only gradually weaken.

Until a week ago, when they suddenly felt the new destructive power far away from the underworld.

It was like a meteor, and the light of destruction flashing in the underworld showed them hope that Destruction would never be destroyed, and he would eventually come back!

The short-term recovery of the "destructive" power also made Power and Fraud feel threatened, so the Devil of Suspicion was sent to investigate and he happened to meet the Witch of Desperation who had also come.

"So your Lord is willing to be loyal to that Power lunatic? I heard that he’s handed over 'one third of authority' to Power? But without the last thing, Power can never be crowned." When it came to the "one-third of the authority", a hatred emerged in the Witch of Desperation’s heart, as it was the devil crystal of the Lord of Destruction. Even if it was only one-third, it was strong enough. This group of demon subordinates to the Lord of Destruction had only survived by one-third of a demon crystal left by him, and one-third was still missing. Once all fell into the hands of the Devil of Power and she then found 'that thing', it will not be too far away from the day when she became king of the underworld.

The Devil of Suspicion, who was full of confidence in the Devil of Fraud, smiled and said, "It's up to your Lord to decide everything. Now what we want to 'discuss' is whether you disappear from my eyes or I send you to disappear forever."

The Witch of Desperation smiled coldly: "It depends on which side’s reinforcements come faster."

The two people fighting in midair didn't notice. Under the cover of trees and skill cards, a human actually outweighed their perception and sneaked into the church.

-----

Editor’s Notes:

There’s some pretty important exposition here and I know I was confused myself when I first read it, so please do let me know if anything is hard to follow and I will explain it as well as I can without spoilers!

One thing to clarify that I don’t think has come up before is that witches and devils (not capitalized unless in a character’s title) are the same form of being, it’s just a distinction of gender. Power is presumably an exception to this simply so that her title matches the other Devil Kings.

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#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

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theotheroccassionalfanficwriter · 4 years

Text

Most Beloved Demon

Summary: It all started with a simple chat. A mere idle thought you had about one of the human customs in matchmaking that you shared in with the rest of the brothers because you were once again scheming to have another date with Mammon. And then you had to make another group chat without him because God, Jesus, and Mary showed you the way and it was a birthday party extravaganza for Mammon.

Tags: Galaxy Brained Reader, Oblivious Mammon, Idiots in Love, Happy Birthday Mammon, Sweets, Reader is Horny for Mammon, Kissing as a distraction

Rating: Rated E for explicit cock sucking and fucking at a dark alleyway

A/N: A late birthday fic for Mammon because I’ve just finished prelims for law school and boy am I worried

It had started, like with all things that shook the House of Lamentation, at a fine peaceful day. You were lounging in your room, feeling slightly neglected that Mammon wasn’t cuddling with you which meant that you couldn’t accidentally brush against his cock while cuddling or send him a signal that you were totally down to be fucked by him anytime anywhere. You’ve exhausted all means of entertainment, you were done doing your Diavolo-sanctioned prank on Lucifer, exhausted Asmo’s patience on your Mammon-less day, taunted Belphie on his apparent failure to keep you dead, entertained yourself by treating Beel as a food disposal unit and conducting “science experiments”, teaching Satan about human curses, and of course harassed Levi’s in-game character and made him drop 20 levels because he talked shit about your in-game wifey who was Mammon. Not that he knew.

Which meant that you were so bored, and there was no Mammon who could distract you, or you could seduce to a very fun and sexy game of strip billiards. Which ultimately meant you’d either have to trek to the Castle and bother Diavolo to play with you or go over at the Purgatory Hall and rope Solomon into revealing if Merlin is real. In the middle of your contemplation, your phone vibrated and a quick glance at it showed Barbatos’ message which read:

It would be more fruitful if you remained where you are.

You blinked and obediently shelved your plan of bothering Solomon and instead sent a message to the group chat:

🐑 : You know, in the human world in one culture birth dates are a great way of measuring compatibility between two people

You sat back and waited for everyone’s reply. Then the messages came flooding in and you smirked in satisfaction as you saw Mammon take the bait you’ve dangled, you idly watched them bicker, pouring gasoline whenever or dousing it water. Your laptop was ready to calculate and the moment Asmo shared his birthday you brought out the results and gleefully watched the mayhem about to ensue.

🐑 : Amazing! Asmo we have an 88% Compatibility~!

Sure enough, Asmo would never miss out a chance to mess with everyone else and so the two of you were able to successfully get everyone to do the compatibility test with you. The moment Mammon gave you his birthday you had foolishly remained oblivious to the date. Mind still focusing on the compatibility rate.

🐑 : Mammon~ We’ve got the highest compatibility rate~! 91%!

🐑 : By the way the method I used is the one for calculating marriage compatibility.

And then you glanced back to the calculator and registered the date he had given.

“September 10?” You mumbled as you glanced at the calendar and then back to Mammon’s apparent birthday.

Your eyes widened in realization just as the door to your room slammed open and your very cute and most beloved demon came in with a wild blush on his face. You blinked at his winter outfit and then decided that Devildom was much to cold for your delicate human body. Mammon, who was attuned to the ebb and flow of your libido made quick work of his and your clothes and the two of you wrestled under the sheets.

After 10 rounds of you alternating between begging Mammon to cum inside you and asking to suck his dick, you were giving him sweet and lazy kisses on his neck, giving him hickeys all the while engaging in your shared favorite hobby cock warming. Mammon had been flustered, at the start, with how into his kinks you were up until he realized that you were really just into him and made him melt.

Now he was used and utterly spoiled with your clingy disposition after sex. He would give you sweet kisses or alternate with teasing you a little bit and letting you decide if you wanted to go for another round. Right now though, his mind was preoccupied with the words that you had said. Mammon might have just been dating you for less than a year but even so he already knew you like the back of his hand.

So he definitely knew that you had some sort of ulterior motive for bringing that part with the marriage. And Mammon wasn’t sure if he wanted you to be like that to him. He knew himself and he knew that if you were really willing to enter into marriage with him...that there was no way he’d let you get away and neither would you let him. Mammon had already seen the depths of your love for him, had come to accept that you would always hold him above all.

And the best and worst of it was that he was the same.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked him voice soft and hoarse.

Mammon smirked as he remembered how you looked utterly bliss out after having your mouth fucked. He shifts and you moan as you end up beneath him. You feel his cum drip from your pussy and looked at him in anticipation.

“Ya really are a slut for me” Mammon teased you, thrusting into you a little bit.

“It’s because I love you...” You encircled your arms on his neck and tug him down for a sweet kiss. You smile as Mammon begins another round of sex, he fucks you languidly, enjoying this moment where the two of you simple enjoyed existing. Whispering sweet words of love and the knowledge that both of you had found each other.

When all is said and done, you spooned him, holding him tight and close to your chest and he holds you equally tight and tells you,

“...I want to spend my birthday with you...”

“As you wish” You kissed him good night.

In extreme contrast with your passionate and gentle night of slumber with Mammon was the birthday plan meeting you were currently holding secretly. You had, in very character of you, used one of the favors Barbatos owed you to have him send Mammon on an errand that would last long enough for all of you to plan his birthday.

Lucifer had shot down all your suggestions of gifting Mammon a Casino, a Mansion and Villa in the human realm, buying him a gold mine, and gifting him a civil registry that listed him as your husband in devildom and the human realm.

Satan had, in a rare moment of cooperation with Lucifer, also shot down all your party suggestions of champagne towers, booking the entire Ristorante Six, Booking the entire Fall, and giving Mammon a surprise wedding.

All of you had eventually decided to just give Mammon a sentimental and heartfelt gift of experience. With a strict order from Lucifer to not let you pick a stationary set that was used for weddings.

Which meant that you had made plans with them to buy it two days later, when you knew that Mammon had a photo shoot and thus you had no date with him scheduled that day. And because your Father-in-Law was still holding a grudge over that time you beat him up at the Mcdonald’s back parking lot, Mammon’s shoot got rescheduled and you ended up bumping to him just when you, Asmo, and Satan had bought the supplies.

“...Why?” He asked looking hurt and dejected that you had turned him down to spend time with Asmo and Satan.

“It’s now what you think!” You hurriedly replied.

“Hey, don’t sound like a husband that just got caught” Satan frowned as he stealthily hid the paper bag that held the stationary set and golden wax seal the three of you had bought.

“Satan’s right you know?” Asmo chimed, “The three of us were just window shopping.”

Asmo signaled you to distract Mammon and you nodded. So in a moment of sheer brilliance you led Mammon to a darkened and secluded alleyway. Pushed him in the wall and kissed him deeply before he could protest. All of his anger and hurt melted away as you fervently kissed him, one of your hand palming on his cock as you twined your tongue with his.

You stop and let Mammon see the sloppy evidence of the make out session you had just initiated. Far more filthy and intense than your accidentally on purpose mistake of fumbling the seduction spell during the exam.

“I’m not going to forgive you so easily!”

You said nothing to that and instead dropped to your knees as your finger traced the seam of his zipper. Mammon cursed and muttered an invisibility and warding spell. You unzipped his pants with your teeth, kissing his hardened cock through the fabric of his brief. You glanced at him and smiled at him devilishly before you took his cock into your mouth and began giving him the best blow job of his entire demonic and angelic life combined.

You, who was always horny on main for your demon boyfriend, was giving it your all in sucking his dick putting into good use all the techniques your succubi and incubi friends had given you. Your alternated between deep throating yourself with his thick and long cock and giving him a hand job as your tongue licked his balls and then his cock. You enjoyed the thick veins on Mammon’s dick along with the undeniable blunt ridges that you had grown familiar with.

“Fuck!” Mammon cursed as he decided he had enough of your teasing and fucked your mouth, dirty talk falling easily out of his mouth as he praised you, “You’re always such a slut for my dick aren’t ya? look at you turning your mouth into a pussy for me to use any time I want.”

You tried to convey your pleasure with your eyes, agreeing with everything Mammon said and that had only served to increase his pleasure. He took great joy at seeing you on your knees and begging him with your eyes as you lost your self to heat and lust. Hands gripping on Mammon’s clothes, your mouth and his cock making lewd noises as your saliva dripped on the corners of your mouth.

Mammon took out his cock from your mouth and you whined at the lost, his hand still gripping your hair and you were looking at him with a betrayed look while his free hand was pumping his dick.

“Mammon~”

“You really want me to make you swallow or do you want me to fuck you here in this alley for as long as I want?”

You blinked and looked at him with a dazed look, Mammon’s smirk growing wide as he let your hair go and watched you unzip your mini shorts, letting it drop to the ground and presenting your enticing hole to Mammon.

“What a good slut” Mammon praised you as he used his wet dick and spit as lube before teasing your opening.

“Ma-nnn..darling! I want your dick in me already!” You cried softly as Mammon teased you while you could only look longingly at his erect dick and let your mouth water.

“Then say the magic words” He teased you as he bit you on your neck.

“Please breed this good and obedient slut with your thick and lovely seed!” You begged him in between moans and shudders of pleasure that went through your body. Mammon stuttered for a moment before he regained his wits and did as you asked.

His cock entered you easily, “Your hole really was meant to take my cock” he let you get used to the feeling before he began moving slowly, watching the soft jiggling of your chest with each thrust he made. His hands were holding both of your wrists you could only moan as Mammon ruthlessly grazed your spot with his hard dick.

“If anyone could see you right now they’d think you were getting paid for this,” Mammon grinned darkly, “But then again, you were only ever a slut for me aren’t you? Opening your legs for me anytime I ask, easily taking my cock into your mouth.”

“I-it’s becau-! I love you!” You panted as you felt Mammon hit your spot.

Mammon knew you loved him but it really was different hearing how you were only like this because you loved him. He smiled at you and sweetly kissed you on your mouth as he carried you in his arms.

“Ma--” You cut off by his dick thrusting in you deeper. You were vaguely aware that your shorts had already slipped off your leg and your underwear was already ruined.

“I love you too” Mammon said as he vigorously fucked your hole and you could only hold on tightly on his shoulders as you stopped bothering to lower your voice.

The sounds of wet flesh slapping, along with your lustful moans filled the darkened alley. You weren’t aware of the passage of time, nor did you care about the fact that there were often footsteps that would stop at the mouth of the alley. All you cared about was the feeling of Mammon fucking you and the undeniable smell of his come covering your body.

All your clothes had ended up on the ground, you were naked while Mammon still had his clothes on, not that you mind since there was something erotic about the picture it presented to any voyeur that was brave enough to risk Mammon’s ire. Your legs had grown weak after the 15th round and you were only dazedly looking at air as Mammon fucked you from behind, his previous comes dripping down your hole and between your legs. Some had formed a puddle directly on the ground beneath your hole.

Your neck and shoulders were filled with love bites, and most of your skin was sticky with dried cum. You felt Mammon slow down on his thrust and then the familiar wet heat of his cum filled your inside.

You looked at him in question, watching him observe his masterful lewd work that was you.

“Already?” You asked him slightly frowning.

Mammon only looked at you helplessly fond and doting before he began to dress you up, fingers teasing your overstimulated nerves but keeping it at that, “We still need to go home in time for the curfew.”

You pouted but nonetheless let him do as he pleased, though you did squirm a little bit as he zip up your shorts and teasing you once more by rubbing his hand on your crotch through the fabric.

Soaking the crotch are with the mixture of his and your cum. You whined at him, “Can’t we continue at a love hotel?”

Mammon said nothing beyond a teasing smile as he lad you out of the alley, you were limping slightly as you leaned completely on his side and steadfastly ignored the looks the demons were giving you nor did you pay any mind on the undeniable dribble of cum that was between your legs.

What mattered was that Mammon had forgotten about the events earlier and you were getting railed again once both of you got home.

The next morning you woke up on Mammon’s arms and experienced the feeling of being a pampered wife who got railed so good. Mammon had sat you on his lap and fed you as you weakly laid on his chest and ignored the judgmental looks Lucifer was giving you. Chances were, he had already found out about the semi-public sex you and Mammon did.

But you were well-fed and satiated so you put it on the back of your mind as you planned to get things done for Mammon’s surprise. So the time you spent away from Mammon, physically since you were sending him sexy pics and basically having sext with him, was allotted for writing the letters for him. Special ones that would last for years even when you would no longer be alive.

You carefully wrote each letter and made sure that in each and everyone of it had all your overflowing love for him. You wrote him a letter for every conceivable event that you could thought of, until it went from emotions he would feel into situations he would get in until it became for his everyday life.

With each letter you wrote, you couldn’t help but be envious of the people he’d get to meet after you were gone. The selfish part of you that wanted to remain inside his heart for as long as he lived. You could only sigh at your helplessness, there was no guarantee that you would live forever and that you could be with him till he died.

You didn’t know if he would remember you clearly or slowly fade away from his memories. So you decided to give him this indelible words that carried your most fervent wish of being able to stay by his side for eternity.

You wrote and wrote, pouring all of the words that you could never say and to cowardly to speak aloud and instead let it hang on the air. In between the moments when Mammon would catch your eye and you’d look at him and see his love that overflows, in the brief moments of silence where you would hold onto him tightly afraid of him leaving you, in those dark days that you almost lost him and still foolishly unaware that you had come to love him.

The words you kept inside you flowed from your heart and mind and into the tips of your fingers, as you wrote page after page of love letters for Mammon. You let the papers dry and lovingly folded it into the golden envelopes and sealed it with a red wax seal that held your initials.

You placed it inside your jewelry box and hid it.

The door to your room opened and you turned around, seeing Mammon you couldn’t help but smile widely as you called for his name.

You rushed to hug him and Mammon peppered your face with kisses. You let yourself soak up the warmth of his love and decided to no longer think of the distant future that you feared the most.

Mammon had always known that you loved him the most in the entire world. It was hard not to, when you were always out rightly favoring him, always treating him so much better than the others and you would always tell it to him. There was no room for doubt when it came to your love.

And Mammon loved you as well, your flaws and everything because it was what made you human. You weren’t a saint or a holy mother, he didn’t care about your cruel streak that only ever existed in defense of him and his brothers nor did he mind the days you would stick to him relentlessly as if you were afraid he would be gone. He didn’t mind your moments of jealousy, the instances when you’d cut someone with your words.

You had left a mark on his heart that would never fade away, you had made him yours in the way no one would be able to do so. He smiled at the pieces of memory you had left him, proof of your existence in a world that changed much too fast and much too slow for someone like him.

Your bones had withered and turned into dust, you were no longer by his side, all three realms was co-existing peacefully, you lasted long enough to see Diavolo’s dreams to bear fruit, you stayed long enough to hold your great grand children in your arms but even so it still wasn’t enough for him. His greedy heart that was only ever content with you in his arms. But even so Mammon could still remember your voice, the inflections on the words you spoke, the way your eyes glittered with happiness upon seeing his face.

He looked at the wrinkled and yellowed letter you had left him. The last among the letters you wrote for him since the first birthday you had celebrated with him. -

Dear Mammon,

If you’re reading this letter then that would mean I’m no longer by your side. Somehow even with the centuries I’ve spent with you, the thought that I am no longer by your side still makes me cry. You’ve influenced me too much that I became greedy of you.

Have you eaten yet? Are you sleeping well? Are you taking care of yourself?

Don’t mope around anymore, by time you reached this letter centuries would have passed since I died. I know I said I can’t accept you having someone else after me and I was happy that you went along with my selfish wish but even so...I don’t want you to miss out on another great love. I’m already happy with all the years you’ve given me even if it was just a fraction of what you lived and you will live.

I’m really scared that you’d forget me easily and I still want to live longer and be by your side I love you so much that I’m afraid what would happen to you once I’m gone. Mammon, my most beloved demon, I’m sorry I had to leave you first. But even so I’m selfishly happy that I would never know what a world without you would be. I’m weak and cowardly even so you loved this part of me that desperately held onto you, you loved me even if you knew that between the two of us I’ve forgotten how to live without you.

I knew you like the back of my hand, so familiar and foreign at the same time. In all the years I’ve spent writing you letters filled with words that I could never say aloud, I’ve come to accept that I only knew of love because of you. It’s a scary thought, knowing that if I hadn’t meet you...I wouldn’t have given love a chance. I would have live my years not knowing the warmth of your embrace or peace that your presence brought to me.

Thank you for giving me a family that I love and loves me in return, I was so happy when I bore you our third child. Do you remember? I cried that time because he looked so much liked you, he had your eyes and your nose, and then he had your laugh and smile. Our eldest daughter was so happy then, finally having a human passing brother. Number 2 was so pouty that day but even so I was happy with our little family.

There’s a lot of things I want to write to you in this final letter but my hands are already shaking. Our Little Ds of Greed are scampering around right now while I’m writing this. I can’t help but laugh a little bit, my heart feels a bit sour. You’re sleeping soundly right now by my side and I love you so much, that even if my lungs hurt and my body aches so much I want to spend the last moments of my life telling you how much I love you.

I love your smile. I love your laugh. I love the way you’d get into trouble and come to me for help. I love the days you’d let me chase away your nightmares. I love how you patiently waited for me to return to your side. I love how you always tell me you love in the little ways. I love how you never let me wake up in a cold empty bed. I love you. I love you from the moment you ran towards me. I love you until now.

I love you in this life, and if there is a next life for me, I’ll love you there as well. I love you in every world there is that I exist with you. I love you in all infinite possibilities of this universe and the next.

I love you, my Mammon. And I will begone but even if I am no longer by your side I would still love you. I would love you even if my mind and heart forgets because whatever it was that our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same.

So live well and fall in love with the world again, my cherished and inevitable downfall.

Yours in Eden.

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