#LISTEN TO ME LISTEN TO ME SHAKING YOU FROTHING AT THE MOUTH THAT SONG IS SO HOBIE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

babbushka · 4 years

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Fathoms Below

Pirate Captain!Kylo Ren x Reader

17.2k ; CW: Graphic descriptions of violence, death, murder, sword fighting, blood & injury, mention of corpses, possessive behavior, NSFW (PIV, oral sex [F receiving] fingering, rough sex, praise kink)

Available on AO3

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He can still remember it, all these years later.

He can remember the very first voyage, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, flush of excitement high on the bridge of his nose. As Kylo’s crew sails the Silencer through the calm waters of the Atlantic, he cannot help but remember. The crew know better than to question him now, lest they fancy a trip off the plank, so as the deep blue waters of the ocean split beneath the bow of his ship, Kylo climbs up to the bowsprit and straddles the long wooden post, letting out a deep breath.

The horizon is unchanging, as she ever is. Kylo squints into the orange of the setting sun, watching as the waves catch and sparkle in the froth that it makes as it breaks against the wooden hull of the vessel he has commandeered now for longer than he has lived ashore.

“Where are you?” He asks out into the waves, casts his voice as far as it will go, desperate beyond measure, sick with the want of seeing you again, as he remembers.

Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land

And I paddle away from brave England's white sands

To search for my long ago forgotten friends

To search for the place I hear all sailers end

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind

I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find

I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be…

He had been naught but nineteen, when the maiden voyage of HMS Finalizer sets sail. A crew of nearly three hundred men hoisted the sails of the warship, led by the decrepit Captain Snoke as they embark on a crusade of sorts in the warmer waters away from Liverpool. The old man, a battle-worn scoundrel with a sunken in face and long white beard has given this young boy his first chance of the open seas, and said boy has taken it. On his first voyage ever, the young skipper leaves behind the world of the land to instead live out his days on the sea.

And what a magical world it is! A world of adventure, loyalty and trust, of code and honor – unlike the petty realm of government and policy which he has so quickly abandoned, the realm of his mother and uncle; no, a desk job was never in the cards for him, not for him. He longed for the sea, and now he has her. Much like a sponge that lives on the bottom of the depths, he soaks up knowledge and skill as fast as he can, they will not regret the day they brought him aboard. For weeks he studies and practices and learns the ropes, learns the nature of the Finalizer and how to care for her.

He meets a band of older gentlemen, who take him under his wing. Vicrul was the navigator, he taught the young boy how to read the stars with just his eyes and his compass. Cardo was the boatswain, and he taught the young boy how to seal the ropes so the braids wouldn’t rot, how to swab the deck until the floorboards shone. Ushar was the master gunner, who taught the boy how to load and fire the cannons, taught him to be grateful he wasn’t a powder monkey scampering through the rigging. Trudgen was the carpenter and taught the boy how to repair the holes which inevitably would find their way into the hull of their ship, taught the boy how to repair just about anything he could think of. Kuruk, the surgeon, taught the boy how to fix everything that Trugden could not.

And Ap'lek, why he might be the most important of the gentlemen of all, for Ap’lek was a musician and could play nearly any instrument placed in his lap. It is with Ap’lek that the boy spends much of his time, learning the melodies and harmonies of the sea, for it is by song which the whole ship works, and the ship does not work without it.

It is a song that they are singing now, the young boy in line with a row of far stronger and taller men. The salty spray of the sea splashes onto his face, as the skipper’s muscles are put to good use on the long-haul, as he and his brothers call out in time to the songs that the shanty master belts out with his strong lungs. That had been the one question Captain Snoke had asked of him,

“I’m fast, and strong, Captain, and am an excellent climber – ” He had boasted proudly, puffed his chest up to mask the lank of his limbs.

“Aye,” The old man had cut him off, glanced him up and down, “But can ye sing?”

Even if he hadn’t he would have lied, he supposes.

And even if he hadn’t, he would have learned soon enough. As he hoists himself up the ropes, as he feels the breeze and the sun in his hair, he thinks he might fancy being a shanty master himself one day. The work is hard, the work is brutal, but the songs make it worth it, they pass the time and fill everyone with a spirit that pushes the ship forward.

He had sailed halfway through the Atlantic fighting the enemy, blowing holes in the hull of their ships where he knew they had not a Trugden nor an Ushar to defend themselves, and in those few weeks he felt he had already outgrown this ship. Lying awake at night, he wished for a chance to one day commandeer his own, how he would be a far better captain than the likes of Snoke. If there was one thing he learned all on his own, it was that he would do anything to be rid of Snoke.

Oh, if only he had watched his words.

The storm comes as storms often do – a whipped up frenzy of wind and wave, Poseidon’s fury crashing down around them. Startled awake, his vision shorts out as the ship is illuminated by bright cracks of lightning as the sea churns inky black below. It crept up to them at night, with no warning save for the pressure in the air. That pressure, and the creaking groaning planks of the ship, the rocking of her belly.

By the time the storm was noticed by the rest of the crew, it was too late. Lightning strikes the staffs and catches the sails on fire, alarm bells ring, men shout and shout and shout and pray.

“All hands on deck!” Cardo’s booming voice rises above the thunder, above the shouts of concern that pour from the hammocks high in the rigging where the boys all sleep.

Down down down the shrouds they rush, shrouds which the wind whips and flings about in a panic. The integrity of the Finalizer is tested now, for they have survived cannons, but gunpowder is no match for the fury of the sea. The young boy feels a spike of adrenaline in his chest, this is the first storm he has ever seen, and he has a sickening feeling that it might be his last.

Heave and ho, the winds send the ship headed towards rocks hidden underneath the waves, a gash too large torn through the starboard side, water flooding in. He does not know which way to go – to pump the water out, to hoist the sails, to put the fires out; there is chaos, and he does not know where to begin. Men rush past him as the ship tils and lurches from one side to the next, chests and barrels and piles of supplies sliding dangerously to and fro, knocking crewmen over the sides before the swelling crashing deadly waves have a chance to sweep them off their feet.

Waves some twenty, thirty feel tall curl in on themselves and smash down onto the deck, and now those shouts turn to screams, as they realize, as they all realize there is no saving this vessel. Lightning strikes, and he is pushed, urged towards a small boat, and he does not know how if they cannot survive on the big ship, how a little one would be of much help.

“To the rowboats -- !” Someone calls, the boy does not know who, not in this frenzy. His vision is shaking, as he runs and runs from one side of the ship to another, trying to stay level, trying to stay upright as the Finalizer nearly capsizes.

“There’s no time!” Ushar growls, the pipe he holds clenched between his teeth nearly splitting in two, as lightning strikes once more, as flaming bits of sail flutter around and land on the flesh of men.

“Captain – where is the captain?” The boy demands, because surely Snoke must know what to do, Snoke is the only one who can give orders – except when he sees Snoke, he sees him frantically rowing out in the distance, far greater distance that he should have been able to row in the storm like this. The boy is thrown against the rail of the ship with another lurch from the waves, and he panics, “What is he doing?”

“Don’t be daft son, he’s leaving us to die.” Vicrul sneers, water sloshing in a grand arc behind him, lightning illuminating the mouth of gold teeth he sports, his mouth turned into a grimace.

That was the first time in the young boy’s life, where he truly felt fear. Snoke must have sensed the storm coming, and instead of raising the alarms, he had snuck out like a snake in the night. And in doing so, his captain had condemned them all.

“Will we?” The boy asks with terror in his wide brown eyes, as Kuruk and Ap’lek can only stare at one another (years later, sitting here on the bowsprit, he realizes that they were trying to find a way to say I love you before it was too late).

He does not get an answer, before the cold smack of water carries him off and away, as the body of the ship splits in two, as lightning and thunder sear into his brain. Someone shouts for him, but he cannot hear them, all he can hear is the rushing thrumming sound of the ocean.

-------------------

Beneath the waves, it is calm.

More than calm, it is quiet. He cannot remember a time where it had ever been so quiet. Up above the waterline, he knows it must be hell, but down here in the embrace of the sea, there is naught he can do but listen to the quiet and feel the burn in his lungs. The world around him is black from the lack of the sun, but the flashes of lightning way above him send shimmers of rich emerald greens all around.

The currents are too strong, there is no fighting them. With the burn in his lungs only growing, growing more desperate for air that will not come, The boy sinks sinks sinks, a chest of cannon balls pinned to his stomach, sending him deeper.

He thinks of his mother, he thinks of the look on her face when he told her he would follow in his father’s footsteps for a life on the sea.

He thinks of his father, of the smuggler’s word he had given to come back home.

It looks like neither of the men in Leia’s life would be making good on their promises of return, he thinks.

An impossibly darker blackness creeps up through the corners of his vision, and he feels empty, so empty. The lightning a thousand feet up ahead crackles through the water, as he begins to slip away. A last burst of breath bubbles out of his mouth, the water is cold as his back hits the soft sand of the ocean’s floor.

He stares straight up and takes one final look at the watery world above him, and he resigns himself to his fate – when the last flash of lightning backlights a figure bolting towards him, arms outstretched, fingers spread in a frantic push to grab him.

With the last of his strength, though his body is crushed, he lifts one hand out to meet them.

-------------------

He rests at the bottom of the ocean, as your fingers twine through his. Your hair is long and it flows around your face, a face which he cannot see and yet somehow can see perfectly. Your eyes glow white, so brightly that it illuminates the space like the lightning, but instead of a mere flash, it is a steady glow, much like a lighthouse on a craggy shore.

However it is not your eyes which captivate him, it is your body. For one, he has never seen a naked woman’s breasts before, and so the sight of your chest uncovered is a sight he fixates on, but only for a moment as he realizes very quickly that in the place where your legs should be, is a great and glorious tail.

It is long and glittering as the light from your eyes reflects off the scales, and he has a hard time believing that this is real, that you are real, especially when you open your mouth and speak aloud to him under the water, asking, “What is your name?”

The burn in his lungs is no more, he realizes, and when he breathes in, water does not fill the empty spaces inside of him.

“Am I dead?” He whispers, finding with relative ease that he can sit up, there on the ocean floor.

He looks around himself, sees the fallen sailors with whom he had just been singing not two hours ago, sees the debris of the ship which has sunk in large shattered pieces, nestled all around. The flag of Great Britain tattered and torn, mocking them all as the current creates an illusion that it is waving.

You smile curiously at him, settling yourself around him, your tail draped over his lap as you check him for injury.

“No, would you like to be?” You reply, and he’s not so sure he believes you, for such a thing as this cannot be possible, not in a million years, it cannot be.

“No – I – ” He stutters, watches as bubbles dance up to the surface.

“Your name, sailor.” You ask again with a gentle smile, and he hesitates.

His name, what was his name? He had one of course, but…but was that really his name? No, it wasn’t, he reasons. That was a name he had been given, one laden with expectation and pressure that he never wished to inherit. Even aboard the ship, he was not called by his name – although his nickname wasn’t much better. He makes a decision then, a decision he had longed to make when he was alive.

Because surely he was dead, and if he were a dead man, then at least he would die the man he wanted to be, as opposed to the man the world told him he had to become.

“Kylo Ren.” The name leaves his lips with a certainty that he did not know he possessed, especially for saying the name out loud for the first time. He had called himself Kylo in secret for years, and somehow, it felt good to have that secret come to light, even if it were too late.

“Kylo Ren.” You repeat, and he finds that it sounds even better coming from your lips, the sound almost intoxicating, your voice and cadence of speaking music to his ears. “’Tis a strong name, that one. How many years do you have under your sails, Kylo?”

“I – this is my first time.” Kylo admits, and your white glowing eyes widen, a hand on your chest in surprise.

“First time out at sea and already caught in my storm? You’re either very lucky, or very unlucky.” You shake your head, your hair following in a rippling motion, floating in the water.

“You’re beautiful.” Kylo says, as he feels his heart opening up, as he feels the burn of his lungs returning, the chill of the water a contrast on his skin once more.

“I know.” You grin, too many teeth in your mouth, and it is then that Kylo’s mind begins to catch up with him.

“Did you say your storm?” He asks, air bubbling out of his mouth, air that he didn’t know he possessed, air that he knows now that you’ve given him.

Kylo doesn’t know how, but he knows he is not dead, he knows that you have done something, you wield some power of the deep. He knows that you have saved him.

“Lucky, I think.” You laugh, the sound more melodic than any of Ap’lek’s songs could ever be, the sound filling filling filling Kylo with air. “Yes, I daresay you’re lucky.”

“I – are you an angel?” Kylo frowns, as he feels the chest of cannon balls slip away from his legs, feeling regaining in his limbs once more. The water rushes and thrums around him, but he doesn’t feel afraid, not as you take him by the hand and lead him slowly up to the surface.

“An angel? No, no I’m something far more sinister.” Your scales shimmer and glimmer and glitter in the moonlight, the waves are calm once more as you swim with him up up up.

“You’re so beautiful.” Kylo says, because he can’t think of anything else to say, and this pleases you, and he finds that he would very much like to spend the rest of his life making you happy.

Through the surface of the water Kylo’s face breaks, and all at once lungs fill with real air, salty briny moonlit air, and he gulps it down, coughs and splutters water. Kylo’s limbs are sore, he’s freezing cold, he feels sick – and all of this lets him know he is well and truly alive.

You’re watching him intently, watching him carefully, your eyes no longer glowing now that your face is out of the water. Guiding him to a rowboat which sits empty atop the water, you help him into it.

He doesn’t want to let go of your hand.

“Promise me something, and I won’t drown you.” You tease, although Kylo cannot tell that you are teasing, he’s too in shock of how he is here – of why he is here and his fellow brothers remain at the bottom of the ocean.

“Anything.” The word tumbles easily, quickly, and you tsk against the roof of your mouth, shaking your head.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You whisper, but Kylo doesn’t care.

“I’ll do anything.” He insists, feeling in his heart, in his very core, that he wants to be with you forever. He’d sell his soul, to be with you forever.

So when you smile sadly at him, and give his palms a tight squeeze, before you slip your hands away and begin to sink back down into the water, until Kylo cannot see your beautiful breasts or your too-sharp teeth, until all that can be seen of you are your eyes which begin to glow once more, he panics with confusion.

“Grow up, big and strong, live long.” Your voice swirls around inside his head, and he rushes to the side of the rowboat to reach for you, even after you have submerged yourself fully, he still reaches, “Come find me when you have commanded the respect of the ocean upon a ship of your own. Find me, and tell me you’ll do anything for me then.”

-------------------

Plot a course to the night to a place I once knew

To a place where my hope died along with my crew

So I swallow my grief and face life's final test

To find promise of peace and the solace of rest

As the songs of the dead fill the space of my ears

Their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers

My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be

-------------------

The black sails of the Silencer are puffed full with wind, full speed ahead as they exit Port Royal. Sitting atop the bowsprit, Kylo stares into the glittering ocean, the horizon casting golden rays of light through the deep blue sea. His crew is merry, the weather is pleasant, and yet still a sour feeling lingers in his stomach.

Where were you? Surely now was the time, was it not? Kylo had grown, oh how he had grown, both in size and stature indeed. But more than that, he had done as you asked – as he had always wanted to do. There were no man so fearsome as that of Captain Ren, no ship that saw the sails of the Silencer and won the battle which soon followed.

His chests were filled with gold, which he sold for a pretty penny to the highest bidder, and often reserved himself a chest or two to simply fill his tub with and bathe in the riches. His barrels were filled with rum and food, his crew never having gone hungry, not even for one meal. His wardrobe was filled with expensive silks and linens, donning himself in clothes fit for a leader, but ensuring his crew were dressed as lavishly – these reasons and more are why year after year his crew elected him Captain.

In fact, the annual election had just taken place at the docks of Port Royal, where it was a unanimous vote. Kylo should be celebrating, he should be naked in a brothel surrounded by gorgeous men and women – it was the 1660s after all – he should be drinking to his heart’s content and pleasuring himself with life’s greatest fortunes.

Instead, he sits up on the bowsprit, and speaks to the sea with a melancholic eye. A single eye, for that’s all he has left, the other blinded in a battle he fought many a year ago. His crew takes notice to this, and as they perform their mid-morning duties, a few of them gossip among themselves, as pirates are often wont to do.

“He’s up there again?” A nimble fingered lad named Mitaka, not more than fifteen years of age, speaks up as he braids rope with the efficacy of a man with decades of practice. He had just joined the Silencer’s crew, had practically begged Kylo to take him aboard back in Port Royal, and though the Captain had a reputation for being volatile and coarse, he never turned away a face in need.

“Aye, with the telescope, same as every day.” His hammock-neighbor, Thannison, pipes up from his spot not too far across the deck, on his hands and knees scrubbing away.

“What’s he lookin’ for d’ya reckon?” Mitaka wonders aloud with the sort of curious nature that only someone young as he could still possess.

Thannison looks around, checks over his shoulder and then casts a glance up to the Captain himself, to Kylo who is unmoving, sitting far and away high above them all.

“A mermaid.” He whispers, and even though he is careful, the breeze still carries his voice, the word reaching the ears of the Silencer’s navigator, an ex-General of the Royal Navy.

“A myth, more like.” Hux scoffs with a roll of his eye, drawing the attention of Victoria the First Mate, a woman stronger than half the men aboard the ship combined.

“Don’t let the Captain hear ye talkin’ that way, what he’s lookin’ for ain’t none of our business.” She stands at the helm, not that there’s much work to be done now on such calm waters. They’re traveling windward to their great advantage, and the skies do their part in keeping the seas steady.

“But it is, isn’t it? We’re his crew, we sail his ship, don’t you think it’s our business what we’re lookin’ for?” Hux mutters, where he is reviewing charts over yonder portside.

“I said – ” Victoria storms over with her thick soled boots, storms straight through the freshly scrubbed floor poor Thannison had just polished, to shove a menacing blade of her short dagger in the direction of Hux’s narrowed eyes, “Don’t. Let. The Captain. Hear.”

Little displays of animosity like this were not rare among the crew, as pirates generally weren’t the most easy-to-get-along-with types, but Mitaka watches with a curious eye as Victoria walks away, down through a hatch in the deck, no doubt to retire to her rooms for the afternoon.

“You’d think she’d be in better spirits, what with seein’ her wife ‘n all.” He offers up, makin’ just about everyone within earshot chuckle.

“We could have been in port for a month, and Victoria would miss Gwen the moment they part.” Thannison replies, and this at least, Mitaka can understand.

“Does the Captain miss his mermaid?” He asks, eager to learn everything, eager to know, “Is she even real?”

“He says she is, but no man nor lass has ever seen her, and certainly never come back alive. They say she saved him on the night the Finalizer sank – that he was the only one she saved.” Hux throws a wary glance up to Kylo, who remains unchanged up on the bowsprit.

“Why?” Mitaka wonders aloud softly.

“No one knows.” Hux replies just as softly, for this truly is the one question which hangs on everyone’s mind, the one question that only Kylo would know, but even he is at a loss for the answers. “But as long as I’ve been aboard this ship, he has been looking for her. Now, no more questions, don’t you have rope to braid?”

“Aye sir!” Mitaka busies himself with his tasks once more, and Kylo, high up above them all, is grateful for it.

-------------------

Of course he knows the rumors that spread, the worries that he is going mad. Much like a man chasing an elusive ship, or a hunt for treasure that didn’t exist, those who knew Kylo knew him to be a man fixated on the impossible. They say he has been on the sea too long, that twenty years should be his limit. Others say he is a drunk, and that his stories of a finned woman with long hair and glowing eyes can only be the result of a blackout.

No one says any of this to his face, for they would be run clean through with his saber if they did, but he knows, oh how he knows they say it.

Kylo often wonders if maybe they’re right, if maybe all this is for naught. If perhaps, ‘twas a delusional vision of a boy clinging to death, an overactive imagination. He supposes he will soon find out, for if there were ever come a time where he was Ready, it would be now.

He has sunk a hundred ships, he has slain more than twice that number of men with his own sword. He has sailed to the very corners of the ocean, has made friend and foe in every port known to privateer. The world knows his name, even if they cannot catch his ship. But none of that would matter, if you did not think so.

-------------------

The sunlight glimmers on the water, and Kylo’s eye is drawn to a shifting movement in the waves at once. In an instant, his heart rate picks up, for he’s certain he’s just seen a flipper, certain of it!

Standing up and steadying himself on the long wooden beam, holding onto the ropes which are tied down to the wooden mast for balance, Kylo sheds himself of his hat, his coat, his saber and gun, before he sprints down the length of the bowsprit, until there is no wood beneath his feet, and he is swan diving into the ocean below.

On deck, all activity ceases, as the entire crew races to the bow to try and see where Kylo had gone. His hat and coat and loose artifacts fall into the hands of the men and women that make up Kylo’s ship, and they all clutch to them tightly, for they know how much Kylo cares about his clothes.

“Captain?” Hux shouts, cups his hands around his mouth and booms with exasperation, “Captain Ren – oh god dammit, Kylo!”

“What in the blazes does that boy think he’s doin’?” A gruff voice sounds from further back, and everyone’s eye turns to the young boy who is shedding his clothes too, looking for all intents and purposes that he’s going to do something rash.

“We have to go after him!” Mitaka’s face is bleak with worry, thinking that Kylo might have fallen over or been knocked down by the winds, that he must be injured or drowned.

But the First Mate knows better, and with a shake of her head and a resigned sigh at Kylo’s theatrics, she whistles for attention and all stand still to listen.

“He’ll come back, let him go.” Victoria puts a firm hand on Mitaka’s chest to prevent him from jumping overboard too. Everyone listens to her, Mitaka included, although he cannot stop staring out at the sea, watching for Kylo.

Since that fateful night, Kylo had trained himself how to hold his breath and how to swim well, skills which serve him now more than ever, as he chases what he thinks to be your tail. His legs propel him, muscular thick thighs that work double time, as his rippling biceps cut through the water, his body built but streamlined.

Where are you where are you where are you?

It’s all he can think, until he cannot think of anything but air, and he kicks towards the surface as seagulls caw above him, the sun blinding in a blaze of orange. With a deep sigh, he allows himself to float, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish on a rock, the sun warming his skin.

“If I am not ready now, will I ever be?” He asks aloud, wondering, hoping that you can hear him.

-------------------

When he returns to his ship, he is met with not a single questioning glance, and for this he is grateful. His pride is hurt, his ego wounded, he cannot understand what he’s done wrong to make you keep him waiting this way. Slinking into his quarters, he strips down out of his wet clothes before even checking to make sure the room is empty, and draws his sword when a creak from the grand chair in the corner alerts him.

“What were ye thinkin’ this time? Hm?” Victoria leans forward, her elbow on her knees. “That you saw her again?”

Victoria was the first person to ever give Kylo a chance, when he washed ashore at the port, a scared starving boy alone in a rowboat. With that chance, he built an empire of piracy unlike that had ever been seen, and he brought her along with him to share in the riches. She was probably the only one who could ever speak to him the way that she speaks to him now.

“As a matter o’fact, yes.” Kylo bares his gold teeth at her in a menacing sneer, and she only rolls her eyes and throws a warm dry robe into his arms. Kylo puts it on without hesitation, not really wanting to expose himself to a woman he considers more of his sister than the one he has by blood. “This is about where she was the last time, where it happened.”

Bundled up in his robe, Kylo pours Victoria a glass of rum, and she accepts it with a sigh as he lays down in his bed with a groan. She takes a sip and watches him carefully, cautiously.

“Twenty years is a long time, Kylo.” She says, and Kylo lets out a long, heavy sigh and rubs the tension from his forehead.

“Believe me, I know.” He mutters, voice deep, tired. He sounds tired, feels tired. “We stayed at port too long, I fear that’s how we missed her.”

“You know I do not doubt you that this woman once saved you. But have you thought about the possibility that something might have happened to her in all this time? That maybe she is simply not out there anymore, unable to wait for you?” Victoria speaks softly, not wanting to get Kylo angry, but wanting him to face the facts. “I worry for you sometimes Kylo, perhaps you might think of setting your sails on a different prize – ”

“She is not a prize.” Kylo snaps, leveling his First Mate with a deadly glare, the kind of glare that should send shivers of fear down a normal person’s spine. But then, Kylo deflates, and he casts his eye toward the porthole window, hoping for those flippers to surface once more as he whispers, “She is something far more precious, something that cannot be owned. If ye be so inclined to know, I spoke to her two nights ago.”

“You did?” Victoria’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes blinking in shock.

“Aye, in a dream. And she called to me, called me here, so here is where I have sailed.” Kylo spits back, and this only makes her expression soften once more. “And when we are reunited once more, you’ll all see.”

“For your own sake Kylo, I hope so.” She pats his ankle, before swinging back the rum and leaving his quarters for him to sulk.

-------------------

He is nearly asleep, when he hears it. The whisper, the ghost of his name, drifting to his ears through that porthole window left slightly ajar. He likes to sleep in this way, likes to breathe in the salty crisp air of night, likes to listen to the gentle lap of the waves. The ship is calm, in the middle of the night, the crew asleep in their hammocks or rooms below deck. There is nothing but the creak of the wooden decks, the flutter of the sails, and the steady rocking that has Kylo this close to dreaming, when he hears it.

“Kylo Ren…” The sound makes his eyes snap open, makes his heart beat fast in his chest. He thinks he’s hearing things, maybe conjuring them up in his own mind, but no, there it is again -- “Kylo Ren...”

Out of his bed at once, he throws on clothing. Clothing he has reserved specifically for this moment, clothing he has purchased just for you. With stockings slipped up onto his legs, Kylo steps into his black breeches and tucks in a loose-fitting white linen shirt, securing his waist with a crimson sash. The very same crimson adorns his brocade waistcoat, which he buttons up so quickly and with such shaky fingers, that he has to redo it twice. He has three golden earrings in each of his ears, and two golden bands on each finger.

He doesn’t have the time to wonder if you’ll find the appearance pleasing, as he brushes through his long black hair and ties it back with a crimson ribbon, because your voice is growing louder and more clear, and he is compelled to answer it.

Buckling his boots, Kylo ascends from the suite he calls home and finds at once, a pair of white glowing eyes not far from the starboard side of the Silencer.

“It’s you!” He whispers, nearly chokes on his spit as he does it, rushing to the rail and practically falling over the edge.

He holds his breath, waiting, hoping, and then yes! Yes it is you, you flick your tail happily in the moonlight, your scales shimmering and glittering the way he has so often dreamed about. You disappear beneath the inky waves then, and when Kylo is about to protest, your beautiful body is propelled out of the water, you do an elegant flip, spraying him with seafoam playfully upon impact once again with the waves.

“I’m coming – just a moment, I’m coming!” For the first time in decades, a grin has split across Kylo’s surly face, his gold teeth reflecting the same way your scales do, and he jumps overboard, dives down into the water for the second time, knowing this time, you’re really there.

The sound of your laughter fills the spaces between the scars of his flesh, makes him whole, for the first time since he was a young boy. Your arms encircle him when he swims swims swims as fast as he can to reach you, and you surprise him by being faster – your tail propelling you forward more quickly than his mere legs ever could. Your reunion sings through the ocean, and he cannot take his palms away from your cheeks, he cannot look away from your glowing eyes, he does not want to, not now, not after so long.

You hug him then, floating on your back so he can be propped up atop your breast, and not accidentally pushed under the water. The two of you embrace in every sense of the word, and Kylo is thankful for the sea, for masking the tears of relief he feels.

When he leans his head in towards you, you do not deny him the kiss he so desperately seeks, and this kiss – though it is not Kylo’s first – fills him with a sense of completeness that has him groaning into your mouth. You smile against his lips, you let him wind a hand into your hair, another groping at your breast. The surface of the water is calm, there are no waves now to rock you both, and so you can indulge in one another like this lazily.

There is so much Kylo wants to ask you, so much he has to say, but in this moment, your union transcends language, as your minds meld together, a gate of sorts opening, letting the floodwaters free. He slides his tongue against yours and sighs into your mouth, clutches at you tightly, out in the open sea. If this were to take place inside his cabin, he knows the inside of the windows would be fogged from the heat that he can feel curling around your bodies.

“Kylo Ren.” You break the kiss at last, if only to give Kylo a chance to breathe, but you do not go far. You rest your forehead against his and he strains to look at you in the dark, through the closeness. “I have heard of the stories, how they echoed across the sea.”

“You’re here, it’s you, you’re real and you’re here.” Pride wells up in Kylo’s chest, his ego inflamed, knowing the tales of his legacy have reached you. That is all he has ever wanted, and it is indescribable the way he feels knowing that in this he has succeeded.

“Of course I am, I told you I would be when you were ready for me, didn’t I?” You pet back the long dark locks that curl and cling to his wet cheeks, a thumb soothing across his lips as you lean in for another chaste kiss.

“You never told me your name.” Kylo says, because it is something he has wondered for twenty years, a question he has had burning inside his soul for just as long.

“My name? Hmm I have had many.” Chuckling, you duck your head, bashful. No one has ever asked you for your name, not once. “Names that have been given to me, names I have been called, many names. But tell me, what do you call me in your mind? When you lie awake at night and think of me, what slips past your lips?”

This sends a shiver of desire down Kylo’s spine, the way that you lean in and speak into his mouth, the way you smudge the words against his lips, your wet lashes dragging and brushing against his cheek. He’s halfway hard as it is, the thick line of his cock pressing through the layers of his soaking wet clothes, and all he can do about it is sigh, as he gropes at your breast once more.

“The only sounds I utter are the groans of pleasure which come from the very thought of you.” Kylo’s voice rumbles through his chest and into yours, and you grin, ducking your head, bashful.

“You’re charming. You may call me (Y/N).” You whisper to him like it is some secret, something that neither the moon nor the stars is privy to hear.

“Will you come aboard my ship (Y/N)?” He tests the name out on his tongue, and your scales shimmer with the way it sounds. That makes his pride swell further, makes his cock harder, but not so hard that he loses the clarity of mind to ask, “Can you?”

Your smile falters, but not by much. That beautiful tail breaks the surface once more, shimmering, ethereal before him. Kylo is mesmerized, he has always been mesmerized by you, but you being here in front of him, mesmerizing him now, is far better than the way he has lost himself in his dreams.

“I cannot, not like this. If my scales dry, then I die. So, in the water I must remain.” You explain, and Kylo tries not to let his heart break.

“I see.” He refuses to accept this, even though he understands why it must be so. He refuses, he has not come this far to leave you now.

Noticing his apparent distress, you hug him closer, kiss at his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“There is…a way.” You start, licking your lips nervously, your voice hushed in the night.

“Tell it to me, I want to help you, the way you helped me.” Kylo replies at once, a sense of urgency in his voice, thinly veiled desperation.

You turn your gaze away from him, your eyes like two beams of starlight, shooting out into the black abyss. Kylo had nearly forgotten that the two of you were floating in the open ocean just next to his ship, until you illuminated the world beyond.

“There is a cave ahead, beyond the craggy rocks.” You say ominously, half-afraid he’ll take you up on the offer, “Only a creature on two legs can reach it, for it is up above the water’s edge.”

“What secrets does it hide? What must I bring back for you?” He takes you up on it immediately, knowing that whatever he has been training for, whatever he has been doing with his life, all that he has learned, has led him to this moment for you.

“A golden medallion strung on a black cord.” Your eyes glow brighter with each word you speak, and Kylo finds himself getting pulled into your story with bated breath. “Decades ago, long ‘fore even you were born, ‘twas stolen from me by a man with a long white beard. He snuck upon me whilst I was asleep one day, tore it from ‘round my throat. I got my revenge on him -- killed him for it, sunk his ship in my storm, but the medallion was no longer in his possession when he drowned. I demanded to know what he had done with it, and with his dying breath he taunted and teased how I’d never reach it.”

“Until now.” Kylo assumes, because you are regarding him with such hope that he knows he cannot let you down. You saved his life, the very least he can do is repay you in this small way.

You crowd his space, your hands on his cheeks once again, your lips brushing against his own.

“I’ll go with you, I can show you the way.” You whisper, kissing him, thankful, hopeful, elated in a way that makes Kylo’s heart beat beat beat loud in his chest.

“When?” He demands, a voice commanding and fit for a Captain.

“Now.” You grin, taking him by the hand in a way that Kylo has memorized in his sleep, and leading him back to the side of his ship where he might climb up the notches in the hull to reach the deck once again.

“Now?” He blinks, having hoped that he could perhaps spend some time with you in his nice warm bed…he would have found a way around your hydration needs, he would have --

“We must go before the dawn breaks, the waters are dangerous when It wakes.” You interrupt his internal monologue, and there is something chilling about the way that your voice catches. “Take the rowboat, you’ll need your strength.”

-------------------

Kylo rows the small vessel through the blackness of night, the clouds having covered the pale shine of the moon. It is no matter, because your eyes glow in a beacon of their own, as you swim beside him. Keeping in time with his pace, your fin lazily pushes you forward, and in the quiet, Kylo decides on which of his millions of questions he wants to ask you first.

“Do you live here?” He settles on. He means both the cove you lead him to and the waters around Port Royal, wondering why in all the time he has spent here, he has never seen you.

“Yes…and no. The ocean in her entirety is my home, I swim from place to place as I please, and sleep wherever my head rests.” You explain, your voice calm and thoughtful. Kylo commits your answer to memory, wanting to absorb every piece of knowledge about you that he can as you continue, “Sometimes that’s a port such as this, sometimes it’s an anchor on a ship, other times it’s on my back, floating in the sunshine. Although I’ve been nearly harpooned that way, so I don’t do it often.”

The humor in your voice at the harpoon mention is lost on Kylo, and he nearly stops rowing as he processes your words, as he dares not to get his hopes up. He does not, however stop rowing, because your earlier comment of a Thing in the waters makes him want to complete this mission as quickly as possible.

“When you say the anchor of a ship, you don’t mean…?” Still, he has to know.

You’re quiet then for a moment, and he knows his suspicions are confirmed, by the very hesitation in your voice.

“I check on you, now and again.” You admit, making him feel both absolutely fucking elated that he has been right all along, and devastated that you have been so close and somehow, somehow always just out of reach. “I always have, wanting to make sure you were safe.”

“And you never said anything?” Kylo doesn’t restrain the question, trying not to let his temper get the better of him.

He thinks of all the ridicule he could have been spared, all the doubt, all the sleepless nights of worry that he was losing his mind, if only you had said something. But then again, he reasons, he wouldn’t be the person he is today, had he not gotten into those fist fights for standing up for his dignity, and then maybe you never would have deemed him ready.

“I couldn’t interfere, that wouldn’t be fair to you.” You explain, proving his reasoning to be correct. You don’t sound apologetic, nor regretful for it as you say, “I wanted you to become a person of your own right, your own making, free of influence from anyone, even myself.”

That hits him hard, square in the chest. And at first he doesn’t know why, but then he realizes…you’re the only person he has ever known to want that for him. He thinks back through all the people in his life; his mother wanted him to be a politician, his uncle wanted him to be a educator. His father was gone, and Snoke…well.

Snoke only found him useful to meet his own ends, and much like the rest of the world, cast him aside when he had had enough. Even the gentlemen with whom he had spent most of his time before that fateful night had hoped he would one day grow up like them.

Kylo cannot be angry with you now, he knows, not that he was ever really angry with you to begin with. How could he, when you are the only thing in the world who has never had any expectation of him, other for him to be himself?

“I spoke to you, night after night I spoke to you.” Kylo whispers into the dark, thinking of all the nights he had spent up on the bowsprit, above a masthead carved in your image, speaking to the wooden mermaid wishing wishing wishing instead he were speaking to you.

Your tail cuts through the water as you swim alongside him in the rowboat, and you whisper just as softly, “I heard you.”

-------------------

The rest of the short journey is done in silence, mostly so that Kylo can prepare himself mentally for whatever awaits him. It looks sinister, a gaping maw protruding from the water, like a mouth with craggy and jagged teeth of rock. The light from your eyes shines into the opening of the cave, but it only shines so far before the dark of the dark swallows it whole.

“Do you see it? The cave?” You ask him softly, drawing his attention from his own thoughts to the massive structure before you both.

“Just up ahead, yes. It’s dark, but I can see it.” He answers, taking in a deep breath. He had never been particularly afraid of the dark, or of the unknown, but there is a distinct sinister energy that crackles through the air that Kylo can feel; it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You must leave the boat behind now, do not be afraid, the water is warm, and I am here with you.” You assure him, offering him a hand that like moth to a flame, he is compelled to take.

He finds that the water is not deep here, he can wade through it and it only reaches his knees. You lay low, your free hand trailing along the soft sand as your tail swishes through the water, moving forward with him as he leaves the rowboat behind.

“You’re coming with me?” He frowns, unsure if he wants you in as much danger as you warn there may be.

But then again, he should know better than to question you in something like this, particularly when your eyes glow brighter and they shine across the sea, as you nod. Swimming beside him, neither in front nor behind him, you assert yourself as his equal in this regard, heading into the dark unknown together.

“As far as I can go, I am coming with you.” Your eyes glow, and he somehow, feels safe.

The water grows cold, the closer to the cave you and Kylo get. Kylo’s legs can feel the chill, can feel the change in the temperature. There is a humming from within, a rumbling sound that he cannot identify, and so in response, he trains his eye and his ear to be on high alert. The only other noises are the intermittent drip drip drips of water from the roof of the cave landing in the pools below – pools, because the deeper into the cave, the more shallow it becomes, until there is no more depth for you to stay submerged in.

Kylo looks at you, and you blink, the light from your eyes blipping momentarily. You turn your gaze towards the chasm before you, your eyes a lantern of their own for Kylo to see by. He doesn’t want to part from you, but he knows that when he returns, you will never have to part again.

“You must not dawdle, it must be fast.” You murmur softly, not looking at him, looking instead at the chasm, your voice taking on a strange quality that he cannot place. It sounds too familiar, like the way it had all garbled under the water when you saved him from drowning. The hair on the back of his neck does not go down. “Get in, grab the medallion – and only the medallion -- and get out.”

“Why?” He can’t help but ask, the pet-name slipping out of his mouth before he can think to ask if it’s alright, “Darling, what will I find in that cave?”

You still do not look at him, your gaze unwavering, unchanging. It is more unsettling than the rumbling, but Kylo doesn’t bring any attention to it. The medallion is in there, and you want it. You want it, and so Kylo will bring it to you.

“I do not know. Only, I have never seen anyone come back out, once they have gone inside.” You eventually say, quickly following up with, “You need not go, if you don’t think you are ready.”

There is no thought in his mind that Kylo would risk death for you, not know. In many ways, he has spent the last two decades living on borrowed time. In many ways, he has been a dead man walking for half of his life. If he were to die in this cave, it would be a death long overdue, Kylo knows.

“I have trained for twenty years to be ready. There is nothing more I could do to prepare me, if I fail now, I will have failed another twenty years ahead.” Kylo dismisses the idea of turning back now as quickly as you have offered it, pulling his sword out of its sheath which is strapped to his hip.

The metal glints from the light of your eyes, for they have finally turned to face him, the full effect of their glow making him feel as thought it were day, as if time had stood still in a moment of lightning.

“You are strong, you will not fail.” You speak with reassurance, and with those parting words, he steps out of the shallow water and onto the slippery rock floor of the cave, his descent into the chasm begun.

-------------------

The deeper into the cave Kylo goes, the colder it becomes.

Soon he is out of the scope of your powerful eyes, and has nothing but the feeling of his fingers brushing against the cave wall to guide him. His eye does its best to adjust, and he curses himself internally, for maybe if he had both his pupils, he could see better in the pitch black. His footing is careful, the floor is slippery. Even though his boots are meant to withstand such slide, he still takes caution to not step somewhere which will twist his ankle, which will buckle his knee, which will make him fall to depths he cannot see.

His ears are trained still, and he halts at every moment in which he hears something that could be a threat, pausing just for a second or two to ensure that he need not his sword nor his fists to protect himself. Every time, he decides he is safe. He does not let his guard down, but Kylo moves through the cave with a bit more confidence; clearly if something were to kill him, or present itself as a challenge at least, it would have done so by now.

And what’s more – light, up ahead! A gap in the ceiling allows the moonlight to shine through, the clouds which have covered it having moved along on their path across the sea. Never before has Kylo felt so grateful for the moon in all his years, and as he steps into the light that it shines, his eye widens at the sight before him.

Gold, mountains of it. Piles taller than he stands, and oh does he stand tall. Glittering twinkling gold, but wait, no, not just gold, jewels too, diamonds and rubies and emeralds, pearls and strings of precious beads. It surrounds him, overwhelms him, blinds him with how brightly gold it shines. Where could it be, the medallion? Kylo tries to think, tries to strategize. It couldn’t be thrown in among the piles, no, whomever had stolen it from his precious mermaid would have known how important it is.

And so Kylo ignores the riches around him altogether, knowing that time is of the essence. He is careful to step around the piles, around and around them all, forcing himself to stay on task. The medallion, he is here for your medallion. He wishes he had asked for more of a detailed explanation, because he soon realizes that fuck, there are possibly a thousand medallions here.

Taking a moment, he sighs, turns in a circle, careful of his footing. It has to be somewhere obvious, he decides. Pirates are not that smart, and they certainly have a flair for the dramatics. Whomever stole it would want all to see it, would want all to know just how –

There! Up upon a pedestal made of rock, that must be it! A large circular disc of gold laced through a black chord rests propped up in direct line of the moonlight. It glows softly, ever so slightly, a golden pulsating light that draws Kylo towards it.

“There you are.” He whispers, his eye growing wide, filling with the golden light. There is a symbol, possibly writing in a language Kylo does not recognize, etched into it, that glows and glows and glows brighter as Kylo comes nearer.

He reaches a hand out but then quickly yanks it back. It could be a trap, what would he do if it is a trap? He chews at the inside of his cheek, hesitates for a moment. Looking up and all around for any signs of anything that could come crashing down, or shooting out at him from the sides, he waits.

Until he is certain that no such thing will happen, at which point he can wait no longer.

Holding his breath, his hand stretches up, fingers extended as far as they can go, for the rock pedestal is taller than he is even on his toes, and he does not exhale until he can feel the black cord nestled in his grip, and he pulls the medallion down.

…Nothing happens.

Suspicious, Kylo decides not to tempt fate. He has managed to escape death a second time, or at least, he will if he is able to return to you. Now that the medallion is in his hands, it glows so bright that the entire cave illuminates, and he can hear the faint echo of music, the very same music that has haunted his dreams. Your music, he realizes, and his heart beats knowing that he has done what you asked.

He is so pleased with himself, that as he climbs back down from the pedestal and passes through the piles and towers of gold and jewels, something catches the corner of his eye. A tiara, made entirely of gold and pearls, rests innocuously at his feet. It is carved into the shape of seashells, carved so well that if Kylo did not know of the wonders of goldsmiths, he would have assumed someone dipped the shells themselves in the soft metals.

“Well hello.” He bends down to inspect it, to get a closer look. Small golden chains with pearls beaded around it twinkle in the beam of light from the medallion.

The longer he stares at it, the more he notices; a tiny starfish here, a proud seahorse there, the mix of clam shells and snail shells, tusk shells and those spiraled ones which remind Kylo of the narwhals of the north – they are arranged so delicately, so carefully, that before Kylo can even think too much about it, he is reaching for it.

“You will look beautiful atop my darling’s head.” He is convinced of this, and he cannot see the harm in taking it, he is on his way out, he has obtained what he came for, there should be no issue here.

Oh, how wrong he is.

The moment his fingers touch the tiara, a sharp gust of wind bellows through the cave. It hurls towards him in a fury, in a rage, and even as he drops the tiara and lets it fall back onto the pile, it does not cease. The clouds return to cover the moon, or is it the ceiling of the cave itself is closing? He does not know, but he brandishes his sword in the low light, only the medallion’s incandescence giving him enough to see by.

The rushing wind draws the warmth from his bones, until he is chilled cold, frozen, fingers hurting as they clench around the hilt of his sword. He looks all around, ready to take on whatever may attack him, until the deep dark chuckle of his nightmares sounds around him, bounces against the walls in a way that Kylo cannot tell which direction to brace.

“Ickle Ben Solo, my how you’ve grown.” The voice muses, and Kylo freezes at the sound.

The impossible sound.

With clenched teeth, Kylo slowly turns, the hair on the back of his neck raising once more, the vein in his jaw throbbing with rage.

Captain Snoke, exactly as Kylo remembers him, stands in the middle of the cave. Face sunken in, long white beard, remorseless eyes squinting at him. The only difference from years ago and now, is that now, Kylo has grown taller, and when Snoke looks at him, he is forced to look up.

He knows this must be a trick of the cave, because all at once it hits him that the reason you conjured that storm was to kill him – him, the man with the white beard who snatched the medallion from your pretty neck. You had killed him, and yet here he is. Snoke is between Kylo and the exit, the just beyond where Kylo knows he will see the glow of your eyes once more.

This Snoke cannot be real, and so Kylo knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he could simply push his way past him and make way to you…but this is a chance Kylo will not pass up, and so with the medallion clutched in his hand he swings his saber and levels it directly at Snoke’s throat.

“Draw your sword.” The words snarl out of him in a grimace, as the rage of nearly three hundred fallen crew members sing through him.

At once, Snoke’s sword is conjured up out of thin air, and parrying Kylo’s away, shoving with a force much stronger than Kylo would have expected.

“I am but an old man, I cannae do nothin’ ta harm ye now.” Snoke taunts and teases, and Kylo spits at his feet, unable to hold back any longer.

“You lying cheating conniving bastard – I’ll kill you!” He lunges forward, poised to attack, his sword coming up to clang immediately and clash with Snoke’s.

It is regrettable, he thinks, that Snoke was the one who taught him how to fight, because the man can anticipate his moves. However, he only taught Kylo the basics, and in this regard, Kylo finds himself feeling lucky, feeling emboldened to push back harder, meaner, as he swings his sword, making sparks fly.

He manages to make a combination of moves which catch Snoke off-guard enough that he stumbles backwards, and this angers the old man, whose jaw clenches all his own.

“If it’s a fight yer after,” He sounds strange, his voice echoing throughout the cave as he backs away, “It’s a fight you’ll get.”

Kylo will not let him get away, not the way he had last time, not the way he had snuck out in the night when he knew no one could catch him. He immediately runs after Snoke, chases him down down down back the way he came, further and further from the entrance.

As he runs, he realizes that there are things moving around him, and he nearly trips as a hand encloses around his ankle.

Out from the piles of gold slither the bodies of men who had been trapped, ensnared by the cave, men who had died unpleasant, undignified deaths. Kylo cannot be bothered with them, he must get to Snoke – he will get to Snoke, so he slices his sword through the limbs of the men who have fallen, failed on a quest of their own. He hacks away at them without care, does not look back when they collapse and clutch at their bleeding wrists.

They swarm around him, and Kylo can do nothing but kill them as they come crawling out from the depths of the cave, scores of them moaning and groaning, dying all over again. Kylo kicks their teeth in, stabs them through the heart, shoves them away from him even as they claw and cling to him, tearing his clothes, ripping at his shirt and his breeches, trying to grab the sword out of his hand.

Their long blackened fingernails scratch at his flesh, and he has to resist the urge not to be sick with the decay he finds in their faces as he punches and hacks his way through them.

It is suffocating, but Kylo grabs at the medallion almost on accident, and he does not know how, but a pulse of light shocks out of it and knocks them all away. The golden pulse from the medallion, from the symbol which now has morphed and changed into something else entirely, is protecting him, and he does not waste the time it allows him.

Snoke’s laughter guides him, and Kylo chases until there is nowhere left to run. On a tall bridge of rock, Kylo and Snoke find themselves engaged in battle, meeting one another sword for sword, grunts and groans of effort spilling out of their lips.

“This is for Vicrul,” Kylo shouts, as he pushes forward, forces Snoke backwards. The old man’s eyes widen before he frowns, realizing the bridge is becoming more and more narrow, “And this is for Cardo!”

Snoke fights back, their swords locked, shooting sparks all around as they meet clash for clash. Snoke’s footwork is light, he is fast for a man of such age. He manages to slice Kylo’s arm, slicing straight through the fabric. Kylo bleeds, and that pain only eggs him on, a lesson he had learned many a year ago – the pain fueling his rage.

“For Trudgen, and Ushar!” Kylo’s voice is loud, grows louder and louder as the blood rushes down his forearm, staining his shirt and dripping around his clenched fist, staining the metal of his sword as they meet time and time again, as Kylo gains the advantage.

“Ben wait –" Snoke calls him by that name again, and Kylo can only growl loudly with the rage of it all, for how dare Kylo disrespect him now?

“For Kuruk and Ap’lek.” Kylo continues, before managing to fling Snoke’s sword away from his hand, managing to send it flying all the way down a deep trench, water rushing through the cave below them.

Kylo can hear it when it hits against the rocks a thousand feet away, and suddenly gets the strongest urge to hear that sound again, although with Snoke’s head instead of his sword. Like the coward he is, Snoke backs himself up as far as he can go, until he is teetering on the precipe of the edge, on the very last foothold he has.

Kylo lunges after him, letting out a shout of rage as he runs his old captain through with his sword, cutting out the bitter shriveled blackened heart. Kylo holds it in his hand, squeezes any possible remains of life left there and drops it.

Snoke’s eyes widen, almost in shock, for even in death he had not been so injured.

He does not bleed the way Kylo is, but that does not mean that he cannot hurt.

“And this, Captain,” Kylo’s face shakes with rage, as he grabs Snoke by the throat and hoists him high up off his feet, dangling his body right over the trench, “Is for me.”

Snoke opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is is lost in the scream that spills from his lips as Kylo not only drops him, no not something so careless as that – he throws Snoke down the trench, the glow of the medallion giving Kylo the ability to watch him fall.

He is reminded then, of how it felt to sink to the bottom of the ocean thanks to his carelessness, his cowardice. He hopes that Snoke receives no such mercy, as the one you had shown him that day.

You! He must get back to you, he must –

There is another rumble, from beyond the cave. Kylo startles, as the bridge beneath him begins to shake, and he realizes that the bridge is beginning to collapse.

No, not just the bridge, but the entire cave.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Kylo runs, his boots carrying him as fast as he can go, the medallion glowing and pulsating, music guiding him through the dark, slipping and skidding on the wet rock, Kylo runs. He is chased by large rocks which fall from the ceiling, falling onto his head and only just barely missing. If one were to pin him down, it would surely kill him.

He doesn’t realize how deep into the cave he had gone, until he can finally see the white light of your eyes, and your scream for him to hurry, after what feels like an age of running, his limbs burning, legs and lungs sore from the speed of it all.

“Kylo!” You rejoice, joy thrilling through your body as you reach for him, arms extended and a great big grin on your face.

“I did it, darling my darling I did it!” Kylo shouts at you from the mouth of the cave, outrunning its demise, outrunning his death once more.

“My handsome man, I knew you could do it, I knew you could!” You reach reach reach for his hands, and the second he grabs you, you yank him to your chest and your powerful tail propels you forward faster than his legs could ever run, as you carry him to safety once again, laughing all the while, “I knew you could!”

-------------------

When at last before my ghostly shipmates I stand

I shed a small tear for my home upon land

Though their eyes speak of depths filled with struggle and strife

Their smiles below say I don't owe them my life

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my eyes

And my boat listed over and tried to capsize

I'm this far from drowning, this far from the sea,

I remember the living do they think of me,

When my bones in the ocean forever will be

-------------------

The rowboat reaches the side of the ship, and it rocks for a moment as you hoist yourself inside of it. Your body takes up much of the space, or rather, your tail does, and Kylo cannot stop looking looking looking at you, the thrill of victory, of success, coursing through his veins. There is just one problem – he cannot lift the rowboat from down here.

Thankfully, a lantern sticks over the side of the ship, followed soon thereafter by an inquiring head, belonging to Kylo’s First Mate. He is conflicted at once – he wants to revel in the satisfaction of being correct all these years, but he wants to protect you more, and he is unsure of what Victoria will do now that you are so close.

“You are real!” Victoria says in a loud-whisper, smacking a hand over her mouth for a moment or two.

You wave up to her, a knowing smile on your face, and Kylo’s cheek burn. He is embarrassed, because now you know he has told everyone of importance about you, that he has bragged about you, that he has sang your praises. Giving his hand a tight squeeze, your fin slaps against the rowboat, and that is signal enough that Victoria needs, to send down the ropes.

Once the rowboat is hitched and lifted up out of the water, you slip the medallion around your neck, and immediately it glows a bright gold, brighter even than the white of your eyes, which now fade to the beautiful natural color of your irises.

Kylo is still unsure though, still not certain how this will help you, even as the medallion glows and glows.

“What does it do -- ?” Victoria has the same thoughts as Kylo, the same questions, but both of their thoughts are interrupted by the golden light which glows larger and larger, encompasses your body.

You rise up into the air, and Kylo is hesitant to let go. He knows he must, so he does, and instantly regrets not being able to hold your palm against his own. He steps onto the deck of the boat where it is sturdy and safe, and watches as some otherworldly magic you wield spins around your tail.

Suddenly, there is a great flash of light, and your fin begins to morph and split into two legs, two human legs; thighs and knees and calves and ankles and even feet and toes. Kylo cannot believe it, Victoria blinks and has to shield her eyes from the brightness of it all, but it is not long after that the glow fades, and you are gently lowered by your magic onto the deck.

Kylo’s arms are there for you at once, your naked body bracing itself in his embrace. Although there is no one on the deck who is awake aside from the three of you, he still wishes to shield your body from sight, a protective possessive simmer bubbling up in his chest. It also does not help that it has been a long time since you stood upon human legs, and he does not want to risk you falling, not now, not ever. He will never let harm come to you again, not as commander of the seas.

“Incredible,” He whispers, kissing your face, holding you tight while you get your footing, “You’re beautiful.”

“You keep saying that.” You laugh, your hair spilling over one shoulder as your arms loop around Kylo’s neck. You smile at him so radiantly, that it could have been high noon for all Kylo knew.

“It is the truth, I will continue to say it until the day I die.” He leans in to kiss you once more.

When his mouth opens for yours and he begins to hum against your tongue, Victoria clears her throat rather loudly, and scratches the side of her face awkwardly. You break apart only enough for him to shoot her a harsh glare for ruining the moment, but Victoria only rolls her eyes.

“Show her your cabin, Captain.” She says with no hint of subtlety, “I daresay she will be eager to see it.”

Kylo looks at you, and your pupils grow wide wide wide in the dark, and he knows you are eager indeed.

-------------------

Kylo has never given much thought to his quarters, not until this very moment. Of course he knew what he had and he knew the degree to which his nice things were nice, but he never had wondered what you might think of them – or if they would be of any consequence to you at all.

It was a long room right at the very port of the Silencer, a vast open area split off into smaller sections by way of furniture arrangement. The floors were all covered with handwoven Persian rugs, the windows draped with fine linens. Up against the windows at the far back of the room was his large mahogany work table and chairs with plush velvet cushions, where he held meeting with the higher members of the crew. Along the wall were various chests and bureaus which housed his clothing, all carved with intricate designs and all having brass handles and clasps. Towards the front was his bathing area, a grand tub and all sorts of implements to improve his hygiene – he abhorred the idea that a pirate need be a filthy man.

And finally, off to the other wall, sat a grand canopy bed, with curtains which could be pulled shut to prevent any light from seeping through, should he want to sleep in on one particular morning or another. The bed frame was gold, inlaid with jewels, carved and decorated to tell the tale of a mermaid saving a young boy.

He waits for you to make the first move. He wants you, desperately, terribly, but he will not push, will not do anything which you do not explicitly ask for. He does not want to pressure you in any way. He has waited for you for twenty years, he could wait longer if you asked – as long as you are here, he doesn’t care.

But he doesn’t have to wait, for you have already laid yourself down in his bed, your arms spread out as your legs rub against the soft blankets, one finger beckoning him to join you. It does not take anything more for him to shed his clothes and do just that.

Kylo’s skin is still slightly wet from the cave, but if there is a chill that washes over him from being so exposed, he doesn’t pay it any attention. You are watching him curiously, your eyes trailing up and down his body as he steps towards you, climbs his way up the bed.

Immediately, your arms open for him, and he settles himself above you, kisses at the warmth of your throat as your hands find their way into his hair.

“Do you prefer me this way?” You muse playfully, rubbing your foot against the back of his calf, making him shiver shudder gasp with anticipation, continuing, “With legs, like you have?”

Kylo continues to kiss your neck, to worry his lips along the muscles there, grazing the gold-capped edges of his teeth up and down, making you shudder in return. He cannot describe the thrill that fills him with, knowing he affects you so.

“I prefer you either way, although I will admit, there is so much we can do like this.” He whispers, finding some way to broach the subject, the subject of his desire, his lust for you. God he wants to fuck you, wants it so badly that one of his hands wanders down to your lower stomach, asking with a silent hesitation for permission.

You grin and nod, and Kylo sucks in a breath, lets his fingers dip down lower, until they are brushing through the hair that has replaced your scales, pushing between your folds, your legs falling open and welcoming him. At once, you hum out a longing moan, a sound that Kylo has to chase, simply has to. He crooks two inside your pussy, revels slowly, softly, in the way that your body reacts.

“Aye, now the question becomes, do you have the stamina to do everything I want?” You chuckle as his lips part from the sensation of how wet you are, wet in every sense of the word. Kylo has large hands and thick fingers, but somehow your cunt takes him with ease, welcomes him and sucks him deeper.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Kylo looks up at you, his fingers busying themselves with working you open, pushing and rubbing through your folds, your pussy dripping around his knuckles. It makes his mouth water, makes him have to swallow hard, especially when your pupils darken and grow wide with lust of your own.

“You’ve – you mean to say you have experience?” He doesn’t know why this shocks him, Kylo certainly was no virgin.

“I’m nine hundred years old, I daresay I have more experience than everyone on your ship, O Captain.” You laugh, and something about the laughter bubbles anger inside him, makes his face harden.

He knows he’s a hypocrite, he knows. He’s fucked women all over the world, taken his pleasures from helping hands on more than one occasion. He knows that you must have done the same, so why does he get so possessive? Why does he get so immediately blood-thirsty? He has to fight the desire to rip heads off of necks, to hunt down those who did not deserve you – hell he almost stops fingering you from the sheer rage that stings the back of his throat like bile.

“Ohh does that make you jealous? That others have had a taste of me?” You notice, cupping his cheeks and kissing him sweetly, legs curling around his waist, voice deceptively calm as you whisper into his mouth, “Don’t be, you should know I killed them all right after.”

That makes his cock twitch, appeals to the primal side of his brain which had already begun to plot. You simply grin, turned on further by the way he is so ready to kill for you.

“Good.” He very nearly snarls, thrusting another finger to join the two that have already found comfort in your pussy, deciding that he would show you just how much better he could make you feel, than all those others combined.

With three fingers in, and his thumb on your clit, Kylo kisses you passionately, swallows down the mewls of pleasure and little hiccuped gasps that he elicits from your throat. His eyes are pinched shut because you are too beautiful, it hurts him to look into your gaze the same way that he has always been warned not to stare into the sun. But he doesn’t need his eye to see you when he can feel the way your body undulates and rocks underneath him, the pulsating warmth of your flesh sending goosebumps of pleasure rippling down his spine.

When he’s decided that you’re good and ready, when you’re stretched out enough to accommodate him, he sucks those fingers into his mouth to chance the taste of you. It is beyond that which Kylo could have ever dreamed, and spit strings off his rings when he hoists your leg up enough to properly thrust his cock through those warm plush folds.

“Fuck,” Kylo grunts unexpectedly, as the angle allows him to shove his way through with ease, the fingering having relaxed you enough to take him. But only just enough, it would seem, for despite the attention, you still are tight, and Kylo is sure that he could die like this and die a happy man.

Kylo’s body sings at the contact, at the vice-like hold your cunt has on his thick throbbing cock, and he pushes it deeper deeper deeper still inside you, not stopping until he bottoms out completely, not stopping until he has stuffed you full of his hot hard length, not stopping until your mouth drops open with surprise.

Smirking, Kylo positions himself in a way that he can support his weight and pull back, hips pistoning hard and fast all at once, making the bed creak louder than the rocking ship. He has decided he will never fuck again, if he cannot fuck you – he is ruined for anyone else, ruined in the way you push your pelvis up to meet him thrust for thrust, giving him as good as you get.

“Kylo – oh yes, yes! Take me, give me everything Kylo, give it to me.” You gasp, one of your hands digging into the scarred meat of his back, the flexing muscle of his shoulders moving under your palm.

The praise makes him moan, a deep rumbling purr in his chest that you exploit, a litany of yesyesKyloyou’resogoodgoodgood dropping from your lips, spurring him on, making his pride and cock throb, his hips rolling against yours, balls smacking harsh on your flesh as he clamps his teeth down onto your shoulder.

“Stars above, oh God – you’re beautiful, so beautiful.” He chants, feeling and savoring the way his cock spears through the tight wet velvet heat of your pussy, better than anything he has ever felt, clenching around him perfectly, fluttering and pulsing against his engorged veins and swollen head.

Your back arches underneath him, pushing your breasts with perked swollen nipples right into his face as he bends himself down to meet them, desperate to latch his tongue to your chest and suck. You moan moan moan, and he does not hold back the grunts of his own, the low noises from the back of his throat that muffle against your flesh as he suckles and licks the salty sweat off your skin, cock never once breaking in its rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck that’s good.” You pant, your body bouncing on the mattress, letting yourself go, letting yourself be moved this way and that for Kylo to pleasure you as he sees fit. Your eyes roll back into your head, your teeth bite at your lower lip, and Kylo can hear the way your pulse flutters from his spot on your breast.

“You like my cock?” He laves his tongue over your nipples one at a time, pinches at them with his lips, eager and ecstatic that he is making you feel this way.

“Yes!” You sigh loudly, no regard whatsoever for his crew – he doesn’t care either, in fact your volume makes him grow bold, grow demanding.

“Tell me how much.” He orders, shifting your positions so that he can take one of your legs and stretch it up up up over his shoulder, ankle resting near his ear, fucking into you hard and fast, so fast that his own voice shakes, “I want to hear you say it, say how much you like getting fucked by my big cock.”

You laugh, not at him but in sheer simple bliss, arms thrown over your head, hands tangling in the sheets. The moonlight shines on your body as he fucks into you, listens to the squelch of your cunt as it drips and drools on his cock, your tongue doing its best to stay in your mouth as you take the pounding he gives you.

“Kylo! It’s so big, I – oh fuck, oh! I’m so full!” You moan and whine, voice high and loud and music to his ears, as you hiccup and giggle out of your mind, especially when his thumb falls on your swollen clit, begging for attention.

The dark curling possessive feeling floods through him then, wanting you like this all the time, wanting you happy and pleased, wanting to be the man which gives it to you. The medallion practically smacks against your chest, and he grabs a hold of it in his hand so that your pretty skin won’t be marked by bruises that he does not give you.

“I’ll fill you up, fill you right to the fucking brim,” Kylo growls -- seethes, “I’ll knock you up and pamper you and make you come every day, coming on my cock and fingers and tongue – ”

It is then that he stops entirely, his hips halting at once, brain tripping up over his own words. You give him a whine and a light smack to his shoulder, protesting that he has stopped, especially when he pulls out. Before you can question him verbally though, he’s shuffling down the bed as fast as he can, pulling your folds apart with his golden clad thumbs and burying his face in place of his cock, his tongue stroking and sucking and thrusting through you.

“Oh!” You gasp happily, pleased with this attention, and Kylo’s arms wind underneath your thighs, your knees squeezing the sides of his head as he eats you out.

Kylo eats your pussy like a starving man confronted with his first meal – he is sloppy, he is aggressive, he is desperate. His nose prods up against your clit and rubs and bumps as he sucks you down, as he swallows the slick that pools on his tongue. You taste like the ocean but also like something otherworldly, and Kylo thinks that this is already replacing his most favorite of rums, the wine of your body far more addicting.

Keening each time you yank on his hair, Kylo kisses and makes out with your pussy, tears welling up in his eyes from the sheer overstimulation of his scalp and his cock, which ruts against the sheets. The laundry boys will kill him, he just had the sheets washed not two days ago, but he doesn’t care.

A grosser part of him thinks he will never have his sheets washed again, but as he drinks down your slick and moans and pants into your pussy, he thinks no, he wants nothing but the cleanest bed for you to be fucked on. You deserve nothing but the best, and his hands clench into fists as he groans out the sheer desire to give it to you.

In the back of his head, Kylo knows that this cannot last forever, and a sharp pang of sorrow hits his heart, because he cannot think of anything more important than this – eating, drinking, sleeping, no, nothing compares to the way you sob on his tongue, sob with pleasure that has been denied to you for so long.

His brain cannot make up its mind, whether he wants to bury his face as far between your legs as it can go, or his cock, and he wishes there were some way he could fuck you and taste you at the same time.

“Kylo, I’m going to come.” You warn with a shuddering moan, and that makes up his mind for him, for he wants to come alongside you, wants to come inside you, together.

So, regretfully he pulls away from your pretty pussy and gives your clit one last kiss, and pushes the head of his cock back into you, resuming the thrusting pace he had built, feeling how his cock has to work hard to shove itself into you, your cunt tight tight tight.

“Will – can – where -- ?” He feels like a fool for the loss of his words, but you, even blissed out the way that you are, you understand what he’s trying to ask.

“Come in me, handsome, fill me up like you promised.” You order, and though he has proven himself to be stronger than any man alive, he is weak for the tone of your voice.

That heating warming desperate coil of pleasure winds winds winds up in his stomach, until it is shooting out of his cock in throbbing pulsing ropes of hot come, spreading through your cunt, dumping his load as your body comes and shudders and shakes around him, your thighs trembling, toes curling, back arching clean off the mattress. He pants and gasps for breath as he curses long and low in his chest, pumping the last few thrusts of his hips against yours until his arms give out and he collapses down on top of you.

The medallion glows gold, sends a pulse of light across the ocean – you are grinning so wide and so beautifully that Kylo knows whatever has just happened between the two of you, is only the beginning.

-------------------

Now that I'm staring down at the darkest abyss

I'm not sure what I want but I don't think it's this

As my comrades call to stand fast and forge on

I make sail for the dawn 'til the darkness has gone

As the souls of the dead live for'er in my mind

As I live all the years that they left me behind

I'll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea

I remember the fallen and they think of me

For our souls in the ocean together will be

-------------------

The sweat cools on the both of your bodies for a long while, and still, somehow, Kylo feels like he is in a dream.

The Silencer creaks and groans gently in the night as he traces patterns across your back, little looping nothings that have you humming softly. Your legs are twined through his, braided like the rope which hoists his sails, and he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating, even in the calm. You must, you have to be, for you are tucked up against his broad chest, your cheek nestled into one of his pecs, your arm curled around his thick waist.

What he wouldn’t give to have both eyes again, to be able to see you the way he wishes he could.

It is surreal to think that you are here, after so long. After twenty years of the world thinking him crazy, not only has he proved them all wrong, but he has proven himself to you. You wear the medallion around your neck, the very same medallion which was stolen from you so long ago, by the very captain that once tried to steal Kylo’s life.

Now he was gone, and you are here, and he has just fucked you through nearly to sunrise, and he thinks if he had but a small glass of something to drink, he could have the strength to fuck you some more.

“I have never felt more complete, than I do in this moment.” He confesses, looks down at you. You meet his gaze, and your irises grow huge in the low light. He leans in to kiss your forehead, his hand rubbing your back up and down, “I cannot believe at long last I have found you.”

You sigh happily, so happily in fact, that the scales on your hip begin to shimmer and glow, and Kylo thinks he would kill Snoke a thousand times over, if it meant he could have you so calm, so at ease.

“I thought about you all the while, heard stories about you across the deep. I am so proud of the man, the terror you have become, my Kylo, handsome Kylo.” You whisper, kissing the spot underneath his chin, where his scar drags across his throat.

Suddenly, he grows panicked, his arms tighten around your body, because he does not know the extent to your visit, he does not know if you only are granting him this one night. He holds you tightly and you hum with a question in your tone, making Kylo’s cheeks grow red hot with embarrassment and shame.

“You cannot go again, you cannot leave me. Please don’t – I’ll do anything, anything to stay together.” He clings to you, like the boy he once was, drowning and dying alone out at sea, the very sea which he now commands, which he now holds in an iron grip.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You tease him the very same way you had teased him then, but this time Kylo knows what he’s asking for, and oh how he has waited so long to ask it.

“I meant it before, and I mean it now, I will not be apart from you again.” There is that deep baritone that has sent fear into the hearts of a thousand ships, and you grin at the sound of it, pulling your bodies flush together.

“You won’t have to, handsome.” Licking your lips, you allow him to tilt your chin up.

“Let me kiss you?” He asks, and he asks it so sweetly that you don’t even have the time to answer, you’re already nuzzling your nose against his, already rubbing at his lips with yours.

The kiss, much like the ones from seemingly an eon ago – or was it only a few hours? – begins as a chaste nothing and works its way into being something passionate, something heated. It is in this kiss, that Kylo knows now wherever you go, so too he will follow, even if that’s to the very edge of the Earth, down to the very pits of the deep.

As he closes his eyes and kisses you once more, his hands cradle your head and holds you tight to his body. He worries you’ll burst into seafoam or stars, worries that now that he isn’t looking at you, you’ll disappear. His pulse jumps because of it, pounds in his throat so strongly that he thinks he might be ill – but you’re here still, he knows it, he feels the press of your lips against his own.

Kylo opens his mouth, and you slip your tongue through, making him melt and groan deep in the back of his throat, his hands clutching at your naked body, your scales shimmering in the moonlight that pours in through his cabin window. This medallion, the one which has granted you your legs once again, glows golden. He can see the burn of the symbol behind his eyelid, as you push yourself to straddle his waist, to pin him down to the mattress.

“Fuck!” He feels the white hot brand of the medallion then suddenly, and his shouts of pain are swallowed down your throat, you shush and soothe him with your otherworldly touch, even as something hot hot hot courses through his veins.

You have done something to him, something that he doesn’t know, doesn’t dare to ask. He trusts you, wholly and completely he trusts you – you have never given him reason to doubt, so he doesn’t, not even now.

You kiss and kiss and kiss and he doesn’t realize the ship is sinking, doesn’t realize that twenty foot waves have spilled over the side of the Silencer. He doesn’t hear the alarm bells or the shouts of his crew, he doesn’t care about anything else besides you. No, he sucks the air from your breath until there’s salt water in his lungs, but he doesn’t choke, he doesn’t splutter, he lets himself be pulled down down down, your hands in his hair, his arms around your waist as your legs disappear.

There is music then, music all around, inside his body and out, and he wonders if this is the ballad of the sea, of the souls you have claimed, the souls he has stolen at the hand of his sword. Kylo can feel them, their presence, in the in-between, calling and reaching out to him in a tearful melody, but knows he will not be joining them. Kuruk, Ushar, Ap’lek and Trudgen, Cardo and Vicrul’s faces all ghostly images of their younger selves, so young and fit that Kylo nearly doesn’t recognize them.

He regards them with a mournful eye but they shake their heads, not a single one of them angry. They don’t want him to join, Kylo realizes, they don’t feel betrayed that Kylo has lived while they have died. He makes them a promise, sends out the thought through the sea, that he’ll live out the years they had stolen as best as he can, and this is enough for them to stop haunting his dreams. To the tune of the music they dance and sing off into the ether, freed from the shackles of the in-between, finally free once more.

And then he realizes the music is coming from you, a siren song that fills his ears and his eyes and his very heart, it is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard, and he is filled with an euphoria unlike that he had ever known, because he realizes he gets to listen to it forever. Kylo had once asked if you were an angel, and you had said no – now he knows better, he knows what you are; you are heaven herself.

“We’ll be together forever like this.” He hears you say, your voice distorted and watery as your teeth grow sharp, as your hair grows long, flows about your head in a death defying halo. “Not a single man alive could harm you now. You’ll remain like this forever, just as you are, with me by your side.”

Kylo should be afraid, he knows this, he knows he should – but how can he be when you’re holding his hands and kissing his palms? How can he be when he opens his eyes and he finally breathes, a sucking sharp gasp of the ocean that fills him up?

He cannot explain it, but he is transformed into something, something otherworldly just the same way that you are. He looks the same, but he can feel it inside his body and inside his mind, as the medallion glows and so too does the brand on his chest, marked forever by a mermaid’s kiss.

But instead of that kiss sending him to the Locker or a watery grave, he keeps his lungs open and he remains unafraid, as you smile with too many teeth in your mouth, you laugh and you cheer and you sing so very loud. And when he blinks he sees you crystal clear through both of his eyes, you grasp for his hands and he knows now he can’t die, his ship sails under the water manned by his crew, who too look completely unchanged.

You swim above the ship and perch yourself atop the masthead, the breaking light of dawn shines down through the waves, making the watery world feel like an elixir of life, of immortal dreams come true. Kylo chases you, with strong limbs he climbs up up up the rigging of the ship to join you, and as he climbs, so too does the ship rise, until the Silencer breaks through the surface once more.

The crew rejoices, they dance in circles around the bilge pump and throw their hats in the air, the sunrise golden and beautiful as your fin smacks happily against the wood of the ship, laughter at the antics on deck. Kylo sets you in his lap there high above the water’s edge, and seagulls fly and call from the disturbance of the ship ascending from the depths.

“I love you.” He says it, says the words that he has been practicing inside his mind for decades, the words he has rehearsed in front of the mirror. He never thought he would have a chance to say them to you out loud. “I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you.”

It hits him then, the realization that Kylo will be able to say them to you forever.

“Why do you think I rescued you?” You beam at him, and he laughs, elated, that his feelings are returned.

Looping your arms around his neck, you kiss Kylo, salty and briny and bright. Kylo holds you in his lap tightly so that you don’t fall, one of his hands on your cheek, adoring, caressing. He leans his forehead against yours, and the medallion glows, and when he meets your grin it’s with a smile of his own, because he has given you his soul fathoms below.

I remember the fallen and they think of me,

For our souls in the ocean together will be.

-----------------

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contemplativepancakes · 4 years

Text

five times geralt saw jaskier naked on accident + one time it was entirely on purpose. ~6k. Read on AO3 here!

“Get back here, you mangy knob!” echoes down the hallway, and Geralt pauses on the way to his room.

It’s been a long night, and Geralt would like nothing better than to collapse into bed, but trouble has a habit of following Jaskier like flies to shit. He’s the whole reason Geralt even has a bed for the night, so Geralt sighs and follows the shouting.

He wishes he could say he’s surprised when he rounds a corner and Jaskier runs head first into him, but honestly, it’s nothing short of expected. What does throw Geralt for a loop, though, is the fact that Jaskier is completely naked, expanses of smooth skin exposed as he sprawls back on the ground in a very undignified manner, clutching his nose.

“Fuck, Geralt!” he cries, but it comes out garbled. “You broke my nose!”

The man who was chasing after Jaskier comes to a sudden halt, panting in front of them. “He slept with my wife!”

Geralt frowns. “Are you sure it was him?”

The man gapes and gestures at Jaskier’s nakedness. Geralt curses Jaskier for being so obvious; it makes his job much more complicated.

“Maybe he can give you some tips on how to satisfy her so she doesn’t feel the need to look elsewhere next time,” Geralt suggests, one hand coming up to casually rest on the hilt of his dagger strapped to his belt.

“It’s all about the tongue,” Jaskier pipes up in a nasally tone, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

The man’s eyes dart from Geralt to Jaskier, and back to Geralt before a look of realization crosses his face and it drains of color. “You’re… the butcher of Blaviken?”

“That’s him! So you’d best get back to your chambers if you want to keep all your limbs!” Jaskier crows, but only half of it is intelligible through the hand he’s holding to his nose.

The man looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but he bites his lip and retreats, after one last withering glance at Jaskier.

Geralt turns to Jaskier, suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing. “Will you ever learn?” he asks in exasperation. “I’m not always going to be around to clean up your messes, you know.”

“I’m fairly certain you have a much longer life expectancy than me,” Jaskier lisps, looking up at Geralt with doe eyes.

Geralt sighs and sticks out a hand to help Jaskier up.

Jaskier takes it, his fingertips lingering on the soft flesh of Geralt’s forearm, and heaves himself up. His hand stays on Geralt’s arm, and Geralt drags him back to their room.

“Sit,” he says gruffly, rustling around in his pack for a clean rag.

He steps over to the wash basin and dips it in before walking back to over Jaskier. He wipes the blood away from Jaskier’s nose gently, but an observer wouldn’t think so from the way Jaskier winces and groans.

Geralt sighs. “Serves you right.”

“That’s just cruel, Geralt.” Jaskier squirms on the bed, pulling a corner of the blanket over his lap.

Geralt resolutely focuses on his face. He squints at Jaskier’s nose, which is just the slightest bit crooked. “This is going to hurt,” Geralt warns. “One, two.”

Jaskier yelps as Geralt sets his nose back into its proper place, finishing up dabbing the blood away before he packs Jaskier’s nose full of gauze. “There,” he says. “Good as new.”

There are tears welling in Jaskier’s eyes from the pain. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he says weakly.

“Maybe you’ll be able to go more than a week without cuckolding another husband this time.”

Jaskier lets out an indignant snort. “Hey, sometimes I just sleep with the husbands themselves. Then I have to watch what I eat, though,” he blathers on, and Geralt is honestly impressed with the lengths of his chatter even when Geralt imagines it must be painful to speak. “Have sex with one wrong person, and all of a sudden everyone and their mother is trying to poison you.”

Geralt’s not sure how to respond.

Jaskier sighs and turns over in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

“Try not to drown in your own blood.”

“Always nice to know you care.”

And then, almost too softly for Jaskier to hear, “Good night, Jask.”

ii.

Geralt jerks awake and sits up in his bed roll. The fire is crackling happily, a far cry from the smoldering logs Geralt would have expected. He looks around, and Jaskier is gone. Normally, this would worry him, but if Jaskier took the time to stoke their fire, that probably means he hasn’t been eaten. Most likely.

The slight chance that something untoward has happened propels Geralt out of the warmth of his blankets. He tugs on his boots and follows the faint scent of Jaskier, a warm mix of wood smoke and contentedness, these days.

His nose leads him to the river bank, and he hovers right on the edge of the tree line, scouting for any possible dangers. He doesn’t see any, but as he does his sweep, his gaze catches on Jaskier’s bare back and lingers there. There’s a smattering of freckles that Geralt can just barely make out, until they disappear when Jaskier dunks his hair under the water.

Geralt knows that he should stop just standing here, should either reveal himself or just slink back to their camp and start packing things up, but he finds himself rooted in place as Jaskier rubs a rag over his shoulder blades.

Geralt is half tempted to offer his help in reaching Jaskier’s back, but he knows how that would probably be received.

Geralt is transfixed as Jaskier begins to sing, and he sinks down to sit with his back to a tree to listen. Jaskier is always wanting his opinion on his songs, so surely he’d be fine with this, right?

It's not fair, oh, it's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair, 'cause you make me ache, you bastard

And he'll say

Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

'Cause if I'm stood here, then I'm stood here

And I'll stand—

Geralt’s jerked out of his trance of listening to Jaskier sing in his honeyed tones by a disturbance in the water, and Geralt focuses in on the ripples that are starting to froth before a drowner emerges, its scaly skin glistening in the morning light. Jaskier screams, and Geralt leaps from his hiding spot, unsheathing his sword.

Jaskier turns to look at the new disturbance with wide eyes, minutely relaxing when he sees it’s Geralt. Geralt jumps into the water, landing on the drowner’s back. It jerks and bucks, deceptively strong as it tries to toss Geralt off. Geralt hooks his hands around its neck, his sword gripped precariously.

The drowner gives one last shake, and Geralt goes flying, his sword falling with a splash. There’s a clawed, webbed hand on Geralt’s head, forcing him under the water. He thrashes, trying to get free, but to no avail. Geralt keeps his mouth tightly shut, and his lungs start to burn as he continues to fight.

Bright spots start to dance at the edge of his vision, getting darker and fuzzier now, and Geralt knows he’s right on the verge of losing consciousness. He’s unable to stop his gasp for air, but only water finds his lungs. He’s resigned himself to this being the way it ends when suddenly the grip goes lax and he’s able to propel himself to the water’s surface, gasping for breath.

“Geralt? Geralt?” comes a worried voice, floaty and distant sounding. “Geralt, are you okay?”

There’s a pounding on his back, and water dribbles from his lips. A litany of curses follow and sharp tugs on his arm that lead him back to the bank.

Geralt coughs and splutters, more water escaping him as he finally registers Jaskier pacing around anxiously... completely naked. Geralt chokes, and Jaskier is there in an instant, a warm hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles.

“You’re okay,” he croons with a gentle pat.

Geralt doesn’t feel okay. He feels like he about died and is seconds away from doing it again via spontaneous combustion at the sight of all Jaskier’s skin on display. Geralt picks a spot on the distance and fixes his gaze on it.

“Good thing you were around,” Jaskier says finally, and Geralt burns in shame at the thought of why exactly he was there.

He’s lucky Jaskier isn’t running away in repulsion, like he would be if he knew the truth.

Jaskier asks him if he’s okay yet again, and Geralt grunts.

“Oh, goody, you’re well enough for monosyllabic conversation. Back to normal, then.”

Geralt grunts again, and Jaskier laughs, a delightful trilling thing.

“Oh, here you go,” Jaskier says, handing Geralt back his sword that’s covered in monster guts and ichor.

Geralt’s eyes do not bug out as the realization hits him. “You… you?”

“Well, it was drowning you! I couldn’t just stand around, now could I?”

“I...suppose not,” Geralt mutters, but in actuality, he can count on one hand the number of times someone’s actually come to his aid while he was fighting a monster. The most he can wish for is someone who won’t recoil as they patch up his wounds later.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting a bit,” Jaskier pauses, “distracted.”

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly.

“Well, I guess it’s not every day you have a near death experience,” Jaskier muses, “Oh, wait.”

“Maybe if I didn’t have to save your sorry ass so often.” Geralt shoves at him and instantly flushes red as his hand touches Jaskier’s bare skin and he registers again that he’s naked.

“Put on some clothes,” Geralt mumbles, averting his eyes.

There’s a heavy silence as Geralt waits for Jaskier to say something in response, some sort of rib, but nothing comes, just the soft swish of fabric as he gets dressed.

Geralt grits his teeth.

iii.

Geralt trudges down the rocky path, Roach just behind him. The trail from Kaer Morhen is downright treacherous at the best of times and fatal at worst, so Geralt would rather walk than risk Roach making a wrong step and sending them both pitching off a cliff.

Not that that would be entirely unwelcome, after the winter Geralt has just endured. Eskel and Lambert took great pride in elbowing Geralt and making him the butt of their every joke, saying in glee that they could smell the longing drifting off of him.

“Is Geralt in loooove?” Lambert had sang, until Geralt shoved him off his chair to shut him up.

Lambert tumbled to the floor with a clatter of his armor, but he still wore his unbearably smug expression. Eskel had looked at him with soft eyes. “You could have brought them here, you know. I want to know whoever can make you happy.”

“Yeah, we all know how impossible that is for Mr. Melancholy,” Lambert said.

Geralt shakes his head and puts his focus back on putting one foot in front of the other. The other witchers had endlessly pestered him about his plans for the spring, but Geralt hadn’t wanted to tell them. He likes Jaskier being just for him, and he had waited impatiently for the snow to melt in the pass. He was the first to set out, and he valiantly tried to ignore Lambert’s snickers as he left.

Geralt is headed to Oxenfurt. He and Jaskier hadn’t made set plans to meet up, because it normally doesn’t take too long for them to accidentally on purpose run into each other, but this year, Geralt doesn’t want to wait. The winter had stretched out into much longer than normal, with biting cold and piles of snow, so Geralt is more than ready to be warm again.

When the path finally stops twisting and turning, Geralt mounts Roach and picks up their pace a bit. It’s certainly only because he’s eager to sleep in a bed, never mind that he’s been sleeping in one all winter.

Geralt pulls his hood up against the early spring chill and soldiers on.

When Geralt finally arrives, several days and sleepless nights later, it’s just before dawn. Jaskier has always had a proclivity towards nocturnal behavior, with only Geralt’s need to be up and moving at first light tempering it, so Geralt doesn’t think Jaskier will mind the intrusion.

Geralt ties Roach to a hitching post, promising to come back and find her a stable once the sun breaks over the horizon, and then he wanders until streets start to look familiar, and Jaskier’s cozy house comes into view.

Geralt steps up to the door and knocks, and he definitely does not try to tame his hair into some semblance of kempt or get an anxious churning in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Jaskier again. There’s no answer to his knock, so he tries again, but Jaskier still doesn’t materialize. Geralt tries the knob, and to his alarm, it’s unlocked.

His first thought is one of panic—what if something’s wrong? Jaskier wouldn’t just leave his door unlocked; someone could walk right in and steal his lute. Geralt opens the door quietly and creeps through the dark house. There are no immediate signs that there’s anything amiss. There are only three rooms, and Geralt eases the bedroom door open to peek inside. He’s immediately arrested by Jaskier sprawled out naked on his bed.

Geralt takes a hurried step back, but not before his eyes dart all over Jaskier’s body. He’s just taking stock of any new injuries Jaskier might have incurred while Geralt wasn’t around to protect him from the wrath of cuckolded husbands, that’s all. Jaskier looks paler and more gaunt than he was when Geralt left him, but Geralt supposes that’s just a side effect of winter.

Geralt retreats slowly, locking the door behind him and resolving to come back when the sun is high in the sky.

Geralt stumbles onto the street, the early morning light making everything washed out as he scuffs his boots along the ground. He meanders back the way he came, deciding he’ll stable Roach and then see about something for breakfast. He hadn’t felt hungry in his haste to get to Jaskier, but now that his enthusiasm has been tempered, he’s starving. He tries to remember the last time he stopped to eat something more substantial than whatever he could pull out of his pack. Two, three, days ago, maybe?

Roach comes into view, pawing her hoof against the dirt impatiently. Geratlt huffs a laugh as he walks closer, untying her reins from the hitch and clicking his tongue as he leads her in a direction that he’s getting a big whiff of horse from.

Geralt leaves Roach at the stables, with his usual stern frown at the stable boy and a chastisement to Roach to be good as she nips at his shirt.

Roach taken care of, he sets off to look for something to eat, wondering if it’s too soon for Jaskier to be up yet. His eyes flicker shut for a moment as he thinks of the Jaskier’s robe, and how if he goes right now and knocks on his door, he might answer wearing that and nothing else.

Although, if he does that, even Jaskier might be able to smell the lust rolling off of him.

Geralt sighs and continues his trudge, until he stops in his tracks and redirects his path. He looks up at the sun’s position in the sky. It’s been long enough. Surely Jaskier is wearing actual clothes by now?

Geralt walks back to Jaskier’s home, the path turning from dirt to cobblestone as he gets closer. There’s a patch of grass peeking between the stones with three orange wildflowers growing in it. Geralt stoops down and picks them without thinking too much about it.

Geralt carries the flowers loosely in one hand down at his side. When he reaches the steps leading up to Jaskier’s door, he pauses to steel himself, to try to prepare himself for if Jaskier’s whole chest is on display in his robe, but he’s interrupted by an obnoxious throat clearing.

Geralt whirls around to glare at the person, but he’s arrested by the sight of a man scowling right back at him. “Hope you’re not planning to bother some nice girl, Witcher. Like anyone would ever want you.”

Geralt glances down at the flowers in his hand, and then back to the man, mouth flapping uselessly. He has a point.

“She’s probably just too scared to tell you to fuck off,” the man sneers, and Geralt’s fingers itch to pull his dagger from his belt, but he restrains himself.

He surreptitiously looks around for a place to drop the flowers. The man is right; this is a terrible idea. What is he hoping to accomplish with this? Just to make Jaskier smile? He’s an idiot.

A door slams open, and then, “Well, I have no such qualms. Fuck off.”

Geralt turns around to see Jaskier—and thank fuck he’s wearing clothes this time, but he’s wearing that ridiculous lavender robe, with his leg jutting out right below where it’s knotted together. Geralt desperately averts his eyes, turning back around to frown at the man, but he’s disappeared.

He looks at Jaskier, then, drinking him in after a winter apart. Jaskier makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat. “For me?” he asks, holding out his hands for the flowers.

Geralt hands them over without comment, but he can’t hide the smallest of smiles as he follows Jaskier into the house, Jaskier chattering away about everything Geralt missed.

And, gods, did he miss a lot.

iv.

When Geralt bolts awake this time, Jaskier is gone again. Geralt would be concerned that just anyone could sneak up on him while he’s sleeping, but he knows his body has started to become in tune with the sound of Jaskier and it no longer deems it necessary to rip him from his sleep for just Jaskier padding around.

Still, Geralt wipes the sleep from his eyes and slowly gets up to start disassembling their camp. Jaskier will be back soon, and then they can be on their way. Geralt casts his eyes to the horizon, noting the first rays of morning peeking over it.

Geralt ambles over to where he had tethered Roach to a tree and scratches his fingertips over her neck. She headbutts his other hand, impatiently waiting for her breakfast. Geralt huffs a laugh.

Geralt has everything packed up and he’s been leaning against a tree impatiently for three minutes when he starts to get worried. Who knows what could be in these woods? There could be any number of things looking to make a meal out of Jaskier.

Geralt paces in a circle around their doused fire. On one hand, Jaskier could be doing something like taking a shit somewhere, but on the other hand, he might be hurt.

Geralt freezes when he hears a faint strangled cry, and his feet are moving even though his mind has barely registered the sound. Geralt crashes through the underbrush, uncaring about how much noise he makes or the thorns that tear against his skin, until he skids to a stop in front of Jaskier. In front of Jaskier, who locks eyes with him while his cock is in his hand and comes with an aborted gasp.

Heat burns up Geralt’s face. “Sorry, I—” he cuts himself off and flees back the way he came.

He berates himself as he walks back to their camp. They haven’t been in a town in over three weeks, why was that not what he expected? In all honesty, that’s why he hadn’t gone after Jaskier immediately, but after he heard him shout all of the thoughts of restraint flew out of his brain. The only thing he could focus on was Jaskier needing help.

Geralt tries not to dwell on the thought of how Jaskier’s cock had looked, flushed and jutting out proudly. Geralt pulls Roach’s brush out of the saddle bag and works her over carefully, making sure every hair is going the same way and helping her shed her thick winter coat.

By the time Jaskier stumbles back, Geralt had thought he had managed to put the incident out of his mind, but the sight of Jaskier proves him wrong. “Ready to go?” Geralt grunts.

Jaskier opens his mouth and shuts it with a click of his teeth. “What are we waiting for?”

Geralt swings himself up onto Roach, and doesn’t let himself look back to make sure Jaskier follows.

Geralt’s eyes crack open as the door to the inn room squeaks. He grunts in displeasure at being disturbed, and then remembers Jaskier is supposed to be with the barmaid and bolts upright. The door is just out of view from the bed, so Geralt eases himself out of bed and picks up the dagger. He creeps to where the wall juts out and then jumps out on the other side, revealing himself.

“Is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?” Jaskier laughs nervously, and Geralt sheepishly drops the dagger onto the chair as his eyes widen.

“What is with you and always being naked?” Geralt growls in frustration, trying not to look at the creamy expanse of Jaskier’s skin, marred with freckles instead of scars like Geralt’s.

Jaskier’s brows pull together in confusion. “What?”

“Nevermind. Just—what is going on?”

“Ah. Right. That. I got…kicked out.”

“Did she have a husband?”

“Um, yes, yes, that’s exactly right. He did not appreciate the soiling of their marital bed.”

Geralt rolls his eyes fondly even as a pang of longing lodges itself right between his ribs. He doesn’t stop to examine it for too long.

Geralt turns his back and slips back over to the bed. The one bed, because he had thought he would be alone tonight. Geralt sighs.

There’s a quiet swish of fabric as Jaskier pulls on some clothes. “That was one of my favorite shirts, and now it’ll probably end up burnt or some other ridiculous thing.”

The doublet in question was a gaudy scarlet thing with obnoxious gold threading and beading sewn into it. The light always caught on it just wrong to shine into Geralt’s eyes and give him a headache. “What a pity.”

Jaskier shoves at his shoulder as he clambers into the bed without a second thought. Geralt swallows hard at the dip of the lumpy mattress, at the body what so close to his all of a sudden. Jaskier’s heartbeat thuds, and a peculiar smell drifts off of him that Geralt can’t quite place.

Geralt turns over so that he’s facing Jaskier. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier buries his face into the pillow. The one pillow, that he tugs away from Geralt. “Nothing,” he says, heaving a dramatic sigh.

“Hmm. Well.” Geralt pauses and tries to think of a way to respond that won’t have Jaskier calling him an emotionless boulder later. “If you want to talk about it, I can listen.”

Jaskier lifts his head up from the pillow to meet Geralt’s eyes. “Wow, I didn’t know that I was speaking to anything other than the wall when I talk to you.”

Geralt yanks the pillow out from under Jaskier and hits him with it. “Shut up.”

+ i.

Jaskier sighs as he unfurls his bedroll. He’s been unleashing heavy sighs about once an hour for the past week, and it’s driving Geralt up the wall. He’s asked Jaskier if everything was all right four separate times now, and Jaskier has brushed him off each time.

“Jaskier, just tell me what’s the matter,” he begs after Jaskier sighs as he returns with water from the stream.

Jaskier plops the bucket down right next to the fire, and some splashes out and douses the small smolder Geralt had got started.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls before Jaskier can even react.

“Fine! You want to know what’s so wrong? It’s you!”

Geralt rears back, blinking rapidly. He wants to make a beeline for Roach and try to get the feeling of Jaskier’s eyes boring into his out of his mind as soon as possible, but he can’t just leave Jaskier high and dry out here all alone. Geralt shakes his head and turns away.

“Wait,” Jaskier’s hand comes around to clamp onto Geralt’s wrist. Geralt nearly shakes him off, but then Jaskier is saying again, “Wait. That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes cautiously and arches an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

Jaskier rubs the back of his neck. “You know I got kicked out of that room the other night.”

Geralt grunts. “For cuckolding the husband?”

“Well, yes, but not exactly. I lied. There was no husband. Turns out some people aren’t all that impressed when you say the wrong name in the heat of things.”

“Jaskier, what does that have to do with—”

“It’s you, Geralt,” he whispers.

“Oh.”

Geralt is taken aback. He’s never had this happen with a human before. It’s… hard to imagine that a human could see him as anything other than repulsive, something to be tolerated just to part him from his coin.

“And now I see that I’ve made a complete and total mess of things. I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

As Jaskier’s grip on his wrist loosens, Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand instead. “You haven’t made a mess of anything.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen before he reaches the hand Geralt isn’t holding up to cup Geralt’s face. Geralt turns his head to nuzzle into Jaskier’s hand, and Jaskier leans forward to press his lips to Geralt. Their fingers become untangled as they move on, Jaskier’s coming up to twist in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt’s stroking across Jaskier’s cheek bone.

When they pull away, Jaskier lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “Wow. It seems like I could have saved my hand some work while we were on the road.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier’s crudeness.

“Come on, you know that was funny,” Jaskier wheedles into his ear.

Geralt pushes him aside and crouches down to rebuild their fire. “You’re rarely funny.”

Jaskier claps a hand over his chest and splutters. “Okay, still incredibly rude. Nice to know some things never change, I suppose.”

Jaskier huffs and walks away, going over to feed Roach while Geralt attempts to find some kindling that isn’t damp.

A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips.

When the fire is roaring once again, Geralt wanders over to where Jaskier is now sitting against a tree.

Geralt sits down beside him. “I do think you’re funny sometimes,” he admits.

“You’ve already wounded my pride, Geralt; it’s too late.”

“And so if I offered you a… hand, you’d turn me down?”

Jaskier jerks his head up and turns to Geralt. “That is not what I said in any way, shape, or form.”

“Hmm.”

In the end, it doesn’t happen that night, or the day after that. It’s when they’re finally at an inn that Jaskier pounces on him. Geralt has barely shut the door to their room when Jaskier is on him. “I’ve been so patient,” he whines.

Geralt raises his eyebrows, unconvinced. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Geralt, you’re impossible,” Jaskier huffs in exasperation. “Well, I’m asking now.”

Geralt kisses him, slow and sweet, and Jaskier groans his eagerness into his mouth.

Jaskier’s fingers fumble with the clasps of his armor, until Geralt laughs and takes it off himself. When he turns back around after carefully setting all the pieces on a chair, Jaskier is already naked, and finally, Geralt allows himself to look. He drinks it in, notices the tiny scar Jaskier has on his thigh, rakes his eyes over Jaskier’s chest. He moves closer so he can comb his fingers down the hair between Jaskier’s pecs, and he preens at the attention.

Jaskier reaches down to undo his trousers, and Geralt steps out of them. He takes off his shirt, and sheds his smallclothes, looking back up to see Jaskier staring at him. His soft expression turns into a self satisfied grin as he hums to himself.

“What?” Geralt asks, already sure he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Nothing. Okay, fine, just—the carpet matches the drapes, is all.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’s a mutation. Do you think I would choose for it to be white? What were you expecting?”

“You’re no fun,” Jaskier pauses. “What color did your hair used to be?”

Geralt stops and thinks. “Brown, probably? I don’t remember.”

Jaskier whistles. “That’s terribly sad. Do you think your childhood would make a good ballad? I bet it would.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grits out.

“Okay, okay. Insensitive, I apologize.”

Geralt pulls back, but Jaskier winds his arms around his shoulders and keeps him in place. “I’m sorry,” he says again, rubbing his nose against the delicate skin of Geralt’s neck.

Geralt shudders and lets Jaskier distract him. It’s not like his childhood is something he particularly likes to dwell on, especially when there’s something much better for him to focus on in the form of Jaskier’s swelling cock judging against his hip.

Jaskier presses up close against him, bracketing Geralt against the door and putting his palm flat over Geralt’s heart before he kisses him again.

Geralt lets the sensation wash over him, the pleasant feelings and the vibration that sends a thrumming through his bones. He walks Jaskier back to the bed and lays him out, crawling on top and straddling him.

Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Gods, Geralt. You’re beautiful.”

A hot blush rises to Geralt’s face and he turns away, but Jaskier takes his wrist.

“Don’t mock me,” Geralt mumbles.

“Darling,” Jaskier says, sitting up and taking both of Geralt’s hands in his. “I’m not.”

Geralt doesn’t know how to respond. He looks down at his body, littered with scars, some pink and small and some, long healed, white and wicked looking. “Hmm.”

Jaskier sighs and tugs Geralt in for another kiss, before he maneuvers Geralt so he’s the one laying down. Jaskier works his way down Geralt’s body, lingering on each scar until Geralt squirms uncomfortably beneath him.

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh as he makes it to the soft inside of Geralt’s thighs, and Geralt starts squirming for a different reason. A whine comes from the back of Geralt’s throat as Jaskier continues to ignore his cock, throbbing and painful at this point.

Jaskier finally has pity on him and takes him in hand, making Geralt sigh and his eyes flutter shut. Jaskier jacks him quickly, bringing Geralt to the edge faster than he would like to admit before he backs off and moves his hand. He goes back to tracing Geralt’s scars, his fingertips finding the one that cut through the muscle of his leg and healed jagged and rough.

He hovers over a different one, looking up at Geralt with a question in his eyes. Jaskier’s wheedled most of the stories of his scars out of him, but this one—Geralt huffs. “I tripped over a rock and fell right onto a very pointy root,” he admits.

Jaskier’s lips quirk up into a grin, and Geralt is about to chastise him for laughing when Jaskier directs his attention back to Geralt’s cock.

Geralt gasps as warm heat envelops him, and his hand comes down to tangle in Jaskier’s soft hair. Jaskier’s other hand comes up to stroke the part of Geralt’s shaft not in his mouth and scoots further back to trail his fingertips over Geralt’s balls and ghost over his perineum to his hole.

Geralt shudders at the feeling, and Jaskier pops off of him with a wet sound. “Can I—?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Geralt babbles.

Jaskier disappears for a moment to rummage through his pack, and Geralt tries to slow his pulse. His heart is practically trying to thud out of his chest compared to its normal steady pace, so he sucks in a deep breath through his nose.

Jaskier returns and settles himself between Geralt’s legs. Geralt lets Jaskier position him until his knees are bent and his feet are planted on the bed on either side of Jaskier. Geralt swallows past the lump forming in his throat as a wave of vulnerability crashes down on him.

Jaskier must be able to sense his skittishness, because he takes Geralt’s hand in his and rubs soothing circles into it with his thumb. With his other hand, he rests the pad of his pointer finger against Geralt’s hole until he slips it in, a second finger quickly joining it.

Geralt can feel himself tensing up, but he tries to relax, tries to let himself give in and just be boneless.

Jaskier stretches him out until Geralt whines in anticipation. Jaskier chuckles and pats his clean hand on Geralt’s thigh. “I seem to recall you saying I was the impatient one?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier laughs again. “Fine, fine. I truly don’t understand why people think you’re so frightening.”

Geralt could list a few reasons, but he doesn’t want to kill the mood. He just grunts at Jaskier until he finally shuffles closer to Geralt and presses inside of him.

Geralt’s head thumps back against the mattress as he squeezes his eyes shut, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness and the way the feeling radiates through his stomach.

Are you good?” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt nods, one of his hands finding Jaskier’s and tangling their fingers together, while the other grips the sheets as Jaskier begins to thrust.

He starts out slow, almost too slow for Geralt to bear, each slide dragging inside of him and creating delicious friction while the head of Jaskier’s cock nudges his prostate.

Geralt hums.

“Let me hear you,” Jaskier says into his ear.

Geralt looks off to the side, but Jaskier puts a finger on his chin and tilts his head back. “You’ve never been shy; don’t start now.”

Geralt stays sullenly even quieter than before, deliberately slowing his breathing.

Jaskier laughs at his obstinance. “No performance review for me?”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Geralt says breathlessly.

“Who am I to say no to that?” Jaskier asks, and then there’s no more talking for a while, just gasps and moans as Jaskier slams into Geralt at a pace that leaves them both panting.

Finally, Jaskier shudders to his climax and wraps a hand around Geralt’s weeping cock to bring him over the edge with him.

Jaskier slips out of him and collapses onto the bed beside him, draping his leg over Geralt’s thigh, his fingers meandering their way again to the forest of scars that live on Geralt’s skin.

“You’re lovely. Do you believe me yet?”

Geralt gives an unimpressed hum.

“Well, lucky for you, I have the whole rest of my life to make you see reason.”

Geralt likes the sound of that.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ficlet #fanfiction #contemplative writing #5+1 fic

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remmushound · 4 years

Text

Part 12 of my bay/rise crossover! @brightlotusmoon @errorfreak88

It hurt. Everything hurt and he didn't know where he was and he felt sick. He bellowed out into the cold, dark room. He cried again, this time louder as he tried to stand on instead legs. His head spun. Powerful bounds around his wrists and ankles held him down, and moving sent electricity down the length of his body that made him roar. Something on his face covered his eyes— not his mask, something far darker. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t move— he couldn’t hear anything other than his own echo. He was alone.

****

“... come to find out it wasn’t really a car show. It was a destruction derby and I… he just wanted to use my car to win it so he could get another trophy.”

“I cannot understand how upsetting that must have been for you.” Splinter’s head was low as he watched the steam rise off of his tea, “I am certain you treasure your creations just as much as my Donatello. I am sure your father meant no harm, but even the best of intentions can come off as… less than that. When my son was having diffuclties as leader, he said and did many things that upset his brothers.”

“Really? My Raph’s never done anything like that.”

“Your Raphael?” Splinter looked to Donatello curiously as he sipped his tea.

“Yeah. I mean, he has his moments but he’s usually pretty chill toward us— the stress of being the leader leader gets to him sometimes but—“

Splinter choked on his tea. He dropped the cup in favor of covering his mouth during the intense coughing fit that followed. The cup shattered on the ground and spilled tea all across the cold stone of the lairs floor.

Donatello sipped his tea calmly. “You okay, buddy?”

Splinter waved that he was fine as he slowly recovered from the fit. Donatello helped himself to another buiscit.

“Ah— my apologizes, Donatello. Your words just started me is all.”

“Ok.” Donatello didn't ask why. “These are really good buiscit.”

“Thank you, but a… clarification question if I may?”

“Ok.”

“You did just state that your Raphael was your leader, correct?”

“Yeah? He’s the oldest, so leader by proxy. Why?”

“I apologize— when I stated my son was having some difficulties, I should’ve clarified it was Leonardo. The leader of my sons…”

“Gasp. Now it is my turn to choke.” Donatello put his cup to his lips and purposely inhaled some of it. He immediately fell to coughing just Splinter. “ACK! GAG! CHOKING NOISES!”

“You really are a curious fellow.” Splinter hid his mouth with another cough as he laughed. The mutant’s ears pricked to attention at the sound of a disturbance from the opposite side of the lair. “I believe we are not alone.”

Donatello wiped his mouth and looked behind him trying to see whatever Splinter had seen.

“Stay here.” Splinter gave Donatello a pat on the shoulder as he ran past.

Donatello gasped, and then squealed. “OH AM GOSH! A positive touch from a parent aged adult! Dreams really do come true!”

Donatello drank the rest of his tea happily, starting to wiggle in his seat to try and get his nervous energy out. All of the anxiety flooded right back into him when he heard Splinter’s loud scream.

“Splinter!” Donatello was on his feet and running before his mind could catch up, initially on the rats trail but quickly turning paces when he spotted a broom in a corner. He grabbed it, holding it like it was his own staff, and sprinted finally into the room Splinter had entered.

The rat had his own staff at the ready, backed into a corner with his eyes locked on the beast that filled a great deal of the room. The snapping turtle's jaws were frothing over with white foam in his panic, his tail lashing like a whip to further show the agitation of the red beast. Around his wrists and ankles were ropes that had once held him down, now snapped at the base and swinging as he struck out wildly and blindly toward the assumed attacker. Raphael couldn’t see them— his eyes were covered with a tight blindfold that made him lash his head back and forth trying to find any stimuli to tell him where he was.

Donatello recognized the fearful motions immediately— he’d lived with Raphael all his life and learned to recognize the motions his brother would go through for fear or anger or pain, and this wasn’t the second. But one so unused to recognizing the different cues that the snapping mutant had could easily misinterpret any one of them as an anger response.

Splinter brought his staff down at the bridge of Raphael’s shell trying to force him into a corner. Raphael roared in response and swiped a counter strike, just barely missing the staff's quick motions as it hit him in several more places though it was more like gentle, guiding taps.

“Wait— nonono!”

Raphael made a sharp movement when he heard Donatello’s voice and tried to search for it, colliding with Splinter and making the rat stumble slightly before he found a more secure footing.

“Raph, it’s me!” Donatello ran forward, trying to reach for the blindfold, but the moment he touched Raphael, the mutant shouted and slammed a massive fist into Donatello’s stomach.

Donatello stumbled back into the wall, gagging and clutching as he stomach as he tried to both catch the breath that had been knocked from him and try not to throw up. He did, of course, have plating over his plastron just as his brothers did— it was just covered with soft skin instead of hard keratin—but the bone only served to make the pain worse somehow as Raphael’s fist collided with enough force to knock a grown man off his feet.

Raphael immediately recognized who he had hit and started to panic even more.

“Don-nee?” His head thrashed back and forth trying to shake off the blindfold obscuring his vision.

Donatello tried to call out to him, but only a wheeze was produced.

“Donatello, stay where you are.” Splinter took a defensive pose in front of Donatello.

“Nah…” Donatello tried finally, pushing himself off the wall and trying to stumble to his brother's aid, but Splinter’s tail directed him back. “Don’t hurt—“

“I’m not.”

“But he doesn’t know that!”

Splinter jabbed the tip of his staff into Raphael’s chest, making the savage mutant grunt and try to grab at whoever kept poking him.

“I swear… ah…” Donatello felt his way across the wall trying to get behind Raphael without being hurt again or singled out— if he could separate his noise from the racket Splinter was making, then maybe— “I’m… so gonna beat those other turtles shells… if I have any spoons left by time they get back. RAFFEREL!”

Raphael grunted and turned quickly at the sound of the voice.

“Listen to me! Your name is Hamato Red, but when you were nine and me and Leo were eight and Mikey was seven we all chose names we thought were cooler from an old library book April gave us, and you became Hamato Sanzio Raphael.”

Raphael listened intently, his breathing still labored and body tensed, but all senses locked onto Donatello. Splinter stopped his assault to listen as well.

“And when we were little hatchlings and you’d go into your fits, dad always calmed you down with the Chūgoku lullaby. And Leo and Mikey and I were always jealous because you got your own lullaby, but every night Splinter would sing the Takeda lullaby to all of us before we went to sleep. Do you remember the Chūgoku lullaby?”

Raphael didn't respond.

“Come on. You know how it goes! Nenneko shasshari mase, neta ko no kawasi… okite naku ko no… nenkororo, tsura nikusa, nekororon, nenkororon…”

As Donatello went slowly through the lullaby, Raphael started to chur softly and sway. Halfway through he started to hum along, and once Donatello was sure Raphael was calm, he approached Raphael without stopping the song. Donatello reached gently to Raphael’s head, hesitating as the great beast flinched but quickly recovering enough to take off the blindfold.

As Raphael blinked in the sudden light, Donatello gently fell to unbinding the ropes from Raphael’s wrists, and the song wrapped up perfectly as he removed the final knot.

“There we are.”

“Don!”

Donatello screamed as he was yanked into a hug, then fell to growing as Raphael rubbed his cheek against Donatello’s battle shell.

“Oh come on Raph you know I’m afraid of togetherness—“

Raphael moved to rest his head on top of Donatello’s, holding the softshell tightly to his plastron. “You’re okay…”

“Of course I’m okay you idiot you threw yourself on top of me!”

Raphael kissed the top of Donatello’s head and continued to hum happily while the softshell struggled for his freedom.

“Oh, really? Really with the kiss? You were just trying to kill me two seconds ago!” Despite his words, Donatello’s heart flooded with warmth at the snapping turtles quick rebound from beast to brother.

“Donnie, I don’t feel good…” Raphael sniffled.

“What kind of don’t feel good?”

“Like I’m gonna be sick.” Raphael stuck his tongue out, “And my back hurts- it is bad—?”

Donatello grabbed Raphael’s face before he could turn around to look at the bandages, forcing the snapper to look back at him. “He probably just gave you oxycodone to help with the pain.”

“Oh okay.” Raphael nodded, not quite understanding but trusting his brother's judgement. “But uh. Who is ‘he’?”

“I may be able to help best.”

Raphael gave a confused grunt and turned around, pulling Donatello along with him as he saw Splinter for the first time.

“Hey, pops got taller! Good for him.”

“That’s not dad you idiot— well it is kinda— but not our dad!”

Raphael blinked. “Raph is confused!”

Splinter laughed, finally letting his staff back down into a relaxed position and resting on it. “I’m going to need so much more tea.”

#lullabies #poor Raphie #he luv his brother #brother snuggles!#splinter has adopted both of them already

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leggeteconme · 3 years

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Along the coast of Limir, battering against the marble walls of Mirlin and sweeping away the unfortunate villages outside the great city, a typhoon was raging. The storm was the strongest of the season, the ocean having waited for the end of summer to unleash her greatest terror, and the season had not been a kind one at its mildest. Mirlin quivered under the assault like a willow, her pale defenses barely keeping dry the inhabitants retreating inside the raised knots of her twisting streets. Swirling clouds dropped frothing waves upon the flooded city, sparing not even the fountained gardens of Qimlia, whose open outer corridors the Athrilai court had fled for the solid walls at the palace center. Nestled within twelve of these walls spread a glittering ballroom, where the handsome Athrilai heir sat carelessly atop a golden cushion, accompanying his sweet voice on an oud as the elite members of the court listened on.

The southern courts worshipped beauty, cultivating its fleeting blossoms into the empty bouquets of high culture. True art was as disdainful to them as an unlandscaped field of rogue wildflowers, and young Miqail Athrilai was the crown jewel of the highest court in Limir.

He played and sang in perfect serenity, the eye to the storm he seemed unaware was raging around him, reciting words and fingering chords that meant nothing to him and so left the surrounding ladies in a swoon. He relayed sentiments of love, perhaps, or of spring, or patriotism; it didn’t matter, nor did the name of the fashionable poet he quoted. The songs of Qimlia were each a rearranging of a humble collection of appealing sounds the court had deemed acceptable, and the details of the music were paid no attention. The domed room was gilded white hung with expensive tapestries, the nobles inside draped in fine silks and jewels, and the youth at the center of it all a golden-haired beauty with silver eyes and ruby lips; nothing else mattered.

Miqail was alone on the ballroom floor. Above him, in alcoves and balconies and twisting staircases, the walls were flooded with nobles. They answered his music with a soft hum of their own, wrought in rustling silk and steadily flowing wine. Lady Athrilai stood at the head of the central balcony, watching her son as she drank deeply from a jewel-encrusted chalice, a smile that failed to reach her eyes imprinted faintly on her wine-stained lips. Hardly thirty and beautiful as a marble statue, she was the fourth wife of a gnarled creature with a mind bordering senility, a man cruel from ambition who had stubbornly refused to die for sixteen years after the nearly seventy it had taken him to produce an heir. His Lordship was snoring peacefully in his bed after his wife had slipped a fine powder into his drink, and the court was much pleasanter without him.

Adrienne—or Athrienne, as the southerners called her in their hissing tongue—looked as serene as her son. She stood silently, periodically turning her head from Miqail to offer nods and smiles to those around her, moving her white hands gracefully and allowing her hazel eyes—the one feature she had not given her son—to wander the crowd before shifting her attention back to the concert; but this was a delicately choreographed dance that participating in was, for every resident at Qimlia who wished to live in the Athrilais’ good graces, as necessary to survival as breathing. Adrienne arranged meetings with her lovers, promised ambitious mothers dances with Miqail for their children, and handled her husband’s finances, all without making a sound. Lord Tomlin, her favorite paramour and nephew by marriage, offered to murder her husband and make her Lady Tomlin; she smiled sweetly and met his pale eyes as a beautiful young man, another lover and one who had made her the same offer two days prior, collapsed lifeless into the arms of his sisters. Adrienne lifted her chalice and shrugged. Poor dear, he must have had too much wine. Tomlin threw down his cup and fled the hall.

The body was removed, the wine continued to flow, and Miqail sang on in pretended oblivion. His voice filled the hall for the better part of an hour, but he stopped before he began to tire. He bowed low to the approval of his court, and tossed his ribbon-strewn instrument onto a cushion to free his hands to gather the waves of flowers washing up at his feet. The court rushed forward to meet him, young men and women scuttling forth in jeweled gowns and orbiting the laughing boy. The scene was as it ever was, and Miqail’s presence soothed the court so fearful of the thundering skies. His fingers snapped; the orchestra that nestled in a curtained corner swiftly struck a gigue, and Miqail pulled those nearest him into a twisting, spinning circle over which he sovereign reigned.

The walls, the floor, the very air, were shaking from the forceful storm, but in its midst Qimlia’s youths were dancing, laughing, glittering darkly in the marble hall. Adrienne watched with bright eyes set inside an empty face, her mind awhirl with thoughts no man or maid could read.

The gigue was short, and when it ended Miqail, bored, waved a dismissive hand to silence the musicians and fell carelessly onto the cushion where he’d flung his oud, long fingers weaving through the colorful ribbons as the breathless dancers pooled around his feet. He smiled a smile that would have been a smirk on a face that understood the expression, his lithe figure not the least bit tired. The ballroom was still once more, and Miqail and Adrienne held graceful court as servants brought in baskets of vibrant fruits at the peak of their sweetness. Adrienne inhaled the scent and wondered why we find fruit sweetest just before it spoils; Miqail fed pomegranate seeds to a dark-haired girl who gazed at him with desperate eyes, his fair head empty of any thoughts but pleasure.

At length the noise from the storm abated, and Miqail yawned. He stood, twirling a stray flower between his fingers, and called to his mother that he would retire for the night. She nodded in approval, and he turned to go, but as he did, the dark-haired girl let out a piercing shriek and flung herself at the ground before him, clutching at his silken robes.

Miqail looked at her in astonishment, and Adrienne leaned over the balcony’s edge, clutching the rail with white-knuckled hands.

The girl plucked a red flower from her hair, a camellia with perfectly spiraled petals like the arms of a storm, and pressed it into his hand.

“You have ruined me,” she cried – Miqail had ruined many, but it was his right and none dared to complain. “I gave you my love, Miqa, darling! Save me from disgrace, I beg you!”

The hall was deathly quiet, and Adrienne looked close to fainting.

Miqail laughed. “Dear girl! Such a poetic speech. Here, kiss me, and take back your love.”

He bent and stole a kiss from her pale mouth, then straightened, laughing as her dark eyes, violet in the fading light, welled up with tears.

“You will fall in love one day, Miqail,” she whispered, too softly for anyone but him to hear, “and it will destroy you.”

He didn’t see her tears, or didn’t care to, and the court of youths joined in his laughing response to her words. Miqail tossed his golden head and swept from the ballroom, crushing the camellia under his heel and leaving the girl wilted in the midst of grinning, drunken faces, the cadences of their laughter echoed in her wracking sobs.

Adrienne sagged against the rail and exhaled softly, her eyelids falling closed as the ghost of a tortured smile flashed across her face.

#as usual i'm not a writer #this is just a bit of something i'm working on #writing #please don't judge me #but constructive criticism is always welcome #so judge the writing. not me #please

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vangoghmusings · 4 years

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𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

pairing: demon!tendou satori x fem!reader

rating: 18+

word count: 4.1k

warnings: child abuse, religious trauma, mentions of blood, seizure, religious taboo, degradation, public sex (?), oral (receiving), fingering, unprotected intercourse

a/n: ahh here’s the first one shot of my 1k halloween event!! this story is VERY NSFW so please do not read if you are a minor. this also have mentions of child abuse and religious trauma and is VERY taboo. each story is partically inspired by a song, this one is “under your skin” by jukebox the ghost, which i have linked below. otherwise, i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it!!

https://open.spotify.com/track/5oiZiF3fBLHqgTDaH0Pj7M?si=RBkk9ddxS7OMO_ZDhT85Dw

✁ ✂ ✃ 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖐𝖎𝖓 ✁ ✂ ✃

Growing up in a small town had its pros and cons. The cons were plentiful. Limited things to do, small minded people, and the conservative mindset of the looming church steeple that shadowed over the town. The pro, however, was Tendou Satori.

You had met Satori when you moved to this godforsaken small town at the age of 8. Your parents moved there for work but insisted on sending you to a private school to ensure a “morally correct” upbringing. It was an ancient Christian school made of brown brick stacked up like a castle. Inside you would meet the son of the pastor, Satori himself. You were the same age, but he looked younger, paler and more shriveled, with cuts and bruises adorning his legs, some covered up by his uniform knee socks. It was common knowledge that Pastor Tendou beat his son, but it was his right after all, it always appeared to him that his son acted out with the persuasion of the devil. You feared your new surroundings and Satori feared the home he lived in. You had found solace in each other quickly.

As you grew older and closer, some things never changed. Satori often came to you crying, a new injury on his skin from his father present and so you spent the night nursing him back to health. Other weekends were spent helping him clean the tombstones of the graveyard behind the church. Once you two would finish scrubbing the moss and dirt from the stones, you’d have a picnic in the cemetery. It was oddly peaceful, laying upon the ground with each other laughing and ignoring the corpses beneath you. Picnics in the graveyard were calm, but not when your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. Satori had a habit placing his head on your lap as he ate whatever was in the basket for that day. He’d look up at you with wide eyes, passionately talking about whatever was plaguing his mind that day. It was normal for his face to be bruised or cut. And you often kissed them after treating them, but when he looking up at you with such a bright smile, squinting at the sun above just enough for the cuts to break and bleed once again, you wanted to kiss them again, but differently. It felt different, you were different.

This had to be a sin.

It felt like you were being eaten alive by the thoughts that ran amok in your head. Satori was this beautifully pained angel with no escape from the constant terror that was his father. Pastor or not, he believed that Satori was filled with hellish intentions of the devil himself. And what father could be proud of a son who was the devil incarnate? Yet here you were, falling slowly, madly, deeply in love with your best friend. While his sole mission was to survive until graduation, yours had become to be able to kiss more than just his cuts and bruises.

This was definitely a sin.

You were halfway through your senior year when it happened. When you lost Satori. Every Thursday, the school held liturgy. You and Satori were the altar servers alongside Pastor Tendou. It was surprising how quickly you two could form such serious faces the moment you put on the white garments. You sat in the cushioned chairs beside Satori as his father gave a sermon. Tendou listened attentively, taking in any clue to take as an advantage to possibly get his father to love him. To prove he wasn’t a mistake or a demon.

“Now a days... the devil presents himself in many ways. From that damned technology to that blasted music...”

Pastor Tendou was known for hateful sermons. Yet, in such a small town as this, it was normal. He was so adamant about the devil in our everyday lives that felt that there was more hatred and death than the possibility of mercy.

“And the devil is within us too! We must be willing to cut off his clawed hands from us, and crush his soulless entity that hovers within-”

A throat ripping gasp cut off Pastor Tendou as his son lurched from his chair and collapsed onto the floor. You jumped back in your chair, watching as his back arched so high it didn’t seem physically possibly; a blood curdling scream filling the church coming from him. The church froze, watching in fear as the pastor’s son began to convulse. You watched in horror as his body slammed back onto the floor and he began to shake viciously. Frothing at the mouth, his eyes rolled back, and it look like his veins were about to rip through his flesh. You looked to Pastor Tendou for any sign of instruction of what to do. He was dying, you were watching him die.

Before you could shout for help, Pastor Tendou took the glass of Holy Water that was stashed in the tabernacle and poured it on Satori. The water caused his skin to sear, smoke rising from his skin like he was burning alive. More screams fell from his lips, his face only readable as pure pain. You looked away as tears streamed down your own face at seeing him in such agony.

Pastor Tendou looked down at him with narrowed eyes as his son soon stopped shaking. And then his body went utterly limp, his chest no longer rising and falling with breath. You wanted to scream, he was dead, he had to be dead. You were about to reach out for his body when his eyes shot wide open. He gasped and sat up right, looking around frantically around the church and down at his hands. His face broke into a smile as he looked at his father.

“H-he left! I’m free!”

Satori jumped up, hugging his father tightly as they both rejoiced that the devil had finally left him. It was true, that after years of never-ending abuse Satori believed that he indeed had a devil inside of him.

Pastor Tendou cupped his son’s face and kissed his head in pure joy. He let go and turned to his laypeople who watched from the pews in shock.

“REJOICE! MY SON HAS CRUSHED THE CLAWED HANDS OF SATAN!”

The people stood up and cheered, shouting amens and hallelujahs, kneeling and bowing. Satori had finally been saved. You couldn’t believe your eyes. This fake demon that was beaten into belief had suddenly up and left? And Satori needed to go to a hospital, he just had a seizure after all.

“Sato, we should get you to a hospital-”

He turned to you, swiftly taking your hands in his. It appeared that all of the cuts on his knuckles had magically disappeared. Before you could process the thought, he kissed your hands and smiled at you.

“God has saved me Y/N. I don’t need a hospital.”

You gaped at him. You knew Satori was religious because there was no escape from it in his life, but he never made outright claims about it in front of you. And now he spoke as if he was indeed possessed and was exercised.

Mass eventually ended. When Satori’s mother had gotten the news, she also leapt for joy, however, with the thought of her son having a seizure ingrained in her mind, she insisted that he go to a hospital. Once you got the okay to visit him, you took your parents car and sped over. You were frantic, worried beyond belief of what could be wrong with Satori, enough for him to proclaim freedom from a demon.

You walked into the hospital room. It had only been a day since the incident, but the room was filled to the brim with bouquets. The whole town had come to learn of Satori’s freedom. You looked at the red-haired boy sleeping soundly on the hospital bed. It was odd. HIs skin was free of his previous bruises and cuts. He was free, but maybe of physical pain, not a demon.

You sighed and moved a vase of flowers from the chair beside his bed and onto the floor, taking a seat and reaching for his hand.

“Sato,” you hummed, hoping to gently wake him up. He didn’t.

You frowned and took in his features. He looked peaceful but, paler than usual. He had always been pale, but now he simply looked sickly. The veins in his face were apparent, he looked almost translucent. Almost as if, if you tried to look hard enough, you would see the blood moving in veins. Before you could reach out to touch his cheek, his eyes fluttered open, a smile spreading across his face as he saw you.

“Y/N,” He said softly. His eyes were bright, happy to see you. Yet, his brown eyes almost had a red gleam.

“Sato!” You beamed, standing up to hug him tightly. He hummed in your embrace and held you. You sighed lightly, just glad that he was okay. “You really scared me.”

He let go and gave you a frown.

“I didn’t intend to. I’m sorry.”

“It's okay,” you mumbled, ruffling his hair. He chuckled softly and leaned into your touch. Was his voice deeper too?

“It seems that you’ve gotten quite popular Sato,” you said referencing to the room filled with flowers. He grinned and looked up at you.

“I guess people like you more when you’ve seen God.”

You froze and pulled your hand out of his hair.

“What?”

He nodded and looked at you blankly. He was very serious.

“Yes. I saw him. He-” Tendou paused, carefully deciding his words, “he’s inside of me.”

“God...God is inside of you?”

“Yes.”

You scoffed and stood up.

“Sato you sound insane.”

He glared at you.

“Don’t speak to me like that.”

You looked at him incredulously. He was so stern, brows furrowed with anger.

“I-”

“Listen to me,” He said getting up from the hospital bed. He stepped towards you, placing a firm grip on your neck with his cold hand thin hand, trapping you between the wall and his grip. You gasped; your face filled with shock. You watched as a smirk spread across his face, as he pressed his nails into your neck. You whimpered in pain, they were sharp, pointed almost.

“Y/N... God is in me, and I am God.”

You froze, watching as his eyes were undeniably crimson now.

“T-this isn’t you Sato-”

“Shut up,” He snarled.

You were right, he was paler. You could indeed see the veins in his flesh pulsing, but they were not red. They were a deep inky black.

You winced as he dug his nails further into your neck, tears prickling your eyes. Under the dim yellow lights of the hospital room, you had shrunken, like trapped mouse beneath the claw of a lion. Satori saw your tears and quickly let go.

“I-I’m so sorry Y/N...I didn’t mean to!” He cried, falling to his knees and clinging to your thigh. He sobbed into your leg and shook hard. You blinked, looking down at your best friend who had just choked you against a wall and was now sobbing against you.

“Sato get up, please...” You mumbled, afraid of what his next action would be. This was so unlike him. He was usually so bright and goofy and now he looked like something was eating him from the inside out.

He looked up at you with tear stained cheeks, trembling. You sighed and helped bring him to his feet.

“Get dressed, I brought you clothes, and I have a basket with food in the car.”

He gave a weak smile.

“Picnic?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. You pulled the clothes from his bag, a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel from the many times he had stayed over at your house after his father beat the pulp out of him. You set them on the bed and turned to leave. A firm grip on your arm stopped you from walking out.

“Don’t leave me,” He whispered. His voice sounded fearful and broken, like the many times he cried as you cleaned his cuts.

You bit your lip, unsure of what to do. He wanted you to stay as he changed out of his clothes. That had to be a sin. Didn’t he know that? Didn’t he know that you were burning with desire for him? It was all too much. You pulled your arm from you grip.

“I’ll just be in the hall Sato,” you said with a weak smile. His face fell and he nodded as you turned back to walk out the door.

You waited patiently in the hall, your feet tapping as you tried to collect your thoughts. In the past 24 hours, Satori had apparently had a seizure, claimed to be freed from a demon, now claimed to be God, and physically hurt you. It didn’t make any sense.

You turned your head at the sound of the door opening to see Satori, relishing in the warmth of the flannel around him.

“Picnic?” He asked with excitement.

You chuckled and nodded, walking out to your car with him.

You eventually arrived at the cemetery, your usual spot you both had found comfort in. Any stranger would call them crazy, eating among the dead. But to them, this was pure peace. They were among those who were at rest, simply waiting for their own time. You pulled into your usual parking spot, the 6th on in from the right. You grabbed the basket and walked alongside Satori to the spot in the cemetery that was open lush grass. The day was gray, but it was rare that the sun came out in your town. The spot was surrounded by 6 statues of crying Virgins. It was eerie, but to you it was a simple normality of your graveyard picnics.

Satori helped lay the blanket as you set down the picnic basket. Today you brought sandwiches and cut fruit. He gave you a bright smile and followed your cue to sit down on the blanket and get comfortable. You handed him a sandwich and he thanked you, taking a large bite. You froze, looking at his teeth and how they gnashed through the bread. They were sharp, pointed like an animal. You swallowed your bite and wiped your mouth. You had known Satori since you were 8 years old, had you truly never noticed his red eyes, sharp nails and pointed teeth? HIs paleness and inky black veins? His sudden strength and rage?

“How many people do you think could fit under your skin?”

You blinked, being brought out of your daze by your friend’s sudden question.

“What-”

“I think I could fit at least two people under my skin. Physically. However, emotionally, plenty of people get under my skin realistically.”

“Sato...what are you talking about?”

It was sudden and unexpected, the way he jumped on top of you. He knocked the wind out of you with how forceful the impact was of your back slamming against the ground. You coughed and looked at him in terror. This was not the meek and gentle Satori you had grown up with and this surely wasn’t God either.

Satori pinned your wrists to the ground and used his own legs to keep yours down. You didn’t bother struggling, he was too strong. And the sinful part of your mind had envisioned this position one too many times for you to fight back.

“I said, how many people do you think you could fit under your skin?”

“I-I don’t know,” You whimpered in fear. This fear felt wrong though, this fear caused your legs to try and pinch together. Sinful.

“You’re pitiful,” Satori growled, his eyes gleaming a deep red. The frown quickly turned into a smirk as he watched you begin to squirm under his weight. “Do you think I’m stupid, Y/N?”

“N-No, Sato-”

He narrowed his eyes and licked his lips.

“Are you sure? Cause you’re a terrible liar.”

You froze, fear crippling you in your spot. Satori’s smirk stayed in its spot as he let go of one of your wrists, only to grab a firm grip of your thigh. You yelped and looked at him with wide eyes.

“You’re a sinner Y/N. That’s why we need to cleanse your soul.”

“Cleanse my soul?”

Satori nodded; clear he was being completely serious.

“Oh,” you mumbled, unsure what ‘cleansing your soul’ would entail. He gave you a gently smile and let go of your thigh to softly stroke your cheek.

“I can save you.”

He smiled brightly, it looked like it was supposed to be caring but, with how he had pinned your body to the ground, you couldn’t be sure. But apparently you did, since the next words that came out of your mouth were,

“Save me.”

The way Satori handled you would lead you to believe that he had done this a billion times. You knew he hadn’t, he couldn’t have.

“You need to show yourself to God in your purest form.”

You shivered as his cold fingertips touched your skin as he helped undress you, the weeping Virgins were the only ones watching your nervous form besides Satori himself. Besides God himself.

Shortly after he undressed you, He took his own clothes off, his translucent skin and inky black veins more prominent in the grey sunlight. You had never seen him so exposed, and the same went for you. You curled up shyly, remembering that you sat naked in front of him.

“Stop,” He said gently, placing a cold hand on your knee, pulling your limbs away from hiding your body. “You’re perfect,” He breathed out softly. You felt heat rush through your body at his comment. “Such a perfect vessel,” He mumbled, continuing to eye you up and down.

“V-vessel?” You prompted, only to be cut off by the sensation of Satori sucking down and kissing your neck. You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as he towered over you, nipping at your skin and sucking harshly. You cried out softly, embarrassed at the wetness pooling in between your legs. You were brought out of your distraction when you felt Satori’s sharp teeth dig into the flesh of your neck. You whimpered and tried to pull away, the new sensation too much to bare. He pulled away to look at you, his lips swollen from kissing your neck and his eyes looked like ruby’s, mesmerizing gems.

“Sato,” you whispered. He looked ravenous and wild. HIs cheekbones looked sharper, the blank veins pulsing rapidly under his skin. He grinned madly, and now you were certain. You had lost Satori. The monster in front of you was a demon. You had fallen in love with demon.

“Hush,” He purred, placing a icy finger against your lips to silence you.

You stared, horrified at his next move, what this demon would do to you, with such heavy lust overtaking your vision. You really were a sinner. With unexpected force, he pushed you back down against the ground, the fluff of the blanket cushioning your fall. With iron-clad strength, he opened your legs and buried his head between them. You gasped, Satori’s mouth instantly latching around your clit without warning. You shook under him and he reached up and grabbed your throat, gripping it tightly to quiet you. You whimpered, unable to handle the strength he was sucking at. Your breath hitched feeling his cold finger slide inside you, curling rapidly. It was too much too fast, your vision blurring as you felt tightness coil in your tummy.

“S-Sato, please; it's too much!”

You cried, fearing the heat bubbling up in your core. You felt Satori roll his eyes against you as his tongue darted inside of you, sucking and leeching your folds as he slipped a second finger inside. You’d never felt like this, flush and needy and desperate for his touch. He let go of your neck and your arms launched forward, pulling at his hair and attempting to get some form of leverage as you bucked your hips against this mouth. You were so close-

“Pathetic,” He growled sitting up, his pale face covered in your slick. It was lewd and sinful and quite possibly the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. “You were going to cum just from my mouth? You’re too easy.”

You frowned, embarrassed that he was right. He chuckled and gently placed a kiss on your lips. You blinked.

There it was the moment you had been longing for for so long. He had finally kissed you. It took a demonic possession but at last, he finally kissed you. It was just a peck, so he began to pull away. You wouldn’t let that be, you couldn’t. No no no, your mind screamed as you grabbed his face and pulled him back to you. You kissed him hard, every lingering touch filled with needy. You gasped softly when he bit your bottom lip, he pointed teeth puncturing gently. You pulled away, completely aware of what you were going to ask and to what you were asking. There was no longer who inside of Satori’s body, but a what, a demon.

“Sato, I-I know I’m a sinner and I know this is wrong, but,” You sat on your knees, begging him, taking his icy hand and placing it on your bare chest. “If you can save me, do it now.”

Satori’s red eye’s sparkled, clearly hearing words he liked.

“What a beautiful perfect little sinner you are.”

You sat on your knees, continuously begging for him to do more than just look down on you, until pushed you back, knocking you down onto your back. It seemed this domineering position was his favorite. You watched with wide eyes as Satori positioned his length at your entrance.

“Beg for my cock.”

“W-What? Sato that’s so vulgar-”

“I SAID BEG,” He growled threateningly, there was no softness in his voice, just utter lust and malice.

“P-please, Satori, I need your cock! Please, I need it so bad-” You cried out when he forcefully shoved his entire length inside of you.

Your head fell back, your vision blurring from the tears of pain and pleasure. Moans fell from your lips at the sins that were happening before you. Not only were you fucking the pastor’s son, you were fucking the pastor’s son who was possessed by a demon in a graveyard. You blinked several times, the tears rolling down your cheeks as you were able to focus your vision. Staring back down at you, was one of the weeping Virgin statues, crying just as you were.

You were brought back to focus on Satori when he thrusted harshly into you, hitting your cervix. You groaned, the pleasure becoming too much to handle, the heat bubbling up inside of you once more. Satori grunted with every violent thrust, growling and sounding absolutely animalistic, your legs now sitting on his shoulders to go deeper into you. The moans bounced and echoed against the tombstones in the yard the Virgins watched the scene in front of them.

“I’m close Sato,” You whimpered, digging your nails into his back, scratching hard as to cling onto him. He moaned, and you knew you were drawing blood. You pulled your hands away, only to see that it wasn’t blood, but the same black ink that ran through his veins. You gasped, unable to deny now that Satori was a demon. You cried out, an unexpected thrust hitting your g-spot directly.

“Praise your God and I’ll let you cum,” Satori hissed, his pupils slitted like a snake.

You had realized now that you are Eve. Bewitched by the serpent, Satan, in the garden by the fruit.

“P-Please o-oh God! I want to cum, please!” You wailed, begging for him to fill you with the same ink that now adorned your fingers.

“What a good little sinner,” He purred, quickening his pace and bottoming out in you. You arched your back, crying out as you unraveled underneath him. He growled lowly in your ear as he came inside of you with you. He slowed his pace, letting you both ride out your highs. You panted, looking up at him, as the pulsing veins that trailed his cheekbones faded back into his flesh.

“Sato...” You attempted to catch your breath as you weakly sat up. “I-I love you,” you blurted, praying that somewhere inside, the true Satori could hear you under the weight of the demon that consumed him.

“I know,” He smiled softly and cupped your chin in his hand and pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “And now I own you.”

taglist: @mixfi @melanimed @batwrangler @kac-chowsballs (taglist for event is still open)

#hellish intentions 1k event #vangoghmusings #satori #tendou #tendo #tendo satori #satori tendou #satori tendō #satori tendo x reader #tendou x y/n #tendo x y/n #tendo x reader #tendou x reader #tendou x you #tendou satori x reader #tendou smut #tendo smut

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lilyharvord · 4 years

Text

Song of the Pheonix Part 8

Hey guys, sorry this took so long to get out. It was super hard to find time to write this lately. Also I was having a hard time connecting plot points. I think I finally got this set up though. It's a little shorter than all the previous chapters, but it gets the important work done. The support for this fic is so uplifting! You can also find it on AO3, and any kudos and comments there are super helpful!

AO3 Link

Find the rest of the parts here:

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7

Enjoy!

(/Coriane/)

It’s surprisingly cold when the sun begins to rise. Doria snores softly in her chair, while I sit huddled in my mass of blankets. For two nights I’ve sat like this, watching my jailor nod off in the early morning. If I wanted to escape, that would be the time to do it. To combat the cold I could take a blanket, and I’d slowly been stashing away little bits of food that was brought to me. I had enough for maybe two days if I rationed it. I can’t leave without Mare though. At least, I feel like I shouldn’t leave without her. Would we even make it out of the hundreds of miles of plains to return to Ascendant? I don’t even know which direction the city is in, let alone how we’ll climb a mountain to get to it. And if she’s in the same state I remembered, I would have to carry her. I know for a fact that I’m not strong enough to do that. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there though.

Doria snorts and then shakes awake, drawing me out of my thoughts. Her bleary eyes blink into focus as she searches the tent wildly for me. When she finally sees me, almost hiding underneath my pile of blankets, she rubs at her eye with her palm. “Need coffee.” She grumbles before rising from the chair. I watch her pull her hair into a messy tie before asking, “Can I have some?”

Her eyes narrow until she says, “Get up.”

I push the blankets off of me and stand. She looks me over, and her lips curl as she takes in the same robe I’ve worn for three days now. Tapping her point finger to her thumb, she says, “Stay here.” She pushes the flap aside, only to pause and look over her shoulder once more. “Try to leave, and you won’t make it passed the third row of tents.”

“Why would I try and run through hundreds of miles of plains dressed like this?” I grumble as I sit on the vanity stool. Doria’s brow raises at my tone, only for her lips to curl up in a smirk as she leaves the tent.

Outside of the tent, the sounds of the early risers preparing for the day begin. Guards grumble as they switch shifts, alerting each other to potential obstacles. I strain my ears, hoping to catch a hint of Mare’s location. No one discusses her though. Squeezing the loose fabric of my robe in my fists, I try to wait patiently. I doubt Doria will bring me anything back, but I can hope. Coffee does sound nice, regardless of where I’m getting it from.

The tent flap opens, startling me, and Doria enters before stepping aside to reveal Proteus. Raising my chin as he lets the flap close behind him, I say, “You are not coffee.”

He chuckles, completely in control of his expression now. He looks me over before saying, “They’re scouring the mountain for you and Barrow. I have half a mind to leave two animal carcasses for them to find.”

My blood runs cold, imagining what that could do. Blood would run down the mountain in waterfalls if he does that. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I whisper, “Don’t. You’ll have to send more men and women to die if you do that.”

His expression hardens, and he closes the space between us to say, “You don’t know the first thing about what my people would do for their goal.” “Show me, let me try to help you. My son—“

“Your son is a middle rung on a ladder. He forfeited his right to sway anyone’s decision when he abdicated.” Proteus waves my words away with his hand. “I can get more out of killing you and Barrow than I can from trading you.”

My stomach rolls, and I spot Doria finger the knife on her belt behind him. My fingers twitch in my lap and I breathe, “Please. You can achieve more than you think through negotiations.” I would sing if I could, but Proteus avoids my eyes contact expertly. I should have never told him how to prevent me from singing. Beating myself over that mistake won’t help me now though. Besides, if I sing him into a stupor, I’ll have to figure out some other way to handle Doria. I can’t sing to them both.

He keeps his eyes on the floor as he says, “There is no negotiating with Montfort.”

“They’ve been in negotiations with the Lakelands for years now… with Norta, with Piedmont. They can be negotiated with!” I shout as I rise to my feet. Doria takes a step forward and I glare at her, and the song comes before I even mean to release it. “Leave.”

She freezes, her expression going slack as her eyes glaze over. Raising my chin, I sing to her again. “Leave us, he can handle—“

Proteus’s hand closes over my mouth, while his arm wraps around my middle. His fist presses into my diaphragm until the air leaves my body is a pathetic wheeze. Doria stumbles backwards, reaching up to grab her temple as Proteus throws me into the corner of the tent. My head hits the ground so hard my teeth rattle. I try to rise to my hands a knees in a daze, certain that this is now the only chance I will have to escape.

A wave of water hits me though, and I choke as it surrounds my head in a cocoon. I reach up with desperate hands, and try to claw at it. It simply rushes past my fingers though. Through the swirling froth, I can make out Proteus, who sweeps his hand in small circles, controlling the orb of water.

He’s a nymph.

My vision begins to tunnel as I drop my hands. My lungs burn for air, and through the wisps of my hair ripped from their braid by the force of the water, I can see Doria urging Proteus on. Her eyes are murderous and I don’t need to guess why. I made her weak for a moment, and if Proteus doesn’t finish me here, she will do it.

I open my mouth when I can’t take it anymore. Water rushes in and I fall forward, my vision going dark. The cocoon collapses and I swallow gulps of air, coughing on the remnants of the water as I do so. Doria’s muffled cries of surprise and fury echo on the edge of my vision. When I crane my neck from the ground, I spot Proteus leaving the tent, his expression pale and his hands shaking. Doria chases after him, leaving me alone in a puddle of mud.

(///)

The blankets do little to warm me after my near brush with death. But Doria and Proteus do not come back. I’m sure they left a new guard outside my tent. I’m willing to risk it though. Scrambling to gather my food in a little makeshift bag I made from the blankets, I try to make a plan. I was never a strategist, but Tibe used to try to tell me about his battle plans when we were first married. I try to channel him in this moment, thinking about what he would think about.

I edge toward the tent flap and curling a finger around it, I lift it just enough to look out. There are no guards, only a few children playing with a ball outside. They giggle and shout as they chase after it, kicking up dirt as they do so.

My heart pounds in my chest and I step out into the sunlight. Already I can feel my hair drying under the burning sun. I waste no time scurrying past the children and toward the center of camp. Maybe that will surprise them. After all, who would be dumb enough to escape through the center of camp? I hope that I’m thinking this through correctly. I doubt it, but if this is my one shot at escaping, so be it.

My next step is to find Mare. The fact that no one has tried to stop me makes me bold, and I pause for longer periods of time to try and locate the Shed where they took her.

I’m listening in on two women washing sheets when a cold hand grabs my arm from behind.

“You do have a death wish.”

I try to throw a punch, but Proteus catches it easily. Spinning me so my back is to his chest, he pins my arms to my sides and says, “But you do have the makings of a decent spy.”

“Let me go!” I spit at him, trying to stamp my heel on his foot. He simply turns it out to side, avoiding easily. I throw my head back to catch his nose in response, but he tilts his head to the side, and ends up with his nose buried in my neck. I tense at the feeling as he breathes against my skin.

“Not a chance. You and I have things to discuss.”

He drags me out of the camp then, passed the tents until we’re standing under the shade of a dying tree. He finally releases me so that I can spin away. Panting for breath, I stalk around him in a circle, trying to look imposing. He raises a brow at my posturing and then chuckles at it.

That makes me pause, and choke, “are you laughing at me?” 

“You’re worse than a child. Did no one teach you how to fight?” He laughs when my face falls slack, and steps forward to grab my wrist again. Pressing his thumb into the tiny bones of my wrist he drags me close to him so he can whisper to me. “You’re going to help me end this war with Montfort. Whether you like it or not.”

I struggle against his hold, fury boiling in my stomach. It’s iced over by fear though when he says, “Do as I say, or I’ll find a nice hole to bury Mare Barrow in.”

“Why not bury me and use her?” I spit. His brows draw together then, and his eyes look me over for a moment.

“The Premier of Montfort wants all the Living Dead she can get her hands on. Barrow may be important to a number of people, but she’s not important to that snake of a woman. You are.”

I strain against his hold, desperate to put some distance between the two of us. I had underestimated how handsome he was the first time I saw him. My traitorous eyes want to observe him, compare him to other men I remember. It doesn’t help that he smells like lavender and something else, something earthy and clean.

“Where is she?” I manage to get out when I stop pulling against him. He drops my wrist and I stumble backwards and land on my back in the dirt. He stands over me, blocking the sun for the most part. I glare until he huffs.

“Will you stop struggling if I take you to her?”

I squint, wondering if I should even trust him. He did cut my bonds, and instead of killing me like Doria obviously wanted him to, he dragged me out here. I definitely don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, not that that would be very far. But do I have any other choice?

“Show me her.”

(/////)

The shed truly is a shed. It’s made of a few beaten up pieces of tin, and stands alone in a field. It’s a lonely, horrible place. And Mare is locked up inside. The heat is enough out here to make me sweat walking the few steps from the transport. I can’t imagine the temperatures inside that metal box.

The guards standing outside it, straighten from their slumped positions as Proteus approaches. He waves away their respectful salutes. They share worried glances before one of them reports, “she’s been quiet all day. Not a peep from her.”

“Good.” He says before steps up to the lock. The guard closest to the door waves a hand over it. It clicks and falls open with a rusted creak that I can feel in my bones. I wouldn’t have been able to get her out if even if I had escaped from the village. I didn’t have the strength to deal with the guards, and I would have needed a magnetron to open the door. I would have done all the work to get here, just to hit a road block at the finish line.

As the door swings open, a wave of sweltering air washes over my face. It’s hot enough in there to cook an egg in the dirt. Ignoring it, I hurry past Proteus to do a quick sweep of the room. Are they giving her water? Has she already died of heat exhaustion? It's shadowy in here, but I can feel the heat pressing in on me from all sides. I imagine when the door closes it's very similar to suffocating.

Mare’s huddled form in the corner draws me like a beacon. I drop to her side, cringing at the silent stone net before throwing it off. Proteus doesn’t bother to stop me as I roll Mare onto her back and whisper to her. “Mare? Mare are you awake?” She doesn't respond, and my heart beats faster in response. "Wake up Mare, show me you're alive."

Her skin is flushed like she has a horrible sun burn, and she’s soaked in sweat. A low groan escapes her, and I glare at Proteus over my shoulder even though relief washes over me. “Get her some water.”

He shrugs at my demand. “Promise to help me end Montfort.”

“Get her some water.” I grind the words out through my teeth. I’ve never been so furious in my life. Even in Norta we had never treated political prisoners like this. This was barbaric and inhuman. “Get her water and cool towel.”

Proteus doesn’t move. It’s a stalemate then. Hissing under my breath, I turn back to Mare. Gently pulling her hair back from her face, I start to tame it into a ponytail of sorts to get it off her neck. “It’s alright,” I coo to her as she groans again. Her skin boils under my hands. Not good. I know a dangerous fever when I see it.

My robe is much thinner than the heavy duty clothes she is still wearing. I make up my mind quickly. Stripping her of her shirt I wring it out as best I can. Even though my entire body recoils at what I’m doing, I carefully exchange it for the top of my robe. The shirt immediately sticks to my skin, and I want to be sick.

I swallow the bile, before going for her pants. We’re roughly the same size, but I’ll need a belt to keep the pants on. “Relax,” I whisper to her as I put myself between her and Proteus, trying to give her a sense of privacy. She probably couldn’t care less about it right now, but I won’t let that happen. Underneath my hands her skin feels slick like butter. I can barely get her clothes off. They stick to her like a second skin. She was in here for days. How is she not dead yet? I can't imagine being put through this.

Once I’m wearing her clothes, and I’ve adjusted enough to the feeling of them on my skin, I slide my robe on her. “Everything’s going to be okay.” My words a pathetic and they probably dont come close to comforting. Does she know that I might have to leave her in here again?

She groans again, and grabs my wrist in a grip that is so weak my stomach flutters. I shush her softly before looking at Proteus again. “Get her water and I’ll do what you need.”

“Swear your loyalty to my cause.”

“Are you really going to split hairs right now? She’s dying.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing she doesn’t deserve. She’s killed more of mine than her life could repay a hundred times over.”

“<em>Get her water now</em>.” I sing it this time. His eyes glaze over, and he snaps to attention to complete the order. But the song wears off quickly. I’m too close to the silent stone, and its effects are washing over me as they radiate out.

He stumbles back and grabs at his temple. With a glower in my direction, he says, “Stop doing that.” “<em>Get her water.</em>” I sing it again, determined to push beyond the nauseating effects of the silent stone. He turns his eyes away from me though and my words are just a pretty melody that bounces off him. The guards arrive at the entrance after hearing the commotion I'm causing.

I throw myself to my feet and rush him, repeating the song over and over again. He catches me and pins me to the wall by my throat, making the tin rattle. I wheeze and claw at his wrist in response. I feel like a feral cat that has been caught. I'll gouge his eyes out if have to if it means I can get Mare out of this place.

Grimacing at the headache I’ve probably given him by trying to hammer my will home over and over again, he catches my wrist with his other hand. “I’ll take her back to the camp if you swear your loyalty to me, right here, right now. Does that appease you?” He pants in my face. I can’t get a breath of air passed his fingers to reply with words. Can I agree to this? If I do, will I be betraying the people who took me in initially?

But Mare is going to die in this horrid place if I leave her here. I won’t put her blood on my hands.

Nodding, I crane my neck to gasp for air. “Get her out.”

He drops me to the floor and turns to the guards with an order to bring Mare to the transport. They blanch at him, and try to argue but his next words are sharp and biting. They leap to action, rushing for Mare who has fallen silent again.

On the ground, I massage my throat and try to get air to my aching lungs. I watch them pick Mare up though. Her eyes, which are finally open, fall to me. I can’t even muster a smile for her, or another reassuring word. I have a horrible feeling I’ve just tied myself to a group that will use me as a shield against the people I actually trust. Have I doomed her and me? Probably. But she's alive, and she's out of here. Maybe we can come up with a plan together now. Relief washes over me as they carry her out into the sunlight. Proteus looks down at me with a condescending eye as I glower up at him.

"There may be a soldier in you yet." He breathes before grabbing my arm and dragging me to my feet. I have no idea what he's talking about, but I'm exhausted from using my ability so much in such a short time and I willingly let him drag me out to the transport too.

#red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #broken throne #post broken throne #mare barrow #coriane jacos #song of the phoenix #SotP #song of the phoenix has been on my mind a lot lately #my writing #my fanfics #(((:#all support/comments/likes/kudos/reblogs are appreciated!

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willowknee · 4 years

Text

Crushes and Crazy Hair-Dying- Will fluff

Title: Crushes and Crazy Hair-Dying People: Will x reader, Gee Nelson Word count: 2,600 Warnings: drinking Songs to listen to: idk Prompt/request: Hey! If you’re not too busy please can I request some fluff with Will? Maybe the reader could be Gee’s new mate and Will gets a crush on her and becomes all awkward? Or whatever you feel like writing haha 😂 thank you xxx A/N: I’m so bloody sorry this took like 3 decades to be written, honestly dunno what happened there. Really bad grammar and punctuation in this I'm so so sorry.

You had met Gee in the most bizarre manner, but you were completely grateful that you did, she honestly was one of the most intelligent people you have ever known and crazily funny to match. It was a random sunny Tuesday, you were sitting in front of the mirror at your mother’s hair dressers, you decided for once to do something bold, you were dying your hair. Not any plain natural colours like you’re used to, no, you were dying your hair a bright colour. You weren’t exactly sure what colour as you told your mom to surprise you, but you were sure it wasn’t any ordinary brown, when out of nowhere one Gee Nelson bursted through the door and let out a cry of despair.

“Look what that monster did to me!” She had cried.

Everyone was looking at her, clearly bewildered but your mom just walked up to her and sat her in the chair beside yours.

“What happened?” Your mom had asked, looking at Gee’s hair which was, well, a complete home hair-dye disaster.

“Bloody Will! He convinced me to let him dye my hair for a video and this is what came of it! Last time I let that man come within five feet of my hair I’m telling you now,” She whined and you had let out a giggle before you could catch yourself. She turned to look at you.

“Is it that bad?” She asked.

You looked again and you knew you couldn’t lie to her.

“Horrendous, but don’t worry, you’re talking to a pro and her legendary daughter, your hair will be salvaged and the world will return to normal,” You proclaimed making her smile.

“I’ll hold you to that,” She said and you both had begun talking non-stop as your mom worked on saving her hair from the disastrous work of this ‘Will’ as you sat waiting for the dye to work it’s magic in your hair.

Six months later you were at her apartment which she shared with Will, but you had never actually met him before, only heard the wacky and wonderous stories about him and his childish antics that he and his friends got up to. Gee had actually sent you the link to his youtuber and you came to find him to actually be pretty funny and you and Gee would share memes over text or on twitter about the videos.

“Oi, Gee! What we feeling today, eh? Lazy and slobbish so we get a maccies, lazy yet somewhat classy so we order Dominos or shall we finally decide to get off our arse and go out for lunch?” You say, walking out the kitchen to where she was sitting on the settee.

“Oh, actually I just got a text from Will, he’s invited me to go for lunch with him and the rest of the boys,”

You smile slightly and hand her the cup that she always uses. “Ah alrighty, no problem. I’ll head out as soon as I’m finished with my drink then, yeah?”

She looks up at you and smiles widely, kind of freaking you out considering it was out of nowhere.

“Why don’t you come with me?!” She exclaims.

“Say what now?”

“No seriously, it will be fun! You get to meet my roommate and the rest of the crazy lot, you’re going to meet eventually when you come along to one of our parties, might as well meet them while you’re sober!”

You thought about it but really you didn’t see why not, it wasn’t like you had a valid reason to decline either, what was the worst that could happen? So, you accepted and after borrowing some of Gee’s clothes and makeup so you didn’t look like an absolute slob walking around in your paint-stained joggers and oversized hoodie, you ended up in front of Nandos where you were to meet everybody.

You both walk in, still mid conversation as you made a joke which had Gee in stitches, drawing the attention of everyone in the restaurant, including the table of four boys that you were currently walking towards.

“No way, imagine that,” Gee giggles in response to your joke.

You arrive at the table and greet everyone to which they then greet you back in return.

“Hey everyone! This here is my dear friend Y/N, I invited her along so she can meet you weirdos now and get used to you before being exposed to the pure madness you all are once drunk,” Gee explains to which they all protest before simmering down and introducing themselves.

“Hi, I’m James, it’s lovely to meet you,” the one with soft features says, his brown lock slightly messy but it makes him look adorable, despite his unkempt hair he looked well put together and you could tell he put a lot of effort into his appearance.

“I’m George,” the smaller of the lot says with a soft smile, offering his hand for you to shake which you accept and gently shake his hand.

“‘Ello, I’m Alex,” the one adorning a bright pink jumper with a slogan you couldn’t quite read says, you smile and give him a small wave before turning to the last boy when your breath catches in your throat.

First of all, Will was far more attractive in person compared to in his videos or the pictures Gee has shown you, his hair mainly hidden underneath his beanie but his fringe was poking out, exposing the silky brown locks that looked soft to touch. His brown eyes looking at you, slightly widened and his mouth slightly left ajar. Was he okay? Was there something on your face? George nudges him and he looks like he broke out a trance before smiling widely.

“Hey, I’m Will,” He says, the big voice you’re used to hearing in his videos weren’t present, instead a gentle and soothing voice replaced it.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you all, I watch all of your videos and think they’re brilliant,” You compliment, sliding into the booth so you’re sat next to Gee and across from Will.

A chorus of ‘thank you’ made its rounds and you smiled at them all and began to engage in animated conversations, your arms flailing wildly as you retell the story about the time you met Gee, Will’s face becoming flushed which you found utterly adorable.

Few hours later your food was long finished but you were still sitting in the restaurant with your drinks talking to everyone as if you had been friends with these people for years.

“I need to pop to the loo, come with me?” Gee asks you.

You nod in confirmation and tell everyone you’ll be right back before walking with Gee into the toilets, lifting yourself up to sit on the counter.

“So, how’s meeting everyone?” She asks through a stall door.

“They’re absolutely lovely,” you exclaim, turning to look at your reflection in the mirror.

“Have a liking to anyone in particular?” She asks in a suggestive tone, which makes you look at the stall door through the mirror in confusion.

“I don’t know… a certain Northern lad with brown hair, brown eyes and has been looking at you like a lost puppy for the past three hours.”

Your heart leaped at the thought of Will looking at you while you were busy talking to others, not realising.

“I-“

“Was staring at him too, you’re not subtle either of you,”

You stumble for words while Gee laughs softly, walking out the stall and over to the sinks to wash her hands. You look down at her and curse her for being so observant.

“He’s cute… and funny, doesn’t necessarily mean I have a liking to him, if we’re going by those two adjectives then I must have a liking to everyone sitting at that table. Including you.”

“Oh come off it, you know you like Will, stop being a big baby and admit it,”

“I literally met him three hours ago, this isn’t a Disney film I can’t fall in love with him and accept his hand in marriage just because we’ve got a mutual attraction,”

Gee nods and smiles.

“You wanna marry him, huh?”

You nudge her and shake your head. Both of you head out and back to the table before noticing everyone’s getting up and leaving, you notice you still have almost a full glass of beer so you decide to neck it in one, eliciting whoops and hollers from

everyone and you laugh and shyly wipe away the froth from your face.

Everyone begins to head out but you hang back,

not wanting to have to walk fast so as to not get trampled on.

“Are you coming to the party this weekend?”

You turn your head and see Will standing next to you, looking sheepish which makes you smile.

“I believe I am, yes, Gee would have my head else,” you joke which makes him laugh.

“She is a fiesty one I’ll give you that,”

“Too right she is, damn woman frightens me,”

You both laugh and continue the journey back to Will’s and Gee’s apartment, joking with each other the entire way there. Gee joins in at some point but soon dips to talk to everyone else since you were walking too slowly for her liking.

Once back at theirs you all play a few rounds of fifa which you were absolutely shit at which Will spares no effort to remind you of that, but soon it’s time for you to go home since you still have to clean your apartment and get some studying done.

“See you on Saturday yeah?” Will shouts which you smile and nod at in agreement.

“It’s a date.” You say before walking out the door with a wave.

Will sits there, mouth agape. He turns his head to Gee and points to the door.

“She said it’s a date,”

“It’s not like you had the balls to do it,” she comments before standing up and walking towards the stairs, discreetly watching Will

dance around happily with a smile.

Saturday came around faster than you thought it would, although it seems like it took forever because you are looking forward to seeing Will again. You’ve been texting non-stop since you all went out for that meal but you haven’t had the time to go and meet them, so you are excited for tonight. You want to make sure you looked amazing.

Grabbing your clothes and makeup you shove them into your bag alongside some alcohol for pre-drinks that you had promised. You drive to Gee’s and Will’s to get ready with her while listening to a playlist you had created sometime ago, you had suddenly remembered the password to your Spotify and decided to reminisce with some old tunes.

The drive seems quicker with the music accompanying you and you find yourself walking towards the apartment building and soon enough, you’re knocking on their door.

“Come in~!” You hear from inside.

“Gee!” You greet as you walk up to her and give her a hug.

“Let’s go get ready! We’re late enough as it is!”

Getting ready goes without a hitch, no mental breakdowns, no wardrobe malfunctions and even your makeup goes on well. It’s almost as if things were perfect. Maybe too perfect.

“It’s time to partyyy~” Gee squeals down your ear excitedly.

It turns out the party has moved from Will’s and Gee’s apartment to George and Alex’s because of their next-door neighbours, which explains when Gee walks past she sticks two fingers up in payback and squeals with laughter all the way to the elevator.

You giggle at her childish antics and balance yourself in the lift, cursing yourself for not eating before you both began pre-drinks. You eventually end up at the party, after multiple trips and snapchat videos of each other acting a complete fool. “We are here!” Gee shouted as she threw open the front door. There was a massive roar of ‘welcome’ as you both stumble your way deeper into the apartment. You found the usual friendship group aka the Nandos Lot, and you smiled brightly and you wave enthusiastically at everyone, genuinely happy to see each and every one of them.

“Y/N! Glad you came!” Alex chimes, coming for a hug, which everyone else shortly repeats, not wanting to feel left out.

Everyone but Will, that was, who was sheepishly stood to the side, when he noticed you were looking at him expectantly, arms open, his eyes widen as he began stuttering something about needing a drink before running off towards the kitchen. You shrug his odd behaviour off and began looking for a drink, you quickly whip up a concoction and then after you down the entirety of your red solo cup, you walk back to your friends, grab the closest pair of hands and walk into the middle where the make-shift dance floor was.

Dancing freely to the music blasting through the speakers and barely being concealed through the wide walls of the boy’s apartment, you smile up to your dancing partner and to your pleasant surprise you see Will looking at you in bewilderment.

“Come on! I didn’t drag you here to stand there! Dance with me!” After a lot of convincing and a couple dozen shots, Will finally calmed down and began dancing with you, you both started to have a really enjoyable time. You began to notice how he seemed to have a childish glint to his eyes while drunk, he looked really happy and carefree this way. You loved the way he was constantly smiling and let out a rupture of laughs at your choice of dance moves and even his silliness when he took you up on your offer of a dance battle.

“You should be like this sober! You’re so much fun to be around!” You exclaim, grabbing his hands as you try to twirl around to which he aids you with, not bothering to stop twirling you which makes your head spin.

“I would but I always end up makin’ myself look like a right tit in front of the lass i have a crush on,” he explains, nonchalantly, seemingly not realising what he was saying.

You stop twirling and look at him as much as you could, the alcohol and the twirling wasn’t the greatest mix when you were looking for stability,

“You have a crush on me?” You ask in surprise.

Who would have thought. Will fucking Lenney had a crush on you. Of all people. You were ready to scream with excitement when his eyes bugged out, he looked scared and began to curse himself under the sun for his slip.

“Naw- fuck, I just meant that- no, I-” He began tripping over his words and you giggle over how cute he was.

You raise yourself onto your tip-toe and give him a shy peck on the lips, it only lasted a short few seconds, but it left your lips tingling and you smile wide at him.

“Will, I like you too, dummy,”

He smiles one of the most gorgeous smiles you have seen like ever, and shyly pulls you closer to him.

“How’d ya feel about ditching and coming back to mine? We can watch a movie and get to know each other more,”

You giggle at that.

“Sure, let’s play two truths, one lie, for each wrong answer we take a shot, for every right answer, you get a kiss,” you proclaim with a smile.

“You’re fuckin on, Love.”

#dunno man #the others are there too #I need help with this writing stuff #will

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mehenxe · 4 years

Note

“ i want to be in love. ” / “ can i be a little nasty?” / “ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ” / “ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ” / “ terrified of my love for you?” / “ your words felt like sharp knives. ” / “ how did you become like this?” / “ say something nice or don’t speak. ” / “ really? what did you dream about?” / “ we were both afraid, shut up. ” — dealer's choice, have fun.

“ i want to be in love. ” // the grey seer ◌ her best friend.

and the depiction of love upon the laptop screen in front of them, high-definition, remastered in soundtrack, unfolds. black-and-white creases and tears, static in the picture, what could i do if i didn’t have you? where will i go? and the embrace, the hands around the shoulders, the subtle squeezing of the appendages. she watches the scene, & then watches him, enraptured, wanting it. does he even realise he has remarked this aloud to her? spoken it into existence, wished so desperately for its occurrence? “i know,” she whispers. just in case he hadn’t. just in case this is a secret he wished for the walls to swallow. “i know you do. and maybe you already are. and it just hasn’t seen you yet.” perhaps she is thinking of herself. perhaps she is thinking of a woman with dark, short hair and gloss on her lips. perhaps she is thinking about all the things she said. or hadn’t. “it’ll happen. i promise. just be patient.”

“ can i be a little nasty? ” // the french serpent ◌ his beaded shark.

the inquiry interrupts the little song and dance he has happening in front of the stove. two pans on the burners, one sizzling, one being brought up to sizzling after being coated in olive oil. it is a surprise supper, which he framed as cooking for others but, in truth, he planned to cook for the two of them. he glances over his shoulder, arching his brow. breakfast for supper: the staple of french toast, of course, and then some spins on grilled cheese, quick little soup. something sweet bakes in the oven. he meets that little smirk, and realises he must be in a good mood. ( it pleases him greatly to see him smile. ) “a — little nast-ee?” he is dressed in a matching set of black silk pyjamas and bright blue shark slippers. his apron is blush-pink, with the princess is in the castle embroidered in the corner. he shakes his hips as if dancing. “now, i am intrigued? tell me at once what is on your mind, eh? nice kisses in, ah, naughty places?”

“ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ” // the god of death ◌ his god of life.

the city stretches out behind them, fog-riddled, dense, encrypted. a myriad of secrets he must discover within its recesses, all of them putrid, stinking of bile. he sits at the desk, crossed one ankle over one knee, elbow propping up his upper body and his neck, erect. his glasses do not disguise the repulsion in his gaze, and he does not bother to save face about it. a sneer, then; a bitter draught to drink from. it wasn’t anyone’s fault. then there is that pause, that label slapped on their foreheads: not really. judgement passed, recite the sign of the cross, depart the pews. the service is ending. the funeral is over. “not really, hm. is that your defence now?” he rises. he is rolling in his own steam, the own wrath of it. but he cannot bring himself to raise his voice. it is as though there are too many parties listening. “not really. that means it was someone’s fault. and we know exactly who’s fault it was, don’t we?”

“ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ” // the bejewelled dragon ◌ his skeleton beast.

“no, you’re not. you’re right here with me.” blood, dripping from the edge of the soul’s sword, and he stows it in his scabbard, the echoing veins of the throbbing hollow, deadening around them. the whole of the battle, muted. soot against their cheeks, and he swipes it off of his thin cheek and it drags, it stains further. “you’re not losing anything. okay? it’s different now.” and it remains to be seen, how much he would do, how much he could do, in order to make sure this pierced his hide and penned itself as the ultimate truth. the bones of their dragon-corpses, how they rise from the stream, water pouring from their nostrils. the errant roar of another from not too far away, the slipping and diving of their siblings. the star-magic pealing through the sky. his heart throbs as he stares at him, watches those eyes, staring, daring them almost to become as soulless as they both feel. “we’re almost done here. it’ll be over soon.”

“ terrified of my love for you? ” // the undying warlord ◌ his ridden battle.

it had been the one confession they both had silently agreed to avoid. what good would it do, for creatures of their respective natures to love? to be such beasts of the literal underworld, for love to be a price that neither of them can afford. what good would it do? and now, the bones revealing themselves, the flesh peeled away. they do not stand far from each other. there are no clothes to separate them. he feels so young, his breath stopping entirely, and how fortunate it is that he does not need it any longer to be alive. ( he is, after all, nothing worse off than dead. ) how can he hope to — what will he — “terrified? perhaps. terrified of what it means. terrified of you. what you mean. how we’re going to — how we’re going to carry on with this. because of what is happening out there, and waking up, discovering you feral in the forest —” he shakes his head. “you love me? even through this, you love me, and how?”

“ your words felt like sharp knives. ” // the god of chaos ◌ his oceanic song.

he keeps his back to him. the carton of cigarettes, a staple on the counter, perhaps even more so than home-cooked food, and this, this was the person that he had surrendered the remnants of his piss-poor life for. this was the glitter-bomb, the madness unravelling, the toxic and terrible idea that so readily laid itself bare across his lap. getting high together, and regaining feeling in their senses through slotting their hips and moaning into each other’s mouths, this had become his life. he is a sharp knife. left out where he can be touched, he slices, that is the end of it. this is what his lover knew, when he signed up to continue to be with him. when he ignored all of the warning signs, the red flags, the advice from others. the better choices. “the hell you want me to say? i already said sorry. i even meant it.” everything he says, awful, crooked, it has no general direction. as chaotic as he is. “you want me on my knees, princess?”

“ how did you become like this? ” // the final heir ◌ his grey seer.

frothing, flames licking at his arms, he embodied the arson, the tragedy. he could not escape it. he wept tears and all of them tasted like the grief he refused to acknowledge. himself, thorough in how embittered he had become against those he once called friends. and how difficult it made things, in attempting to connect with people of a different time. now, their conversation, hushed and secretive. all could see him, and yet it is as though he cannot exist freely. “i already told y’all the story of what went on. we’re tryna find out the truth of it, yeah? but — i guess that ain’t what you mean.” and he isn’t sure what else there is. what else he has been created from except for his wounds. how the witch managed to sew him together will remain a mystery for as long as he remains a tethered soul. “i became like this ‘cause — i dunno. nobody was around to make me become somethin’ different. that’s all i got, really.”

“ say something nice or don’t speak. ” // the fallen jedi ◌ his lilac princess.

“don’t speak? perish the thought.” he is cross again. look at him, with that pucker across his forehead and the crease in his brow. he’s become offended by something that was said, and to think, he hadn’t the slightest idea what had done it. leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and he pushes away from that surface to approach him. his boots softening each of his steps, and those, slower and deliberate. approaching, stalking perhaps. because he finds him to be stupidly interesting, and he himself is the worst idea, the worst decision that could be made for a princess of this calibre. still, the two of them, refraining from ever touching, and yet, continuing their orbit, their delicious desires licking at their insides. he would like to lick him. down that slim column of a throat. perhaps he should say that. perhaps that would be nice. “we can’t have it both ways. either you want me to speak my mind, or not.”

“ really? what did you dream about? ” // the ripest peach ◌ her stable mountain.

she had not dreamt in quite some time, and therefore, it frightened her. what does it mean, these successions of images, these pictures in frames? of children that she had known, and ones she did not remember, what significance could this have? she presses her back into his chest, his shoulders broad, his arms large; all of him, larger than life, than the world, strong and impermeable as rock, and she melts against it. her nakedness safe with him, her medical scars, her lack of fertility. her darkest secrets, which she has so long tucked beneath her tongue. and he brushes back her hair from her ears, as if coaxing the churning words from her mind. “i had a dream that — that we were all in paradise together. that the creatures had gone. that our family hadn’t separated. i had a dream that none of us had to die in order to find it. there were so many children there. running in the fields amok. all of them — ours.”

“ we were both afraid, shut up. ” // the underground racer ◌ his forsaken son.

“... y-yeah! we were both afraid, sure! or maybe we weren’t!” his lover, climbing over the middle console, grinding his hips down upon his own hips, and he bites back a moan. they’re going to forget about the fear; it doesn’t matter if it’s confessed to the walls of this car. the engine, how it purrs as it stalls, until he turns it off, and then, only their mingling breaths. the sound of a zipper, that hand, it finds him — “oh.” a gasp. “yeah — oh, jesus —” their clothes, sliding down enough to reach each other, to be bare where it matters, where they’re most needed. he clings to those hips, slides that tunic up his lover’s chest, bites down on the skin there. “you shut up.” halfway to teasing. he feels every part of him now, his irises so brown, mundane, attentive. “make me shut up.” he does. hips in tight circles, reducing him to whimpers, his own rocking, frantic, and passioned. “y-you shut up, i — oh, god, i love you — you’re so good, baby —”

#mr: mine #moonbeam tag #v: we are engraved in our hearts

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girls-scenarios · 5 years

Text

You Make My Day

Idol: Hayoung (fromis_9)

Prompt: Fromis_9 Hayoung x Reader where Hayoung is a regular at the cafe where reader works at. She comes in every day and orders the same drink and the reader has been attracted to her for a long time but is too shy to make a move. One day, Hayoung comes into the cafe looking sad and doesn’t even order anything. Reader, trying to cheer her up, brings (reader’s) favourite drink over for her to try

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: This is so cute, I love this idea so much! I hope you all enjoy!

♡ Tip Jar♡

Working in a coffee shop, especially one located right in the city center, meant seeing a lot of people come and go. Every day, you served hundreds of people during the rush, drinks all blending together into a blur of words and nonfat substitutions. Some people and names you remembered, mostly nearby office workers who came in every day, sometimes twice a day, for huge orders of coffee. Other regulars just dissolved into the background with the confused travelers and grumpy professors with nothing to set them definitively from the crowd. But there was one customer that you remembered all too well.

Song Hayoung.

She always came in with her bag of books or crafts after the afternoon rush, when you finally had enough time to breathe and focus on the customers. With a sweet smile, she’d softly order a large vanilla latte, always iced no matter the weather outside. Then she would sit at her normal table near the window, where she could watch people come and go whenever she grew bored of whatever she’d brought in her bag.

She was different to other customers. Something about the way her eyes crinkled at the sides as she smiled up at you and clutched her bag made your heart skip a beat, no matter how many times you saw her. Unlike other customers, after she’d started coming regularly, she learned your name, startling you the first time she asked how your day had been. Small talk with her was never awkward, instead leaving you with butterflies in your stomach as you handed her the latte and she smiled and walked away. You found yourself looking forward to her arrival every day, like the sun after a storm. Even if she didn’t know it, she made your long shifts a lot more bearable.

“So you have a crush on her,” your coworker Chaeyoung said after catching you staring as you cleaned the counter for the tenth time in a row. She looked amused, a small smile on her lips as she snatched the rag from your hands. You blushed, quickly shushing her even though Hayoung had her headphones on.

“Don’t be so loud! And I don’t have a crush, I’m just... Admiring her.”

“Sure, sure, admiring. But you like her, that’s obvious, so why don’t you just make a move already?” Chaeyoung raised her eyebrows as you looked back at Hayoung, your heart in your throat.

“I-I can’t do that. She’s a customer!”

“And? Come on (Y/N), you’ve been making small talk with her for months now! It’s obvious that the two of you like each other. This isn’t a normal barista-customer relationship.”

Shaking your head, you quickly grabbed the rag back and went to work on cleaning the steaming rod instead, your chest squeezing uncomfortably. Hayoung was so beautiful and you were just... you. Would she really like you? Just the idea was enough to make your palms sweat. “I just can’t. Not yet.”

“Whatever,” said Chaeyoung with a sigh, giving up. “Just pine and be miserable I guess. I’m going to take out the trash.”

A few days later, the usual ding of the opening door after rush made your heart jump. But when you moved to the register, the smile and greeting that usually followed never came. Instead, you watched as Hayoung walked over to her window table, her eyes downcast. As she sank into her seat, she let out a sigh and just stared out the window, her head in her hands. You had never seen her without a smile before, and your heart dropped, filling with concern.

“Huh. Not even a latte?” Chaeyoung commented from behind you, and you shushed her again, making her frown. “What? People aren’t supposed to be in here unless they pay!”

“She’s obviously upset, don’t be mean,” you said, sending her a little glare before turning your gaze back to Hayoung. “What can we do to make her feel better?”

“Do a little dance?” At your glare, Chaeyoung raised her hands. “Sorry, sorry. I mean, you could always bring her over a drink on us.”

At her words, you looked over at the nearby mugs and slowly nodded. “Oh, that’s actually a good idea.”

“See? I can have good ideas,” she said, but you were no longer listening. Ideas flowed freely now as you remembered her telling you about her cats and grabbed a cute mug before going to work making your own new seasonal favorite. You’d nicknamed it the Siamese latte because of the white chocolate, light colored base and the almond mocha topping resembling the coloring of a Siamese cat. Because of this, and what you were planning to do with the topping, you were sure it would make her smile.

Once you were done pouring the espresso and frothing the milk, you carefully poured the milk on top, using all the hours of practicing latte art to your advantage. It was difficult, and not perfect, but when you pulled away, a cat’s head floated in the foam. You smiled, relieved that it had worked, before grabbing the almond mocha syrup topping. With a steady hand, you outlined the head and made eyes, whiskers, a nose, and a little mouth. Once you were done, a slightly lopsided but adorable cat peered out of the mug at you, and you grinned. Perfect.

With a deep breath, you picked up the mug and walked out from behind the counter, your heart pounding. You could only hope that this worked.

As you approached the table, Hayoung looked up, her eyes widening slightly. “O-oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to come in and not order anything.”

“That’s okay!” You psyched yourself up as you placed the mug on the small table. “I saw that you looked a little down so I thought I’d bring you something to cheer you up. It’s our seasonal drink, I call it the Siamese latte.” You stepped back and watched as she looked into the cup, then brightened up, smiling and pressing her palms to the sides of the mugs.

“(Y/N), that’s so cute! You did this latte art?”

“I did,” you said proudly, relieved once again that she seemed to like it. “I remembered you saying that you liked cats, so I thought it was appropriate.”

She giggled and nodded, finally smiling up at you. “It’s adorable. Thank you. I was feeling pretty down today,” she admitted, “work has been really busy and I just needed to get away. Coming here always makes me feel better. Especially when you’re working,” she added with a small pink blush on her cheeks. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. Seeing your smile helps me get through the day,” you admitted in return, “so I wanted to do something to help cheer you up in return.” Now both of you were blushing, and you found yourself relieved that no one else was in the cafe, although Chaeyoung was giggling behind the counter.

“Are you off on the weekends?” She asked suddenly, surprising you. After a brief stall, you nodded, and she smiled her soft smile and pulled a piece of paper from her bag. On it was her name and her phone number, with a small doodle of a smiling cat beside it. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you for a while, and I guess there’s no better time than now. Would you like to go out with me this weekend?”

You felt faint as you accepted the paper, your heart pounding. Was this really happening? A large smile spread across your face and you couldn’t stop it. “I’d love to,” you said truthfully, your smile only widening as she giggled and pulled the mug closer.

“Then text me and we can set a time. Thank you, (Y/N). You really made my day.”

When you walked back behind the counter, dazed with a blush on your face and your hand clutching the paper, Chaeyoung squealed and hit your shoulder. She was teasing you about something, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than stare down at the cat doodle and smile.

You had made Hayoung’s day, and you wondered if she knew that she had made yours too.

#femifics #fromis_9 #fromis 9 #hayoung #song hayoung #fromis hayoung #fromis_9 scenarios #fromis 9 scenarios #hayoung scenarios #fromis hayoung scenarios #girl group scenarios #kpop scenario #girl groups #kpop girl groups #t:coffeeshopau

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ddaenghoney · 5 years

Text

chapter eleven

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): none; just that sweet, sweet character growth.

Word count: 5302

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

You slide two fingers along the trackpad of your laptop, scrolling to the next page of song lyrics that you just finished the evening before. A more somber mix of words to fit the ballad that the group needed for their next album. You rub your jaw as you count syllables, checking the rhyme scheme, then your head tilts as you begin to discern whether the whole thing sounds understandable. Though the track’s ambiguous nature gives it character, deluding the true intention entirely isn’t what you want.

“You know,” Your eyes narrow at the interruption Namjoon’s voice brings, along with some cups of variously colored froths. He hunches over the bartop casually doodling art atop the latte’s white foam top as he continues along, “I think you should take a lawyer with you this time around.”

“What’s the point if I’m just going to resign to, likely, the same terms as before?” You sigh, curling a lock of hair around your finger as you think about the meeting upcoming in a few days. If it was like the first one there would only be Yerin, her secretary, and the company’s primary lawyer that wrote out the first contract.

“But that’s what I’m saying; if you bring along your own lawyer, then they can help argue some change.” He says in a small voice that’s mostly focused with perfecting the lines of a dog image. “It can’t hurt to try, right?”

“She’s just so dead set against any of what I’ve said about receiving credit before though.” You mumble, trying to get back to your own work with hope that he’ll drop the topic that he’s been bringing up periodically ever since you received notice of the meeting.

“You’ve worked for them for five years now.” Namjoon lifts up his head from the design, eyes decisively staring into your own as he speaks with conviction, “They owe you change, even if it isn’t a complete one-eighty from how things have gone so far. They’re shitty people if they don’t treat you like a human by this point.”

You smile at him, dryly speaking the reality, “They’re a business.”

“They’re only doing well because of you. That’s undeniable.” He smiles in return, bringing forth a bit of pride for you as his friend. Namjoon straightens up, stretching his arms as he nudges the drink towards you, “If you threaten to leave then maybe they’ll change their mind about the contract? Here take this, I’m still not good at this kind of latte art.”

Your chin rests on your palm while you glance to the drink. It presents a cute fluffy blue dog, with admittedly oddly positioned eyes. You refrain from laughter. “Looks better than the flower you tried last week. Thanks, Joon.”

Namjoon nods, moving the cups off with a smile as he turns to the sink behind him. Figuring he’s bugged you enough about the lawyer idea for the day he leaves it be, returning to the atmosphere before as he turns down the bar while Jinsol exits with two plates of food for customers.

“Yoongi was also telling me that I should get a lawyer.” You say on your own, not thinking that you could potentially give Namjoon hope that you’ll eventually agree with the two of them by keeping the conversation going. He turns back to you, wiping his hands dry on a rag. “Even said he’d get his lawyer friend to go with me if I wanted. Someone named Kim Taehyung.”

“How much does he charge?”

“Yoongi said he’d do it for free as a favor to him,” You shrug, taking a slow sip of the drink to see if it was too hot. “They’re good friends and have known each other for awhile.” Namjoon nods, arms crossing as his eyebrows furrow in consideration to the news. “But you and Yoongi need to stop acting like Yerin won’t just drop me if I start talking about changing the contract this seriously.”

“Y/N, you’ve given them more than ninety percent of their musical repertoire. That’d be the most idiotic business decision she could make.” Namjoon frowns, trying to find a reason for why you’re unable to see how much of an asset you are for SoundWave even though they treat you oppositely.

“And I’d take away one hundred percent of their reputation if the public finds out how much I have to do with that, Joon.” You trace the circumference of the ceramic with your index finger, eyeing the art that had further disfigured after you took a sip. “They can go on without me involved, and there’s no reason to keep me if I’m just going to destroy everything they’ve worked for. Cost-benefit analysis is what they call it in the business world, right?”

“Well, no, but close enough,” Namjoon leans back against the counter. “To be honest, even if they give you just a few pieces credited here and there, that would be a big improvement, don’t you think? You could start there.”

You nod, hearing your phone vibrate beside your laptop to alert you of a text, but ignoring it so you can explain the most recent nail in your coffin. “But since I’m now ‘Yoongi’s girlfriend’ any credits they give to me are going to look suspicious as hell.” You watch Namjoon blink evidently not considering that idea before. He all the sudden sighs gruffly and rubs his neck,

“Fuck, I bet that CEO did that on purpose too.” You nod as his bitterly spoken assessment, having come to that conclusion previously. Considering how frighteningly calculative Yerin is, that’s definitely within the scope of possibility. “She really pisses me off, Y/N.”

“Me too, but, fuck, she does her job well, right?” You huff and then take another long gulp of the latte while Namjoon’s head shakes slowly in contemplation. “I can see why the board lets her handle so much stuff independently of them. She has everything figured out.”

A part of you is willing to believe she set the past five years up like a chess board, strategizing from the advent of their song contest. Perhaps only looking for one or two interesting enough songwriters to trap into the pawn slots and lead the company to success at exponential rates. The lens that seemed clairvoyant and absent of illusion in the pitch to work longer in the company, all selected carefully to tie into the bigger picture Yerin created.

With how finely woven the company is, collectively seemed together to stop the outside from seeing what truly goes on behind the scenes, it’s almost believable in retrospect that Yerin had this picture in mind from the beginning.

You’d like to think there are things unforeseeable, however. Hopeful in that respect, though you can’t grasp a thought of what would shake up Yerin’s disposition so that she would agree to new terms in your contract.

“Maybe I’ll take Yoongi up on his offer…” You ponder aloud, not catching Namjoon’s eyes open wider with excitement at your voice. You finally go to your phone, checking it to see a new message,

Yoongi, 4:56pm: If you’re not busy can you call me?

“You should.” Namjoon’s blurt is out into the air as an uncontainable rambling. One loud enough to catch the attention of other patrons if only for a quick glance. You smile at your friend’s eagerness to jump onto that little sway of opinion, watching him nod longer. “If you’re dealing with legal stuff you should involve a lawyer-- even if you don’t think it’ll help. Why not, right?”

“Legal ‘stuff’, huh?” You giggle when Namjoon rolls his eyes smiling despite you cutting him off to tease. “He wants me to call him, so I’ll ask.”

“Wants you to?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow, though the lightness of his lips insinuate he’s somehow pleased with your news. It’s your turn to roll your eyes, and then attempt shooing Namjoon off with your hand, but he doesn’t budge as he questions with a large smile forming, “Bet he misses you like you miss him-”

“Stop, you know it isn’t like that.” Your lips frown, wishing he wouldn’t bring that subject up even as a joke. Namjoon’s lips clamp, but his teasing expression remains, seemingly undeterred by your weak rebuttal. “Not actually dating, Joon.” Namjoon only nods to which you sigh, shifting on the stool to face slightly away from him. “He probably just wants to complain about it being cold where he’s at.”

“Okay,” Namjoon nods again, stepping once down the bar to start assisting with a newly entered party. “Warm him up with your voice then-”

“Fuck off!” You watch him scamper off like a startled cat, and shake your head at him hitting his hip against the corner of the bar. You bite your lip when Namjoon glances back at you with a pained expression from the collision, but nonetheless gives you a thumbs up to cheer you on in your phone call endeavor even though you think he’s acting ridiculous.

It takes only a moment to open the message thread with Yoongi, then click into the contact information to call. You skim through the lines on your laptop screen as quickly as you are able to while the line buzzes in wait. Three beeps and Yoongi’s voice registers in an answer,

“Hello?” He sounds somewhat puzzled and surprised and there’s a small moment that you think you should’ve texted him first, but you go ahead and respond,

“Hey, you wanted me to call?” The screen before you becomes a blur, its shine leading you to shut it close as you listen in on Yoongi’s voice when he says back sheepishly,

“I did, yeah. Just because I’m kind of bored here,” His volume lowers into a mumble as he goes on, making you smile gently. “Ah, but if you’re busy then don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not. Just looking over some lyrics, but I’ve been messing with them since yesterday practically nonstop, so I should probably take a break.”

Yoongi hums, recalling the texts back and forth the day before where you’d mentioned the words not sounding just right. Lying back into the armchair in the green room, he stretches an arm, voice as comforting to your ears as usual, “You at least went to sleep though, right?”

“Yeah,” You tighten your lips after the response, feeling a beat pass as you try and mumble the next part quickly and quietly, “At four, but-”

“Four?” Yoongi chuckles begrudgingly, rubbing his face with his hand, and then sighs in discontentment, “You’re worse than I am.”

“Is that a compliment?” You ask him innocently, trying to navigate away from the potential reprimand for your sleeping habits as if you hadn’t done the same in response to some of the unruly hours Yoongi has said he’s fallen asleep at too. He just laughs on the other side of the line, causing you to bite your lip and try a new conversation that you’re sure would be something he’d react to like Namjoon, “About the lawyer friend of yours… Do you think he’d still be available for the meeting?”

---

Kim Taehyung stands pleasantly in the lobby of the company when you arrive days later. He greets you with a bright smile that makes you wonder if he can actually be as intimidating as Yoongi stated he is in contractual meetings. With his perfectly wrinkle-free suit, clearly tailored for himself, and luxuriously bronze leather suitcase, you can at least say his appearance is telling enough that his finances at least back-up a success record.

“So just to make sure we’re on the same page from the conversation on the phone,” He gestures for you to enter the elevator before himself as he speaks, following you along inside. “I’m here mostly for appearances, correct?”

“Well,” Your voice is high, smile sheepish from the verbiage used to describe Taehyung’s involvement, “Yeah-- but I’d still like to argue a little for it, but,” You pause, thinking that your own disposition seems weak and not positive for the outlook you want to search for in this meeting. “I just don’t want them to fire me for arguing too much, if that makes sense.”

“Although it’s certainly not proper for them to fire you for something as common as negotiating the terms of your contract, I understand why you’re apprehensive to speaking up about it because of the inherent hierarchical differences between you and the CEO. Nevertheless, I’ll take your lead for how much you would like to push for adjustments.” Taehyung speaks with ease, words flowing like silk. Relaxing as it is to have someone like him ready to discuss details on your behalf, you still find the idea daunting.

Even if by some grand means you succeed in somehow regaining all the rights to songs you write and music produced, what will that make the company think of you? Beyond Yerin and the board of directors, exists coworkers you know fondly, some as friends, and some simply respected. People with their own ambitions and work that they try to build high like yourself, and now you stand in an elevator on the way to an office to potentially crack the glass of the established.

As you exit from the elevator on the top floor, Yerin’s head secretary rises from her desk with a smile of familiarity. She gestures across from her to empty waiting chairs, stating pleasantly that Yerin is currently busy, but the meeting is expected to go on as scheduled. You simply nod at her words, sitting in the seats with Taehyung while your mind wraps around the situation about to unfold.

You aren’t so naive to believe that she’ll shut you up from the first word of contention, but where beyond that she’ll let it wander is unknown to you. It’s unimaginable that Yerin’s face would even concave with any shock or fret about this topic, because there’s never been a moment that you’ve witnessed her out of control. The way that the company operates, is organized, stays on top is thanks to her collectiveness. Ethical or not.

Your phone buzzes, jolting nerves across your spine that collected in tense shoulders.

Yoongi, 1:57pm: Hopefully you’re not already in the meeting room, but I just wanted to tell you it’ll all be okay no matter what happens.

You exhale through your lips, reaching to fiddle with your hair as a smile tries to force its way on your lips.

Y/N, 1:58pm: About to go in. Thank you so much Yoon.

“Ms. Y/N,” Your eyes lift from your phone as the secretary calls out to you, “She’ll be ready in just a moment.”

You begin to nod, smile politely in return though the action freezes when the doors to Yerin’s office open. Because of the oddness of coincidences, you stare in a stunned silence as black boots clatter on the tile while Jimin walks out of the office, bowing his head in goodbye to those in the room as he does so. Profanity of different calibers jumble around in your mind, rising in internal volume as the door behind him shuts and Jimin’s eyes find your person.

A moment feels like it freezes, as though crossing paths is unheard of to the both of you. In reality, you’ve both spoken to one another since the party, as short and dismissive the comments in various meetings were. But outside of that space, there’s something unnatural about passing along each other still. You know it’s mutually felt, because Jimin’s eyes remain on you longer than they should, returning your stare that unconsciously questioned what he would do.

Then you wonder why he left Yerin’s office to begin with. Though she is not absent of communication with employees, the setting appears more formal, rather than a casual check on how he’s been. With his manager nowhere to be seen, it leaves the question unanswered as Jimin finally steps along.

Returning focuz from you, he goes to the elevator unspoken. Like he would’ve months ago while you were both secretly involved, but in the current time, it leaves your throat with a tiny knot. Words and actions of the party flash through your mind, and you try to shake it off when the sound of the elevator dings off to your side. You just look at your phone,

Yoongi, 2:00pm: Let me know how things go afterwards, I’ll be here to listen.

Jimin steps into the elevator, turning on his heel to face the front and reach to click the button to his floor. His eyes moves reflexively towards you once more, curious of why you sit evidently waiting to speak to Yerin. He bites his lip, worrying in his thoughts of what she had just mentioned to him, but the tension in his jaw subsides as he takes in your expression. A soft curl of your lips gazing down at your phone, reminiscent of times in the past, Jimin can’t help but remember in that moment.

As the elevator door shuts, he feels every morsel of air filling in his chest that wants to be expelled, but his lips stay in a blank line, while Jimin stares at his blurry silhouette reflected in the elevator door. He has no right to feel the prickling that fights with the oxygen in his lungs, but the image of your brightened expression is infectious to his focus in a way that doesn’t feel good. Regretful.

Jimin shakes his head, sighing as long as possible. He watches the reflection’s arm move with his own as he strokes back his hair, suddenly hit with a harder wave of that emotion. The emotion that was never about you and always about himself. Unchanged still, as he learned from that meeting that went absolutely no where he wanted it to but to further doubt his own capabilities in his career.

He blinks, lips pursing into a frown only to stop a groan from escaping. He instead clicks his tongue, stretching his neck as the elevator stops on his floor. No matter what you’re there for, Jimin hopes you get what you want out of it. The thought strikes him into a standstill when he steps through the door. Jimin’s lips part, wondering why the selfishness escaped from his mind just like that.

In the waiting area before Yerin’s office, the secretary rises as a man exits the elevator. You know from past times that he’s the head contract lawyer, and the memories of his snarky way of speaking nearly cause your eyes to roll outright, but you just hold it in exhaling a breath instead. Taehyoung looks through his phone beside you, presumably through his calendar from your vague glimpse to it, so he’s unaware of the lawyer feet away casting him a look that turns into a stunned stair.

Your eyebrow raises in interest, gathering that in one way or another through the lawyer community, you suppose, that he recognizes Taehyung. You leave it be to speculation, not taking the initiative to alert Taehyung to the lawyer’s somewhat hostile stare because he quickly scampers off into Yerin’s office anyways.

Any kind of reputation to garner that reaction you’re happy with, if you’re honest. That lawyer always pissed you off with his disrespectful deposition anyways.

“Ms. Baek is ready for you both now.”

Taehyung stands before you, doing nothing to question the long sigh that you make. Gathering that you loathe the meeting and are evidently nervous, he thinks the reaction is rather common. Still he’s encouraging when you finally stand beside him, smiling optimistically at you with a thumbs up acted out with his free hand.

The contrast of the other lawyer’s reaction to how mellow Taehyung acts towards you makes you snicker, and return the thumbs up. A little lighter on your feet from his easy to along with personality and Yoongi’s gently comforting texts, you lead the way this time, entering through the doorway as the secretary politely opens it for the two of you.

“So he was her to represent Ms. Y/N, after all.” Nam Dohyun greets the two of you before Yerin who sits calmly in her desk chair ignoring the jab-like remark of her lawyer. “Kim Taehyung independently representing two of our employees now. How coincidental, I wonder if you’ve asked your other client to hand out business cards for you.”

You think the argumentative way Dohyun speaks to Taehyung is odd, considering the fact that meetings like this tend to have outside lawyers assist the employees. Up until now, you’ve likely been one of the odd few who have refrained from seeking independent advice, so perhaps there’s animosity in the business relationship between the two that you don’t know about. You assume the other client Dohyun referred to is Yoongi, which allows your mind to speculate shortly that in the merger maybe there had been alterations made in Yoongi’s contract or other negotiations. Definitely something if Taehyung is already seen in a threatening manner as Dohyun leads you to believe.

“Referrals only, actually.” Taehyung smiles pleasantly, though rather feigned as Dohyun and you feel the chill he sends out. Yerin sighs, standing from her desk,

“Mr. Nam, watch your tone.” She gestures with her hand to the long table set aside for smaller meetings such as this one. “Let’s continue this there, since there are more people than anticipated.”

“This should be a short meeting, I believe.” Dohyun speaks first as the two parties sit across from one another. He reaches into his suitcase to bring about the paperwork as he continues along. “Because there’s been no true push for change, I’m happy to assume that the terms of your contract are still very suitable to what you want out of your position here, ma’am. Financially, I’m positive it will only become more lucrative as the company continues to grow and your royalties continue gathering how more money than someone such as yourself would know what to do with.”

Your lips tighten into a line as Dohyun’s insulting, calm voice rambles irritably along. Refraining from showcasing the annoyance, you try to keep your mind occupied on Yerin as she sits across from you poised. Her eyes follow the path the contract makes across the table, and she’s empty of fervent emotions, simply monitoring the ordeal until her voice is needed.

Taehyung slides the top copy in front of you, while he takes the bottom one for himself to skim through. You finally break away from trying to extract any information about the state of Yerin’s attitude from her expressions, and join in a fast read through. Entirely similar to the first one you signed years earlier, but the percentage of earning through royalties is raised by a considerable margin.

You consider its new amount as a move from Yerin. She knows you’re dissatisfied, and even if Dohyun acts oblivious to that fact, you believe the entire board would have information about the fact. So this increase in revenue, which would tremendously strengthen your financial assets is put in place as an attempt to nullify your mouth. Maybe Yerin thinks money is where the discontentment stems from.

“I’m sure you recognize the pay increase you’ll be receiving through royalties in this new version of the contract. All other terms are kept the same. However, because of the assistance your work has done to bring so much success to the company, we believe that you deserve more recognition through improved finances. It’s quite a lucrative opportunity for someone as young as you are.”

Though you pay little attention to the verbal ego stroke of Dohyun, you nod absently to his words, flipping the page as you try to search for any other changes. Even though he said royalty percentage is the only difference, you give a chance that there is more. A surprise alteration that would actually make you ecstatic in the way that money would never do. But there is no such thing.

It makes you bite your inner cheek that you’re so hesitant now to sign again where years earlier you were so eager you barely cared about listening to Dohyun ask you to take a few minutes to consider. Perhaps it’s maturity, or just dissatisfaction.

You glance towards Taehyung who sits waiting for your reactions to the contract. You slide the paper back to him, not catching Yerin’s eyes narrow slightly from your actions.

“My client is actually interested in adjustments to the contract that are unrelated to finances.” He says fluidly, pushing their contracts to the center of the table so that there is space for his briefcase as he sets it down. “Using her last contract, I revised it with new points of what she desires to change.”

Yerin takes the contract from Taehyung as he stands to properly hand them off, while Dohyun snatches it with a small, unhidden glare. She reads through it silently, while you watch with an increasingly heavy heartbeat. Trying your best to ignore the rumblings beside her from the company lawyer, you instead cast all your attention to Yerin who undoubtedly is more important for how this will play out. She sets the contract down, prompting Dohyun to sit upright and ready himself to speak until Yerin raises her hand to keep him quiet,

“Y/N, I’ve told you before that allowing you to receive public credit for songwriting and production will only lead to dissent from the public. It’ll irredeemably tarnish the reputation of SoundWave and every single idol or group that works out of the company, as well as those of us involved in the original terms of your contract from the beginning.” Her hand rests back on the table as she finishes her direct speech, nothing more than the smallest crease of her brows to indicate that Yerin is at the most irritated that you have continued to bring this argument up.

You feel Taehyung’s eyes as he looks to you, waiting further to gauge how far you’re willing to take this attempt. But the indecision of what you want feels like a tormenting battle, because what she says is true. Undeniably, there would be so much negative repercussions for this change, especially if any word gets out that the artists have all been simply lying about how much they work for themselves.

Even if you are rightfully owed acknowledgement that the creations are yours, it’ll come at the cost of so many careers and reputations that it feels greedy. You know it’ll do more harm for SoundWave than good for you in the public’s perspective, but it hurts watching everyone around you claim what you made is theirs.

“I realize that.” You say carefully, hands in your lap knotted into fists to help you maintain composure. “That’s why the contract only specifies that a certain percentage of music would be properly credited to me. The idols will still largely be seen as the songwriters and producers that the public think they are, I’ll just be added in like some of the other names you allow into the credits.”

“Which songs? At your discretion or ours?” Yerin asks rhetorically, earning an irritated glower from Taehyung who still sits beside you in silence to let you lead. “And what happens when this contract’s terms aren’t enough to satisfy your selfish desire to have your name in all of the albums? Are we simply supposed to grandfather out the perception that our idols are self-sufficient until it has transferred to being completely engineering by songwriters and producers behind the scene, and assume the public will simply be on board to go along with such an outrageous idea?”

You sit still, watching as Yerin’s sentences end leaving her with visible scowl. Clearly annoyed now. Similar to the anger that she expressed towards you, Yoongi, and Jimin months earlier, but presently it’s because of your own stubbornness. Though her own unyielding demands are also to blame, so tension releases from your fists and your eyes tighten into a glare,

“Your plan right now is to continue to lie to the public. The reputation of this company is already destroyed, it’s just waiting for them to find out. Keeping me locked in a contract that forces me to lie with you all isn’t my fault. I didn’t make the original contract that puts business gain above public trust. And frankly, I’m not trying to ruin SoundWave right now, I just want my name next to my songs. The artists still sing them, perform them, make money from them-- this whole company capitalizes ridiculously off of my work, and all I’m asking for is my name to be public.”

Beside you Taehyung watches curiously, a bit surprised that the eruption of a speech left you with such an intense disposition opposite to how nervous you were when meeting with him at the lobby. But this closer resembles what Yoongi mentioned about you to him.

Yerin’s erect posture falters as she reclines back into her seat, eyes fixated in angry slits towards you still. Not as menacing, shifting towards a bothered stare as composure appears to regain itself in her.

She examines you, knowing you’re miles from your comfort zone, having never spoken to her like this before. There’s not a single moment in the history of you at the company where you’re appeared so set in the fire of argumentation, and on one hand it’s mutually respected by her because she realizes completely that you’re just trying to fight for what you believe necessary. Yerin can’t fault that when years earlier she’d done the same for herself to get her to where she is today, but at the same time it isn’t a quality that she can reward in this situation.

“With the addition of your public relationship with Min Yoongi, it’s even more unlikely that the public will give positive attribution to your name should you begin to be credited outright. Your first exposure will be put under scrutiny because people will assume you’re using him for the work, or that he’s manipulating the company for his own gain. In either scenario, you won’t be well received. On top of everything else it’ll do to SoundWave’s reputation. For the sake of the company, and all of its employees, including you, I can’t let your terms be agreed to.”

Candidly said as it is polite, Yerin lets her decision take over the ambience. Spilling into every molecule of air, you’re left with no choice but to consider what she says as unchangeable. Just like you expected all along. From the first time you started to ponder the idea, you knew the outcome would be as it is now.

An uncredited employee is the extent of what you can be in SoundWave.

“While I understand you’re upset,” Yerin starts again, entirely calm. Like she’s won. “There can still be made adjustments into your salary and the royalties you earn as a way to mediate your frustration-”

“It’s not about the money.” You’re voice is calm too; flowing like drops into a lake that don’t disrupt the water. And your eye contact into Yerin’s is direct as well. Incomparably challenging from that of any you’ve made with her years earlier. You can tell by her slightest of frowns that Yerin realizes this is different from other times. Unwavering like you would have been even months earlier at the beginning of the year.

Yerin opens her mouth, to try another angle, but your head shaking is enough to make her stay silent, listening as you finish the meeting in a cut,

“I won’t renew my contract then. Once the time stated in it ends, I quit.”

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grim-faux · 4 years

Text

9 - Behind his Shadow

The temperature changed. It was a fickle thing in the massive tunnels that made up the sewer, the warm air clinging to my shoulders while small drafts drifted through my sleeves causing me to shiver. I remained crouched for several minutes listening keenly for the corridor and the thing through the grate, I’m not sure what I was waiting for. Or if I was aware that I had been waiting for some time before the small spark of a nerve pulsed up my spine.

I needed to keep moving. Whatever was there I was either following it or barely staying ahead of it, couldn’t decide which it was. Either I’d stumble into it or linger too long in one area, and that would inadvertently allow it to reach me before I had time to realize I had been hunted all along.

I wobbled as I rose to my feet and took some small steps toward the corner of the tunnel, watching the dark shades beyond the large grate with avid caution. What happened to the person that looked down upon me? The path on my right was open for exploration.

My nerves were too high strung, in the hollow quiet I startled myself back when my foot broke the surface of the water with a soft swish. I backed away and rolled my eyes, though my jumpiness couldn’t be discredited. But still, I was spooked by my own footsteps!

A plate on the wall indicated Administration Block on the right with an arrow to clarify this. I really didn’t have any options, my only comfort came that this path would not branch out into additional tunnels and I couldn’t possibly get lost down here. Given, there was a way out and my batteries would last.

Originally I had wanted to pause and wring out the excess water from my coat as best I could, but I didn’t want to stay stationary longer than necessary. It clung to me like a soggy glove, at least the sewers were warm with decay, only upside here. It was well received given circumstances.

The tunnel was dim with enough light I didn’t need my camera, I carried it beside my hip for the comfort of it. The tunnel curved and I followed it into a well-lit channel with large drain pipes beneath the floor, grated over and filled to the brim with thick runoff. The cooler air settled low, generating a murky steam that clung to everything and swirled around my shoulders as I cut through it. With no area visible to hide enemies I jogged along taking in the constructive details of the abandon sewer.

It looked like railing was installed along the side, or guardrails for the workers that had to come down when it was flooded. Support beams ran across the ceiling every few feet, but didn’t seem to help much in preventing cave-ins. At the end of the channel was another collapse, I was approaching it when a light flittered through blinding me.

A soft voice hummed out, I wasn’t sure if I should retreat now or wait. He was on the other side of the fallen debris, unless there was an access through on the open tunnel to the right. The song sounded familiar but against the echoing walls I couldn’t decide if it was ‘Father’ Martin, or one of his disciples. It didn’t sound like him….

“Till all the lambs in the church of god…”

I couldn’t make out what he was saying at this distance. He had already taken off, on the other side of the tunnel I saw his light glitter as he ran and his feet chopped up the shallow water. The song was somehow depressing. Maybe because of the ‘Father’ Martin’s Gospel of Sand, or maybe seeing the man down searching as I was for his own way out, armed with only a flashlight.

I kept to the left and strained to see through the vapor where he might have gone, the tunnel had a neighboring channel but I didn’t have any ambition to explore that side further. The forgotten corpse of Murkoffs doctors lay dissolving in the drainage gutter, even from where I stood I could pick up the heavy fumes of his bloated body.

A door waited innocently at my backside. I tried the handle half expecting it to be broken or locked, but the knob gave with no effort and I entered to find a patient hidden behind a shelf near the back. I must’ve looked shocked by his presence as he held up his arms and backed away.

“You don’t have to be scared of me. I can tell we’re the same. You still know what’s real.”

I stepped out of the room to glance around and return my eyes to the patient, before reentering and shutting the door behind. This was the first human in this place to actually comfort me, and not sound creepy about it. First person to attempt a conversation with me.

“Do you mind if I film you?” I held up my camera, keeping my distance.

“Not at all. Go ahead. I’d actually prefer it.” I raised the camera and zoomed in on him framing his head and shoulders nicely. He looked no different from the dozens of unaccounted victims, his face ruined by malpractice, scars up and down his arms. But he was fully clothed.

“The doctor’s dead, you know that, right? Dr. Wernicke.” I nodded. “Died before he even started working here.” He pinched the bridge of what remained of his nose between his fingers as though recalling some detail, or harmed by the recollections. “What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients? That’s the question.”

“I found the obituary.”

“Yeah.” To me it sounded like he didn’t credit this fact too much. “A few of us have seen it too, a little proof he’s never been here.” He glanced at the shelf beside him and ran a finger along its metal support. “Doesn’t change what he’s done.”

“But…he’s dead, isn’t he? It’s on file.” My breath hitched when he gave me a venomous look, but it dissolved and he turned away toward a mattress abandoned on the floor behind him. He curled up on its filthy surface and turned his back to me.

The interview was over.

“The Patients know Dr. Wernicke is dead. One asks me, ‘What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients?’ What is PROJECT WALRIDER?”

I examined the room lightly without disturbing him, and always kept my attention trained to any sort of sound he would make, pausing when his breathing wheezed or the broken springs of the mattress shifted. There was no visible aid, aside from some cracked shelving and a vent that might’ve led to better venues - I couldn’t reach it. There was only a ladder in the center of the floor leading down a short ways. I secured the camera and climbed the rungs, that familiar scent of copper whirled around me and I anticipated what would meet me.

The sewage in the drain gutter was a soft rose color, the sharp scent of death thick in the humid tunnel. It was fresh otherwise it would have diluted out by now. All the screaming I’d heard in the upper level?

I shivered as I pulled up the camera but decided not to film, instead I held it between my palms and stared into the water. What was PROJECT WALRIDER? kept ringing through my thoughts. What was the screaming I heard? What happened to those people? It could’ve been Chris Walker. Maybe I misheard them, others had expressed fears in his violent tendencies, I must’ve misheard them. But I couldn’t stop shaking. My coat was damp and cool, my nerves were shot. I needed to keep moving, keep my mind focused on what was around me.

Across from my position a plate was fixed on the wall that labeled the contrary directions to take, the Male ward to the left and the Female ward to the right. I glanced down at the river of swirling red before I set my foot on the side of the gutter and teetered, beside a metal gate. The Male ward was where I needed to be, I think. I wasn’t sure anymore, I could’ve as easily headed to the right if I thought there was a way out through the Female section but…I didn’t want to see what that area had to offer. I didn’t want—

A body flopped down from above nearly on top of me. I pivoted sloshing through the metallic froth back to the direction where the Female ward was, only to turn the bend and find a solid metal gate. I wasn’t satisfied to turn back yet, not until I took the handle and fought to turn it. The latch was solid, my only course obvious.

I switched between breathing through my mouth or through my nose, the stench sought my senses no matter what, I could hardly bear it. Halfheartedly I attempted to walk on the side of the drainage gutter out of the liquid, if only to settle my conscience. The body that impacted the cement looked torn and twisted in bizarre ways and his arm looked infected, possibly blood poisoning but I was no doctor. I couldn’t tell if he was this mangled before he fell, or whatever killed him had maimed him.

I was better off never knowing.

As I passed under the huge drain he fell from, I could see the grate above had been removed and the bright light from the upper floors descended unrestrained. Light was still my enemy, but it was hard not to take comfort in its strong brilliance.

I checked the charge on my camera as I continued into the darker portions of the tunnel, stunned to find it nearly half dead. That was a good battery, I had seen it when I put it in. Or wasn’t it? I wasn’t sure. But if I needed my night vision down here for prolonged periods at a time, it might be on its lowest functions.

It must’ve been the chill. The cold had a tendency to drain battery life fast. But, no…the sewers were at times stifling, almost unbearably so in my damp coat.

The cadence of gushing water traveled around the next corner, elevating my anxiety further. The fore sound could cloak a stew of early warnings from feet to voices, or other unnamed things. I squatted behind some waterlogged crates stacked at the edge, and glanced over them when I saw red splatters. Slowly I eased around the side and peered into a foggy tunnel muddled by failing lights, but enough visibility was there to utilize the zoom on my camera. I couldn’t make out movement, even with the running water dividing my attention. A new scene of horror awaited me.

I slipped around the boxes keeping low, and moved to the opposite side of the channel in an effort to avoid further soaking. Water spewed from a broken water valve of a large pipe connected between the floor and ceiling, I didn’t bother to check it as my eyes focused on the red splattered on the walls and floor. It looked like someone had been straining chunky human pieces from the large drainage pipes in the ceiling, the sides splattered with bright globs of black and red. It was all spilling from the rim of the gutter into the water staining it the crimson hue. Beneath the surface I could view small fish like things squirming about, as persistent as the flies burrowing into soggy guts or body parts.

I closed my eyes and swallowed, I could feel myself shaking harder as I lowered my arms beside me. This nightmare looked recent, it smelled fresh and raw. I had memories as a kid, being with my dad at the local butchers as he cut up the hindquarters of a hog. This reminded me sharply of that. Of all those times.

Maybe after this I’d turn vegan. I never was a big fan of steak.

There was no end to it as I moved through the tunnel, blood was stained up the walls, and pieces of inner organs left strew over pipes and crates lining the gutter. Each drain I passed under had blood running down its interior, more innards, or large sheets of skin imbedded with bone. A leg bobbing in the drain still had blood seeping from the stump, as the little black sewer guppies thrashed into their meal.

Finally, a full human body was laid dead in the bend of the tunnel. I didn’t care to identify his death, I continued and placed myself on the side of the gutter. The channel darkened and a cold draft crept through my coat, I was forced to use the camera to keep from stumbling on the slick sides.

Something hissed ahead of me. I sighed irritated by how jumpy I was, given I was still alone, it was just a pipe—

A thick splash sent cold beads of water through the bars. I retreated a few steps and gazed through the visor, seeing nothing but a sturdy grate where the movement had occurred. The bloated body of a Murkoff researcher was crammed against the bars, some of the skin exposed at his neck and face had been disturbed by the sudden kick in the water and floated freely from the muscles of his skull. Above, or around me there was that same sound, ball bearings rattling through pipes. I turned my camera filming wherever I thought the sound twittered though there was nothing to see, the noise sent shivers up my spin. Or it could’ve been the sudden chill locked in the stale air. Couldn’t stop here.

Need to keep moving. Had to escape. Thoughts of Chris and what he could do to me vanished completely with the presence of this ‘unknown.’ I wasn’t sure what I was running from, only that I somehow kept out of its line of sight. Dumb luck.

I entered an intersecting tunnel on my right but drew back, there was light ahead but the sounds were still present, sounded like it had filtered out of the pipe and was now crashing around behind the door in the tunnels side. The uproar grew in volume as whatever tore the room apart, shelves cracked as all manner of furniture was flung about. The metal barrier quivered and my breath came labored, I wasn’t sure if I was actually experiencing this. How did it get from here to that room?

I took small steps forward, before springing away for no real reason other than my fear of the sounds and I recalled the slaughter. I could almost hear it now, shrieking voices of the deranged as skin was peeled back and bones cracked. Then all at once everything ceased and silence saturated the calm tunnel.

It felt like I was in some sort of danger, though no visible evidence was present to suggest this notion. The air was filled with the metallic reek and rot of old sludge, I could almost pick up the soft warble of water spilling down cobblestone. I felt my heart sank as I realized it could just as easily be blood spilling from a ruined neck.

I debated trying the handle to see what was in there. The highest probability would be its displeasure with the intrusion, followed by my abrupt death. In the dark red liquid of the gutter I could see the drains grate was removed from the wall, a possible means to get away from this area. For a moment I couldn’t move, my eyes flashed to the silent door with its unassuming threat.

Quickly I zipped along the far side of the wall across from the door and gently stepped into the rosy liquid, there was no sound as I shuffled along in the cramped space in the dark. I choked on that thick oil reek as I felt about, feeling light headed with the sudden collision. My camera was also getting low on power, but I insisted on using every last bit of what it had. I still only had two more batteries, and one I was certain was on half power. My leg stung as I bore my grungy pants into the wounds with the chilled water, I shifted my weight and adjusted the camera in my hand before I could fall over. This drain lacked the curving edges I could rest my hand upon to keep my balance, as it was I could barely keep my knees and lower edges of my coat dry. I felt an immediate difference in temperature the moment I entered, the air was cold and calm causing my shoulders to ache as I trembled uncontrollably.

The small tunnel felt near endless in the consuming black, the edges of the green night vision made it more oppressive than should be possible. What was only mere seconds felt like ages, until I reached a fork. I attempted the one side that curved left, only to find it dead end at a sturdy grate. Returning to the original route, I made certain where I was headed before trying the other side.

When the patients came down here earlier, they might have removed some of these grates together for shorter routes. As long as the path was open, I was obligated to take it. Every wrong turn wasted battery life and I attempted to conserve the energy by switching the NV off whenever possible, but in the black slate of nothing I felt the patient approach of something deadly.

I crawled out into a small room, a pump station. It was drained, perhaps by the patients that came through or what was left of the staff still surviving this madness. Some crates sat stacked in the diluted blood channel, and large pipes bore down through the grates upon which I stood, separating me from a nasty swim. The thick fumes of oil and gas filled my lungs and the water I stood in had that translucent, iridescent sheen of chemical residue. Neglected machinery, yet still worked long after abandonment. Some miracle.

I put the camera away, with such nice lighting I just should. The rail ahead was within arm reach if I jumped, and climbed over rather struggle between the bars. A set of shelves at the opposite side of the room were loaded with tools and parts, and some cans of oil. Two doors on either wall indicated the only options out of this room, if they were unlocked.

I tried the one nearest to me set on the solid cement floor, its appearance almost pleasant against the cold brick. Behind the door was a wall of black, which would take me somewhere worthwhile I decided that instant. The air within felt sharp and chilled, unlike the humid sewers.

The other door may have accessed the room I was locked from, as with it something dangerous and incomprehensible. I doubted it, but decided not to risk it. Strange shuffling and scratching sounds came from the other side, I had no wish to meet its gaze and learn its nature. I slipped into the dark chill of the next channel, and shut the door.

Best leave some mysteries, my sick curiosity was going to be the death of me.

I was upon a high grated walkway, without the night vision I could feel the danger press close into me. Decay, mildew, and every manner of disease. My finger with the missing nail was in a good deal of pain, easily ignored but a frequent reminder whenever I fumbled with the cameras operations.

The path to my right was loaded with boxes, a precarious place to climb for a view if they gave out and I fell into god knows what below. When I checked over the side I could make out the walls of metal sheeting gapped for water flow and ruined by corrosion of the mountains natural minerals, the oily water rippled with garbage from the main ward. I was vaguely reminded of Star Wars, and half expected some unknown monster lurking in the depths to coil about my leg and drag me downwards to jaws lined with thousands of tiny teeth.

I laughed at this. My laughter echoing off the great expanse of this chamber, deep into the dark, lost in this hell hole. Somewhere out there a patient was laughing with me. I swore I could hear him.

Or maybe that was my echo.

My knees gave out and I slumped to them lowering the camera beside me, but never letting go of it. I laughed until my sides ached and I tasted that copper residue in my mouth once more. I had fallen to deep chuckles before I started to cough on the foul air, then I flopped to my good side and lay there snickering quietly to myself on the frigid bridge.

What an idiot I was coming to this place! “The story that breaks these bastards.” Weren’t those my exact words? Don’t quote me on that. Looks like I got what I was looking for, fuckin’ story of the century, and Murkoff’s crushing demise. They looked pretty broken to me, but maybe I wasn’t squinting right. I should get that in fine print, signed by Dr. Wernicke himself. Oh the irony he died before this place flipped its lid.

I waited till I had control again before attempting to rise, I didn’t need to buckle over the rail and make a graceless swan dive.

The path going left looked clear, but the rail was shattered to some distance. With no better option I bit down on my reservations and dropped into the water, prepared for the jolt though not taking it as well as I had hoped. I murmured to myself as my sides settled and I continued, camera held near my face as I waded through chest deep water. It had the sharp rust smell, that was more metallic than blood, the pipes around here were made of zinc I thought. Probably wrong, I wasn’t a plumber and I wouldn’t tell one how to do his job before I researched it.

I stopped and listened when I heard something that sounded like hissing, or grinding. The way echoes twisted between the distant walls….maybe it was shrieking? Maybe I was shrieking and wasn’t aware of it.

To reassure myself I touched my lips with my hand, never once considering how filthy my fingers were after I had been crawling down in the gutters. In about five minutes it would come back to me. I took a shaky breath to smooth my frayed nerves but it didn’t help at all. I tried not to bite down on my tongue to prevent my teeth from chattering, in the event something did surprise me, I’d wind up biting off my tongue.

In the dark a shape flittered by, startling me back a step. I gazed at it until my eyes told my brain what it was, just a scrap of blanket from somewhere. I hated this place. It was obvious by now.

I searched around the small channel, not sure what to make of this area. I decided not to worry about it. There were large grates, massive, separating this area from the channels I might have viewed or come through. There was no way into them. I hurried my movement, struggling to build a mental map of where I was going and prevent wasting the battery by getting turned around. The chamber was extending beyond the dividing sections and cement walls far spread enabling me from following one side without losing too much power in the process. I ventured into a small area open by a tear in the steel mesh, but found nothing other than a cluster of crates and some magazines that dissolved around my coat.

My battery was done, and I was forced to change it out. The next one was full power, good to get me out of here. Just had to find somewhere to get too.

When I returned to the area I had just left, I noted a stack of crates beneath a broken rail. It’s connector. I climbed the crates and dragged myself up onto the path, or what was left of it. A few steps and I was already splashing below in the next channel, wading along with water bubbling into my coat. I supposed I was looking for ways to get up and walk on these broken paths to reach a door or ladder, anyway to get out of here. Good plan. I had a good sense of direction on me, so long as I didn’t overthink which way I was facing. If I memorized where I came from and kept my back to the drop or path, then I could navigate across the murky waters with a good mind where the next catwalk would appear.

As I was moving the same clatter of pellets in a pipe twittered off the fences and walls. I checked the ceilings and zoomed to locate large pipes hung above, it was difficult to follow a direction consistently. I also wasn’t certain if I wanted to follow that eerie sound, I was trying to keep avoid it.

After walking halfway around the small pool I located the grated steps leading up to my next pathway. One way was the broken remains of the metal bridge, the other took a sharp right. I walked along, wrenching back when a form came into view. Just a cold body slumped on the rail, I lowered the camera to rub my face with my hand. When I pulled my hand back I held it out straight and viewed it through the NV feed of the visor. My hand was trembling like an addict suffering heavy withdrawals. I didn’t feel frightened here despite the odd sounds and the lurking threat, I was just cold. It was very cold and I was trembling.

I turned the camera back on the patient. It was a rather odd place to die, I gave the corpse plenty of space as I passed. The small detail that I was viewing murdered patients in the sewers was not missed, it could mean a number of things. They were lost down here due to ‘Father’ Martins guidance, and the big fucker had found them. Or, the remaining survivors of the staff had retreated down here, and were defending themselves from the variants. While the latter speculation seemed the most plausible, I doubted it. I had already accepted that everyone affiliated with Murkoff for whatever reason, had been killed. And nothing could change that.

The catwalk came to its inevitable end, and I was certain I heard something glide through the liquid below. It was only fair to note that at this point I was disturbed, and I couldn’t tell if my mind was playing tricks on me or if there was really something lurking below in the untold depths.

Star Wars.

The water swirled about me when I plopped in, and I took a moment to check the power on the battery before continuing. I was stunned to find it half done. What was this? I found these batteries abandoned throughout this place, had they lost most of their juice exposed the way they were?

For now it would hold, I’d worry over it later. Probably when it was too late.

I swore I felt the water ripple around my chest. Maybe my movement caused ripples that returned to me. Echo ripples? Seemed logical. I needed to get out of here before something did drag me under and drowned me. I kept walking, careful steps and slow movements, try not to disturb the surface too much. The silence grew thunderous as my heart pumped in my chest, I was completely and totally alone here in this channel.

The water burst in front of me spraying the camera as with my face with an icy sheet, it successfully spooked me into a full retreat. It was nothing I assured, after I had calmed myself and gawked back at the burbling surface. There was nothing there, no one in the water. Just…something from the ceiling. Worn brick, or that nasty shit. Fuck, a decapitated head, none of those things could consciously hurt me.

Another walkway curved overhead to the right, it felt like I had gone in a complete circle only because I didn’t trust the stability of some boxes. I could see no boxes from where I was stationed below. I grunted and hauled myself up, bringing the camera back to my face as I took the path. A few feet and I found an innocent looking door to my left, the slim crawl of light at the bottom crack. The hinges stuck and creaked as forced it open, only to meet a despairing sight.

The room was empty aside from a bare utility shelf, some plywood, and a man slumped in the furthest corner. A thin black puddle had formed under him, indicating an advanced post mortem state. At his hand was a wrinkled notepad suffering water damage, and the remains of a brown crayon.

I gave the body a distrustful glare before I stepped forward and took up the pad. The writing was mostly eligible, only because crayon was waterproof, but it had not taken well to wet paper I surmised.

“Already weak, cold. It’s still bleeding but it doesn’t hurt anymore and I almost have quiet. I can’t hear the Walrider anymore. Maybe the therapy is wearing off, I can’t remember the dreams. Said I could earn my release from this place by submitting to the therapy. Lies. Of course they were lying. It was not therapy. We were sacrificed to conjure a demon. Please, let there be no more dreams. The only hel….”

Out of habit I flipped the page over to see if there was more, but the writing had a thick crescent mark trailing off the unfinished word.

I returned my gaze to the dead man. One patient had said there were no experiments, but rituals, and had called it a ‘conjuring.’ What exactly did the experiments for Project Walrider entail?

But who did this man refer to? Murkoff, or ‘Father’ Martin. ”Accept the Gospel, and all doors will open”’ What was the therapy he referred to? The mutilation each patient bore? Too many new questions, not enough answers. Even the authentic documents Murkoff published made little more sense than the patients statements.

I recorded the note, doubting even with the descent light of the room that it would be eligible, but I went ahead and tore off the page and folded it up to slip into my notebook. My coat wasn’t waterproof, but the pocket I kept perishable items in was lined with a water repellent material that kept them safe. A bit of liquid did seep through the zipper, but it was more than my body could say.

I shut the door and resumed on the walkway, only to find its sudden end. I splashed into another channel coughing at the odd shift in my ribs, it didn’t hurt but tickled more like I had a mild cough. I waded around the perimeter but located no visible way to exit here, nor an overhead path. Off on the side I climbed out on a wide drainage chute to take a moment and exchange out the battery. For a moment I listened to the water drip off my coat and trickle into the large body below, aside from this the chamber was total silence, even the rattle of needles had faded away leaving the echoing vibrations of the solitary water rippling against metal sheeting.

The battery was a half dead one as well. Might as well use it while things felt calm, I’d have to tread cautiously and maybe give this one up early if I wandered near danger. Though, the way my batteries were dying, it seemed inevitable that I would change it soon.

With no visible exit here, I decided to backtrack. I must have missed something. An opening probably, skipped in the poor NV quality. Excuses, excuses. I chided myself for being so careless, even distracted as I was I needed to pay attention to my surroundings or I wouldn’t survive much longer. I shuddered at the thought as I slipped into the cold channel. It was just cold.

I returned to the previous pool, before had I climbed up into the catwalk with the dead patient. I scoured the perimeter over wasting precious battery life, before I decided to climb that damn drainage chute with the grate. I had missed a small opening in the side, looked like someone had kicked it out with fire. I crawled into the next channel, chamber, flow - whatever, and stepped down into water that was not quite as deep. It was freezing though, I was shaking so hard the images of the visor were not clear enough to see until I had paused to get my quakes under control.

Felt like my knees were numb, but it did ease the pain in my chest. I was going to be a female before the end of this. Damn.

I tried along the outer wall locating all the discarded papers, folders, cans, and cardboard. My pulse quickened and I was trembling harder than before, I found out why as I turned the camera. Rotted decapitated heads floating at the sides. I could see the heads due to the eyes, eyes always glowed. I hated that. Somehow my peripheral vision had picked up on them before I consciously realized it, the notion itself elicited a tiny moan from me. Across the channel I could zoom on the camera and locate more heads balanced on crates staring with vacant expressions across the black expanse. I shut my eyes and looked away.

There was a sound. Someone screaming, most likely. I continued, bumping a few items that became water logged and sunk. Bodies floated after some time. Eerie thought right there. I wasn’t paying enough attention at the moment, couldn’t bring myself to focus on where I was going. A small knot had buried into my spine like an obnoxious ache, but it felt more like stress and the cold twisting my nerves.

When I finally staggered in the water nearly dropping the camera I looked out, revaluating my position. A few large pillars supported what must’ve been the upper floor. There was a way out, somewhere to climb up on and get a better view of my surroundings.

Movement. Ripples. They could have been mine, but they traveled from the opposite side of the room far from walls, that I could tell. Something solid was down here with me.

I shuffled near the curving wall carefully, taking small steps as I turned the camera in gradual sweeps and zoomed in. Trying to find what, before it found me. I drew too near to it and picked up the dull clink of chains, and the rather aggressively way the water broke.

Chris Walker. Down here! Damn it, if there was no way out!

But as I turned the camera, up in the ceiling there beamed a light from some sort of opening. It meant nothing, probably from where the big fucker crashed in from. But it was my only chance. It was more than what I’d found so far.

I hid behind a stack of crates and peered out, as his eyes glimmered phantom like in the NV mode. Just beyond him I could make out a set of steps leading up, and a walkway. That was something, and the light source right there, it could have been where Chris plunged in from.

What was he doing down here? Lost? I didn’t care, it would be a nice change of pace if he was stuck. I doubted his fate would end in a place like this, he wouldn’t rest until he saw me dead.

“Stacked neatly side by side,” he hummed, taking a turn and wandering a ways from my position.

I zoomed out, heading in the general direction I had seen the steps. “Too good at what I do.” He must’ve been lost in recollections of his past, or a session with the doctors. It kept him distracted and that was good. “Someone’s here.” Not nearly enough.

The rings were getting smaller as he closed in on me, I was barely climbing the steps when the power in my battery began to fade. Fuck, what bad timing! I bolted up the steps rather bother with it. Chris gave a sharp snarl when he must have seen my form in the faint light. I ran, not realizing the path ended before I nearly bolted off the broken walkway into open air.

There was a ladder that would’ve extended down to the bridge, if it was still intact. The lower portion of it and much of the catwalk was torn to shreds and dumped in the water below.

I felt the vibrations of the big fucker as he stormed up behind me.

I jumped down into the water and wadded away. He did much of the same, only he seemed to have an easier time charging through the froth after me. My camera was depleted, but it did punch a small hole of perception in what was otherwise a black wall. I was in a mad hobble to keep out of his grip, and he was catching up.

A very insignificant memory came back to me, way back from my child hood. When the kids in my old neighborhood got together Saturday nights to play outdoor games, like kids my age used to do many moons ago, we would often play tag. I had many fond memories of being it, and not being it. Sometimes we got bored and would antagonize the tagger, so we could run. No one liked trying to tag me much, I was good at getting away. But if ever I was in a jam and close to getting caught, I had a very unique way of eluding my pursuer.

With Chris close at my back, I managed several long strides in the impeding water and leapt forward, twisting in midair and coming down so I faced the opposite way I was headed. Albeit, it was sluggish in the water, I shoved off glancing by Chris as he fought to jerk about.

The back of his arm slammed into my lower hip as he fell, a loud yowl expelled from my throat as the chains multiplied the pain by six. I stumbled but recovered quickly, adrenaline pumped through my veins as I made it back, guided only by the poor light of the night vision.

“You had your chance!”

I could hear him stagger upright and resume the chase. The metal steps were a few feet off but I redirected myself and took them three at a time, never mind the throb building in my hip. Never mind any of that shit, I wouldn’t have another go at this if I fell.

I stuffed the camera strap between my teeth before I lunged forward, relying on my meek sight alone and the faulty light to identify the ladders bars glinting in the fog. I hit them with a muffle grunt, my boots slipping through the space and I swung backwards barely catching the rungs with my feet splayed against them. When I hit the lower side with my back, holy hell, the bolt of pain shot up my shoulder blades and numbed a spot in my tongue. Somehow I never lost my grip on the camera, probably because I had bitten hard into the strap due to the shock. Dumbfounded, I hung there as Chris thundered across the bridge with a murderous growl. I registered his intentions with enough time to jerk myself up, as he leapt slashing at my shoulder.

Complete silence.

I imagined Chris Walker falling forever into a dark void, or well. A poisoned well, before he splashed at the very bottom. My abdomen began to ache, and I was forced to haul myself up and climb the ladder the rest of the way. Below, he snarled with fury and maybe promised next time would be different, before he broke off into mad cackles that sounded a little too feminine to be MY big ugly fucker.

I was delirious by the time I reached the top of the ladder, my body sort of oozed out onto the icy concrete floor and I rolled away from that large gaping hole. Away from danger, away from that wicked monster. I curled myself up beside some shelving and lay there, clutching the camera to my chest. A dull throb pulsed up my side and a unbearable warmth seeped through my lower thigh, I fumbled for my wet pants leg trying to decide if I was bleeding but it was impossible to tell. I probably shouldn’t be clutching my only light source to my wet coat, but my brain wasn’t registering the warning at this time. It felt like everything was spinning, the dull beige room I lay in was whirling and twisting, I felt my eyes roll back under their lids as I tried to follow the motion.

I thought I heard someone crying, but it wasn’t me. Fuck that. I rolled off my side and looked over at a man in a chair.

Beware men in chairs.

For a long time I stared at him and I think, he stared right back. His face looked like it was infected, or a bees nest had made a home in his brain.

Miles. Up. Get up Miles. Walk it up.

I don’t really want to. But I made the effort, slipping my hands under me and pushing off the dusty ground. A small whine escaped me as I pushed, literally dragging myself to my feet. Once I was standing, I moved towards the open door. A familiar sort of door, I couldn’t recall where I had seen doors like this.

I managed to reach the doorway before I dropped. A moment, I needed a moment. Just a short span of time in the quiet, away from the screaming and the oppressive death, and the dangers. Just give me five minutes to get my shit together and get up. As I sank heavily to my side I exhaled a sharp breath scattering the dust near my face, my forehead thudded with pain as the warmth subsided in my calm state. I’m not sure if I was on my good side or if I had a good side anymore, perhaps a more favorable position to lie in? I couldn’t sleep here, but I couldn’t resist either. I wouldn’t sleep. I would not sleep. Wouldn’t sleep.

The soft shuffle of feet interrupted my coaxing. I turned my head just enough over my shoulder to see the man from the chair approach me. I did my best to glare at him, or to not look terrified before I blacked out.

#miles upshure #outlast #outlast fanfiction #outlast novelized

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