#he was clumsy. he forget the things. he tell the 'near to death' experiences as if they were something funny. he... yes he's my soul mate | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

noteguk · 4 years

Text

for science | jhs | m

— summary; in which Hoseok hears through the grapevine that you give one of the best blowjobs ever, and he needs to test it to be sure.

— contents and warnings; blowjob (duh), dirty talk, praising and stupid pet names, cum eating, deepthroating (the oc has no gag reflex), Hoseok finds heaven, kind of crack? Idk don’t take this seriously, college!au, hoseok x reader (with a mention of past Jimin x reader), studying sessions being interrupted in the name of science

— words; 5,1k

Requested by anon!

Hoseok could be kind of clueless when it came to some science-related things (and his high school biology teacher could attest to that), but one thing he knew very well was the scientific method. All that hypothesis-testing-stuff, or whatever the hell that was (okay, maybe he didn’t know it that well) had taken him out of some trouble in the past. It helped him see some of his decisions in a more experimental light, avoiding the terrible Olympic-somersault-into-conclusions that had gotten so many of his friends into awkward situations. And it shouldn’t even be said that he took quite a bit of pride in that — it made him feel very intelligent and he would take any stroke to the ego that he could get.

So, when Jimin got a bit too tipsy and started babbling on about how you gave him the best blowjob of his life, Hoseok was, at the very least, cautiously skeptical.

“You’re such a drama queen.” Hoseok rolled his eyes before chugging down a bit more of his beer. He was nowhere near as intoxicated as Jimin was, and he wasn’t planning on changing that. It was a Wednesday night, for fuck’s sake. He had to leave some thrill to the end of the week. “It probably was like… alright. Good, even. But the best one ever? Please.”

“It was so much more than alright, dude.” Jimin threw his head over the couch’s back, looking like he just got washed up on the shore. His hair was a mess of clear strands, exploding on his head like a failed science fair experiment. “It was the best suck of my liiiiife. I wish she didn’t hate me so I could have that again.”

He scoffed. Hoseok had enough filter left in him to avoid telling Jimin that the reason why you hated him was entirely his fault — what did he expect from three weeks of ghosting? Besides, if the head was that good, he would surely stick around for just a bit longer than two months. “Sure. Like the time that you almost died riding a roller coaster.”

“Hey. I almost did.” Jimin’s eyes opened, presenting his friend with a dazed-out, unfocused brand of frustration. He was getting tired of not being taken seriously — didn’t Hosoek know that alcohol makes you more honest? He wasn’t making things up. Not when they were as serious as the well-being of his dick, or actual death. “It was some Final Destination bullshit, I’m telling you. Pieces of metal flying and everything.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved it off, leaning closer to Jimin so he could take the almost-empty can of beer from his clumsy hands, and placed it on the center table. “I think you’ve had enough alcohol for tonight, man. You have a class at ten tomorrow.”

“I’m serious, dude,” Jimin pressed on. It was past eleven and Hoseok only wanted to sleep, but the other boy was clearly clueless about the lack of mutual interest in that conversation. “Aren’t you two friends or something?”

“Kind of. It’s weird,” Hoseok answered. You two had lingered in a hazy friendship space for a long time now, and he didn’t know exactly how to explain your relationship. He didn’t really consider you two close by any means, but you weren’t strangers or casual friends either. To be honest, he hadn’t thought too much about it until that very moment. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

Jimin sighed, fumbling against the sofa. Much to Hoseok’s delight, he was starting to get sleepy as well. “You could ask her to suck you off,” he mumbled, “then you can feel it for yourself.”

He laughed at that, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Jimin, you’re out of your mind if you think that’s not gonna backfire.”

He blinked heavily. “Hm? Why?”

Hoseok blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “We aren’t that close, and we haven’t done anything remotely sexual before this. It would be super creepy.”

“That’s not true,” Jimin spoke lazily, as if the words were starting to get hard to find. There was a pause so long after his sentence that Hoseok thought his roommate had fallen asleep. “I know you guys made out like at the beginning of the semester. Taehyung told me so.”

He was going to murder Taehyung. “It wasn’t like that. We were both drunk and it was super awkward afterwards.” Hoseok got up from the couch, leaving Jimin to groan and spread out his legs over the cushions. “Listen, I’m glad you two had fun, and I’m sorry you ruined it. But I’m not gonna ask ____ to suck me off just so I can know if you’re being dramatic or not.”

Jimin smirked wickedly — or at least tried to, because his lack of facial control wasn’t doing him any favors. “Whatever you say,” he teased, “but I think you’re curious.”

Truth was: Hoseok was beyond curious. The cogs in his head had started to move, and his brain was evoking lewd images of you so fast that he could barely follow. He would be pretending if he said that he never saw you under that light before, but, after the mess that was your makeout session, he had forced himself to jump into the friendzone before he managed to make things worse.

Hoseok liked you very much, even if you two weren’t particularly close. He enjoyed spending time with you, he found you funny, smart, and way out of his league. But he wasn’t delusional enough to believe that you would actually say yes to sucking him off, especially so out of the blue.

“I’m not curious,” Hoseok lied through his teeth, and he wanted to change the subject so much that his head was starting to hurt. “You’re gonna sleep here?”

“Hm… yes… the couch is very comfortable.” Jimin closed his eyes and adjusted his body on the furniture. His baggy shirt was already halfway through his stomach and his pants had ran up to his waist, but the man didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, moving towards the door. He needed to get Jimin some blankets, because the other was surely not getting up for the rest of the night. It was bad enough to babysit him for those few hours of intoxication, but infinitely worse to make him chicken soup if he got sick. Been there, done that. “I’m sure the couch is great.”

Jimin’s voice was soft and sleepy when he spoke up again. Hoseok was already in the corridor, and he almost didn’t hear him when he said, “I’m not talking about the couch.”

Hoseok went to Jimin’s bedroom and grabbed his pillow and the blanket from his undone bed. Meanwhile, scenarios ran wild inside his head, having you as the main star. He didn’t know what was taking over him, but he wasn’t so quick to ignore Jimin’s story. Hoseok was faced with a fantastic scenario of a perfect blowjob, and the idea that it was so close to him was making his pulse quicken. Again: it would be absurd to ask you to do that, regardless of the motive behind it, and he knew that it would be awful for your already-strange friendship.

No, he could never do that. He would not.

But like… what if it worked, and you magically accepted his request? And what if, by some wonderful moment, some millennial alignment of planets, Jimin wasn’t actually being hyperbolic and you actually had the ability to give incredible blowjobs? Could he really let it pass without giving it a shot?

He could see it as a scientific experiment, Hoseok thought, as a way to prove a hypothesis. It couldn’t hurt if he just—

Oh my god, dude, shut the fuck up and forget about this.

Coming back to his senses, Hoseok strutted out of his roommate's bedroom and walked toward the living room. By the time he came back with the blanket and the pillow, Jimin was already deep asleep.

Against his best efforts, that conversation remained stuck to the back of his mind for the next two weeks. Hoseok would find himself going back and forth on the idea of you having some strange, Marvel-worthy superpower when it came to sucking dick and, worst of all, the idea that his skepticism was making him miss out on it. Jimin was exaggerated when it came to, well, pretty much everything, but that didn’t mean that he would be wrong about that specific subject. That would be a logical fallacy, and that was also something that Hoseok knew very well. Bless his late nights on Reddit for that.

Yet as the days moved along, and his curiosity was slowly turning into desire, he was forced to revisit the infamous night between the two of you, the one that Jimin had so mercilessly mentioned. Thinking back on it, it wasn’t surprising that your overconsumption of alcohol, added to the way that you two had grown close (both physically and mentally) had ended up with Hoseok laying on top of you, kissing the soul out of you and fondling your breasts in the middle of a party. It wasn’t the most dignified moment of either of your lives, but, well, it happened.

One way or another, the night didn’t move forward. Even if Hoseok already had a tent in his pants, you two were far too intoxicated to consent, and were quick to fall asleep before the situation could escalate. Bottom line: Hoseok woke up with your tit in his hand, a nightmarish hangover, and the decision that the You-Subject would have to stay on hold for some time.

And on hold it stayed. For an entire semester. And it would’ve remained that way if Jimin’s stupid mouth hadn’t started talking.

So after two weeks of self-inflicted psychological torture, Hoseok slipped a hangout invitation amidst your texts. If you saw any second intentions behind his “haven’t seen you in awhile, wanna hangout? ;)” you didn’t let it show. The problem was that you weren’t really in the mood to go out, especially since you had a big exam coming up, so Hoseok ended up convincing you that he would stay quiet if you let him go over to your place.

It was a bit harder not to notice the desperation in his proposal that time, but you ended up agreeing. Your thought process was that the boy would eventually realize that his hangout attempt was ridiculous and that he would leave you to study by yourself, and the two of you would reschedule that odd friendship session to when you weren’t drowning in textbooks.

The problem was that you had been stupid enough to believe that your friend would actually keep his mouth shut.

Hoseok was seated on the edge of your bed for so long that he was sure that his asscheeks were permanently imprinted on your sheets. Because he hated himself, he kept eyeing the digital clock to your right, and he was certain that he had spent the last fifty two minutes and thirty three seconds staring at the back of your head and trying to come up with a casual way to ask for a blowjob.

He had tried a few times already, and each one constituted of him being unable to finish his sentence, instead looking at you like BooBoo The Fool until you turned back around to face your disorganized desk, sighing and trying to concentrate on your work.

All things considered, he couldn’t actually believe he had escalated Jimin’s sailor tale to that point. He was out of his mind, that was a fact, and he had absolutely no clue how you would react once he (if he) found the words to ask you to sacrifice your mouth for science.

God, he was an idiot.

He cleared his throat and got ready to try one more time. “So… I…”

You sighed heavily and turned around on the chair. “Hobi, this is the fifth time you’re starting a sentence and not finishing it,” you said, annoyed. “Can you tell me what the problem is? I have a test in two days and you promised you wouldn’t interrupt me if you came over.”

“I’m sorry,” he didn’t like feeling like a kid being scolded, even if he kind of deserved that. Hoseok guessed it would be better to just take off the band-aid before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. “Let me just, like, explain the context of this. Otherwise it’s going to be even more strange.”

Dropping your pen, you fully swirled the chair around, crossing your hands over your legs. He wasn’t expecting your complete attention anytime soon, and the seriousness in your stare made his courage falter for a second. It was such a stupid idea, you’d just end up hating him like you did Jimin. “As long as you make it quick,” you told him.

Hoseok hesitated, running one hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay, so… like, a few weeks ago I was talking to Jimin,” he started, watching your face for any signal of an expression — confusion, disgust, anything. But he found nothing. “We were drunk, and he started talking about the time that you two were together. Like, sexually.”

You blinked, unfazed. “And?”

“And… he told me that you give, like, the best blowjobs in history,” the words left his mouth before he could fully digest them. This time, he got a reaction out of you — a light raise of your eyebrows. “And, no offense, but I didn’t believe him. You know how extra he is about some stuff. Most stuff.”

There was a moment of silence as you waited for him to go on, but Hoseok was too busy swallowing his thoughts down and feeling like he would collapse at any given moment. You sighed. “So what? You wanted to tell me that you don’t believe in my blowjob abilities? That’s all? Can I go back to studying now?”

“No, that’s…” Now, things were starting to get complicated. Just take off the band-aid, Hoseok, don’t chicken out now. “I wanted to know if you could show me. Like, if you could suck me off. So I could... confirm that hypothesis.”

Every part of his brain was suddently hyperaware of how fucking stupid he just sounded. He had expected that another thick silence would follow, but his heart almost leaped out of your chest when you started laughing at him — like, full-chest, eyes closing, head rolling back laughing. “Are you serious?” You asked, taking one hand to cover your mouth before, at last, bursting out again. He felt like his ego was being stabbed with a rusty nail. “I can’t believe you, Hoseok. Took you all this time just to ask me if I could suck you off? For science?”

His mouth felt like it was full of cotton and he had to clear his throat before he found the force to answer you. “Yeah, I mean, only if you’re comfortable with it, of course,” he struggled to say, each word morphing into the next. His stomach had frozen up and the flight or fight response was starting to kick in. Had he really been that much of an idiot? When did his cock start dictating his words? “I… I know this is like, super creepy. I’m sorry. We can forget this ever happened and I’ll never talk to you again. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Suddenly sad, he waited as you settled back on the chair, wiping a small tear from the corner of your eye before you stared at him. There was still a smirk crawling up your lips, and he felt like the world was collapsing all around him as the silence expanded around the two of you. He looked at the digital clock: it had taken him precisely three minutes to ruin everything.

He sighed, shoulders falling. “Do you hate me? Why are you so quiet?”

You bit down on your lip, your eyes narrowing as you took his form in. Hoseok was hot: point blank. He was also nice, and respectful enough to realize that he might have overstepped a few lines with his request — and, even if you couldn’t really understand it, you also weren’t bothered by it. And you certainly didn’t hate him. In a way, you were almost flattered. You would’ve been more if the comment had come from anyone else but your Danny Phantom ex. But that was a different story.

The entire situation was just too funny to let it go. And, besides, you really wouldn’t mind sucking Hoseok off. It wasn’t as if you had never thought about that before.

“I’m... considering it,” you told him, watching as his face lit up in a mixture of confusion and joy. He looked like a kid seeing Santa for the first time. “If you promise to shut up and let me study, I’ll do it. And if you agree to never talk about it again.”

Hoseok blinked profusely, his mind short circuiting. “For real?”

“Yeah.” You raised from your chair, walking closer to your bed. Hoseok swallowed hard and leaned back, placing his hands on the mattress for support. “But do me a favor: if it’s not that good, don’t tell me. It’ll hurt me.”

“Yeah, alright.” He swallowed dry, every neuron in his brain trying to grasp what the fuck had just happened. His mind was the Spongebob office being set on fire, and he suddenly didn’t know how to deal with the anticipation booming in his chest. “I’m... not hard yet, though.”

“It’s okay.” You kneeled in front of him, placing your hands on his inner thighs and slightly pushing them apart. Hoseok quickly got the cue, and opened a bit more so you could comfortably place yourself between them. “Just... relax,” your voice was almost a whisper then, and he felt his soul trying to leave him. That was insane. “Let me take care of you.”

Your words managed to make him relax a bit, then he tensed all the way back at the feeling of your hands fumbling with his button. His breath hitched as you pulled the zipper down, fingers hooking on the edge of his pants before tugging them down his thighs.

He felt exposed as his pants fell like a puddle around his ankles, his tongue coming out to wet his lips as you leaned in. Hosoek felt like he was dreaming when you started nibbling at his skin, kissing and licking his inner thighs as you slowly made your way closer to his aching member.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he barely got out before sighing, the tingles of your caresses on his skin shooting directly towards his cock, already semi-hard.

You flicked your eyes up at him, humming against his thigh muscles. You were now so dangerously close to his underwear that he thought he would lose consciousness. “Were you daydreaming about it or something?” You teased.

Maybe in a different position, he would’ve lied about it. But the truth came out before he could hold it back. “Ever since Jimin told me that, yeah,” he said.

“Hmm… hope I live up to the expectation, then,” you purred, looking up at him with those doll-like eyes. Hoseok suddenly felt like he was losing his balance, his entire body burning in desire and expectancy. You looked like another one of his horny daydreams, but you were kneeling right there, in arms reach, and he didn’t know how he would deal with what was about to ensue.

Your mouth was hovering above his clothed cock before he could notice and, delicately, you leaned down to place a kiss on it. The touch was tender, almost numb with the fabric standing between you two, and yet Hoseok shivered, biting down on his lip as one of your hands enveloped his erection. He watched, mesmerized, as you started lazily stroking him through his underwear, leaning your head to the side so you could place heavy kisses on him, at times giving his tip a few kitten licks until it was covered by a thin layer of your saliva.

The sensation left him on edge, silently begging for more. By the time you moved back so you could undress him, Hoseok was a mess of shallow breaths and heavy swallows; his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as pleasure started to build up at the corners of his perception. Biting back a moan of relief, Hoseok raised his hips as you slowly pulled his underwear downward, allowing for his cock to spring free from its confinement. You had done a good job teasing him, because it was already fully hard when it bounced against his abdomen, red-tipped and leaking.

His gaze oscillated between your face and his cock, watching for any reaction as you took one hand to his length, squeezing him firmly. “Fuck,” he let out a grunt, his overwhelmed body responding to the smallest of touches.

You smirked at his reaction, taking a quick glimpse at his devastated features before moving back to what you were doing. Hoseok was so cute, you thought, liking the way he was so responsive.

A shudder ran up Hoseok’s body when your tongue came out between your lips, placing delicate licks on his base. He loved the feeling of your warm muscle against his hardened member, his mind growing eager as you began tracing a path upwards, flattening your tongue against him. His breathing was ragged by the time that you reached his crown, a hum escaping your throat as you lazily swirled your tongue around his tip, covering him with your saliva.

You took your time caressing his slit with your mouth, waiting until he was cursing and panting before you finally wrapped your lips around him. At first, you only took his tip in your mouth, sucking so slowly that Hoseok whined and buckled his hips from the bed, trying to make you move faster.

Wordlessly, you simply placed your palm against his thigh and pressed him back down. Even if that was the last thing he wanted to do, Hoseok accepted your order and settled back against the mattress, grunting as you continued to tease him.

“Please, put it all in,” he begged, starting to lose his trail of thought. “This is torture.”

And maybe another day you would have taken a bit more time torturing him, but, that afternoon, you were kind of in a rush to finish studying. So you complied.

“Oh, fuck, fuck.” His eyes shut and his head was thrown back as you fully sank down on his cock, your tongue flat against him. Before he could stop himself, his hand flew to your hair, yanking at the strands as you moved back up, your hand pumping the parts of him that you couldn’t reach.

“God, your mouth feels so great…” He moaned, back arching as you reached his tip once again, licking it before sinking back down — you took him just a bit deeper that time, and the motion didn’t pass by unnoticed. He was really starting to believe Jimin, and he wondered if maybe he should’ve been more worried about the entire rollercoaster situation. “Ah, that’s it. Just like that.”

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him cry out, desperate. Hoseok couldn’t hold himself back from moving closer to the edge of the bed, his other hand clenching your bedsheets between his fingers as you continued to swallow his cock like it belonged in the hot confinement of your mouth.

“Oh— oh my god, baby,” he grunted, pulling at the strands of your hair. His mind was starting to get hazy, his chest fluttering in a mess of sighs and heavy breaths every time that you sank down on his member; every time you flicked your tongue against his sentitive slit or pumped his base. “That’s really good, you take my cock so well.”

You looked up just to see the mess that Hoseok had turned into. With his mouth parted and eyes glazed over, he looked like he was about to fall apart at any second. He was watching you in complete awe, his eyebrows falling to form a beautiful frown of concentration; tongue coming out to lick his lips. He was so fucked out that you felt yourself getting riled up by his image, a pool of wetness accumulating between your thighs.

“You look so pretty like this.” He exhaled, unaware of his own words. Hoseok was too busy following your swollen, redden lips as they wrapped around his member, your cheeks hollowing after you sucked him with all that you had. Even the small amount of droll around your mouth was enough to make him throb in your hold, a grunt escaping him. “With these — fuck — those pretty lips around my cock, shit. I could watch you forever.”

You hummed around his member again at his words, the vibrations shooting directly at his core, where a rising heat had dangerously grown stronger, signaling his upcoming orgasm. Hoseok loved the way you actually looked like you were enjoying yourself, moaning and whimpering around his cock as you took all of him in your mouth, eyes closing every time he throbbed inside you. The eagerness in which you took him in, like you were starving for his cock, was one of the filthiest images that Hoseok had ever seen, and it was one that he knew would haunt his dreams for the years to come.

When you removed his cock from your mouth with a dirty wet sound, Hoseok was about to complain before he saw you licking down his length, one of your hands holding his cock away from your face as your tongue started to play with his balls. It was an odd feeling, but not an unwelcomed one, and it kept him on edge for a little while longer while you played with him.

With a timid whimper, you looked up at him as you licked your way back up to his tip. The image was so hot that he almost fainted, a deep moan escaping his throat when you took him back inside your delicious mouth.

And the truth was clearer than Hoseok had ever expected: Jimin was right.

“Fuck, babe, how did you get this good?” Hoseok grunted, trying his best to focus on the picture-perfect image of your lips wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock. He could tell that his release was starting to build up at an alarming rate, his thighs growing weaker every time you took him inside you. “Oh my- Ngh! Fuck! Oh my god!”

Hoseok’s mind was wiped clean when he felt his tip hitting the back of your throat, his hips buckling up as your throat clenched around him. He was pretty sure he was in heaven then — if he focused, he could hear angels singing all around him — , his pleasure overtaking every cell of his body as you continued sucking the soul out of him.

“Holy fuck, do that again,” he begged, his voice much higher than before. You didn’t need to be asked twice, because, within a second, he was crying out at the feeling of your throat wrapping around his cock one more time; his hands holding tightly to the roots of your hair. The only reason why Hoseok hadn’t started fucking your mouth yet was because he wanted to have you in control, giving him the best head of his life without any interruption. “Fuck, fuck— Baby, you’re so fucking good at this, fuck.”

There was a vague raising of his hips to meet your movements, making him hit the back of your throat again and again, the lewd sounds you were making filling the room. Nothing in his life had ever compared to that instant, he had ever felt a pleasure as great as he did at that point, and he knew it was about to snap.

“God, I’m gonna cum,” he sobbed, finally closing his eyes and letting the pleasure take over. “Fuck, you’re so good, I’m gonna—“

Hoseok filled your mouth with his cum, dripping down your throat when you swallowed around him. His head was spinning and his muscles were trembling, and that time he was unable to hold himself back from thrusting up against your mouth, trying to prolong that divine sensation for as long as he could before, at last, collapsing against the mattress with a final, shaky moan.

He barely heard you when you got up to your feet, his mind floating above his body as he tried to get himself back together. With the little force that he still had inside him, Hoseok leaned on his elbows and stared at you like you were made of gold. “Fuck, ____.” He breathed out, and the only thing he could say was, “What the fuck?”

You giggled at his reaction, thumb cleaning a bit of cum that had painted the corner of your mouth. “I appreciate your feedback,” you teased, pointing over your shoulder, to where your desk stood, forgotten. “Now that you have your answer, can I study in peace?”

“Y-Yeah, sure,” he struggled to say. “I’ll... stay quiet.”

You smiled brightly. “Thanks!”

He thought about thanking you right back for giving him the best orgasm of his life, but he thought that would make everything much more pathetic. So he didn’t.

Hoseok eventually found the motivation within him to put his cock back inside his underwear, clumsily pulling his pants back up. He found himself in the same position he was before everything went down: dumbfounded, staring at the back of your head as you worked on your textbook. The red numbers on the clock told him that just ten minutes had passed, and yet his life had completely changed.

All that he wanted was to return the favor — it was the fair exchange, after all. Hoseok sat up at the edge of the bed and spoke up, filled by a newfound courage. “Wait. Don’t you want me to take ca—”

“Shut the fuck up, Hoseok.”

His mouth fell shut and his courage deflated just as quickly. Maybe another time.

#hoseok #smut #hoseok smut #bts #bts fic #bts smut #bangtan boys #jung hoseok #pwp #drabble #smut drabble #x you #x reader #reader insert #hoseok x you #hoseok x reader #bts x you #bts x reader #college au

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

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You made me fall in love with fear, it's all just fascinating. The way you write is an aesthetic in itself! It's so beautiful and thought-provoking. If your requests are open, I would love to see your volume one Yanderes with a clumsy s/o. Like, she is accident prone, always injuring herself, etc. I wonder how they would react with such fragility? Thanks! Have a wonderful day! :D

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, dumbification, abuse, manipulation, ableism, anxiety, death, murder, drugs, drugging, kidnapping

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He knew fragile things existed in the world.

And he knows that the world was designed to chew such powerless things up then spit them out again.

And he knows he isn’t one of those frail things.

As a child he thought it was fair for the strong to conquer the weak.

And hell… he still thinks it’s fair.

Her brittle nature provides him with such a great excuse too, such a perfect explanation for him to justify taking her.

To justify keeping her in soft frilly clothes, locked inside a room devoid of walls where they have been replaced by cushions and pillows and blankets and furs and stuffed-animals and all things soft, soft, soft against the bruises and scrapes on her knees and ankles and elbows and chin. Keeping her all cozy and clumsy where she’s unable to keep her footing on the plushie asylum floor, reduced to vertigo, especially with that fluffy pink ankle-cuff chaining her down.

Sometimes she’ll hide when hearing Bakugo’s footsteps coming thundering from behind her door. She’ll wrap herself up in all those soft things she’s grown to hate, pray under the covers only to hear the cracking predatory humor of Bakugo’s laugh once he spots where the chain trails to.

He'll drag her out of hiding like a puppy on a leash, all for him to punish, all with that splitting frenzied grin on his face, the one that makes her head dizzy on the sight of seeing how sharp those canines of his are, knowing how they’re going to find her neck as though she’s some chew-toy.

He’ll always make it sound as though that’s what she wanted, that punishment is what her weakness begged him for, as though weakness is synonymous with wanting pain or needing pain.

He’ll sleep there with her most of the time, in the room he’s made so painstakingly clear was her home. She’s coming more and more gradually to the understanding that nothing in reality is hers anymore. Not the room, not the clothes, not her body.

She’s too weak to be allowed to be in charge of anything, better for her to just find comfort in knowing how she has no responsibilities, better for her to just be grateful Bakugo wanted her as his pet rather than his prey. Better for her to listen and believe him when he tells her that she’s safe, instead of thinking of all those crippling reasons as to why she is far from being safe.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Clumsy prey is a sport Shoto always believed to be too mediocre and boring, given how easily the dexterity of the predator can win the chase.

He didn't think he could achieve stimulation without a challenge.

But, he’s now finding that chasing someone who’s barely able to keep her own footing is a game he rather enjoys quite salaciously. Understanding now that it’s less about the quest, less about actually catching his prize, and more about the experience, those funny little moments leading up to it.

The amount of hungry pleasure he derives from seeing her stagger away from him is bottomless.

He doesn’t know why, but it’s the outmost endearing and lovable and precious and cute thing he can think of.

Seeing her stumble and fall, all in the product of mixing her clumsiness with her wild manic fear. Watching those beautiful swivel-eyes spiral as she looks up at him through the thick darkness of the poorly lit hallways, hearing nothing but Shoto’s inhumanly sadistic snickering and her own heavy panting as she tries desperately to drag herself further away. Yet, knowing and awaiting his massive biting cold hand to grip around her ankle to drag her across the marble-floor back into her dungeon, back into the soft bed, so that they can do everything again.

Most chases end up with her hurting herself and eventually aiding her own capture.

She’ll always wake up with bruises she has no recollection of when or how she got, yet looking at them she can tell that they’re way too mellow to be something given to her by Shoto.

It's funny, where he hurts her, he actually ends up saving her more times than most. Where her sporadic escape has almost led her to go tumbling down the stairwell, where were it not for Shoto catching her in her fall, things could have gotten really ugly.

He wouldn’t want her to actually break her legs after all, no matter how many times he might tease and threaten her with the thought. Broken legs would mean no more games, and Shoto doesn’t want that to end any time soon.

But, there are softer aspects to her silliness too.

She can be just as dopey and awkward with her rambling thoughts as him, where her inelegance with her mobility seeps into her skillfulness with words too.

If she’s proper blissed-out she can talk up storms of complete and utter nonsense, rambling on about her dreams and what animal the shape of Shoto’s scars resemble and how pretty his eyes are and how much her body is tingling in the aftershocks of what fun Shoto exercised on her skin.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Naivety really is bliss, isn’t it?

Not just for herself, but for him too.

To watch her, in all her clumsy glory, fall on her face, time and time again, never learning her lesson.

That’s the definition of insanity, you know?

Doing the same thing over and over again expecting things to go differently.

But, no matter how many times she tries to escape, no matter how many times she runs, or screams or cries or swears she hates him until her lungs burn, she’ll always end up right where she started off, right where she belongs, right in his arms, under his thumb, under him.

He doesn’t even have to put any effort in to prevent it.

He just needs to sit back and enjoy the show as she fails so spectacularly all by her very own, then pick her up off the floor and coo and hush and shush and tsk at her to calm down or else she might end up hurting herself all over again.

How has such fickle featherbrained maladroit messes managed to survive? How hasn’t evolution wiped them from existence yet?

Perhaps because other more evolved creatures found them to be such a perfect source for blowing off steam. Entertainment is important after all. Small little escapes through the day where you can forget what nasty troubles you’ll eventually have to deal with and simply just play with your silly little pet.

He saves the world every now and again, the world can allow him this much, to have his very own swivel-eyed toy. He deserves it.

Besides, she needs him. If he hadn’t stepped in and helped her, saved her from her own mistakes, evolution would have done its job and she’d be dead already.

But, he doesn’t expect her bumbling brainless little head to understand that, she’d just get a headache from thinking about it too hard.

No, better for her to focus on other things… like how to entertain him before he decides to show her just how small a foolish little thing she is.

He’ll often play with her, make her turn all shades of hopeless because she’s too forgetful and too soft-natured to comprehend what’s happened.

He’ll give her things, small little trinkets as presents for her good behavior, mostly accessories such as hair-bows, necklaces, anything he can easily slip off her without her noticing, then pretend to be disappointed, scolding her as though she’s some child who’s unable to take care of her things, punish her and kiss her on that scared foolish little face as she splutters out her apologies, having not a single clue she’s right where he wants her, completely clueless to the fact that she’s perfect in every which way imaginable.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

It feels so unexplainably good to hold something infinitely helpless and vulnerable and dainty in his destructive hands without it shattering like glass.

It feels so insurmountably meaningful and purposeful and godsend to save someone for once, even if it’s from themselves.

It’s nice being in the presence of true chaos, the true absence of order, a great real heap of a total clusterfuck. It makes him believe that even life requires a little death to scare them into safety, that even light requires darkness, that even love needs darkness, that even love desires darkness.

He used to think small things such as her were made up of cotton and all things soft like dandelion-fluff, but now he knows they’re made of breakable brittle things such as autumn-leaves, in desperate need of being wrapped up, suffocated, drowned in safety. He’s the one who needs to be soft like cotton, he’s the one who needs to be gentle and soft so she not crumble like the sweet pastry she is.

It’s cute. She’s cute. Unbelievably so too sometimes.

He feels like half the time he spends with her he’s teaching her how to walk properly, catching her when she falls or helping her up from the ground, dusting her off, wiping tears away from her face, patching up small scrapes and gashes, kissing her forehead, letting her know how it’s all okay, making sure she knows she’s no such thing as a burden, though not letting her in on the fact that he loves seeing her fail only for him to save the day.

He’ll take her outside more because of her ditzy nature, knowing how she’s far too dopey to ever manage an escape without pulling out a near miss unintentional suicide attempt, where which after a number of rescues from him she forgets why she was even running in the first place, now too caught up with being close to him instead, with feeling safe, feeling protected.

He’ll save her from wandering off into traffic, protect her when she says the wrong idiotic thing to the wrong batch of people, fight for her when her cuteness lures and pulls and ensnares other predators.

It’s symbiosis, if he thinks about it, if he tries justifying it.

She needs him and he needs to feel needed. She needs to be taken care of, he wants to take care of her, she needs protection from herself, he wants her dependence, he wants the safety of knowing how she cannot survive without him.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

It’s hilarious.

She’ll break her own legs for him at this rate.

He wonders how many braincells could possibly be left in that thick skull of hers, with how much she trips and walks into walls and rolls out of bed, bumping her head on every possible thing, he can’t count how many times she’s head-butted him, whether it’s been on purpose or not.

He wonders if she might just be blind.

If maybe she needs glasses…

Well… that’s too bad if that’s the case, no chance he’s giving up watching her agonize over every misstep that leads to her falling on the floor by his feet, her head tipping to look up at him with that ridiculous expression, that dumbfounded adorable confusion.

It probably doesn’t help that he keeps the room so dark.

It probably doesn’t help that he leaves things on the floor in hopes of her foot catching on them.

But, can you blame him for wanting to see her all cute and flushed? Watching her frustrate over herself, too caught up in being mad with her own inadequacy to bother being mad at him. So preciously hopeless as she tries to pick herself up off the floor, her hair always in a mess and bruises and scrapes littering her otherwise soft skin.

Pretty and stupid isn’t usually the type he fawns over, in fact: pretty and stupid is usually the type that disgust him, pretty stupid bitches that never spare him a second glance, pretty stupid bitches that are only worth one fuck before he dusts them.

But pretty stupid and sweet?

That’s the perfect cocktail.

So stupid and sweet she doesn’t even know how pretty she is. So stupid and sweet that she’s surprised he gave her a second glance.

He wonders if he as well would be this careless and reckless if he hadn’t been gifted with that destructive quirk of his.

He wonders if she had been born with a heart made less up of honeycombs and more daggers like his, if she would also second-guess touching things as opposed to making it her mission to bump into every single thing in her path.

If she would be less trusting and more cynical like him.

He’s grateful she wasn’t.

He’s grateful that the only type of death she’ll ever get the chance to taste is him, that as far as she’s concerned… he is death.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Most of the time it’s cute.

Most of the time he loves watching her fall prey to her own absentmindedness. Watch her trip on nothing but her own poor footing.

After all, he does love catching her before she hits the ground. He loves being her hero, seeing that shocked expression on her face, that cute blush of embarrassment as he smirks down upon her jumpy skittish person.

Then of course there’s the less salvageable moments, yet still no less cute, where she’ll drop dinner plates or her glass or the wine bottle or the remote-controller, where she’ll get so frustrated with herself and her stubby fingers, her feet always needing bandaging where she always manages to step in her own mess of glass-shards.

Those times where she fucks up and fears Keigo’s temperance so much she’ll turn into a timid little ball of apologies and gratitude, where she’ll fear that any more screw ups will cost her his understanding attitude and awake something livid inside him.

She’ll be so sweet with fear as opposed to when she’ll jerk away from his touch.

So yeah, most of the time it’s cute, most of the time it’s beneficial.

But that habit she has of not thinking before speaking or acting gets her into a whole lot of trouble too.

Especially when she pushes him away or calls him something unsavory. When she acts like a brat, forgetting who’s in charge.

Keigo feels the need to teach her a thing or two about being a bit more careful and a little less brainless.

He’ll pose her in the middle of the living room, with only red lace adorning her tiny frame, looking cold but not so much to be the reason to her shivers, he knows better as he can smell the fear laced in the air.

On top of her head he’ll put a perfect plump red apple and tell her to stand as still and picture-perfect as possible.

She’s pretty good at it too, at being still and quiet and pretty, speaking only when spoken to, at least until he starts sending knife-sharp feathers in her directions, creating her silhouette in the wall as the feathers fly just short of nicking her skin, where if she moves only a slight mere inch, the crimson edges will slice open her skin.

And if the apple should fall, well… if she can be sweet and apologize and show him just how sorry she is, he’ll think about making the punishment enjoyable.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Hitoshi can’t manifest how much awe he has for that ditzy nature of hers.

So forgetful, so clueless, so cute.

She’s like a little girl, a child, a baby in a cradle, yet with the ability to get lost, wandering off at every slight distraction.

He’s tempted to put a bell around her neck if only to be alerted off when her curiosity has taken her out of his eyesight. She would look adorable with a little golden jingle bell around her throat, hanging on a velvet choker.

But then again… he wouldn’t have the joy of finding her all tousled and knotted up in her newest little fuck up.

Little Miss Forgetful forgetting all her lessons, all those rules Hitoshi’s taught her, forgetting her manners, forgetting her chores, forgetting how to be his good little girl or else suffer the consequences of being punished and becoming Master’s little puppet on strings.

Little Miss Messy making a total clutter in the kitchen when trying her best to get her hand on a knife, but only managing to bump into everything, shards of glass painting the crime scene with the culprit displayed and trapped all perfectly in the middle of her own mess, all for Hitoshi to come and catch red-handed.

Little Miss Bump with new bruises and scratches as she’s fallen yet again on the floor in the midst of her newest escape attempt.

He could go on all day about his sweet little Miss Silly, his little Miss Scatterbrain, his little Miss Stupid, who’s always getting into trouble, constantly needing Hitoshi to come to her rescue.

But, when he’s not home, he can get anxious.

Scared that she might actually hurt herself just a bit too much and he’ll arrive just a bit too late.

It should take a lifetime to die, yet she’s on the verge of death nearly every day, it only takes an instant and it’s over.

He’ll check in on her at home more times than he probably should throughout the day, praying before he unlocks the door and steps inside the quiet stillness of their house, picturing her having cracked her skull open when slipping or accidently managing to hang herself off of something or drowning in the tub after having fallen asleep, there’s no end to what horrors he can picture.

His anxiety only satiated when finding her still asleep on the bed, soft untroubled snores hanging off the walls.

It makes sense with how much melatonin he slipped in her drink before she dozed off…

Just a little safety measure.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

It manages to surprise him each and every time… just how much danger such a little thing is able to wrap herself up in.

It’s as though she chases the trouble, as though she wants the punishment that follows.

He doubts she ever really thinks anything thoroughly through.

She’s reckless, ruthless in her disregard for safety. Hare-brained and untrustworthy and in desperate need of his protection and his correction, or else she might just accidentally kill herself one day or worse… end up in the wrong set of hands.

It’s come to the point where he’s stopped gifting her with jewelry, because he gets so hysterically uneasy whenever she’s gotten her hands on anything sharp.

Before he’d get angry when she threatened him, wrathful, raging because she doesn’t listen, her foolish little brain unable to follow the simplest of directions.

Now though, he gets scared because she’s unable to understand what’s best for her, because the only thing she'll ever manage to hurt with those sharp trinkets is herself.

And if she hurts herself, if she risks getting bacteria in her bloodstream, infections in her wounds, scarring and marring that beautiful body, he’ll have no choice, he’ll see no other option but to make sure she can never manage such a thing ever again.

He often humors the idea of simply tying her to the bed and feeding her with a silver spoon, only liquids so she not choke when she forgets how to chew properly.

He’ll act as though she’s a nuisance, but it will be a lie most of the time, while actually finding an inane amount of reassurance and relief in her whimsy, in her gracelessness. Where yes, she is a danger, but she’s far from deadly.

And besides, it’s nice getting a little break from all formalities, someone he can finally be a little rough around the edges with, someone he can let himself enjoy soft pleasures with, someone he can smile or even laugh with when the occasion calls for it.

Sometimes he’ll place her in high-heels, only to watch her stumble around awkwardly like a little deer skating on ice.

She’s so determined too, determined to prove she isn’t a klutz, how she too can be elegant enough for a dance fit for the ballroom.

He’ll humor that fantasy, but she’ll always throw her heels off in favor of standing on top of his surgically white sneakers and letting herself get floated and swayed with how swiftly and precisely Kai has the established proper poise to enact.

He’ll smile then, when those flirty bubbling giggles erupt from her as she holds onto him, telling how him wonderful flying feels like.

TIP-JAR

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mxvladdy · 3 years

Text

Lost Affections: Part 3

Ayyyyoooo. Here is the last part to @marymaryroo's request!

On to the next one :)

Magic is a beautiful and powerful thing. It permeates the Devildom like an eternal fog. For the residents, it is as common as breathing. From the strongest of their kind down to the lowest inhabitants, it is integral to their culture and daily life. Mistakes and accidents happen daily with young and old alike learning or experimenting. Magical rebounds and mishaps mean very little to them, especially the brothers. From the Celestial Realms down, they have seen it all.

Sometimes they forget that to you, magic can be a volatile and dangerous.

Beelzebub

Beel would never call himself accident-prone. He didn’t trip and stumble like Belphie when sleep deprived. He most certainly wasn’t as bad as Mammon when he was without his glasses or contacts. No, he would never say he was that bad. While not clumsy he knew he could be careless, especially when food was in the picture. He didn’t think twice about eating random things. It did hurt anyone, not physically. Sure, Luke and Satan got a little put out when he swiped something, but it didn’t hurt them.

He just forgets sometimes that you are different. You and he go together so well he forgets that you aren’t a demon. You don’t have the steel stomach or fast recovery time that he has. You make up for it. When you go out to eat you always research the place ahead of time. Does the place have non-enchanted food? Human grade options? If not, you make sure that Beel has his fill before taking him somewhere more appropriate for your stomach. Neither of you thinks about residual contaminants.

His life with you unravels with kisses. It is a slow, inconspicuous death. It builds over time with each brush of his lips to yours. Neither of you notices the taste of magic clinging to his mouth or tongue, neither of you thinks of the implications of all the weird potions and food he samples.

It starts small, you forget simple things about him. When his club activities ended, or what his favorite post-game drink was. He brushes it off, it’s trivial really. You are busy and these things can happen to the best of them. He keeps brushing off the nagging worry until he can’t.

It comes to a head one night at the door to your room. “Beel?” You yawn, pulling your robes closer around you. “What’s up?” You glance down at the box of snacks and pillows in his hands. “Did I miss something?”

“It’s date night.”

Your brows shoot up, facing heating. “What.” You sputter. Beel frowns, placing the box at his feet. With slow movements, he places his hand on your forehead. You were a little warm.

“Mmmmm.” His hearts flutter with nerves. Was his little human sick? He ignores the way you stiffen when he touches you. “Do you need a doctor?” He asks bending down to look you in the eye. He catches a whiff of something when you exhale. It is faint but clings to your breath, it’s sickly sweet and sharp to his nostrils. “You need a doctor.”

Without a second thought, he grabs your arm and drags you out of your room. His food forgotten in the hallway with your protests buzzing in his ears. “Beel...Beel!” You stumble after him. He ignores you each step he takes determined and picks up speed. Before you know it you are sitting next to Gluttony in Purgatory waiting for Solomon, beyond confused and anxious.

You fidget on the couch, peeking glances at the troubled look on the red-heads face. This wasn’t like him. He was a man of few words, sure, but this was new. Beel left you to your devices mostly, a few polite conversations here and there, but you two never hung out a lot. You zone out when he starts talking to Solomon. You were still half asleep from Beel waking you up. You had been sleeping so soundly beforehand. “Are you alright?” You jerk awake unaware that you started dozing again. Solomon crouches in front of you.

“I think so?” You had no idea what this was about. “I’m just tired.” The mage says nothing to you, instead turning to glance at Beel. He jerks his head to the door, a clear signal for the old demon to wait outside.

With one last pitiful glance, Beelzebub leaves the two humans to converse. “Now then.” Solomon rounds his piercing eyes back to you. “Tell me how's your stay in the Devildom?”

You tell him confused but willing to play along with his odd request, the sooner you wrap this up the sooner you can go back to bed. An odd feeling of missing something begins to grow as you tell him. Soon you began to fumble, the harder you try to recount something the harder it was to collect. You still were convinced anything was seriously wrong but the growing look of concern on Solomon’s face was making you think otherwise. “So,” You finish rubbing your knees with sweaty palms. “I’m I dying or something?”

He laughs dismissing the notion with a wave of a well-manicured hand. “No, no your soul is still firmly in place.” He rubs his chin. “But you have lost your memory, only when it comes to Beelzebub though. It is very peculiar. Have you ingested anything weird of late? Done any experiments with Satan?” You shake your head. To the best of your knowledge, you have been really careful with your food intake while down here. Devildom foods were delicious but had potential side effects for you and Solomon.

Solomon nods. He figured that. “Could I draw some blood? It sounds to me like you might have trace contamination of some kind. Diavolo and I discussed that this might happen but I wish to double-check.” Well, that’s worrisome, you nod and begin to roll up your sleeve. Solomon bustles collecting a few vials and a mouth swab for extra measure.

“Thank you.” He smiles looking at the samples with scientific glee. “I will let you know what I find. Until then, I guess just go about your regular day. Unless you feel ill, in that case, come to me immediately.” With that, he leaves you depositing you back with Beel.

The walk back to the House was more subdued, both of you were confused as to what to do next. “So,” You flounder. “We were-are an item?”

He shrugs looking down at you. “Yes. We’d hang out in your room on Saturdays, and get brunch on Sundays... do you still want to?”

You shrug feeling awkward. You felt nothing but platonic friendship to the large demon, though Solomon did fill you in on what you apparently have forgotten. “If you want to? I’m up now, and too nervous to sleep.” Beel grunts clenching his fists at his side.

“No,” He shakes his head. “You should rest, even if you can’t sleep. This is overwhelming. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow?” You feel bad. He sounds so hopeful when he asks, like a good night’s sleep was all you needed to fix whatever this was.

You reach for his big hand and squeeze it. “Sure, Beelzebub. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He lets you go watching you head back into the house. Running on instinct he turns and heads into the dense forest surrounding the house. He needed to hunt for a bit.

That’s how his twin finds him, gorging himself on the fauna of the forest. Belphie’s socked feet pad loudly over the dried grass and scattered bones of the once lush lowlands. “You know Lucifer is going to be pissed. It takes forever for the wildlife to come back after one of your benders.” He tosses his oversized pillow onto the dead grass and lays down. Belphie doses for a moment, the sound of his brother’s many mouths and whistling of wings a white noise to him. Up until an obnoxious locus landed on his nose.

“Beel.” He flicks the bug off his face, shooting the swarm coating his brother’s skin a sour look. “What’s going on?”

Forgot. Me. One of his mouths rattles out, flecks of meat and vegetation falling from between crooked and jagged teeth. Another opens near his rib cage to speak. They. Don’t. Love. Me.

“I’ll kill them.” Already Belphie is back on his feet. He feels for his brother and his plight, but the thought that you betrayed him after you promised to never hurt Beel took precedence. The storm of bugs goes quiet, all the millions of eyes now turn to him. They jerk and twitch in unison before converging back on the mass of leathery gaunt skin of his brother. His human form takes shape slowly, shiny wings and many mandibled skulls melding together to create his flesh.

Beel grabs Belphie’s shoulders. His claws dig into the soft fabric of his nightshirt. “It’s not their fault.”

“Then who?” Beel chuckles weakly at his brother’s blood lust. He couldn’t deny that he felt it too, but he had no idea where to channel this anger.

So he ate. It calmed him a little. If he could get into the village and eat there...no. The last time he siphoned the emotions from the populous at large Lucifer got mad. The whole of the Devildom had to shut down for a good week to recover. He rubs his stomach a feeling of agitation growing in the pits of them. “Don’t know. Solomon is taking a look at it.” Belphie snorts a sneer growing on his lips. “He is helping, Belphie.”

“Sure-right. That boy meddles in all shorts of shit he shouldn’t. Careful he doesn’t try to bargain with your skin for this.” He eyes where your mark rests on his brother. It would be a perfect lure to entrap his twin in a pact.

Hmm.

No, none of this would do. Belphegor would rather die than let some human-like Solomon meddle anymore in his family’s affairs, and as far as he was concerned the moment you started seeing Beel you were as another sibling. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the house. I’ll bring dinner up to our room.”

After settling Beel under the covers of his massive bed Belphie went on the hunt for more food in the kitchen. He stops by your bedroom door picking up the box of goodies still left in front of it. He piles more things into the box when he reaches the kitchen. Swiping up snacks at random Belphie piles the box sky high. His hand stops over a few of your favorite human snacks. Should he? Honestly, it was a blind shot in the dark if it would comfort his brother or not. After a bit more debate Belphie puts the chocolates back, a different idea already turning in his head.

Back in their shared room, he listens to his brother run down the last week between huge bits of sweets. As he recounts every little thing that has gone down they both began to notice just how strange you have been. Both twins sit in the aftermath of Beel’s words, a wasteland of wrapper and silence stretching between them. “Think it will come back?” The twins lock eyes, Beel’s large and unsure but simmering with foolish hope.

“Possibly.” Belphie grits out, breaking their eye contact. He could never lie to his brother, at least not to his face. “Get some rest. I’m sure someone will have a plan in motion by tomorrow.” He’ll set his plans in motion tonight.

Lying in wait some hours later Belphie listens through the walls of the massive house for your quick little human heartbeat in your bedroom. He matches his shallow breaths with yours feeling yourself slip into slumber and his realm. Once you are completely under he drifts off himself.

He enters your dreams and scowls unused to stumbling inside of a dreamscape. Your dreams are muddled and clotted with stick webs of confusion and hazy memories. Odd bits and pieces of images drip around the edges of your mind. This place was a disgusting mess. With a deep sigh, Belphie begins trudging through the quagmire.

He peers around making note of the black holes in your mind like canvas ripped from their frames. Rotten magic assaults him from all sides. Stopping in front of a particularly deep gash in your mind he rolls up his oversized sleeves finding what he was looking for. He knew this memory was in it, just on the outskirts of the scene playing out. He could knit this rip back together easily, after that it should give him some clarity on the others he couldn’t place.

This was going to take a lot of energy. No one would notice if he stole some energy to get things started. Belphie smiles to himself already tapping into Lucifer's dreamscape, taking a bit more than he needed. You deserve only the best after all.

__________________

“Morning everyone.” You chirp plopping down in your chair. The brothers reply with groggy acknowledgments, completely unlike themselves. You look around at the bunch. “Are you all ok?” The group grunts collectively yawning or rubbing their weary eyes.

“Tough night.” Lucifer looks up from his newspaper. He was half-dead in his chair, a cup of coffee shaking in his hands. Asmo sits beside him looking on the verge of tears as he gently pokes his swollen cheeks and eyelids. The only two that seem to even be remotely coherent were the twins. The youngest of the two sleeping oblivious to the turmoil of his siblings while his brother stares at your every move. “Good morning Beel.” You nod feeling awkward in this shared space.

“Morning.” He smiles at you, a few crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth. Something ticks in the back of your mind at his look. A foggy image comes to mind. It feels like a dream, but so real at the same time. It makes you nauseous, a weird sense of dejavu fighting its way to the forefront. “You ok?” He puts a hand on your shoulder.

You blink noticing the room at large turning their gaze to you. You nod, reaching across from him for some leftover food. The moment a bowl of cereal was in your hands Asmo swept you up in a conversation about his “fading” looks. You don’t think of Beel and your predicament for the rest of the day, not until Solomon invites you over to his hall for tea.

“You were poisoned.” He states simply over his sorry excuse of scones. You pause in the middle of trying to break a piece off on the table.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing to apologize for, unless you did it intentionally.” He laughs. “It appears to be through slow ingestion over a long period of time. The levels in your blood are staggering but not lethal. It looks like the magic took root in the temporal lobe-much like a tumor, really quite fascinating- and has been eating away at the memories of the person, or in this case, a demon that poisoned you.” Beel had been poisoning you? Solomon waves his hand at your look of concern. “I am quite positive that it was not intentional. Mind you he does find the most wondrous things to shovel down his gullet. The fact that it mixed perfectly into a potion instead of a lethal toxic is sheer dumb luck on your end.” You breathe a sigh of relief finally tossing the baked good away as a bad job. Well that's...something. At least you’d be alive to stumble around your apparent “forgotten boyfriend”.

“Any chance of fixing this?”

Solomon shrugs. “Possibly? I need more time to figure out exactly what components are involved in your test results. Then making a tonic to undo all the magic is another thing entirely.”He discusses a few other options with you for a few hours, going over in great detail the ins and outs of potion-making. Soon the windows of the sunroom grew dark, the glow of the lamps outside growing brighter so you could see the pathway back to the house.

“I better head back.” You stretch looking out into the pitch outside. Hmmm, if you remember correctly Levi should be off of work by now. He said to call when he was done to come to pick you up. As if on cue a sharp knock on the door disrupts you. Instead of a shock of blue hair, you are greeted with orange. “Oh-hey Beel.”

“Hey.” The corner of his mouth twitches in a facsimile of a friendly smile. “Ready to go?” He picks up your forgotten school bag and takes your sweater from the coat rack. With a well-practiced motion, he slings the bag over his shoulder and holds your sweater open for you. He obviously did this a lot before…

You stare back wide-eyed at Solomon who only smirks, nodding at you to hurry up.

Out the door and into the chilly night you sneak a peek at Beelzebub walking quietly beside you. He catches your look and raises a brow. “Sorry.” You feel your cheeks heat a little under his thoughtful gaze.

“About?”

“All of this.” You wave at yourself. “Please don’t feel obligated to hang out with me. Until we can get this settled. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Beel grunts, stopping in his tracks by a low garden wall. “I was hurt-am still hurting.” He admits. “But this isn’t your fault, so what good does it do to blame you for it? Even if you don’t remember me as your partner, you still remember me as a friend...right?” A warm smile spreads across his face when you nod. “Then I’m ok with this. I haven’t lost you completely and even if you don’t ever feel the same way about me anymore, I think I will be ok.”

“I- thank you Beel. That means a lot.”

“Of course.” He hums. “Let’s head back. I think Asmo left some food out.”

You dream of Beel again, a weird amalgamation of scenes all tossed together in a great pile with you in the middle of it. You could do nothing but watch like a film as they rush by you in a blur. Some scenes didn’t line up right, bouncing around like a scratched vinyl, but it still made sense in a way only a dream could. You play out each dream like an actor, the script coming to you naturally with each little venette. You sit outside his locker room, a basket of food and drink in your lap, your heart fluttering in your chest. You and Beel were watching his brothers on the beach, his broad hands rubbing sunscreen into your skin. Beel walking you back to your room after a long night in the library holding your hand in his strong, sure grip. Saturday afternoons spent hopping from one cafe to the next sampling the sweets and drinks to both of your heart's content.

It grips your heart but slips away with the rise of the young morning moon.

When morning comes the night is nothing more than a few smudges in your mindscape. Yet, a light, sweet feeling stays with you. You found yourself smiling more around the redhead and gravitating to him during the day. He accepts you back with a friendly hug and a friendly ear.

He treats you no differently than you remember. It’s nice. Even if a part of your yearns to see how he treated you when you were more than friends.

You begin to get excited for when your head hits your pillow. The dreams become clearer and clearer each night. Some new pieces show up and fall into place as the weeks progress. You start seeing bits of your dreams in the day too. After-images of you hand in hand with him walking down the other side of the street. The taste of something sweet on your tongue or a familiar scent in your nose.

After one particularly vivid dream, you wake determined not to let the contents of this dream slip through your fingers. This time you dreamt of the kitchen, dirty bowls, and units scattered about the cluttered counters. You had been baking something, and failing miserably.

Sneaking down to the kitchens you pull out all the things you could remember. For some reason, this dream lit a fire in you, like it was the last piece of the puzzle to getting it all back. You don’t think, instead, you just let your body take control. You baked a cake.

Well, it was supposed to be a cake. The center was too spongy and collapsed inward while the sides were dark and cracked. The icing was badly blended and melting from the still-warm pastry. It was almost exactly like the one from your dream.

You stare at it waiting for some great revelation, but nothing comes. Great. Now what?

“I smell food.”

“Gods!” You jerk smacking your knee on your bar stool. Beel’s deep voice scaring you half to death. “Should put a bell on you.” You grin. Beel peeks his head through the door brows furrowed.

“This is familiar.” He walks in pulling up another chair to sit next to you.

“Ye?” You look back at him.

“Yes. This was our first kiss.” You drop your icing spoon. “You wanted to surprise me before a big game.” He put a finger through the thick black and purple icing and pops it in his mouth. “Ah- You forgot the bane extract...I had thought that perhaps you remembered.” The hope in his voice stung your chest.

Oh. You look down at the mess you made, whatever feelings of satisfaction are lost. “I thought I was forgetting something, but my dreams are all blurry.”

“Dreams?” Beel pauses reaching for a slice. “You dreamt of this?”

“Yes. Been dreaming about you a lot of late.” You flush. “Little things that are starting to build a bigger picture. I just had this dream of a cake and the urge to make one...so- here we are.” You wave your hand out over the messy kitchen. Sighing plopping your chin down on your palm. “Guess I can sleep on it a bit more huh?” You shoot him a quick wink and sad smile.

“Or just ask Belphie.” He shrugs, taking another large slice of the disaster. “Sounds like he’s been meddling.” That realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Damn, you could have slapped yourself. “I’m sure he meant well, but he shouldn’t force you if you don’t want to. I could tell him to stop.”

What! No! You shake your head. “No. I-I don’t mind it. Solomon has yet to figure anything out, and whatever your brother is doing seems to be helping a little.” Beelzebub said nothing to that and just continued to eat while you started the dishes.

“Do you want to end tonight like we did before?” He asks sometime later, half of the dishes now drip drying in the rack. His long arms box you in on either side holding on to the lip of the sink. His head dips low, his chin resting on the top of your head. Deep down you knew that you could leave at any time. His grip was loose and easily breakable, considerate as ever to your comforts.

You turn to face him, a soft look crosses his face. “And how did it end?” He grins moving closer. You would have to thank Belphie for his interference. Just, perhaps later. You doubted he would want to be in your dreams tonight.

#obey me fan fic #obey me beel x mc #obey me beelzebub #fan fic requests #obey me fandom #obey me

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runeterrankhaleesi · 2 years

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hi! can i please get a matchup for league or valorant? i'd like to be matched with a guy, i'm a 5'3 nonbinary person who leans more towards being more masc, and some of my main interests are art and dance. i’m also chinese and trying to relearn some of my heritage/ the language! i would prefer to date someone else who’s also a person of color/not white so we could like share cultures and traditions and just relate to each other more. generally i think i’m a pretty funny person, i have a dry sense of humor usually and i also laugh at a lot of things.

i also have adhd so sometimes i’m all over the place but usually focus my energy on multitasking almost everyday. i’m pretty snarky/sassy and have a lot to say. usually though i go through some depressive episodes since i have bipolar/depression and i also have been through some stuff in the past that was traumatizing/unfair so i’ve been recovering from it for a few years. i would say that i’m pretty hardened by life and i know that life isn’t always fair and it’s just something i’ve come to accept. i think to me it would be super important that my s/o has been through some similar hardships as me, or at least is able to understand what i’m going through and support me especially since in the past i’ve had people do more harm than good.

i guess i would say my type are other people who are also hiding some sadness so we can like, mutually support each other, or people that are like the opposite of me that can lift me up. i can also be a bit impulsive sometimes and outspoken, and i’m also really stubborn and do what i think is the right thing to do. I would say i’m a pretty smart person when it comes to survival or whatever because i’m usually paranoid about things so i just follow my gut instincts. i love animals a lot, especially cats, and i also love spicy food, so much to the point my friends sometimes call me a masochist as a joke lmao. always drenching my food in hot sauce. generally i also am a pretty loud person, i’m clumsy and i bump into things and i have trouble keeping quiet. lastly, i’m also really really affectionate with my s/o, i would cling to them like a koala whenever possible. I looooove physical affection and i’m also touchstarved as HELL. thank you so much for doing this!

[A/N: Hello darling! Me and my matchmaker made your LMMU request for LoL because you gave us so much information that we found that you were perfect for one of the champions so we hope you like this. Thank you!]

I pair you with...

AKSHAN!

Why? Because...

Akshan aims to be "a jack of all trades" so he does everything he can to learn a little bit about everything, and that includes learning about art, dance, culture and etc. He would bring books back home to read during his free time, he'd also bring a couple of books for you if the topic is something you like or it's something he thinks you'll be interested in.

He grew up as an orphan in the streets of Marwi, Shurima. His only family is his late mentor, Shadya. Naturally, he grew curious and went to try and find his parents while looking for the killer of Shadya. It's a shame that he can't tell you anything about his family since all he knew was how to be a sentinel of light. But he would tell you anything about the history, culture, and traditions of Shurima and would bring you to every festival the country holds. You'd exchange jokes and laugh the whole time (Akshan has more of a "bad pun" type of humor).

And just like you, Akshan has gone through quite a lot, especially his near-death experience as a kid. He could never forget that and he could never ever forget how his mentor, Shadya, used the Absolver to resurrect him. Not to mention, the recent events of the Ruination has left him tired, depressed, and scarred. You'd help out each other through the trauma you've felt in your lives and comfort each other through tough times.

Even though you're smart and have great survival insticts, Akshan always makes sure to look out for you. He knows that you can take care of yourself but it wouldn't hurt to be careful, he doesn't want to lose another special person in his life. He's already lost one-his only parent figure-because of a mistake he made.

Since you both like animals, it didn't take long for you two to adopt a pet-a cat. Snuggling and petting the cat after a long day just takes off the stress and weight you've been carrying all day.

He's also a fan of spicy foods. What do you expect, he grew up in Shurima! You'd hold mini competitions and see who has the better and higher spice tolerance. It's funny since both of you are on the same level, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.

Don't worry, he doesn't mind you being loud. He thinks it makes you more fun, friendly, and easy to hang out with. You're not boring like Lucian who's face is always brooding, unless Senna's there.

Definitely calls you "koala bear" because you cling to him like a koala would to a tree. Finds it cute that you can't go on a day without getting a kiss or some type of affection from him. And loves the fact that you welcome him home with open arms. The thought of going home to you is what keeps him going during missions, thinking that it'll all be over soon and he could finally cuddle you and smother you in kisses.

💝~Happy Valentines Day!~💝

[You were matched together by @mellonzinho]

#runeterrankhaleesi #league of legends x reader #lol x reader #lol #league of legends #akshan #LMMU #love month match up

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rsgguk · 4 years

Text

true love, almost always — jjk

↳ aka — 'cause baby you're perfect for me

summary: y/n didn't know much about her soulmate. She knows that he's artistic from the little doodles that appears on her arm. She knows he's athletic from the scrapes that appears on her knees. She also knows that he has pain in the ass friends from the random dick drawings that appears on her forehead

genre: romance, angst, comedy, fluff

word count: 5.8 k

pairings:

Jungkook + reader | soulmates

warnings: so let me tell you, this is probably gonna be a bit inconsistent, I had written most of this during the middle of the night when I had a severe case of the feels. Now this isn't my usual style of writing, most things are in passive form because I'm trying to focus more on how they feel. I’m not sure if I’ll ever go back to this writing style but I had fun generally not worrying on the dialogue.

Y/n didn't know much about her soulmate. In a system where everything marked on your soulmates skin crosses on yours, she knows from the seemingly many doodles that appears on the plan of her hand that he is an artistic person. She knows from the way her knees would appear scraped at times meant that he was either athletic or desperately clumsy. She knows that by the scar that daunted on her cheek that he got in a ’fight’ with his brother. She also knows from the random dick drawings that appear on her forehead that he has the most chaotic of friends.

Jungkook would like to say he knew a lot about his soulmate. He knows by the way tiny little hearts would appear near his doodles that she wasn't the most artsy person in the world, but she could draw a damn to near perfect heart. He knows by the way that small little freckles would gloss over his skin that she was an outgoing person. He knows by the way that shallow cuts would appear on his arms and fingers that she had an asshole cat. He also knows that by the way tiny reminders would appear on his palm that she had a knack for forgetting things (he also knows that her handwriting might be the cutest thing he'd ever seen, but he may be a little biased).

They're sober to the fact that the other exist by the time they're 11. Jungkook was bored in class and started drawing little clouds, trees, the sun with shades on, the whole package on his arm. And then on the expanse of his palm would appear in large curvy letters, 'can you draw a cat?'.

He thinks back to the day and guesses that he didn't really understand the extremity of the situation back then. Everyone had a soulmate, but it was the first time he'd actually 'talked' to his.

He didn't gasp or scream or shed a tear, only complying with her request and drawing a cute little cat next the tree trunk. He'd think he was hallucinating about the request until he watched as a ribbon was drawn and coloured in the middle of the cat's head.

The next week, he would have a fight with his brother that had ended in him getting a cut on his cheek. He doesn’t worry about it, only locking himself in his room and sulking in his sheets. It’s when a few words appeared on his palm that he finally sat up with a smile on his lips. She would write down if he was okay because a cut had appeared on her cheek.

‘I’m sorry’ he’d write.

‘it’s okay my daddy said I look cool’ she would reply, and his cheeks would flush because his mom had always said that a woman’s face was her pride. Jungkook had never understood it back then, because if he could be covered in dirt after a fun game of soccer, and still be called adorable, why should it matter what a girl’s face looked like?

She’d ask what happened and Jungkook would bite down an embarrassed whine. ’My brother said I played with the computer too much so I threw a pen at him’.

‘did you win?’ She’d ask a second later.

’No it hit the floor and bounced to my face’.

‘and then he laughed at me’

‘your brother sounds stupid’

‘he is stupid’

They didn't talk more than that, they were still young and the whole soulmates thing hadn't made sense yet. Jungkook still drew his doodles on his arm and she'd add little details (mostly hearts) around them, a tiny reminder that she was there.

It was barely considered a means of communication but it had morphed into a sense of comfort for Jungkook. He draws the little doodles, sometimes it was of a cat (He would never admit it but he'd learn how to draw a cat because he knew she liked cats). And each time without fail, she'd draw a tiny ribbon on its head.

And then Jungkook entered high-school and he met his friends. His stupid, chaotic, love them to death friends and his soul mate was still there, drawing little heart across his skin. The boys say its cheesy (as cheesy as it is to the fact that she's literally his soul mate) but he really hadn't given a shit.

He'd considered himself a romantic throughout the years, although he's gotten not a single bit of experience, he cries at the ending of titanic every single time and his ideal way of proposal is during the sunset walking across the shoreline of the beach, nightlights littered in the scenery and him on one knee, asking to marry his one and only soulmate.

He tries his best to keep up a mature kind of facade for his soul mate. Afterall, that was what they were into right? Older and more mature men. Sure, they'd like bad boys too, but honestly Jungkook bruises like a peach. His act of maturity consists of drawing thing with 'deeper meaning'. And yes, maybe a cat surfing on the beach tides has a deeper meaning, you never know.

His act is ruined when one day, he falls asleep during lunch after a long night of overwatch (in which he dominated by the way) and wakes up to Taehyung snickering beside him, looking at him with the largest shit eating grin he’d ever seen. Jungkook would shake his head and roll his eyes, dismissing whatever it was that he did.

Later during class, everyone kept giving him weird looks, and his teacher even laughed at the sight of him. It wasn’t until multiple frowney faces appeared on his arm that he really realized that something was wrong. His heart skipped a beat when he answered back with question marks written along her doodles.

‘there’s a dick drawing on my forehead :(’ she’d rely with the same curvy letters he’d gotten used to. And then there was a sound that had left his mouth. A mix between an angry scream and a surprised gasp with a little bit of an embarrassed groan. He’d then realize he was still in the middle of class and that every one of his classmates were staring at him.

His teacher would give him some sort of look between annoyed and amused, and finally asks ’so you finally realized huh?’. Jungkook would splutter on his words and immediately turn towards Jimin and Taehyung. It was barely a second before Jimin had shook his head and pointed at Taehyung. He would finally lift his hand off his mouth and bursts out laughing for a minute or two before outright choking, tears in his eyes.

That day, Jungkook along with Taehyung and (for some reason) Jimin would be sent to the discipline teacher. Jungkook wouldn’t give a shit about being sent to devil’s incarnate, only silently punching Taehyung’s shoulder and cussing it out at him for making him look like a fool to his soulmate.

When he’s home (after a lecture from his mom, a pat on the back from his dad and a high five from his brother), he locks himself in his bedroom and takes a pen from his bag, writing apologies all over his arm. She’d reply a minute later, saying it was okay.

His fingers would then drum along his arm, his leg jumping up and down, trying to figure out what else to say to her. He’d get up the courage and ask her what was her name. She’d respond with y/n and he’d have a smile riding up his lips, saying her name again and again, realizing that he loved how it felt to say her name.

Then the two of them would keep talking to each other, Jungkook constantly rolling up his sleeve to make some room for more words. They would spend the whole night getting to know each other and filling up a whole decade of silence. When they had run out of room to write, she would go on and ask for his number so they could text instead, and Jungkook would get up to his feet, jumping up and down on his heels. He wouldn’t waste a second to write down his number on the little space he had left.

The next day, he had woken up with an especially good mood. An extra jump on each of his step, a large grin on his face as if he hadn’t gotten into trouble for having a dick drawn on his forehead just the day before. Taehyung would expect a more than pissed of Jungkook, maybe a little bit of pettiness in the mix, but Jungkook shows nothing but adoration for him, even going as far as to buy him the apple juice he knows he loves from the convenience store nearby.

Texting her falls so easily in his routine. One second, he’s hesitant to text her, afraid to show her just how much of a dumbass he could be, another second, he’s called her the fifth time in a day because he swears a baby just gave him a nasty look. They connect quickly. She finds out the reason she suddenly gets eye bags after a full night’s sleep with because her idiot soulmate had spent the whole night screaming at wario for cheating at Mario kart.

Taehyung says it’s sickening to see just how lovey dovey Jungkook was (Jimin says it’s nice to see him so in love, but they both knew he secretly hated it too). The way his eyes light up at the sight of her name appearing on his screen.

He gets in trouble more nowadays though, teachers having caught him talking to his soulmate on his arm, and the most embarrassing time they read out his not-so-failed attempts of flirting off his arm to the whole class. Let’s just say he’d gotten teased for the life of him when it reached his brother’s ears (though he supposes his brother isn’t any better when he would literally be a make shift carpet if his soulmate asked for it). The Jeon boys treat their women like proper queens and won’t settle for anything less.

The first time they video call, Jungkook has fixed his hair for the hundredths time, a comfortable (and new that he bought just for this occasion) sweatshirt hung loosely on his shoulders. She’d asked if it was okay if they could do a video call the day before and Jungkook being as whipped as he was, of course agreed with her, only regretting not to be the one who asked first.

He’s so tense that when his phone starts ringing, he nearly chucks it off to the wall. He forces himself to calm down before setting it up on the table and pressing the green button after taking a deep breath. He looks at the screen and watches as her face appears. His heart almost bursts, because he’s thought of this moment a million times. He’d expect her to be something like a glowing figure, that she’d resemble a star and that her voice would sound like a serenading angel.

She’s nothing like he’d expect. She’s not glowing like an angel. Her camera has bad lighting and he could see a few strands of her hair sticking out. When she says hello, it isn’t like an angel, her voice isn’t smooth, a little raspy. But she still manages to surpass all his expectations, and he realizes she’s so much better than he’d ever imagined. His heart beats faster and faster because she’s only said one word, and Jungkook is already falling for her. She’s not perfect, but she’s perfect for him.

It’s going well, very well. There’s a way that she makes him feel, a way that just brightens up his day, and when they have their video calls and she laughs at one of those lame jokes that he’d gotten from one of his friends, her voice just soothes him, lets him relax into his seat and just watch as her eyes crinkle in joy.

It starts to become a routine, the video calls are weekly but the texting is daily. Whenever he’s nervous about an upcoming exam, he calls her and just listens to her talk about her day, lets her voice fill his ear and calm his nerves. And then she would get off track and asks why is it that he had called her and he’d brush it off, he called to hear her voice, but he won’t say that because it’s too cheesy and he has a reputation to keep.

It’s during one of his classes that he feels it, a gut wrenching feeling deep in his stomach that has him groaning. It’s a different type of pain, nothing like nausea or a muscle cramp, because he’d always considered himself as a person with a great pain tolerance, but at that moment, he had just felt like curling in a ball and crying. Jimin and Taehyung would take him to the clinic immediately, and he’d just have tears rolling down his cheeks, and he’s sniffling and making these weird choking sounds when he tries to smother down his sobs.

He stays there for a while, the curtains draped closed with Jimin and Taehyung just rubbing his back soothingly. He tries to calm down, but every so and then, a sob bubbles up to his chest and a new wave of tear roll down his cheeks. It stays like that for an hour and the pain in his stomach travels up to his chest. His right arm starts to ache and dizziness starts to seep in his head. He falls asleep in the clinic bed, his whimpers slowing down and his eyes drooping heavily.

When he’s back at home, he doesn’t try to talk to his parents. They’d come visit now and then, giving a few hugs and pats on the back. His brother would come by when Jungkook had calmed down a bit, ruffling his hair and saying ‘it’s going to be okay’. But that’s the thing, there isn’t an ‘it’ to be okay. For all he knew, ‘it’ was all okay, everything was going okay in class, but then there was this rush of emotion that came over him and he’d just double over in pain. There was this burning sensation in his gut, something that hadn’t been building but more of an eruption. And then it would slowly cascade to his chest, and then he’d start crying and crying, choking on his sobs.

He’s in his sheets, listening to the sounds of pans clanging from the downstairs kitchen. His mom was cooking dinner, but he doubted that he’d go down to have some himself. The sound of the washing machine clashing against itself. That old thing was always just waiting to give out. The sound of the TV running from the living room. There was always some sort of game his dad would be watching, cheering on for teams he’d never even heard of. These are all sounds he’d never realized he’d taken comfort into. Such meaningless things that were just always there, a consistency that had always reassured him in some way.

He’d just lays there, listening to his own heartbeat. For the first time in hours, he feels relaxed and his breath relax into a steady pace. His eyes almost drift to sleep, because It's been a long day and Jungkook feels exhausted, but then there’s this loud blaring noise that breaks the silence. He knows what it is, someone had gone up and called him again. It would be the sixth call he’d get from his friends.

Only it turns out that it wasn’t his friends, it wasn’t Jimin, nor Taehyung or even Yoongi. It was her, and it terrified him because he’d always smile at the sight of her name, but there was this raw and intense feeling that had him wanting to decline the call. It terrified him because she’s his soulmate and supposedly the ’love of his life’ but he had wanted nothing more than to hang up the call. And it just stays like that, him wallowing in the fact as his phone had stopped ringing, and then a few seconds pass and her name appears again. His arm would suddenly feel heavy at the weight of the phone in his hand. Slowly, he would finally tap on the green button.

Her voice hits him like a wave. Jungkook doesn’t even have the chance to say anything when her voice starts filling his ears. Her voice is raspy and broken, there’s sniffling and whimpering as she rushes through her words. ’I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ she whispers in uneven breathes, and he would have stopped her, to comfort her and ask her why she was crying and that ’it’ was going to be okay. But then there is this sudden realization that hits him that ’it’ wasn’t going to be okay, and he probably wasn’t going to be okay. So, he just sits there as new tears roll down his cheeks.

When she finally speaks, everything just dawns on him. He felt like he was dying because his soulmate had kissed someone, he felt like dying because his soulmate had kissed someone that wasn’t him, he felt like dying because his soulmate’s first kiss wasn’t him, and will never be him. And then all of her other words just go straight through his other ear. He doesn’t hear it when she says that she didn’t want it, or when she says that she didn’t know it was going to happen until it happened, or when she says that she also felt the pain, the suffocating and unrelenting pain, that she also felt like she was dying.

He hears it when she says she loves him.

Jungkook has always one for cheesy romances and tear-jerking speeches. He imagines their first exchanges of ‘I love you’ to be at night, with a sea of stars sunken in the night sky because that was where they would have their first kiss. She would have his jacket that was a little too big for her on her shoulders because the night was breezy and his mom raised him to be a gentle man. Her hands would be in his because she always has cold hands and he always has warm hands.

He would talk about the ‘old times’ like when he had drawn those little cats for her or when he’d waken up to many frowney faces along his arm because his friends yet again drew dicks on his forehead (he should really get some proper sleep). And then he’d try to coax a few tears out of her and end it off with ’I love you’, and because this was Jungkook’s imagination of how things would go, she would also say I love you, and they’d kiss in the night sky.

Jungkook then realizes that nothing he’d imagined will ever go as planned, that they will never have a first kiss, because she’d already had hers with some random asshole, and that they’d never have their first ‘I love you’, because she had already said it through the phone while they were both out of breath and sobbing every drop of tear from their bodies.

He doesn’t realize it, but when he’d finally gotten out of his phase, the call had already ended and his cheeks had become tear stained and his sobs had calmed down to weak whimpers. He realizes that he’d just hung up on her after she’d said she loved him, and he just panics, because she’s going to think he doesn't love her and he should immediately call her and tell her that he loves her, because he does, he loves her like he’d never loved anyone before.

He’d started talking to her in his sophomore years and he was now a senior, and she'd been there in every step of the way. But he just doesn't, he doesn’t tell her he loves her, he doesn’t call her, because he doesn’t trust himself if he does. And she doesn’t call back either.

There are a few times when Jungkook forgets that y/n is his soulmate. He doesn’t know what he’d expect when he doesn’t talk to her in a week. It starts off small. He catches himself dozing off, looking into the distance and zoning out. His friends would ask him if he was okay and he’d reply with ’I’m fine’, even though he knew he wasn't, and that he knew they wouldn’t believe him anyway, because who the hell would be fine yet walk into the classroom with puffy and bloodshot eyes.

And then when class goes on like normal, he’s moving his leg up and down, fingers drumming along the desk, because he swears class had never been this long before. He realizes later that class had always gone on so fast because y/n was always there for him to talk to. He looks back at it as if it had happened years ago, as if he hadn’t talked to her in decades.

The truth is that they haven’t talked in no less than three days, yet he’s been missing her as if he’d gone days without a limb. A piece of him feels missing, torn apart from him and left out to dry. It’s a weird feeling, a suffocating feeling that has him yearning for her, that has him filling his mind with nothing but her. He supposes that was the thing with soulmates, when they were together, it had felt like he was he was over the moon, as if nothing could ever go wrong in his life, but when they were apart, it felt like he was missing a part of himself.

She would nag at him whenever he was bombarding her with doodles on his arm, waiting for her attention so she could drag him from his boredom of class. She’d say ‘you have class’ and he’d say ’I also have a soulmate, and I’d rather pay attention to her’. His friends would tease for it, for flirting and dancing around with her as if it was a game of push and pull, as if she wasn’t his soulmate.

That’s the thing that terrifies him, because as far as he had ever known, having a soulmate was the best feeling in the world. It’s all rainbows and roses, because it had meant that there will always be that one person that just gets you, that just loves you unconditionally for all your flaws and perfections, all your quirks and mishaps. That one person that will always be there for every step of the way. He yearns that, the comfort of knowing there was someone the universe had picked just for him, the missing piece to his puzzle.

And then he meets her, and he realizes just how perfect she is for him.

And then the whole fiasco happens and he realizes just how much it would hurt if he didn’t get his happy ending, because he knows it wasn’t uncommon for soulmates not to work out, usually from the intensity of their emotions for each other.

Having a soulmate had also meant other things. It meant that when you were together, you’d feel the happiest you’d ever be, but if you weren’t, you’d dread every second of your life. You’d feel pain, you’d feel nauseous, you’d feel your body start to crumble. Having a soulmate was almost like a drug, something so addicting that your body starts to dysfunction when you go a day without.

Jungkook still feels it sometimes, when he’s managed to get her out of his mind. There was this sudden jolt of pain that shoot up his chest, causing him to lose focus. And then all he can think about is her, her, her. He wonders if she feels it too, if she misses him too, if she thinks of him too. He realizes how stupid he is, because his phone is right there in front him, and he could end all of this with just one button.

Truth is he’d stopped mulling over the whole kiss thing a while ago, and that he should’ve called her a long time ago, but he was scared, scared of his own emotions, scared of how much he loved her, scared that this whole thing is going to destroy to him.

He wants to talk about this with someone, to anyone, but then it dawns on him that the only person he really wants to talk to about this was his soulmate, and that she was the only person he should be talking to about this. So, he picks up his phone and presses on the name he’d been missing for what felt like decades now.

She answers after no less than a few seconds. She speaks after a second’s hesitation, and her voice is filled with the sort of hope, as if she has done something wrong. Jungkook cuts her off when she starts on her little ramble (a habit he’d learn she had over the years) and apologizes, two words that hits her as hard as a brick. ‘I’m sorry’ he’d say again, and again and again. He says it until he can hear her start crying on the other end of the call. He knows she’s crying in a way that she’s trying to hide it from him, but he’d still hear her weak sniffles and whimpers.

It breaks his heart because he knows he never should’ve hung up on her that day, that he should’ve said that it was never her fault that ‘it’ happened, that he never thought of ‘it’ as her fault, that he was sorry ‘it’ had to happened in the first place

There’s a lot of things he realizes that he should have told her, so he doesn’t give her the time to say anything before he gets everything off his chest. He tells her everything. He tells her that he had never been upset with her, that he was upset with what happened to her. He tells her that he’s scared, no— terrified of how strong his feeling are for her, that the pain he felt that day was never what he’d ever experienced before. He tells her how much he had missed her during his period of stupidity when he decided not to talk to her, that he’d thought of her every second of the day.

And she just swallows in everything he tells her, listening to every word he says without a single interruption. And then they talk, talk, and talk until they shed more tears, because they’d never realized it, but they had always needed this. It’s a bit like clearing the air, speaking up about every and any hesitations they’d have.

They talk until their voices go dry and their eyes droop heavily. It isn’t until then that Jungkook realizes he hadn’t had a good night’s rest in days. Sleeping had always come easy to him, but during the past few days, he would lay down in his bed and just had this queasy and tense feeling.

When they’re nearing the end of the conversation, he knows there’s this one thing he hadn’t said yet, and he knows she’d been waiting for it too, those three simple words that had meant everything to them. He wants to say it, but there’s this one nerve in his stomach that causes his throat to close up when he tries to.

She finally ends the call after hours and hours of talking about their feeling and what they’d miss. Jungkook would again take out his pen, and write the words he’d meant to say in the palm of his hand. I love you.

Jimin shares a look with Taehyung when Jungkook comes to class the next day (he’s always late and it’s definitely not because of his poor excuse of a sleeping schedule), and the next thing he knows, they’re just screaming and hollering before running towards him. Jungkook swears he’s never felt more scared than he was at that moment, with the sight of his two best friends sprinting as if they were about to run them over like the untimely death of Mufasa.

And then they just hug him, stuff him with pats on the back and intense noogies. Jungkook just stands there, accepting it with the most confused expression ever. They go on about how glad they are that he got over whatever it was that had set him in such a sour and glum mood the past week and it puzzles him because he doesn’t remember being that much of a debbie downer.

They prove him otherwise by listing all the reasons he was such a pain to hang out with, because he’d somehow turned into a dictionary of depressing jokes and emo quotes. They end up finishing each other’s sentences, locking eyes when they say the same words and giving each other a bunch of high fives (Jungkook sometimes feels sorry for whoever their soulmates are, because the two of them are so in sync that they were already each other’s soulmate).

They’re interrupted when the teacher finally enters the class and tells everyone (specifically the two of them) to take a seat. They turn to Jungkook one final time and give him a pat in the back because they’re genuinely happy that the kid had no longer seemed so miserable.

Jungkook hadn’t thought hearing ‘I love you’ would change much for him. He’d heard it a dozen times from his parents (never from his brother, but let’s be honest, that’s to be expected) an amount more than you’d expect from Jimin and Taehyung (although Taehyung would say it more to annoy him and it works every single time), three times from Namjoon (which makes him grin more than it should) and once from Yoongi (now that one he wears like a golden medal).

Hearing it from his soulmate hits him in a totally different way. The conversation they had led them to get more comfortable in their relationships, this time acknowledging each other in a more romantic way. The way she says ‘I love you’ during insignificant moments like during a goodnight text or his after his daily ramble on how his friends are a pain in the ass sends him in a sort of high. It makes him giggle and flush and swoon all in the same time. It makes him feel things in a way he never knew he could.

Jungkook would learn that he shouldn’t plan things out as much as he used to, lets himself enjoy the moment for a while. Takes one step at a time, and this time he’s not as terrified to his wits anymore. It turns out when he's not worrying about all of his 'plans', time happens to move so fast.

When he finally sees her, she's got her back turned towards him, she hasn't noticed yet.

Jungkook takes a moment to take it all in. Sparks don’t fly, his hands don’t sweat and his breathing doesn’t pace. There is no nausea or nervousness that bubbles up in his stomach. When he sees her, his heart starts beating faster, but it beats in a way that you see something familiar after a long time, there is this sort of comfortable feeling. There’s a moment of complete peacefulness and serenity when he sees her. He’d never felt more at home.

When she sees him, her knees almost buckle, because he’s there. The boy, the dumbass, her soulmate that she’d been talking to for years now is finally there, and he’s waiting for her, looking for her. Her eyes almost well up in tears and she hates it because she swore to herself, she’d done cried enough times in their relationship, she doesn’t need to add another one to it.

She cries anyways, and she guesses she doesn’t hate it that much after all. Jungkook had managed to overturn all her expectations of their relationship that she’s not surprised that he pulls this either. She’s always known that her forgetfulness would bite her in the ass one day and she guesses she can’t be mad when this happens.

‘4:30 java time café pick up’ and right below on her palm is his handwriting, the handwriting she’s grown to adore and look forward to all these years, is written ’I found you’.

#bts fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #bts fanfiction #bts fic #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #soulmate #soulmate au

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alicanta77 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1: Tomorrow Never Dies

Pairing: y/n x Jeno

Themes: mutant au, angst, fluff

Warnings: mind control, experiments performed on people, needles, violence, minor character death, blood, descriptions of injury, swearing

Words: 14k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Finale

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The repetitive high pitched beeping drew you out of your heavy sleep. You winced as the ceiling light switched on automatically, the brightness glaring down at you. You heard a groan from your roommate, signalling that he was also awake. You lay there for a second, your eyes trying to adjust, before pulling yourself up into a sitting position.

You turned your head towards the boy on your left, wincing once again as your neck cracked loudly. His eyes moved towards you, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

‘Lab last night?’ He asked, the three words asking the question that all of you dreaded.

Did they take you into the lab last night? Did they experiment on you? What did they do to you? What do you remember? Do you remember anything?

‘Yep.’ You muttered. ‘Routine 2b.’

It was Jeno’s turn to wince at your revelation. He knew that 2b was a painful routine that they could put you through, involving a lot of needles and a heavy focus on your neck.

You simply let out a dry chuckle and shrugged, a short yet sharp pain shooting through your neck and upper back as you did so.

‘Still feeling it?’ He asked again, clearly noticing your obvious discomfort.

‘How could you tell?’ You gave him a small smile, a sad but familiar one that was always exchanged between the two of you the morning after a visit to the lab.

The door of your cell buzzed, signalling that it was open, and in walked a single guard. He was wearing protective gear from head to toe, from thick boots, to a bullet proof vest, to his gloves, all the way to the helmet covering his face. You never knew who was behind all the gear, having never seen the face of a single guard in this facility for as long as you’d been here. The pistol strapped to his boot, or the knife at his side, or even the machine gun across his back probably should have scared you, but when that’s all you’ve known, you don’t see anything wrong with it.

Besides, you’re only in this facility to protect the outside world from dangers like you. The facility you’re in holds some of the most dangerous people in the world. The upper levels of the facility held criminals, each getting more threatening as you ventured down through the floors of the building. Those arrested for petty theft or vandalism were kept at the top, then the serial killers and mass murders were contained one floor above the bottom. You were kept in the most secured sub basement section of the facility. The lowest possible layer. You were watched at all time by guards and cameras, taken into labs for tests and experiments. Doctors would perform these on you, taking samples and notes, figuring out how to help you control yourselves.

The sub section you were kept in held around 150 people, most of them teenagers and young adults like you. You were different, called mutants of some kind. That was the closest you had ever come to an actual answer about what you were. What you did know was that you had abilities, something that the average human didn’t have, and that was what made you dangerous. Out of all the years you had been here, you had only managed to figure out a few other subject’s abilities. The seven other boys you shared your area with, to be exact.

You first found out about your roommate, Lee Jeno, subject A7, weather manipulation. He could create a storm by narrowing his eyes or make the sun shine brighter by simply smiling. His abilities were often affected by his emotions. The happier he was, the easier it was to create a sunny environment, but when he was angry or frustrated, he often found it difficult to control the storm that started brewing. There was something oddly poetic about his abilities though. This thought occurred to you the one and only time you saw him cry. To this day, you still have no idea what happened to break his heart like that, but, you watched one day as the guard pulled him aside and delivered some news. The next thing you knew, Jeno had collapsed to the ground, sobs tearing from his chest. Even though you were inside, rain droplets started to fall on your head. It was as if the sky had decided to cry with him.

There was Mark Lee, subject A3, healing and super speed. Apparently it’s incredibly rare to have more than one ability. That’s why they call Mark Lee the ‘Golden Boy’. He often finds the world running at a pace that was too slow for him, his naturally faster system getting bored easily. He would spend some time running laps around the training room faster than you could blink. His healing skill is the one he has most trouble with. It doesn’t come as easily to him as his speed does. Instead, he has to learn it. Without thinking much, he can mend cuts and fade bruises, and, when he really focuses, he finds a way to stop serious pain or bleeding, and often pulls the body back together slightly.

Next, Huang Renjun, subject D9, image manipulation. He is the hardest to get a read on. You often can’t tell if he’s really in front of you, or if it’s simply just an image of him. He can make you see anything he wants you to see. Whether that is an empty training room when there’s actually ten people in there, or if it’s suddenly transporting you to a beach in the Caribbean. He seems to have the most control over his abilities out of all of you. Focusing now on making multiple people see what he wants them to, rather than just an individual.

After him, Lee Donghyuck, subject B5, he sees the future. No one knows how much he can see or how accurate it is, but he always know more than you do. You often think that he knows a lot more than he’s letting on. He likes to use his ability for trivial things, like telling people what’s for lunch or what to expect in training today. He has a much more serious and caring side to him though. You suspect that he uses his ability to keep an eye on your emotions as somehow, he always seems to know when you’re having a bad day.

Also, Na Jaemin, subject D2, mind control. Sweet as sugar but just as artificial, he could send you the deadliest smile, all while secretly enticing you into doing something for him. Normally it’s nothing drastic, fetching his lunch for him or asking a guard the question he doesn’t want to. But you never know when he’ll get bored of that and make you do something you really don’t want to. You always make sure to keep him on your good side. Similar to Donghyuck, no one really knows the true extent of his powers, making him even more mysterious. Even the guards seem nervous of him because you can never quite tell when he’s enchanting you, not until it’s too late.

Then comes Zhong Chenle, subject C6, a shapeshifter. Can transform easily if he’s looking at the animal, harder if he has to remember it and really has to focus if he wants to take on the form of another human. He always seems to be in a good mood. How he manages that you have no idea, but you’re always thankful. He takes the whole situation less seriously than the others. Choosing to randomly turn into birds and fly into the guards helmets or run up their legs as a mouse. No matter what, he always manages to make you laugh.

And finally, Park Jisung, subject D4, super strength. Not exactly what you would expect the boy to have, considering his personality. He seems too sweet for this reality. He always wants the best for people and sees the good in everyone. Sometimes, you wish that you could have that mindset. He’s such a pure soul that you often forget he could squish you in between his fingers like a fly if you weren’t careful. He constantly seemed to forget that he was incredibly strong, often banging the table when laughing and knocking off a leg, or clapping Hyuck on the back and sending him sprawling to the floor. He was a bit clumsy but had a heart of gold.

Rounding out the floor, there was you, subject A1, telekinesis. You could move a glass simply by looking at it, pick something up by blinking or shake your head and watch the overhead lights swing. If you focused hard you could lift or move heavier things, but moving people took almost all of your energy. Like Jeno, your emotions affect how powerful you were. Unlike with Renjun and Chenle who seem to lose control the angrier or more emotional or worked up they get, with Renjun’s images flickering and Chenle shifting uncontrollably from animal to animal, you and Jeno seem to be able to do more. Jeno could make a thunder storm powerful enough to blow the windows out by clenching his jaw and you could lift impossibly heavy objects and even throw them. Pushing people to the side also only took a slight flick of your hand. Sometimes your powers scared yourself. What would you do if one day you lost control and hurt someone you loved? If you were already dangerous enough to be locked in a facility like this, what would that make you? You would be worse than a monster.

As well as sharing the same floor with you, you also shared the same training room and dining hall. You even shared the same lab. It terrified you every time you walked into or past it and got a glimpse of the blood coating the doctor’s hands from their previous procedures.

The guard back out of your doorway, keeping an eye on the two of you at all times. You tilted your head to the left slightly, narrowing your eyes at him, watching as the guard’s moves sped up. He tripped over his own feet slightly in a bid to leave the room as fast as possible, causing both you and Jeno to burst out laughing when the door was shut.

‘You really have to stop doing that. It’s mean.’ Jeno lightly scolded you, the smile still present on his face.

‘Oh please, I am nowhere near as bad as Chenle. You know, Jisung told me that the last time the guard went into their room, Chenle had hidden himself as a moth under the bed, and then dropped in front of the poor guard and turned himself into a bear.’ You recited the story of yesterday morning to Jeno’s disbelieving face. ‘It’s true! Besides, at least we get to wake up to a smile on our faces.’

‘Yeah, you have a point.’ He paused for a second before giggling again. ‘Chenle is ruthless.’

You couldn’t help but laugh as well, treasuring the rare moments like this. Moments where everything seemed ok, seemed normal, and you could enjoy life and laugh with friends as if nothing else was wrong. However, those moments only ever last a few seconds.

The speakers in your room buzzed to life as a voice cracked through them.

‘All subjects to the rose room in five minutes. All subjects to the rose room in five minutes.’

You both looked at each other and sighed, before climbing out of your beds and grabbing the clothes provided. The guards come in every morning to drop them off. A simple grey jumpsuit, that was all you wore, everyday. You grabbed yours and headed into the bathroom to change. You pulled it on and spared yourself a short look in the mirror. The dark bags around your eyes were prominent, as were the small red dots on your neck. The only traces of what you went through the previous night. You rubbed them, trying to soften the aching before turning to leave the bathroom.

You knocked on the door, waiting for a shout from Jeno to say that it was okay for you to come out, before exiting. Together you waited for the trademark low pitched buzz that signalled your cell door being unlocked, and headed out into the hallway.

As you left you spotted the doctor waiting by your door. The other cells on your floor made the same low pitched buzz, and, gradually, out walked the other six boys. There were doctors positioned by each door, prepared with an injection. You received it every day, a numbing agent, that dulled your abilities for a period of time. It was given to you in the morning, allowing you to do your work and have lunch before it wore off and you went to your training sessions.

The doctor extended a gloved hand to you, silently asking for your arm. You handed it to her and she rolled up your sleeve. She turned over your wrist and held you by the elbow as she positioned the syringe just below the joint.

The syringe wasn’t the kind they used in the labs. It wasn’t glass with a long metal needle on one end, it was thicker, something that had to be properly gripped with a button on the top to administer whatever was inside.

The doctor gave you no warning before she pushed the button and you winced as the machine let out a hiss, injecting the blue serum into you. You watched as she held out a hand to Jeno and repeated the same procedure. You blinked slowly a few times, the effects of the drug already taking hold.

‘Make your way to the rose room. Now.’ A guard to your left barked.

You turned robotically, your mind fuzzy and clouded. You began the journey to the rose room, your entire being occupied with the simple task of getting there. You had no thought process, no questions running around your mind, you weren’t thinking of anything. You just did what you were told.

You walked down with Jeno by your side, the white walls and floors passing you by with every step you took. You vaguely registered Jaemin joining you in your peripheral vision, but you didn’t turn to look at him. You kept your head straight, your face emotionless and your mouth shut. None of you looked at each other, none of you looked anywhere but straight ahead, and none of you uttered a word. None of you gave an inclination that you were more that walking robots, fully compliant and prepared to carry out any instruction given.

Because, in reality, under this drug, that was all that you were reduced to. You just didn’t realise the danger of that yet.

---

The door to the rose room was already open when you arrived, a guard standing there holding it for you. You didn’t spare a look towards him, your dull eyes kept focus on what was in front of you. You trudged towards your position, finding the spot labelled with your subject number and began your work.

The rose room was a large greenhouse. Inside it was a maze of rose bushes, sporting roses of all kinds and colours. If you were more awake then maybe you would appreciate the reds, blue, yellows and purples a lot more, but in your zombified state, you only knew work. In the middle of the room, however, was a large conveyer belt.

Your job was to extract certain things from these roses, place them on the conveyer belt, and move onto the next thing. You did this for three hours in the morning everyday.

It was only in the rose room that you saw more of the subjects that were kept in the facility. You were just conscious enough to be aware of the girl and boy on either side of you, and of the fact that you didn’t recognise them.

However, you were blissfully unaware of the guards stalking through the rows of you. They stopped by the boy on your left and grabbed him by the shoulders. You didn’t register the guards movements. You didn’t register the boy being violently yanked out of his position. You didn’t register him being dragged down the halls. You didn’t register his screams.

You did your work.

---

Due to the numbing agent of the serum, time didn’t seem to exist during your work and lunch, so, before you knew it, it was time to train.

The training room was a very large open space, with an area of it dedicated to a certain activity. Your training works in a circuit. Each of you has an individual routine, specific activities and exercises to work on each day that are tailored towards your abilities. As well as the ability training, you all have fitness training and agility and other physical exercises to complete as well. You weren’t sure what you were training for, but you had been doing it all your life.

Yesterday you had been working on distance training. This was one exercise that was centred around your ability and focused on you trying to move the same object from a further distance each time. It was repetitive and mentally draining, but always gave you good results. Since that was yesterday, it meant that today you were working on your physical agility and assisting it with your abilities. It involved things such as jumping from narrow beams and using your telekinesis to help and support your movements.

You always began without using abilities, trying it by yourself so that you knew where you needed to direct your energy. You started on two long beams that were only around two feet off the floor, and you simply jumped between them, trying to keep your balance. You had to make your way down them while jumping from one to the other, speeding up each time you completed it.

Then, once the instructor watching you was satisfied, you were told to use your abilities. You now used telekinesis to manipulate the air around you to help you jump. It made you jump further and faster, also with safer landings. You continued with this for a short while before the instructor stopped you.

‘Right, now let’s actually put it to the test.’ They said, turning away from you.

You watched them, confused, bending over slightly with you hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. You had been hoping for a break so that you could rest briefly but you had no such luck. Your instructor turned around and pointed above them.

‘Up you go’ They said nonchalantly. You followed to where they were pointing and you let out a breath of disbelief. Above you, hanging from the ceiling, were thin beams that were swaying the the minute breeze cause by the movement.

‘You’ve gotta be kidding me.’ You thought. But you instructor simply looked at you expectantly and you knew that you weren’t getting out of this. All the other boys were drawing to a close with their exercises, which didn’t go unnoticed by your instructor, so they decided to make a small change to their plan.

‘You get through this once, and then we’re done for the day. Okay?’ They said, nodding with a smile that was anything but friendly.

You took a deep breath and climbed the stairs to the side of the room. On the way up you looked down and watched as Jisung finished his final exercise, meaning that all the boys were officially done. You reached the top and looked out in front of you.

The beams were much thinner than those you had been working on below, and, not to mention, the ropes holding them up looked suspiciously frail. They creaked as they moved and the wooden beams swayed gently in front of you. You knew that you weren’t getting out of here without completing this task, so you jumped.

The first jump was easy. It wasn’t even half a meter long and your telekineses helped you to keep the beam steady. You took careful steps, wincing every time the beam creaked underneath your weight. The ropes groaned as you moved but you kept going, knowing that slowing down would be more dangerous.

You cleared the second jump again, with a little more effort required, but you couldn’t quite figure out why it was more difficult. You made you way across this one swiftly, keeping you steps as light as possible due to the trembling ropes. The last thing you wanted was to fall now. It wasn’t until you reached the third jump that you realised why it was getting harder.

The jumps were getting bigger.

You swallowed, risking a look down and seeing the seven boys watching you carefully. You took a shaky breath, keeping your eyes on them as you saw Jeno give you a nod of encouragement. You nodded back and lifted your head, determined to finish this. You focused your mind on using the air around you and pictured pushing the particles together to form a barrier. You jumped forward and used that barrier to lift you slightly higher. You let out a sigh of relief when you cleared the distance, but you relaxed too early as you hadn’t taken into account the weight of you landing.

The ropes creaked dangerously loudly and you watched in fear as they began to fray. You knew you had to finish this quickly, or else you would be taking the quick way down. You took step after step, walking as fast as you possibly could to reach the second to last jump. You lifted off again, this time with less preparation due to you worry of the beam snapping, and you almost didn’t make it. You landed, roughly on the edge of the beam, holding onto it desperately in an attempt to pull yourself up.

You could hear the worried intakes of breath from the boys below you, but they didn’t say a thing. They weren’t allowed to. Interfering with another subject’s training had painful repercussions.

‘Come on y/n.’ You heard Jaemin’s voice echo through your head. You spared a look down to find him looking at you intently. You realised that he must be using his abilities to speak with you telepathically. You didn’t know he could do that. ‘Pull yourself up. You can do this.’

You forced yourself to focus, using your ability to help your legs up and you got onto the beam. You had just straightened up when it started to shake, the ropes of the verge of breaking.

‘Run!’ Jaemin’s voice shattered your dazed mind and you took off. One foot in front of the other, just trying to reach the end. You only had two jumps left to make, one to the final beam and one to the solid platform at the end with the stairs to take you back down to the safety of the ground.

You launched off the beam and onto the final one, the impact of your landing causing the ropes to tremble. You began to run and they properly gave out. You felt the beam beneath you begin to give way and you placed a final foot as close to the edge as you could, and leaped.

You used your ability the best you could, but you could tell that you weren’t going to make it. Then you felt a sudden gust of air push you up slightly, allowing you to just clear the distance and land in a heap, safely on the other side.

You lay there on the ground for a second, catching your breath. The instructor’s voice echoed around the training room.

‘Head back to your cells! We’re done for the day!’

---

You and Jeno were making your way back to your cell after dinner. The events of the training room hadn’t left your mind. That final gust of air had saved you. And you knew that it had to have come from Jeno. No one else could do that.

‘Hey Jeno?’ You asked, keeping your eyes on the floor as you walked.

He hummed in response.

‘Thank you for earlier. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’ You said honestly.

He stopped you walking, forcing you to look at him.

‘You don’t ever need to thank me. I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine. No matter what, we’re always gonna protect each other yeah?’

You nodded, a smile etching its way onto your face.

‘Yeah.’

You kept walking, turning the corner into your corridor that your cell was near the other end of. On the way to your cell, you passed the lab with its door open. You looked into it as you passed and stopped in your tracks. Donghyuck was on the operating table they had in the middle of the room, being restrained by two guards as he whimpered and resisted. You watched as they clamped metal restraints over his wrists and ankles, keeping him in place. A doctor began to approach him with a scalpel in his hand when the two of you were noticed. The doctor gestured towards the guard who reach forward and slammed the door shut, the lock clicking afterwards.

You and Jeno shared a sad look. The familiar whirring noise of the doctor’s instruments radiated through the door and you winced. You both recognised that sound and knew what Donghyuck was about to be put though. Jeno’s arm came up to your back to begin to guide you back to your shared cell. You accepted and walked with him. You knew that there was nothing you could do.

You hadn’t even got halfway down the corridor before Donghyuck began to scream.

---

9 days had passed since your last lab visit, meaning that you would be back in there tonight. And you were. You hadn’t even finished eating when the guards came to collect you. The other boys watched you sadly as you were escorted away.

You lay down on the operating table waiting for them to proceed. You felt the two guards approach you and you instinctively began to draw yourself away.

‘Strap her down. We don’t have time for this.’ The doctor instructed, frustration already present in his tone.

The guard stepped towards you again, grabbing your hands and pushed them down onto the table you were lying at. He ignored your begs and pleads to let you go and, instead, clamped the metal restraints down over your wrists. He repeated this process with your feet, effectively locking you in place.

You struggled against the cuffs with all you might but couldn’t budge one bit. You were used to being cuffed at your wrists and ankles, but it was when the guard approached you with a large belt, strapping your stomach to the table, that you really began to freak out. Your whole body thrashed from side to side as you tried to break free, but eventually, you found yourself unable to move.

The doctor leaned forward and pushed the guard out of the way. You noticed that, for the first time, there were three doctors preparing to work on you, rather than the normal one. This, and the intense measures that they went to to ensure that you couldn’t move, caused your fear to shoot through the roof.

‘The new procedure today Doc?’ One of the younger doctors asked.

‘Yes. We should be able to get some good data.’ The doctor leaning over you answered.

You whimpered slightly, terrified of what was about to happen. The doctor leaned further over you, adjusting the scalpel in his hand. You tried to move away from it, but you had no power. The other two doctors held you head and chest, exposing you neck.

You felt the small knife make a long incision on the back of your neck and you couldn’t stop the scream that ripped from your throat. Something was on this knife that was making it unbelievably painful.

‘Don’t panic, she’s just reacting to the acid that’s on the tools.’ The first doctor’s voice cut through.

Acid.

Whatever was happening to you, it was going to be the most painful experience of your life.

And it was.

You screamed and thrashed and sobbed, trying everything you could to escape the merciless torture that was being inflicted upon you. You were cut in areas, injected, and hit with other objects. The doctors measured you reactions to each of these and took notes on how your body reacted.

You eventually transcended the level of pain, you body and mind too broken for you to register the full extent of what you were going through. You couldn’t even scream anymore, your lungs and vocal cords exhausted from the amount you’d used them in the previous hours.

‘Ok that’s enough.’ You heard a voice say. You tried to pry your eyes open to see who was speaking, but you couldn’t move. You could barely even focus on the words that were being said.

‘It’s not your job to tell us what to do.’ You recognised the main doctor’s voice.

The previous voice replied again. ‘It’s my job to keep them alive. Now stop.’

You managed to pry open your eyes and noticed a guard standing in front of the doctor, staring him down. You could’t process what was going on. The guards never stood up for you.

However, something in the guard’s words made the doctor turn back towards you, and when he saw the state that you were in, he swore.

‘Fuck.’ The words left his mouth softly and he suddenly began to rummage through the drawers. ‘Save the data, we need to eradicate this experience. She couldn’t take as much as we thought she could.’

The younger doctor’s voice piped up, a sentence that sent a chill down your spine. ‘We could try it on subject A3. The higher levels of speed mean that he heals faster, we would probably get further on him.’

‘Good idea.’ The first doctor replied.

Subject A3... Mark.

‘Now this is going to wake her up for about thirty seconds before knocking her out again. But she still isn’t going to have control over her limbs so you need to get her back to her cell, understand?’

You assumed the doctor was talking to the guard, but your eyes had closed again. The weight of your eyelids being too much to hold open in your current state. You tried to protest as the doctor tiled your head to the side, but all that came out was a choked whine. You hissed as the needle pierced your skin and something was injected into you.

You head spun violently as your body registered the new drug and you felt as though you were going to throw up. Your eye shot open as you gulped for air, your newly freed arms coming up to scratch at you throat.

Not even two seconds later, your entire body was numb. You couldn’t move, stand or pick yourself up even if you wanted to. The guard approached you, holding one of your arms over his shoulder and supporting your waist with the other. He lifted you up and walked you out of the door. Until the doctor’s voice caused a sudden stop to his movements

‘Ten? Not a word of this to anyone.’

The guard, Ten, didn’t move, didn’t even turn back to look at the doctor, but he didn’t need to in order to understand the threat. He made his way down the corridor, swearing as you slipped slightly from his grip. You watched the floor begin to spin under you feet as you were carried back to your cell. He finally reached the door, swiping his key card in the lock and kicking it open before throwing you back inside.

Your limp body hit the floor with a hard thud and the door closed behind the guard as he exited, locking with a click and a buzz. The ceiling spun above you and you couldn’t move to pull yourself up from the floor to get to your bed. You just registered Jeno’s worried face coming into your vision when it all went black.

---

You woke to the same high pitched beeping you did every morning. This time, however, to the view of Jeno’s head on your bed too. He had fallen asleep on the floor, watching over you throughout the night.

He stirred slightly, groaning as the beeping woke him from his slumber. He lifted his head, turning suddenly to look at you, his eyes widening when he saw that you were awake.

‘Y/n? Are you okay?’ He asked, concern etched on his features.

You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. You throat burned from the previous night and you winced at the pain. Jeno stood quickly, running into the bathroom to get you a glass of water. He came back and handed it you, watching as you gulped it down.

‘What did they do to you?’ He whispered, watching you form sadly.

‘I don’t know.’ You whispered back, unable to speak any louder.

The door buzzed open and a guard walked in, the number 10 easily visible on the strap on his upper right arm. He placed the new grey jumpsuits on the end of your bed began to walk away again. The guard stopped in the doorway and turned back.

‘The rose room has been cancelled.’ He informed the two of you. ‘Instead, you train in the morning, then go for lunch and have a free afternoon. Get out of bed y/n.’

Both yours and Jeno’s heads shot towards the guard as he left, the two of you frozen in shock as the door locked shut.

‘Tell me you heard that too.’ Jeno breathed.

‘Yep.’ You confirmed, your brain running at a mile a minute.

‘They never address us by our names.’ He stated, and he was right. You were always addressed by subject number, nothing else.

‘Yep.’ You repeated.

‘Only by subject number.’

‘Yep.’

‘What do you think it means?’ He asked, turning away from the shut door to look at you.

‘I don’t know.’ You shook your head, your eyes still locked on the cell door that was staring back at you.

‘Why was it only you?’ Jeno wondered aloud.

‘I don’t know.’ You knew about as much as Jeno did so you honestly had no idea why he was asking you all these questions.

‘How do you feel about it?’

You paused, not knowing how to answer the final question that, for some reason, made your blood run cold. You turned to look at him.

‘... I don’t know.’

---

You and Jeno were the last to enter the training room. You both scanned the guards surrounding you all, but when none of them had the number 10 on their armour, you shared a disappointed look. Before arriving, you had decided to keep a look out for that guard, to see if there was something that separated him from the others. Something you could notice that would give you a reason as to why he used your name rather than your number. Once the eight of you were in the room, the guards turned and left, shutting the door behind them. You all stared at the shut door, then at each other. You had never been left alone in the training room before. Never.

What was wrong with this day?

You walked towards the physical agility station, confused when you saw Chenle standing there, preparing for his training. You weren’t sure why he was there when it was your turn for that station. He turned around when you approached him, his confused features mirroring your own.

‘Umm I’m meant to be on this station today.’ You informed him, not quite understanding why he didn’t already know that. You had all been on this training timetable for as long as you could remember.

‘No you’re not.’ Chenle replied bluntly, staring at you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

‘Yeah, I am.’ Chenle shook his head at you but you persisted. ‘Yes, I am! I was on distance training yesterday so now I’m on this. Aren’t you on strength and conditioning?’ You stared at him expectantly but instead watched as worry spread across his face.

‘Y/n...’ His voice was low, quite as if he wasn’t sure how to tell you this. ‘You did physical agility three days ago.’

‘What do you mean?’ You asked, unable to quite wrap your mind around this new piece of information.

‘I mean you did this activity three days ago.’ He repeated, his eyes widening with worry. ‘Don’t you remember?’

You shook your head and took a shaky step back. By this point the other boys had begun to notice the conversation between the two of you, prompting them to come over and see what was wrong. Jeno placed a hand on your should, having just overheard the last two sentences.

‘Y/n, what do you remember?’ He looked you straight in the eyes.

‘I don’t know.’ You repeated the words you had already said multiple times today, fear and frustration growing.

‘What did they do to you in that lab?’ He questioned, desperate for an answer.

‘I don’t know.’ You could hear the emotion creeping out in your voice.

‘Think!’ Jeno said, shaking you by the shoulders gently.

‘I don’t know! I don’t remember!’ You raised your voice, your body beginning to shake. All of the other boys stared at you in horror and you fell into Jeno’s hug whispering a scared. ‘Why don’t I remember?’

It was Jaemin’s voice that spoke the words you were all thinking but too afraid to say, scared of what it would mean for you all.

‘They wiped her memory.’

---

You eyes opened to the harsh light above you as the same rhythmic beeping woke you up. Even though you have woke up to the same noise for as long as you can remember, it still drives you insane to listen to it.

You rolled over, pulling your pillow over your head as you waited for it to stop. You felt a weight on the side of your bed and hands gently pull the pillow off your face. You opened one eye to be greeted with Jeno’s smiling face. You couldn’t help but let out a smile at the little crescents his eyes made each time he smiled. It always managed to make you happy as well.

You rolled onto your back and shut your eyes again, pulling one arm over to help block out some of the light that was still making its way though. Jeno’s hand came up to rub your arm comfortingly.

‘How are you feeling today?’ He asked, his voice slightly raspy from just having woken up.

You groaned out as a response

‘I don’t know. Better, I guess. We talked about it a lot yesterday which helped. At least now we know how much I’m missing.’

You removed your arm from your eyes and looked at the boy above you who was nodding.

‘Three days, including an entire visit to the lab. We have to assume that something happened that they didn’t want you to remember.’ He mused, the logical and rational side of his brain showing.

‘But what?’ You wondered. It annoyed you so much that the only person who had these answers was you, and you couldn’t even remember them.

The cell door buzzed and a guard walked in. You lifted your head to get a look at his number. 23. No luck. He threw the jumpsuits onto the end of your bed and then proceeded to stare at the two of you.

‘Stay apart. No need to be that close.’ He ordered, but neither of you moved. ‘I said, keep distance between the two of you. Stay on your own bed!’

He took a step forward, as if he was preparing to pull the two of you away from each other, but you acted faster. You threw your hand out, making a pushing motion and watched as the guard flew out of the door, landing on his bum a few feet back.

He stumbled to his feet, attempting to stammer out an insult or some other kind of attempt to show off his power, but instead just settled on slamming the door shut.

The lock buzzed and Jeno turned to look at you, shock and amazement clear on his face.

‘How did you manage that? That took almost no effort.’

You sighed.

‘I’m tired.’

Jeno’s brows furrowed at your reply.

‘But you’re like me in that being tired means it takes more effort and focus to use your abilities.’

You nodded at him as you explained yourself.

‘Yep. But I’m not that kind of tired. I mean I am, but most of all, I’m tired of this. This life, whatever it is. I’m tired of being treated like I’m a monster, I’m tired of the experiments, I’m tired of the training, I’m fed up with being here.’ You turned your head to look at Jeno after your confession and watched as he nodded with a sad but understanding smile on his face.

‘Yeah... me too.’ He admitted, his voice soft.

‘I know.’ You whispered.

---

You exited your cell, ready for the day and saw guards lined up by your door. You and Jeno shared a confused look, wondering where the doctor’s were, when the guard next to Jisung began to speak.

‘From now on, we’ll be administering your serum.’ He then turned to the boy in front of him. ‘Arm out.’

The guard by your door did the same, grabbing your wrist and exposing your inner elbow. He placed the syringe just below the joint and pressed down. You winced at the feeling that you were unfortunately used to and stepped away so that Jeno could get his. You then waited for the usual symptoms to hit you, watching as your friends turned into the comatose shells of themselves that you were expecting.

But they never came.

Your mind remained as sharp and aware as ever, and you could feel every thought that ran through your mind. You turned back to look at Jeno and, one look at his eyes told you that he was feeling the exact same thing. Your eyes flickered towards the guard who administered your serum and you focused on the number on his arm.

10.

Jeno followed your gaze and looked back at you with wide eyes. The guard began to walk towards the two of you and, out of the corner of your eye, you could see the other guards doing the same so you didn’t think too much of it. Until he began to speak.

‘You’re heading to the rose room.’ He then made sure to look the both of you directly in the eyes. ‘And you’re under the usual effects of the serum.’

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving both you and Jeno alone. You decided to just do what he said and head to the rose room, but you made sure to act as though you were feeling the usual effects of the serum. You moved lethargically, dragging your feet and keeping your eyes ahead at all times. Jeno did the same, both of you faking it the entire way there, while wondering what the hell was going on.

---

You stood at your usual position in the rose room, gathering ingredients and putting them on the conveyer belt like you always did. When you entered the room it was hard not to react to anything. The range of brilliant colours blinded you as you entered and it took everything in you not to just stop and stare.

You noticed that, out of the all the subjects there, that you guessed would be around one hundred, it only looked like your group was under the serum. The rest of them seemed very much aware of their surroundings and what they were doing. When gathering the ingredients you took a quick look at what it was exactly that you were gathering. When you got a glimpse of the label, your heart stopped. These were the same bottles that were found in the lab. It wasn’t until you managed to look over every different object obtained from the genetically modified roses, that you realised you had spent your entire life gathering the solutions and serums that the doctors had used to perform experiments on you.

You had been assisting in your own torture.

You found yourself standing at your final station, a girl you didn’t recognise on your right and the space to your left was empty. The guards began to march between you all, weaving their way through the working subjects. They stopped next to you, so close that you could feel their breath on the back on your neck.

The hairs on your arm began to rise and goosebumps began to form at the close contact. You prayed that they couldn’t see your reaction, knowing that it would give away your state. But they weren’t there for you.

The guards grabbed the girl on your right by her shoulders and pulled her backwards. They held her underneath each arm and dragged her out of the rose room. Her screams, struggles and pleas for help went completely ignored as she was eventually pulled out of sight. No one took any notice, not single subject seemed to realise what had just happened. You could her your heart pounding louder than every before, the girl’s screams still echoing in your head, haunting your thoughts.

A sudden bell sounded through the rose room, one that you recognised as signalling the end of the session. You turned in your spot, waiting for your turn to leave as all the subjects filed out of the rose room in orderly fashion. The fact that the girl was taken at the end of the session made you nervous. Is that what the guards were doing when walking through you all? Looking for their next target? And how long it would be until it was one of you?

---

After the longest day yet, you and Jeno were back in your cell. The door locked behind you and you both turned and stared at each other in disbelief.

‘How much have we missed by being under the serum?’ You asked.

‘They must only put us under it so that they can get away with doing all those things, it’s not to protect us at all.’ Jeno stated and you nodded in agreement.

‘And did you see what we were gathering in the rose room?’ You brought up, watching as Jeno’s eyes widened in realisation.

‘The solutions they use in the lab! And what did they do to that poor girl?’ His voice softened as you both thought about the subject being dragged away from you all, begging for help.

‘I didn’t even know her name.’ You muttered.

‘Me neither.’ Jeno admitted. ‘But did you notice, I don’t think anyone other than our group was under the simulation.’

‘Yes!’ You agreed. ‘I saw that too. Everyone else seemed perfectly aware of what was going on.’

Jeno nodded and you sat down on your bed, your brain feeling as though it was about to explode.

‘Huh...’ You mumbled, a sudden thought crossing your mind.

Jeno turned his head towards you, his eyebrows furrowing at the confused look on your face.

‘What?’ He questioned.

‘It’s just... the other subjects were definitely awake. It was obvious that they hadn’t been given the serum that we normally are. So, why didn’t they react to that girl being taken by the guards.’ You pondered.

Jeno thought for a moment, sitting down on his own bed opposite you.

‘Maybe they’re used to it.’ He suggested. ‘We don’t know how often that happens, it could be considered normal.’

‘I guess.’ You conceded. ‘But they didn’t react at all... I mean, even if you’re used to it, she was screaming for her life and they didn’t even spare a glance. It’s strange not to take any notice of that. I mean, we only didn’t because we had to act as if we were still under the serum.’

Jeno didn’t reply for a second, his eyes fixated on his hands that fiddling were in his lap.

‘Why do you think we weren’t given the serum?’ He asked, looking up at you.

You opened your mouth to tell him that you had no idea, but the lock on your door buzzed, and it swung open. Four guards stalked in causing you and Jeno to both stand out of shock. You were never disturbed at this time unless it was to take you to the lab, and it was Renjun’s night tonight.

Two of the guards approached you, the other two heading towards Jeno.

‘What’s happening?’ Jeno asked, but he was ignored.

Not a words was uttered by the guards as they grabbed you by the arms and began to drag you out of your cell. You began to kick and scream, struggling with all your might to break free.

‘Jesus, why can’t she go quiet?’ One of the guards complained, earning a groan from his partner.

‘Just get her to the lab and stop complaining.’

The lab...

You began to throw yourself about, desperate to not go back there, whatever the cost. You had no idea what it was that was making you react this violently, but your instincts kicked it and told you to fight with all your might.

Upon seeing you reaction, Jeno tried to reach for you, but he was stopped by the other two guards who grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him back. They held onto him tight as he tried to break through them.

‘Y/n! Let go!’ He yelled out, trying to land a hit on one of the guards.

‘Jeno!’ You called back, kicking out with your feet in an attempt to throw the guards off balance.

‘Y/N!’ You could hear Jeno crying out for you as you were pulled out of the cell completely. You just managed to see the two guards holding Jeno throw him to the floor before they turned to leave. They locked the door, with you on the outside and Jeno on the inside.

You continued to be dragged away, crying out for dear life, begging someone to come and help you. But no one did. They all acted as if you didn’t exist. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was how that girl had felt earlier. Screaming and pleading for someone to save her, only to be treated like a ghost.

Jeno’s screams for you could still be heard halfway down the corridor, along with the heavy banging against the door from him throwing his body against it in an attempt to get out.

As you approached the lab door, every morsel of your being was telling you, screaming at you, not to go back in there. But you didn’t have a choice. The two guards threw you into the lab, one of them following you in, before the door was locked shut. You were stuck in the lab with one doctor and one guard, and you were terrified.

You banged on the door, trying desperately to get out. You were so frantic that you couldn’t hear the doctor trying to get your attention. It was only when you realised that they were making no effort to restrain or cuff you that you managed to calm yourself down slightly.

You turned away from the door, the tear tracks down your face prominent. You weren’t sure when you had started crying, the utter terror you had been feeling having taken over your entire body.

The doctor took one step towards you, holding up his hands as if in surrender, but also to show you that he wasn’t holding anything.

‘Well done y/n. Just try to keep yourself calm okay? Breathe... Can you do that for me?’

You didn’t reply to him, simply staring at the man that seemed to act as if he cared for you. These doctors didn’t care for you. Normally you would be handcuffed to the table, screaming in pain by now, but for some reason you were standing upright being told to breathe.

The guard to your left took off his helmet, causing you to take a breath of surprise. You had never seen a guard with his helmet off before, much less one this close. You gawked as the man smiled at you, a genuine, comforting smile that for some reason made you feel safe.

The doctor began to speak again.

‘Y/n, we’re not going to hurt you. In fact, we’re trying to help you. My name’s Doyoung and this is Ten.’

‘Uh huh...’ You stuttered, not really managing to get any real words out.

‘Ten administered your serum this morning, the serum I created for you. And you probably don’t need me to tell you that it was a fake.’

You nodded at the doctor’s words, still trying to calm your racing heart.

‘We did that because there’s a lot that you don’t know about this place that we think you should.’ The doctor, Doyoung, then turned to the guard. ‘Ten can you get her some water?’

The guard, who you assumed went by his uniform number 10, nodded before standing up.

‘Do you want to sit down?’ Doyoung asked, pulling up a chair for you.

You nodded, gladly taking the chair and very grateful that he didn’t ask you to sit on the table. Ten offered you a glass of water, which you took with a small smile as thanks. You took a sip, relishing in how the cool liquid managed to calm your mind.

‘Ok, keep going.’ You said and Doyoung’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘Why are you surprised? Like you said, after what I’ve seen today, I’m not so sure that this place is really meant to keep me safe.’

Doyoung sighed and looked down sadly.

‘It isn’t. This place isn’t designed to keep you safe, but rather to keep you in. It’s a prison. I know that to you it seems as though there are hundreds of people here, but there aren’t. Only the eight of you on your floor are being kept here.’

You let out a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

‘A prison...’ You whispered. ‘Only for the eight of us?’

Doyoung nodded and Ten placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

‘Why us?’ You asked.

Doyoung and Ten shared a look, making you dread what was coming next.

‘Please, just tell me what I am.’ You begged, so tired of having spent your entire life not knowing the most basic thing about you.

‘Doyoung, she needs to know.’ Ten said, as Doyoung sighed.

‘Yeah, I know. There’s no easy way to tell you this y/n. The world fell into chaos slightly. Political leaders began to clash more and more with each other and, before we knew it, we were on the brink of a third world war. One that, this time, really would involve the whole world, and with the creation of nuclear weapons, our government want something that would set us apart from everywhere else. He decided to turn his intentions to modifying humans. He exposed children to certain chemicals and levels of radiation when they were young to see if anything had an affect on them. Eventually he found success, but at a very large cost.’

‘How large?’ You whispered, scared of the answer. Ten spoke up this time, making you turn your head towards him.

‘He tested on over three hundred thousand children. You eight are the only survivors.’

You didn’t know how to react. Eight out of three hundred thousand. Who would be willing to pay that high of a price?

‘What does that make me? A weapon?’ You asked, your voice quiet, almost inaudible.

‘You were human, at some point. Now, we’re not sure. I would believe the closest definition is a mutant of some kind, but y/n, you have to remember that this doesn’t define you.’ Doyoung leaned forward but you shook your head.

‘I’m not human, I’m a mutant, a weapon, an experiment. I’m nothing more than an experiment, a toy for you to play with in your lab. That why I’m prisoner here. I’m a monster.’ You were spiralling, caught up in a mess of reality and new information, you couldn’t control where your mind was heading.

‘Y/n, Doyoung is right, this doesn’t define who you are.’ Ten tried to reassure you but you whirled on him.

‘Doesn’t define me? Yes it does! It literally is what I am, how can you say it doesn’t define me?’ You accused.

‘Because you’re more than that! Beneath all that’s been done to you, all we’ve done to you, we know that you’re people. You are human, you think and feel as we do, you love like we do, you die like we do. And who gives a damn about what made you what you are. It’s who you are that matters.’ Doyoung stood up during his small speech. He somehow managed to verbally slap some sense into you, allowing you a brief moment to calm your mind.

‘The others need to know.’ You blurted, your thoughts suddenly drifting back to Jeno.

‘Yes, and we will tell them.’ Ten reassured.

‘Tonight.’ You insisted. ‘They’ve been through exactly the same thing I have. Why should I get to know the truth and they shouldn’t?’

Both Doyoung and Ten looked at each other, having short, silent conversation before Doyoung sighed and agreed with you.

‘Ok, tonight. Ten go and fetch them from their cells. The doors are locked so the corridors should be empty of guards.’

Ten nodded and left the room quickly, stopping briefly to scan the hallways and only continuing once he knew it was clear. The door automatically shut softly behind him. You suddenly remembered something else Doyoung said, causing you to turn back to face him once more.

‘What changed your mind?’ You asked, only receiving a very confused look from the doctor in return. ‘You’ve worked on us for years, as a trainee then as a real doctor. You haven’t had this position long, so why are you risking everything you’ve worked for? When did you start to think of us as humans?’

A guilty look crossed Doyoung’s face.

‘I’ve done some terrible things to you, to all of you, over the years, and I cannot apologise enough for that. I always thought... that we were doing the right thing, the thing that should be done. We needed something to set us apart or, before we knew it, we would be a speck of dust on the ground, bombed within an inch of our lives. But that was over ten years ago, and you guys haven’t left the facility once. I kept telling myself that it would be worth it, that this was all being done for a reason, and that you would understand that. But then I was in the lab and something made me look at a subject differently. The way he acted, it was something so vulnerable, so human, that it changed my perspective completely.’

‘What was it?’ You asked, immersed in Doyoung emotional words.

‘It was Jeno. He was undergoing a procedure that had been done a thousand times before, but the head doctor that day decided to make some changes. I don’t know what he did, but Jeno started to scream, and not just shout out in a bit of pain, I mean, properly scream. I could hear the strain on his vocal cords and he started crying out and begging for help like I had never heard anyone beg before and he kept calling for the same person over and over.’

‘Who did he call out for?’ Your voice was shaking slightly, your emotions running high at the thought of what could have made Jeno scream out like that.

Doyoung looked at you, complete sincerity in his eyes.

‘You. He called out for you.’

Before you could reply, or even process this information, the door to the lab burst open and the other boys all piled in. Jeno spotted you, alive, awake and well and made his way towards you immediately. He pulled you in for a tight hug as soon as he reached you, wrapping his arms securely around your waist.

‘Oh thank god, you’re okay.’ He whispered. He pulled back and brushed the hair out of your face, holding your cheeks in his hands while he searched your face for any sign of pain. ‘Are you okay?’

You nodded in response. ‘Yeah I’m okay. But you guys need to hear this.’

You watched as Doyoung and Ten explained to the other boys what they had just told you. You watched as they went through exactly the same reactions that you did. And you watched as each of them managed to process this information in their own way.

‘There’s only one thing left to tell you all.’ Ten said, watching as eight pairs of scared eyes looked up at him. ‘We’re going to break you out.’

‘I’m sorry, you’re gonna what?’ Renjun asked, voicing the shock you were all feeling.

‘You’re more than just subjects, more than just experiments, you’re people. And you don’t get the chance to just be people when you’re trapped here. So tomorrow, we’re gonna break you out.’ Doyoung explained.

‘Tomorrow?’ Chenle questioned and both Doyoung and Ten nodded in confirmation.

‘What’s happens after that? Where do we go next? All we’ve known is this facility, so what will we do outside of it?’ Jaemin piped up, thankfully thinking ahead for all of you.

‘I already have a truck ready for us to escape in tomorrow, from there we will drive out of range so that they can’t detect us. Doyoung and I know some people who are willing to help. We’ll stay with them for a while and then, eventually, reintegrate the eight of you back into the world, and allow you to lie the normal life you’ve always been deprived of.’ Ten spoke. You sat there silently, just taking all this information in. You were getting out, and not only that, but also going to get the life you never thought you would ever be able to. You weren’t sure what life would be like on the outside, but as long as you had the guys there, you knew you would be okay.

You felt a pair of eyes on you and turned your head, only to catch Jeno staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. He looked away as soon as you noticed him, clearing his throat before asking one last question.

‘So... how are we getting out of here?’

---

You lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. You knew that you could probably do with a good rest, but your mind was so active that it was impossible. You couldn’t tell if Jeno was awake too, worried that if he wasn’t you might wake him from your constant moving. Doyoung revelation about him calling out for you when in pain was plaguing your mind as well. You had often found yourself thinking of Jeno when you were undergoing procedures in the lab, but you had always dismissed it as wondering what state you would be in when you were returned to your roommate. Was it possible that it was something more? You can’t deny that you’ve felt something for Jeno, he was kind, compassionate, empathetic and so damn loyal to you.

‘Y/n?’ Jeno’s voice disrupted your thoughts, causing you to jump out of your skin.

You swallowed before replying.

‘Yeah?’

‘Oh you’re awake too.’ He mumbled.

‘Yeah... I can’t sleep.’ You admitted.

‘Me neither.’

The conversation stopped for a minute and, for the first time since you met him, you didn’t know what to say to Jeno. You felt colder in your bed than you ever had before and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into his and fall asleep there.

‘Y/n?’ Jeno spoke again, much softer this time.

‘Yeah?’ You whispered back.

‘I’m cold...’ He confessed and you could almost hear the blush that you knew would be dusting his cheeks.

Before you let the surge of courage you felt pass, you climbed out of your bed and padded softly over to his.

‘Move over.’ You instructed, gently tapping his side.

He did just as you told him too, moving himself to the edge so that you could climb in. You lay facing each other for a while and you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his eyes. He lifted up a hand to move a stray piece of hair out of your face and sighed.

You shut your eyes slowly, hoping that by being closer to him you would be able to get some rest. The only problem was, the beds that you slept on were not the largest and could only really fit one person. You found yourself almost pressed up against his chest and that made it very hard for you to calm your rapidly beating heart.

‘Hold on, bear with me for a second.’ Jeno mumbled as he moved himself around slightly. You squeaked in surprise when you felt his hands come to waist, pulling you halfway onto his chest as he settled down on his back.

‘Is this ok?’ He asked hesitantly, and you nodded in response.

Even though you were practically lying on top of him, you couldn’t deny that this position was much more comfortable. From here you could hear his heartbeat and you allowed the consistent rhythm of it to help lull you to sleep.

You wrapped your arm around his waist, the other coming up to rest on his chest as his arms found their way around your shoulder and stroking your hair. You closed your eyes and felt yourself finally drift off to sleep, almost missing the soft sentence Jeno whispered into your hair.

‘I don’t know what will happen once we get out of here, but please just... don’t leave me. I think I need you more than you know.’

---

For as long as you can remember, you have woken up to the sound of the high pitched repetitive beep of the alarm. Not today.

You were quickly pulled out of your sleep to the sound of alarms blaring, red lights flashing and shouting in the corridor. You and Jeno shared a sleepy but scared look before quickly climbing out of bed. You bit your lip slightly in embarrassment as you remembered the position that the two of you slept in last night. Jeno approached your door and pushed on it gently. The door swung open and the two of you stared in disbelief.

You followed him out into the corridor and found yourself standing in the middle of the chaos. Guards and doctors were running up and down the corridors shouting commands and arguing with each other while the eight of you all stood in your doorways, confused to high heavens.

‘Grab them now!’ You heard one of the doctors yell as you were finally noticed. ‘They’re not getting away.’

You saw a guard lunge for Chenle, who quickly turned into a fly and disappeared from sight. Three other guards ran towards you and Jeno, their intentions obvious and the two of you immediately began to move. Jeno threw up a gust of air, knocking them off their feet, while you pulled doors open and moved their legs so that they were constantly tripping over.

‘Guys we have to get out of here now!’ Mark yelled over the noise.

He suddenly appeared from nowhere, making you jump.

‘They somehow found out about our plan, either we leave now, or we’re never getting out.’ And with that he was gone, disappearing at the speed of light.

Jeno opened up a hailstorm on the guard in front of him, his efforts useless against the tough armour that they were wearing. You pulled out a metal drawer from one of the cells and used your telekinesis to ram in into the guard’s leg.

He crumpled where he stood, his head landing hard on the concrete. Your eyes went wide as he lay there unmoving for a second, until he let out a breath and groaned in pain. Jeno’s grabbed your arm and shouted something at you that you didn’t quite catch, you eye still fixated on the guard in front of you.

You really were dangerous. You had hurt someone. And it had taken very little effort from you to do so. What could you do if you really wanted to hurt someone? How badly could you hurt someone without meaning to?

You lost focus on your surroundings, Jeno’s sudden pull on your arm causing you to lose balance. You managed not to fall over, but it slowed you down. You forced yourself to focus, to think rationally, to prioritise leaving and then you could figure out the extent of your abilities.

But you were too late. One of the doctors noticed your stumble and grabbed a taser from a fallen guard. They quickly pushed it into, electrocuting you where you stood. You mouth fell open as a scream tore out of it and your body collapsed onto the ground.

Your mind went fuzzy, everything around you slowing down as you tried to take it all in. You vaguely registered Jeno screaming out for you as you lay on the cold floor. You lifted your eyes and stared into the open door in front of you. It took you a few seconds to realise that you were staring into the lab. You watched as one of the guards cornered Doyoung, who stood with his hands up trying to explain something. They didn’t listen however, and you watched as the guard pulled a gun out of nowhere and squeezed the trigger.

Doyoung doubled over, a red patch forming on his stomach. His back hit the counter behind him and he sank down towards the ground, the pain evident on his face. The red mark on his shirt was growing by the second until it covered half of his lower stomach. You found yourself staring into the dull, lifeless eyes of the one doctor here who had actually tried to look out for you.

Your eyes welled up with tears, blurring your vision. You barely felt the arms that hooked under your elbows and began to drag you down the corridor. The last things you registered before you blacked out were Jeno screaming for you, and Doyoung’s dead body.

---

‘God this kid is a pain.’

‘I know man, I don’t get why we have to be stuck here with her.’

‘Doyoung though? Hmmm, I didn’t see that betrayal coming.’

‘Really? Out of everyone, I’m least surprised that it was him. He always had the weakest stomach when it came to things like this.’

You heard the voices before you even realised that you were awake. The guards in your room were having a casual chat while they waited for you to wake up. Your head was pounding and your mouth tasted like pennies. You scrunched up your face in discomfort, trying to open your eyes but with little success.

‘Oh, look. I think she’s coming back...’

You groaned out slightly, your mind suddenly becoming aware of the pain your body was in. You forced your eyes open, regretting that choice as soon as you were blinded by the harsh white light of whatever room you were currently being kept in.

You blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to your surroundings, before taking a quick look around. You definitely weren’t in your cell anymore. You found yourself chained to the wall, literally. There were heavy metal cuffs around your wrists, ankles, stomach and even your neck. Each of those cuffs were attached to a chain that was embedded into the wall behind you.

They had taken every measure possible to imprison you somewhere they knew you wouldn’t be able to escape from.

You lifted your head and found yourself staring at two guards, both with their helmets off. They looked at you with such patronising looks on their faces, but you couldn’t focus on them. Your eyes were trained on the cupboard behind them, an open cupboard that you could see was filled with guard uniforms.

One of the guards followed your line of sight and laughed.

‘You’re not in our cloak room, don’t worry sweet heart. You’re in the maximum security room at the end of the hall.’

Your blood ran cold at his revelation. No one who entered this room ever made it out alive. But then, that was before you learnt that there were only eight of you actually being held in this facility... You really had no idea what this meant for you.

‘Allow me to explain.’ The other guard took a step forwards. ‘Every time you get drugged and tiptoe off the the rose room to do your work, we walk in and grab a random person standing next to one of you and drag them back here. Now their job is to just scream and kick and draw as much attention to themselves as they can while everyone else ignores them. Once they get here do you know what they do? They get back into their guard uniform and go back to work. All those people you know, everyone in the rose room with you, all of them are one of us.’ He let out a laugh. ‘I can’t believe you were stupid enough to think that they were real subjects!’

The first guard joined in, enjoying taunting you when you were at your most vulnerable.

‘God you really are stupid aren’t you?’ He commented. ‘You thought you were getting out? You’re never going to get out of here. You’re simply going to be stuck here for the rest of your life.’

The other guard laughed again.

‘Yeah, you know that war you were made for. It’s not going to happen so you really aren’t ever getting out. You’re too scared to hurt one of us, how would you ever be useful in a war?’

‘God you’re such a waste of space. I can’t believe that out of the hundreds of thousands that went through the initial testing, she was one of the few to survive.’

‘Tell me about it. Why is she even in maximum security? She probably wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

The guards continued with their taunts, each one crueler than the last. You tried everything you could to block them out, but it was difficult. Especially when they were right, you had been useless. It’s because you were too scared to hurt a guard’s leg that all of you are stuck here forever. This is your fault.

‘No it isn’t.’ Jaemin’s voice echoed through your head, startling you. ‘Ignore them y/n. None of this is your fault, it’s theirs. Don’t forget who put you there in the first place. Now, listen to me, you need to get out of there. Now. I don’t care how you do it, but y/n, it’s time to go.’

The guards continued to taunt you, telling you how powerless you were and you started to feel your anger grow. Jaemin was right, these people did put you in here. They imprisoned you, tortured you and the people you care about. They put you through hours upon hours of pain, just to tell you that you weren’t good enough.

You pulled your hands closed into fists and focused your mind like you never have before. You channelled your anger into your being, thinking of everything you’ve lost, everything they’ve taken from you. A family, a normal life, the ability to just be human. You felt the power rumble from within you. It was like nothing you had ever felt before. It grew from your soul, feeding off your raw emotions, evolving and mutating as it made its way throughout your limbs. It finally reached your head and your opened your eyes. They were pure gold.

The guards stopped their conversation and stared at you in fear, completely at a loss as to what they should do.

You finally understood. You weren’t human. You were so much more than that. And it was time they learnt just how powerful you could be.

You threw your head back, and screamed.

You unleashed all the power within you as a sheer bolt of energy. The chains imprisoning you shattered, falling to the floor. The guards were throw backwards, both of them hitting the wall with a sickening crack, and your door was blown off its hinges. You stood and began to move, feeling every part and every being in the universe working with you and you knew, this is what true power felt like.

You had no idea how to come down from it, you were so taken over that you didn’t feel the hand that gently found its way into yours until you were being turned where you stood and found yourself looking into Jeno’s eyes.

‘Come back to me y/n.’ He whispered, pulling you into his chest and stroking your hair. You let go of all the anger you were feeling, choosing instead to ground yourself with the boy in front of you. ‘We have to go.’

‘I heard.’ You mumbled, pulling yourself away from him chest.

You ran through the corridor, gathering all the boys on the way. Jeno had managed to create a mini hurricane in his room, effectively blowing his way out of the cell he was in. Jisung quite literally just barrelled straight through his door, but he once again misjudged his strength and couldn’t stop himself. He kept going straight into the door on the opposite side of the corridor, luckily bursting it open it for Renjun.

It the situation weren’t so dire you probably would have fallen over laughing at the scene in front of you.

Chenle turned into a midge and flew through the key hole of his cell door, making you admire the boy’s talent to find a loophole in every scenario. Jaemin used his mind control to get the guard who was watching him to open the door for him. Also making the guard bow for him as he walked out as a finishing touch. You couldn’t help but smile at that. Jisung pulled off the doors of both Mark’s and Donghyuck’s cells and the eight of you ran.

You turned a corner and barrelled straight into a guard. All of you threw up your hands, ready to fight, until you saw that it was Ten. Instead of getting a punch in the face, Ten found himself with eight superhuman teens hugging him with all their might.

‘Ok, let’s do this later, the truck’s outside. Go!’

He pushed you all off his and pointed towards the door in front of you. You ran towards it, turning your head to the left as you passed the lab and not missing Doyoung’s body, still lying there on the floor. You swallowed back your tears, promising that you would mourn him properly later, and pushed forwards. You burst out of the doors, shocked beyond belief to find yourself in a lobby of some kind. Your entire life, you thought you had been in the sub basement section of a facility, but really you had been above ground the whole time.

You didn’t have time to marvel however, because, as soon as you were spotted, the alarms went off. They blared through the building and you took that as your cue to leave.

Jisung ran first, easily breaking the main doors open, despite their heavy lock, and the eight of you poured outside. You saw the truck that Ten had mentioned, the trademark number 10 a sign that it was yours. It was on the outside of the barbed wire fence that surrounded the facility. The fence was too high to climb so you took a deep breath and held your arms out. You pulled them apart, imaging a rip and watched as the fence tore in two.

You all sprinted through the fence and piled into the truck that was waiting for you. There was a fabric roof and some metal beams making the skeleton on the inside so you held onto that as you climbed in. Mark moved around to the front seat and you look out, waiting for Ten. You needed him to drive this truck as none of you could.

Ten finally appeared, running at full speed towards you.

‘Go!’ He screamed. ‘Just go!’

You wanted to shout back to him but you never got the chance to. The gunshot rang out loudly and Ten fell straight to the ground. He lay face down in the grass, not breathing, not moving a muscle.

He was dead.

‘Mark... Mark drive. We need to go.’ Donghyuck’s shaky voice tore you out of your trance. Mark moved himself so that he was in the driver’s seat and turned the key.

‘Ok, I can figure this out.’ He reassured himself.

‘Well can you do it now because we have some rather unfriendly company arriving in about thirty seconds. And you don’t want to know what they’ll do if they catch us.’ Donghyuck warned, making all your eyes widen in fear. When the boy who can see the future tells you that something is going to happen, you’ve learnt that the best thing to do would be to listen to him.

Mark moved the gear stick into ‘D’ and slammed his foot down on a random pedal. Luckily he seemed to get the right one because you all lurched forwards, speeding away from the facility. Mark’s super speed means that he has extremely fast reflexes, making it very useful for when he needs to learn a new skill. He reacted quickly to the movements of the car and it didn’t take long before you were smoothly driving away from the prison that was also happened to be the only home you’ve ever know.

Renjun shuffled in his seat, facing his body out the back of the truck and towards the facility. He lifted up his hands, turning his palms out before suddenly clenching them into fists. He then sat back down, his back hitting the seat as he let out a deep sigh.

‘Just a quick image of an empty field. It’ll throw them off the scent long enough for us to get out of here.’ He explained before leaning his head back and shutting his eyes.

You looked back at the large building that was disappearing rapidly into the distance and thought of Doyoung and Ten. The two who risked everything so that you could all be where you are now. And they were the two who paid the ultimate price.

You felt your eyes beginning to droop, the gentle movements of the car lulling your tiring body to sleep. You felt Jeno’s arm come around your shoulder and you leant into his warmth, relishing in the comfort of being close to him. Only now did you realise how exhausted you really were. You allowed your head to fall onto Jeno’s shoulder, feeling his arm tighten slightly around you, and you felt safe.

For the first time, ever, you felt safe.

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slytherflynn · 3 years

Text

Old and New | Pt I

Blaise Zabini x muggle!reader

word count: 1971

summary: y/n is new to France on a study abroad trip. Blaise is visiting France post-Hogwarts. rags to riches story of an unfortunate muggle falling for a complicated, ridiculously wealthy person who just so happens to also be a powerful Wizard.

a/n: this started with an idea, became a moodboard, then became an entire fleshed out fic! I thought it would be short but my brain had other ideas. enjoy! note: I did write this from my personal perspective in life. as a result it is not very inclusive. I plan to change that with my next fics, I’ve just been having a really hard time lately and have been writing a lot of comfort fics and/or self-inserts to escape from irl bc irl is rly shitty for me rn

It’s a brand-new start, in a brand-new apartment, in a brand-new city, in a brand-new country... an ocean away from home. I can bring Tacoma to France, right? At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Study abroad is fucking... scary. I kinda regret it. It’s a good opportunity and for someone who doesn’t travel, it should be a fun experience. But I’m currently having an anxiety attack over taking out the garbage, so I’m not sure my positive self-talk is working.

I look out the window of my top floor apartment, wait until someone finally finishes walking down the stairs, and run out my door - I nearly trip about five times going down the spiral of death, my arms feel like jelly thanks to perpetually pushing my garbage deeper in to avoid this trip, and I swing with all my might to hurl my garbage bag into the trash compacting dumpster - only it hits the bottom lip and falls to the ground, splitting open.

“Great!” I say, sarcastically, “First they send my luggage to the wrong location, then they try to say my passport isn’t valid because my apartment was a temporary address, then I’m greeted with a fridge full of rotting food and no power, then I’m bitten up by fleas and now - I just- fuck. Why can’t I just- do anything- right-“ I cut myself off when I hear a screen door slide and blink a couple times to erase the threat of tears that had been creeping up on me while I ranted.

When I look up, I see a tall, dark-skinned guy about my age - handsome. He’s wearing a suit, and expensive jewelry. Combine that with the fact he’s living in the apartment building next to me, which is worth more than my life just for one month of rent, and I put together that he’s probably rich beyond belief. I quickly look away, not wanting to stare. I silently pick up my garbage, piece by piece. As I work, I feel eyes drilling holes in the back of my head. I ignore it. It continues, and I still ignore it as I finally shove my ripped garbage bag in the compactor and slam the door shut. I hear a slight jump up above, and chuckle to myself.

I zoom back up the stairs and almost make it to the top, but I trip 5 stairs away from my door - and fall, hard. Body laid out flat hard. Cheek scraped and stinging from the metal grating on the stairs, hard. Lost the goddamned slide that caught on the stair, and can see it gradually falling, bouncing and rolling down the stairs, hard. I lift my head and see blood on the stair. I feel it running down my face. All I can think is that this really fucking hurts. The tears come, a combination of pain and frustration, and I pick myself up and stumble my way into my apartment, completely forgetting about the attractive rich boy who just watched me be a danger and inconvenience to myself.

I rush to the kitchen and grab a roll of paper towels, and run to the bathroom, I see the markings in the mirror and can tell it will leave a sizeable scar. Do I need stitches? I don’t know. Anyway, I start dabbing at everything and blood is still oozing out of every nook and cranny, to my displeasure. I’m about to start bandaging my face when I hear a knock on my door. “Fucking Christ!” I mutter to myself as I slap a wad of paper towels on my face and sulkily go to fling open my door.

I’m not sure who I’m expecting, but to see the same rich guy on my doorstep, slide in hand, probably wasn’t it. “Hey, um, I saw what happened, and I thought you might want your shoe back.” His accent sounds very British - I was expecting it to sound more like a snooty Frenchman’s.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” I say flatly.

As my muscles twitch to begin closing the door, he says, “Would you like some help cleaning that up? I have certifications to give medical aid... and stitches. My name’s Blaise, by the way.”

Doctor, maybe? Probably. “Sure,” I say, opening the door wider and standing back so the blood doesn’t drip on his suit. “I’m y/n.”

A few minutes later we’re in my bathroom, me sitting on the toilet, him sitting on the bathtub as he helps me fix my face. “So, Mademoiselle y/n,” He asks, “Do you find yourself in these predicaments very often?”

“Which one? Poverty, flea bitten, or bloody?” I say.

“I suppose whichever you’d like to think I was referring to.”

“Well, in *that* case - I’m usually caught unawares in all kinds of predicaments - though I’d say self-injury due to clumsiness is an uncommon one. And do you usually find yourself in predicaments requiring you to treat someone’s wounds?”

“I used to, though now it’s only on the occasion.”

“Sounds like an improvement,” I note. “I won’t guarantee it, but I think I’ll get the hang of walking up the stairs soon enough, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily mind it if I did worry about you once or twice more. Why were you running? It seemed like you wanted to get away from something. Does your garbage compactor smell that disturbing?”

“It doesn’t smell great,” I admit, “But truth be told, I’m not a fan of human interaction. It’s scary. Especially when everything is new to me.”

“How long have you been In France?”

“A few days, just enough to get myself physically settled.”

“I see. And you are from America?”

“Mhm. Let me guess, my accent gave it away.”

“And the slang, I’ve yet to hear someone from France use certain terms that you seem to favor.”

“Oh, most of my slang is specific to my city, not just my country.”

“Your city?”

“Yea, Tacoma. It’s near Seattle, if you know where that is. Tacoma’s better, though.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. My mother is a fashion designer, but she only travels where there’s inspiration or a business deal.” So that’s how he gets the expensive clothes. The rest of the money too, probably.

“Must be nice, having a handmade closet.” I muse. “Not that I care for having any more clothes than I brought. They’re pretty reliable, if I do say so myself.”

He laughs. “Yes, well, if the blood stains don’t come out of your jumpsuit you might need a new one. They shouldn’t be too difficult to remove, though.”

“Yea, I’ll just dump a bucket of Oxi-Clean on it and call it a day. That is, if any stores nearby have it.” I frown, realizing I have no clue if France carries any of the products I usually get. This is gonna suck. Hopefully the internet has some answers so I don’t have to ask anyone for help.

“Why don’t I take your jumpsuit back with me? Save you the trip. Believe it or not, I used to have chronic nosebleeds, so I know a thing or two about stain removal.” Blaise offers.

I smile, only just. “Well, if you insist. But I love this jumpsuit practically more than myself, so I expect it back right away!”

He returns the smile. “A fan of fashion? You ought to meet my mother.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure your mom would despise me - I only own seven jumpsuits and some athleisure for going on runs.” I pause, then tack on: “Oh, and some fuzzy pajamas for when I’m sick.”

Blaise cocks a brow at me. “And when you’re not sick?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I grin mischievously.

A wave of recognition graces his eyes, and he very quickly looks away, I assume for being flustered.

“You Americans, always so scandalous.” He tsks in mock scorn.

“That’s what we’re known for, is it not?” I say cheekily, “Beer, boobs and gun barrels. And all the other problems that come with that, but that’s a can of worms I am not looking to open today.”

He ties off his handiwork, and says, “It looks like my job is finished, other than stealing your jumpsuit off your back to fix it. I can wait in the other room, if you’d like?”

“Um, yea, that works. Lemme just, grab my next jumpsuit. Gonna have to do laundry early, I suppose-“

“I can wash your jumpsuit for you. I’m pretty good at reading labels, if I do say so myself.” He jokes.

“Oh?” I say, “Then you must be a real genius! Who taught you, Einstein?”

“No, but it was another white-haired, eccentric man, so you’re not that far off.”

“When all teachers are like that it’s kind of impossible not to hit relatively close to the mark.” I remark, then change clothes as quickly as I can, tossing the dirty outfit into a trusty plastic bag and tying it shut.

When I walk out to the living room, Blaise is toying with one of my sculptures. He’s definitely been meandering and lurking around. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, at which he jumps. “You’re rather skittish, Blaise.”

“And you’re rather quiet on your feet, y/n.” He observes. “But yes, I quite like your eclectic style. If only you had an apartment that let your customization shine. Something more minimalist.”

“Yes, well, it’s something I’ll forever dream of and likely never accomplish. I don’t suspect I’m going to be someone leaving the income level I was born into.” I say, just a little bit cynical.

“And why is that?” He asks.

“Because most people don’t, and the ones who do are the ones who make money. My career isn’t going to make me money.” I reply.

“So why did you pick it?”

I sigh. “Because somebody has to care about the people like me. The politicians don’t, the middle class don’t, and the rich are hell bent on keeping us there so they can have factory workers and have people going straight to prison after they graduate because we’re all desperate and miserable.”

He frowns. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s reality. And I don’t want to be like the people who get rich and stop caring because all they see is the wage difference and pretend it’s justified so they don’t have to feel complicit in the system.” I look him in the eye, my face grim. “Not all luck is by chance. Most of it is by design.”

He nods. “I understand, in a way.”

“Everyone does.” I say. “But understanding in a way and caring enough to do something about it are two different things.” I look away from him when I see his posture change. “I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s impossible not to notice the wealth gap between us when you’re wearing designer clothes and living in what looks like a mansion and I’m living in a building made in like 1900 with no elevator. It’s just the way things are, though.”

“I know.” He says quietly, thoughtfully. “I’d better get going. Your clothes?” He reaches out tentatively for the bag I’m still holding.

“Oh. Right.” I say, handing it to him. Our fingers brush against each other slightly, and it sends chills down my spine. He heads to the door while I’m rooted to the spot, collecting myself.

“I look forward to seeing you again, y/n.” He nods, meeting my eyes with a rather changed expression.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” I ask, not quite sure which answer I’m expecting.

He smiles, only just. “As soon as I am able.” Seconds later, he’s out the door, and I’m alone in my dingy ass apartment. How in the fuck did any of that just happen?

#Blaise Zabini #muggle!reader #blaise x reader #slytherin #hogwarts #lady zabini #harry potter #hp #imagine #fanfic #slytherflynn #part 1

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 3 years

Text

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 61 – Classical Is the Best

“...Well? Is it over now?”

Tao muttered as he neared his communicator-plunged ear with his shivering hand, with Rael and M-21 nervously attending.

To their dismay, Takio, who was supposed to be reporting at the scene, was silent.

The men are appalled, assuming that Takio entered the scene when the gas was still lingering, effective.

Thankfully, that was when they could hear Takio’s voice.

<I’d say it’s over. We were standing by in a distance, as we could see the gas ghosting close to the surface.>

“Is that so...? What about the people?”

“What about their body modification? Is it gone now?”

“Don’t tell me it’s not over yet...!”

M-21 and Rael, out of impatience, almost barked into Tao’s ear, forgetting that he was not the only one who happened to be equipped with a communicative device.

<They’re...>

They’re...?

They’re what?!

Hearts clattering at Takio’s statement, the three listeners could not dare to pull out the question stuck in their mouths.

Takio cried out loud, sounding like he would weep as soon as he is offered with a handkerchief; Tao, M-21, and Rael replied with a trio of a sigh so deep they might as well spit their lungs out.

“...What about the 3rd Elder?”

Tao hesitantly added, and they tightened their lips once more, all ears on Takio’s reply.

<...Found him. He’s alive, but... Tao, I think you were right. Looks like that gas did get to him as well. Somewhat.>

Evaluated Takio, looking down at 3rd Elder, his body reeking of fatal fatigue, the sort that modified humans will never get to experience without a life-or-death battle that forces its participants’ lives on a line for at least a dozen times.

Although his body was perfectly clean of physical trauma, the white-haired man remained immobile, breathing like a fish pulled out of water.

Apparently, however, the man did not forget his portion of the mission, and he did not hesitate to ask as soon as he spotted Takio.

“Is... Is everyone okay...?”

“...Yes. Their modification is going away, thanks to you.”

“...No. Don’t thank me. This is... This is all thanks to...”

Cough, cough.

The 3rd Elder coughed lightly, but Takio and Yuigi who joined him started, their shoulders hitching.

Their eyes told them his state was nowhere near serious, but their senses told him he needed hospitalization this moment.

An exchange of looks was all it took Takio and Yuigi to settle to move him to KSA this instant.

“Don’t worry about me... Take care of the... Cough. And... Takio.”

“Y-yes...?!”

“Could you please... Send the fastest among you... To this place I’m about to tell you...? And do it... Now.”

The fastest among us would be Rael.

But more importantly, is there an issue that requires Rael right now?

Barely meeting Takio’s eyes, who was suddenly quivering with anxiety, 3rd Elder whispered, his blue eyes curiously having lost its hue for a tone.

“I’m sorry, but... I need a favor.”

*****

Meanwhile, in Lukedonia

“Huff... Huff...”

Lunark’s hand swiped her forehead, a drop of blood turned viscid with sweat trickling down.

It was more than forehead that was soaked with sweat and blood, but it was the best she could do.

She had been fully committed to this battle, reminding and reminding and REMINDING herself that if she is to slip even for a second, this power will drain away like a school of fish making its escape through the holes in the net.

And the battle was much more onerous than she had envisioned, as she had to put herself against the Dark Spear brandishing its true form AND struggle against this power vigorously bubbling within her like gas next to fire.

Just when the round 2 of this fight began, she had thought that now she can finally understand what Frankenstein would have been burdened with as he wielded the Dark Spear, though this power and Dark Spear are not even similar in terms of essence.

Alas, she learned that she was mistaken – mistaken and hubristic.

‘Just how...? How could Frankenstein walk and talk and smile with this power lurking within him? How could he possess both this power and the Dark Spear? How did he manage to use this power along with the Dark Spear?’

Theory and practice are two different things; Lunark learned that, as she saw for herself how controlling this power was nothing far from hellish.

When she sought openings for her to push and pull against the Dark Spear, the power accelerated on its own.

And when she concentrated this power at her limbs to leave a pregnant blow on her foe, it flailed about and disobeyed her.

‘If this keeps going, I’ll end up losing this power and repeating what happened right before I was thrown into the sea.’

At least, Lunark thought, the Dark Spear was treating her with more caution.

She had been clumsily but persistently building damage onto the Dark Spear, which was by no means meaningless.

And with the knowledge on the power Lunark had made her weapon, it could not dare trash about like it used to.

Notwithstanding, Lunark did not dare dub herself upper-handed.

In other words, the lead of this battle was a flag unmastered, out in the open for either one of them to snatch at.

And both of them knew by instinct that the one who is to prevail victorious in the catch-the-flag will be the one to announce this battle as terminated.

‘Now, what should I do?’

Lunark knew what was the most commonly employed compass at the face of a pathway that requires most essential choice of direction – the basics.

Which is probably why her head retrieved a tip from her parents, from the moment she was just introduced to the art of war and combat, excited to start her baby steps – perhaps too excited, as a beginner full of spirit and clumsiness.

How to win against a strong opponent? Hmm... Very well. It’s bit early for you, but I guess it can’t hurt to save a cat from your curiosity.

The win and loss in a brawl between powerful fighters are commonly decided by a very small element. Including, but not limited to, the out-of-norm degree that is added to your right shoulder. The squint that narrows your vision. The tempo that connects your step to your fist. The elements you’d deem so insignificant that you feel no time or need at all to mind can sometimes aid you to take flight. Or take a fall to your doom.

So, once I become strong enough to keep them all in mind as I fight, does that mean I won’t lose to anyone?

Not quite. A combat is composed of more than punches and slashes and whatever that seems decided. It is bound to be entailed with variables.

Which is why some say a battle between powers will end in only two cases – either it never ends, or it ends in a blink of an eye.

Which is why getting your basics correct is the key. Once you have basics to serve as a rope for you, you will be able to save yourself even if an unexpected makes you take a tumble down the abyss. In fact, you can use it to your favor if situation allows it. Which is why we shall try again! On your feet. Get set – and let’s go!

Reiterating her parent’s teaching in the speed of light, Lunark focused her pink pupils, glowing with crimson ring of light.

‘A battle between powers never ends... Or it ends in a blink of an eye.’

And considering their current situation, Lunark knew her next move must put an end to this fight.

She recalled her not-so-plentiful battle data she had personally earned on Dark Spear, before she kicked at where she was standing.

From her head to toes, the blood-red wings of aura as majestic as a burning phoenix spread out its silhouette.

Dark Spear flinched, but it gritted its teeth and lunged towards her, clearly having realized that there was no way to avoid this collision.

Two storms, one bloody and one dark-purple, swept through everything in their paths in deadly incineration.

Their distances were not great, but for some reason their races had yet to reach the finish line.

“Huh...?!”

Until from Lunark’s shoulders the red aura suddenly started to lose its glare.

Bafflement dripping from every curve and cut in her faces, Lunark hurriedly stomped on her feet; and of course, the Dark Spear did not mean to gape at the moment.

“Looks like Lady Luck decided to smile upon us!”

Dark Spear spread out Frankenstein’s lips to more than what they would normally handle and revealed his teeth.

At the same time, it lashed out its true body like a child waving a balloon at a theme park.

Lunark’s skin could not stay unscathed at the wind smeared with black aura, and naturally she recoiled, her legs taking backsteps.

Now with the flow of the battle in its hands, Dark Spear was no longer reluctant.

For it knew this was its only chance to eliminate her.

Which is why it took a rushed step forward to spear itself into her.

Just as the Dark Spear’s vicious red eyes were targeted upon Lunark right at the tip of her nose, with a thump supernaturally strong hands gripped Frankenstein’s arms under Dark Spear’s control, so strong it might as well have snapped the appendages.

And with a crack Lunark’s head was raised, and Dark Spear’s thoughts froze upon meeting her eyes, to find the red circle of light still very vivid in her eyes.

‘She didn’t lose that power! She tricked me into her grasp...!’

Dark Spear’s belated realization was exactly what Lunark had in mind as she set her trap.

Her original plan was to cumulate physical damage upon Dark Spear, so that it cannot retain itself within Frankenstein’s body due to weariness.

Which was canceled almost immediately.

She did manage to add damage that not even Dark Spear could ignore, but it was none other than Frankenstein’s body that Dark Spear was maneuvering.

‘And the problem lies within Frankenstein, not outside. So it’s no use to beat the heck out of that thing.’

Thus she edited her plan – to return Frankenstein’s body to himself by pouring this power into his physical build.

But with the Dark Spear highly keen on keeping her away from itself, what she needed was a crucial moment.

‘My best option is to make that thing fixed on its spot. I don’t need to perfectly overpower it. Once I secure for myself a second that Dark Spear cannot stay away from me, I’d be able to pour this power into Frankenstein’s body. And if I do that...!’

She wondered how she would be able to pull this off, with Dark Spear held in Frankenstein’s hand; the answer came right away.

And there is a reason why people say classical is the best.

‘Hopefully you’ll give me a pass just this once, Frankenstein!’

Lunark attempted to once again grab Frankenstein’s arm, which was trying so hard to shake her away, as if she were a patient caught with a contagion.

Nevertheless, a crisis is bound to lead to a power unbeknownst before, and Dark Spear was no exception to this rule.

Feeling how her opponent’s arm is about to slip out of her fingers, she gave up on arresting the Dark Spear and took in a huge breath.

Upon making sure both their mouths are open, she weighed her neck with velocity.

And she pressed down a pair of dark purple lips with her own.

(Illustration by. RyO - you can find her DeviantArt page here)

Her eyes were shut tight for full concentration, and Dark Spear’s red eyes snapped open wide in shock.

Almost simultaneously, red cloud of light was recast upon her silent body, to cascade straight into Frankenstein’s body through Lunark’s mouth.

Mumbling with its mouth blocked, Dark Spear fired sinister glints from two red pupils.

If we can’t beat you, we’ll at least make sure you won’t get to feast on your victory!

That was when Frankenstein’s arm clutching the Dark Spear was finally freed, and without hesitation the dark pillar of energy hit right through Lunark’s back with deadly aim, still whipped up with crimson maelstrom.

*****

“...I believe it is over.”

Lascrea, who had been walking back and forth before her throne ever since her initial report on the situation, spoke with her gaze stationed far.

Kei, Karious, Gechutel, and Claudia followed suit, who happened to be present at the Lord’s Hall to protect her just in case.

A series of tremor from sprinting footsteps, too loud and too definite to miss even for humans, was approaching fast and furious.

Soon enough, somebody broke through the doors, almost tackling through the Central Knights who tried to stop him.

“...Frankenstein?”

“...Or are you still that damned weapon?”

Frankenstein’s skin had regained its natural tone, but his upper body was drenched with dark red blood.

Hence the nobles did not relieve their bodies of tension.

At then they took in what he was holding in his arms, and their eyes trembled with distraught.

��I need every doctor in this place right now!!!!”

Frankenstein screeched, his manners and introductions cleanly forgotten.

And nobody blamed or chastised him, for through his fingers squeezing down on Lunark’s back to the best of their possibilities was gushing out a strain of black blood.

“I said right now!!!”

Frankenstein’s eyes, back to their natural-born cerulean, were shuddering as if they would burst any moment.

(next chapter)

Frankie and Lunark’s very first kiss was supposed to happen in this chapter. But I didn’t want to wait for 60 chapters to pass until these two finally kiss. And more importantly, since Dark Spear has taken over Frankie’s body in this chapter, I felt it wouldn’t really be their first kiss. Which is why I moved their first kiss to Ch. 29. XD And finally, Lunark’s battle against the Dark Spear is over, and every battle sequence has been terminated. Now all that is left is the aftermath of the battles and finale for this fic. I assume this fic will meet its end in August or September, and I’ll do my best until I reach there!

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #lunarkxfrankenstein #wolfsbane #Mr.Wolf #AnAngelicDay

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thenightling · 3 years

Text

What might have Been (Sandman fan fiction)

What might have Been...

Someone out there really does not want me to write Sandman fan fiction so naturally I must write more.

This story was inspired by the fact that over on his Tumblr Neil Gaiman was asked on at least two occasions that if Alexander Burgess had freed Morpheus, would he still have been condemned to eternal waking or if he would have shown mercy? Both times Neil Gaiman answered that Morpheus would have shown mercy. And yes, Neil Gaiman has a Tumblr. So this is a story of what may have happened of Alexander Burgess had freed Morpheus back when he probably should have.

Note: This story does contain a depiction of early twentieth century homophobia and some period accurate slurs. Based on my own personal experiences as a non-straight person I understand if the scene might make some readers uncomfortable. However you might find the end result of what happens to the abuser somewhat cathartic.

What might have Been…

The boy stared intently at the glass cage in front of him. It was domed and rather egg-like in shape and tall enough to hold a man or something very man-like. The leadened quartz-crystal was as clear as any well-made window. Alexander Burgess watched the creature with the fascination of a child watching a pet lizard in a terrarium.

The naked being in the cage stared back at him with cold intensity and a proud contempt as well. The creature was pale as chalk, and his eyes were like back pools of water with twin stars serving as pupils floating in the darkness. Later Alex would be able to compare this vision to the claimed “Grey” alien encounters he would read about in grocery store tabloid magazines. One stark difference from those creatures though was that this creature had a shock of wild, black, hair that reminded Alex of a disorderly pile of raven feathers, thick and heavy hair that framed the pale face staring out at him from behind the glass. The creature was improbably thin. It was clearly intelligent and generally humanoid. If Alex hadn’t seen the summoning for himself, if he had not detached himself so thoroughly from the alienness of this entity, he might have even found him beautiful or attractive. But all potential for that had been lost to fear and the unavoidable and frightening knowledge that this was not a human being.

Alex did not know why he found The Creature so fascinating. He had discovered who and what the creature was in the Paginarum Fulvarum. The King of Dreams. That revelation had somehow not resolved his sense of curiosity. This was the being accountable for everyone’s dreams, all of humanity’s secret fantasies and all those shameful imaginings that come late at night when people are at their most vulnerable. For Alex there was a secret shame in his own dreams…

“I hate you.” Alex whispered. It was a childish proclamation but there was some hidden pain there. The bony, wraith-like, creature moved his head slightly, acknowledging Alex’s words without responding verbally. He never spoke to them.

Alex wasn’t even twenty-years-old yet but he knew he was not like other men. He was not “manly” by the usual definition of the term. And he believed that if his father knew about his secret yearnings, his Desires… He would be disowned…

It was this thing’s fault, wasn’t it? The cruel bastard there in the box. He was the one who gave him those dreams. The dreams that Alex dared not describe to anyone. Dreams of other young men. The feel of their lips against his face. The tingle through his scalp as the lips vibrate against his earlobe as something gentle and inviting was whispered into his ear. Their affection, their touch, their love… How Alex dreamt of that love, that sweet, terrible, sinful love. And why? Why was this such a taboo? His father had used magick for so many cruelties. He had even killed with it. So why were his desires, ones that could never hurt anyone, considered to be so much worse? …And who decided that a form of love could be deemed evil anyway? Wasn’t love supposed to be ultimate redeemer? The ultimate absolution? As far as young Alex was concerned humans and the powerful beings that governed the universe- they were all hypocrites. All of them! Hypocrites who took pleasure in the befuddlement of others by tempting them with …with deviant dreams…

Alex had enough of staring at the alien-like boogeyman there in the cellar. He got up off the cold, damp, floor where he had been seated, eye level with the crouching, naked thing. Almost staring each other down, as if in a contest of wills neither was entirely sure about. Alex stood up. Unlike the pale creature imprisoned there, Alex could leave. He could leave at any time. …Then why did he feel just as trapped as if he was the one in the glass bubble?

The months passed and not much had changed. Alex had grown a bit, but that was normal. He had read somewhere that some men grow until they’re twenty-five. He was taller, leaner. He discovered he needed spectacles, which wasn’t too surprising. He had squinted often when reading father’s dusty old books.

One thing was different though. Father had hired a new gardener. A pretty, red-haired boy, barely Alex’s own age. And Alex had the distinct feeling that perhaps this young man was also… different. Different in his capacity to feel for men what most men usually only feel for women (or so Alex believed).

It was a warm summer afternoon when Father finally took notice of Alex and the peculiar way he watched the gardener. Alex, whom he often ignored. Roderick Burgess found it distasteful and rather Crowley-esque that his own son should look at another man in that way. He watched as Alex observed the gardener. Roderick hoped what he was seeing here wasn’t what it appeared. But it seemed so. Alex was as infatuated with the near androgynous gardener boy in a way that he should only feel toward women. Well, something must be done about that!

“Father, please!” Alex tried to shield himself with his arm as his father’s heavy, old, walking stick came crashing down on him again. “You are an EMBARRASSMENT! The heir to the Order of Ancient Mysteries, my ONLY son… a worthless, useless… Mary!” There was another crack from the gentleman’s cane being used in a very ungentlemanly fashion. “No, Father, I… Magus. Magus, Please, I-“ “It’s that boy, isn’t it? That Elliot? Well, he doesn’t work here anymore! I sent him away. You’re lucky I don’t just stop his heart to rid myself of this shame!” He was one to talk of Shame. His father, the infamous occultist, rival to Aleister Crowley, head of The Order of Ancient Mysteries, and source of scandal after scandal. The papers always had something to say about Father. They never spoke about Alex. Alex knew how to keep a low profile, to keep to himself, to go virtually unnoticed in his father’s shadow. The threat to stop Elliot’s heart was very real. Alex knew his father had enough magick to do such a thing to someone without the occult means to defend himself. “No! He’s innocent!” “Innocent?!” What did that matter to someone like Roderick? Alex had always been too damn soft and now he had gone over to fairyland as far as Roderick was concerned. Well, at least he knew his son hadn’t soiled his bed with his deviance yet- he had not acted out his profanity in the house, at least there was that. “Look at you! You’re a disgrace!” Alex was cowering and crouched in the corner of his room, which was in disarray from his father’s attack. He knew he couldn’t hide what he was from him. His father was just too powerful…

It also didn’t help that Alex had kept those old novels under his bed. The picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, a few selected Greek myths carefully bookmarked in a thick, leather-bound, volume, and the closet drama Goethe’s Faust parts 1 and 2 translated perfectly from German into English. Anyone with the ability to read between the lines, as they say, could tell what Mephisto’s relationship with Faust was really all about… Alex couldn’t tell what was worse, the words his father said or the cane coming down again and again. He was too afraid to fight back. There was no telling what his father or his father’s minion might do if he tried. Sometimes he had nightmares of his father’s darker wrath, much more extreme than this. “You dress like a fairy! Look at you! Growing your hair out like a girl, walking around in long velvet jackets like they’re frocks! You think you look like Henry Irving or something? No, you look like a little girl! No woman will ever find you attractive. I should have realized, the way you bury yourself in those books, like a little wanna-be priest.” Alex saw nothing wrong with dandy fashion and as for his hair, plenty of respectable men had hair longer than his. His hair wasn’t even really shaggy. Oscar Wilde’s hair had been longer than this at the time of his death. Though he knew that was, as far as his father was concerned, an awful example. He whimpered and tried to wait out the pain and dared not argue the accusations. “They stare at you, you know.” Roderick continued in his tirade to shame him. Alex knew the only person who actually scrutinized what he wore was his own father. He kept to himself too much to be the focus of anyone else’s attention. “You think I don’t see it? How they turn and look at you and whisper on the street what a pansy you are. Maybe if you dressed normal you wouldn’t forget you’re supposed to be a man!” No one was actually saying he was a pansy. That was clearly Father’s own insecurity about his masculinity talking.

“Clean yourself up.” Roderick said, finally too exhausted to beat him anymore. And in an after-thought “If anyone asks, you fell off a horse like the clumsy idiot you are.”

Roderick walked from the room, gentleman’s cane (if you could call it that) still clutched in his hand.

Alex slowly pulled himself to his feet. He was trembling yet, and sniffling, trying to choke back the threatening sobs. Alex had long ago abandoned the childish (as he saw it) hope that a parent’s love was truly unconditional. The child in him still insisted it was supposed to be unconditional, that parents are supposed to love you and accept no matter what, and Alex still craved his father’s approval and acceptance. It had been some naïve governess from Alex’s childhood who had taught him that foolish notion he could not shake, that a parent should love you without condition. And he never could quite let go of that belief even if all of his life experiences insisted that no parent (at least his parent) could not love in that way… Could Roderick Burgess love at all?

Alex finally left his badly disheveled room once he was certain his father was no longer nearby. There were papers and books scattered, along with a knocked over chair and some random knickknacks. Some ceramic and glass items were broken, fragments of childhood playthings lay on the carpet. Something had broken tonight and it was not merely some old toys… Alex walked …or more precisely he stumbled, down the hall. Alex’s back ached where he had gotten the brunt of the caning. He knew the marks were going to scar. Everything ached. His shoulders, his legs, especially his back. One eye was blackened and his cheeks were red from the heat of crying. He wiped furiously at his own tears. It was foolish to cry. And it was dangerous to dream…

He would never really be free. He was as much his father’s prisoner as the creature down in the cellar… If he tried to run away he knew his father and his magick would find him. And… he had nowhere to go anyway… Even if his situation was “Normal” and there was no fear of magical ramifications for his defiance, to whom could he turn? Where could he run? There was no sanctuary for someone like him…

Alex made his way to the secret passage, to the stone staircase that spiraled its way down to the windowless chamber. He knocked on the heavy wooden door and announced himself for the two guards his father had watching the prisoner. One of the guards opened the door for him. They knew better than to question the boy’s condition but there was a slight trace of pity in at least one of them, a softening to the man’s usually unreadable expression. Alex managed to steadily walk to the glass cage, hiding that he was in pain. He slowly laid his hand against the cool glass. “Please leave us.” “But the Magus says-“ One of the men started to protest. “My... Father,” Alex practically spat the word, “is the one who pays you. And I speak on his behalf. Now go!” The men exchanged looks and then shrugged, deciding not to argue with the young man. They both were eager to have a tea and coffee break anyway. Alex lowered his hand and stood outside the cage. He looked at the pale, emaciated figure behind the glass. He had never changed. Not since the day they had captured him. He had not aged, nor had he grown a beard. And yet Alex felt as if he, himself, had changed so very much in that time. Changed in such a way that he saw now that he was in no better of a situation than this creature here. Trapped in darkness, trapped behind the glass, unable to touch or be touched. Alone… Naked, exposed. Everyone could see everything about him. And yet he- The King of Dreams- was unashamed. Proud. Not trembling or cowering from a brute of a father. Alex’s contempt for the creature mingled with long, distant fear, was now being replaced by a different emotion. Something not unlike empathy and maybe even envy. Envy at the defiance of will, envy at the hidden power that such a fragile, delicate looking thing could have… Almost beautiful. The King of Dreams was almost beautiful…

Alexander Burgess saw this weakened, helpless wretch, and he saw himself. A prisoner locked away from light. A prisoner stripped of dignity. Utterly at his father’s mercy until he said or did what his father wanted… Would this proud creature eventually cower and break as Alex felt like he had broken. Alex bit his lip. If he freed this creature it… he might kill him… or worse… But maybe… Whatever his fate might be, it was better than this. Right now, as it stood, they were both prisoners. But if he freed him, this so-called King of Dreams… At least one of them would be free. And Alex would have some small revenge on his father, the Magus of The Order of Ancient Mysteries… Maybe it was some half-hearted attempt at self-destruction, a suicide without noose or razor- that Alex felt he would either die by this creature’s hand or by his father’s but he wanted this thing to end and let it end tonight. This felt like the only true way to end it. Alex had gotten a hold of the heavy brass key and placed it into the lock at the base of the crystalline cage. He was really doing it. The key fit easily into the hole of the metal base just within the binding circle’s confines. Alex dragged his foot over the old, chalk, binding circle, deliberately breaching it, as he turned the key. The crystalline cage opened at a discrete seam. The pale figure stood up slowly, cautiously, moving like an uncertain animal. He blinked those wide, black eyes, like doe reacting to being offered food by a human.

The King of Dreams stepped out of the cage and toward Alex. He tentatively moved beyond the binding circle as if worried that Alex might change his mind and try to stop him, or perhaps that someone else might. Alex stepped back but only slightly. Alex waited for whatever was to come next. The pale figure moved to him, the glassy black eyes stared at him, stared deep into his own and for a brief moment Alex felt… understood... maybe even accepted. And most importantly he felt… forgiven. Not for the sin of what he was- this creature saw that as no crime, but for how he had treated him. For taking part in the summoning spell, for being complacent in his father’s abuses and humiliation of this proud entity. “I’m sorry…” Alexander said, swallowing back fresh tears. “I’m sorry… It was my father, he…” The pale figure put a finger to his own lips.* “Shhh.” Alex was trembling, afraid of what he might do next. And for a second, there was such a softness to the usually cold creature and a slender hand touched Alex’s cheek but only for a brief moment. Alex had never heard him speak and he was startled by the soft sound of an audible voice coming from him. He didn’t say anything really other than the “Shhh.” Alex blinked several times. The King of Dreams moved past Alex, toward the stairs. Alex went to bed shortly after that as if nothing had happened. He had just felt so very tired. He tried to behave as if he had not just released his father’s prisoner. The next morning though things were different. Alex had slept peacefully and felt quite well rested. Even his black eye had seemed to have mostly healed and his back didn’t hurt anymore. There would be no scars after all. But something was wrong in the house of Fawny Rig. The servants were in a tither. Roderick Burgess would not wake form his sleep. He was alive. And he seemed to be dreaming. He would moan and mutter, and occasionally whimper or beg for it to stop, crying out in his sleep, but he would not waken. Alex stood to the side of the bed. “Father! Father, please! It’s me, Alex! Please wake up! …Please.” But the situation was hopeless.

And despite everything he had suffered at his father’s hands Alex still grieved. He wept as if his father was dead and he knew his father’s fate was worse than death. Alex still mourned. Alex still pined for what might have been, still longed for a father that would love him unconditionally and accept him for who and what he was without question. If the world’s most infamous sorcerer couldn’t even do that… who could? Who could… love him?

Alex was scared. He had been in his father’s shadow so long he did not know how to function without him and he had been so isolated, he had so few friends. All he could do was rely on the servants, the lawyers, and his father’s money to support himself. His father was moved to the hospital and eventually diagnosed with some sort of Encephalitis Lethargica. A sort of brain swelling related sleeping sickness but Alexander Burgess knew better… Somehow he knew…

His father would never wake up… The years passed and everything that was Roderick’s passed into Alex’s hands. His father died years later in that hospital bed but Alex was not sure of his father’s nightmares were truly over. He imagined his father’s soul was still trapped somewhere, still suffering an endless nightmare leading into another nightmare, and each time he thought he was waking he would just find himself in yet another new nightmare. Somehow Alex knew this. Where his father was now condemned to eternal waking did he know his body had died or did he have a futile hope that he would one day wake up?

The estate, Roderick’s fortune, everything was now Alex’s. No one was there to be critical or to tell Alex what to wear, how to speak, or… who he could love. And Alex eventually met a beautiful young man named Paul. Oh, how he loved Paul. They would travel to such places together. London, France, Berlin… They traveled together on a private yacht and drank Champaign on the deck as they watched the sunset over the Mediterranean Sea. There was no secret prisoner to worry about, nothing to shackle them to Fawny Rig like Dorian Gray shackled to his painting. They could go anywhere. They could do anything. They were free. And Alexander Burgess lived Happily Ever After… It was a pleasant dream. Too pleasant…

Elderly Alexander Burgess woke in a cold sweat. There were fresh tears in his eyes. He sat up in bed and Paul was there beside him. At least there was that… At least Paul was there. Paul was real.

But that’s not how the story played out, not really. Alex had never been brave enough to defy his father. He had not slipped down to the cellar the night that he should have. He had never freed the prisoner. Even when his father had died he had never freed the prisoner that he both resented and related to. And he had been the one punished with six years locked in a nightmare that would seem to end only to reveal a new nightmare was starting, and on and on it had gone. He had woken from that “eternal” curse to his beloved Paul waiting for him. He had been forgiven. He was relieved that Paul was here. Paul looked at him now. “What is it, love? Did you have a bad dream?” Alex nodded. “I don’t know what’s worse… that nightmare that I was trapped in or…” He bit his lip before choosing the words. “…knowing I could have saved us all… saved myself…if I had just done the right thing at the right time…”

“Hush now, darling. You’re still half-asleep. I’ll get you some tea.” Alex was soothed and sighed. There was no use dwelling on what might have been. But sometimes those dreams of what he could have done- what he should have done, if he had just been brave enough… Sometimes that felt so much worse than the actual punishment the Lord of Dreams had subjected him to before finally forgiving him…

But at least he was safe now. At least he had Paul. And at least he had been forgiven. And he was loved and accepted for who and what he truly was. And his cruel, old father, was very much dead. A loveless old man was gone. But Alex was alive. Paul was alive. And they were in love. And no one could take that away from them. And Alex and The King of Dreams were both free from the shadow of Roderick Burgess forever.

There was no point on dwelling on what might have been. That did not matter now. What mattered was the love that Alex had finally found and the freedom that he and The King of Dreams both had gained.

The End

#The Sandman #Sandman #The Sandman Fan fiction #What Might have been...

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maggyme13 · 4 years

Text

Sugar (15/?)

Warnings: I don´t think so..

Wordcount: around 2300

Masterlist

Sugar- Masterlist

Part 14

Heavy fog was all around.

It weighted on your head, chest, and extremities not allowing you to move even a hair.

Am I dead? What happened? -Oh yeah, a car...

Then darkness took over your mind again and when you came to the next time, voices were there as well.

“She has a bad concussion, heavy bruising and her left shoulder was dislocated. But otherwise, she was very lucky. This accident could have ended in her death.”, an unknown male´s voice stated.

“

“When do you think she will be waking up again?”, this voice sounded like Bucky.

“Soon. Her body is exhausted from the accident. But she should be awake any day now.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Mr Laufeyson. Mr Barnes.”, the first male said, and soon after a door closed.

“Any news from the Sheriff?”, Loki wanted to know and Bucky answered.

“No. Just what Sam found out himself when he dragged that drunk bastard from behind the wheel.”

A drunk? But why was that car so silent.

“Stupid electric car. If it wasn´t for that silent engine, we would have heard him coming a long time ago.”, your friend cursed.

Electric, which explains the missing noise. I wonder how the others are doing. And Hati.

Not long after, exhaustion took over and you fell asleep again.

.-.-...-.-.-.-.-.--.-.-.-.-.-

“Please, I just want five minutes. Not more not less.”, it was your brother.

“Why should I allow you into this room?”, Loki asked with his manager- voice.

“I am her brother.”

Ha. Sure.

“Really? Trusting my information, you disowned her just a few days ago. So why the sudden change?”, the CEO hummed.

“Why do you care?”, your brother growled and you could imagine the burning look in his eyes.

“Why shouldn´t I? (Y/N) is very dear to me.”

“Sure, I bet she is just another pussy for ya. Another naive girl from a small town to pull under the spell of luxurious life and make them do whatever you want. It was you who gave her the money for Ma´s house, am I right? What did you make her do in return? Huh? Have her take it in the ass? Have her blow you under the table while you have a video call? Tell me. What was your prize? What did my sister have to give you?”, at first he had this mocking laugh in his voice, but it got colder with every spoken word.

“Speaking out of your own experience? It is known that you bikers don´t really care about your female companions, you take what you want from them and share them as others do with Pizza.”, now it was Loki who sounded mocking, “They are someone's daughters and sisters after all.”

The tension that followed was cut-able and a feeling weaseled down your spine. A feeling that only showed itself whenever you were about to witness your brother´s anger and so you prayed that Bucky, Sam, or Thor were near to protect your boss. Or else you had to fear for his well being.

“But as you seem to be one to demand answers in using other ways if they are not given as requested, I will answer you. Nothing. There was no prize for her to pay. I gave her the money out of a free will and without any ulterior motive, as a gift. And before you ask, I never demanded anything from her she was not willing to give. And until recently, that had only been her companionship and care, nothing sexual.”

“If you say so.”, Happy growled lowly.

“She cooks and bakes for me when she feels the need to. She looks after the apartment when she has time. Joins me to dinner, or lunch and business functions. Otherwise, she can do and go whatever or where ever she wants to. I admit, at first, when we first met, I did not treat her in a way I should have. But I explained myself, apologized and we came to an understanding.”

“Yer are her fucking Sugardaddy.”, your brother sneered, “You made a whore out of my sister. A freaking croweater.”

“You see, there is a difference between your sister and one of your Croweaters. First of all, the only person your sister would sleep with is me if she chooses to. With the emphasis being on: if SHE chooses to. Even so, I am her Sugardaddy or Dominant, she holds the real power in this dynamic, this relationship. She decides what she want ´s to let me have. Just as she did when she came and soughed comfort with me after you broke her heart.”

“You fucked her when she was vulnerable? Took advantage of her, when she was not in her right mind? Is that what you want to tell me?”, now he was nearly shouting in his burning anger and you believed to hear the sound of a gunshot soon.

What NO! Happy…

“No. What I said, was that she came to me to seek comfort. She made Steak and when I came out of the shower, she was waiting for me only dressed in some lingerie. She offered herself to me. I believe she decided that if everybody thinks her a whore, why not do as they think and fuck? I did not, believe me, before you get a stroke out of anger. She was the only one who came to a release that night. And the only thing entering her that night was my tongue and finger. I kept my dick in my pants. Unlike other people, I can control my needs and put those of my partner above my own. I only take what is offered and not demand to get something offered so I can take what I want.-”

Wow. That was far too much information for my brother. What is going on?

“-Now that this is out of the way. Tell me, why should I allow you to be in the same room as (y/n), alone?”

“She is my sister, and she is very dear to me. Just as she is to you.”, your brother suddenly admitted and your mouth would have fallen open, if you were awake, “That´s why I did what I did.”

“I am sorry, but I can not really follow you I think. Please, explain how you broke your sister´s heart because you love her as you claim.”

“Huh,”, he snorted and sighed, “I always did. I loved her from the moment she was born. Her father was a dickhead who treated our mother like shit. He beat her regularly, just as he did with me. The only one who was spared was (y/n). Did I loath her for that when I was a child? Maybe, but Ma explained that he only spared her because he could not excuse bruises or injuries on her body as easily as with us. Ma would be clumsy and I a rowdy child. But what could a few month old baby be? -”

I never heard this version before. I never heard anything of this before.

“ - The bastard was killed when I was in my teens. (y/n) was still too young to remember. And I had already my problems with the cops and other people like me. I knew she would be in danger if anyone learned about her. So I did the only thing I could: make everyone, including her, believe I hated her like nothing else. Like that she would have no importance to those that meant me harm.”

“You did it to protect her.”, Loki hummed.

“Yes.”

“You hurt her. Made her believe she is unwanted and maybe even hated by you to protect her?”, the CEO asked again to make sure.

“I wanted to rather see her hating me than being dead.”, your brother admitted and tears gathered behind your heavy eyelids.

“Then why disowning her? You already had what you wanted. Why broke the last bit of her?”

“She is as stubborn as the rest of us Lowmanns, even though she changed her name as soon as she could. She left to study in NY. Had to stop because it became too expensive for her to pay. I told Ma, she should give her some money from me and say it was from her. (y/n) never asked for money. She moved out into a different apartment, started to work full time at a diner, and worked her ass off from then on. Not once asking for money, but rather sending any spare penny she got to help Ma. She lived but she never lived. If you know what I mean. She always cared more about others than about herself and not once did she have someone who cared about her. That stupid boyfriend of hers, who should have treated her just the way she was treating him, was of no use either. And I am still tempted to get my ass over there and spend him a visit.”, the last part was a deep promising growl.

“Mhm. I know what you mean.”, Loki hummed in approval.

“I wanted her to leave and forget us. To finally think about herself first and not about us. Not about a way to get Ma enough money for her medication before having even paid for her food. Not about a way to help Ma with her groceries before being able to afford new clothing. Not about a damn bank account, she started to gather good damn money in case someone has to bail me out should something happen to Ma while I am in Jail because no one paid one.”, Happy was nearly shouting now.

Does he know about all of this? Well, Aunti must have spilled the beans on some of this, but … no one knew about the account. How?

“I just wanted her to be free from us. Free to live her life without anyone holding her back. And what did it bring? Nothing. She was hit by a god damned drunk driver in the one city I should be able to protect her. And yet, she was hit merely a hundred meters away from me. And I was able to do nothing.”

Wait.. he was there?

Another heavy silence hung in the air.

“I never saw her as happy as she was after she came back from your business-dinner, or in that park just before the car hit her.”, Happy breathed, “Don´t make the same mistake I did and break her heart-”

“Because?”, Loki asked interested, musing what the biker had in mind otherwise.

“Because then I and everyone I know will make sure you will regret it. And if it is the last thing I will do. Not the most expensive security detail will be able to protect you. I will find you, and I will make you suffer.”, your brother stated his voice cold as ice.

“A strange promise to make at the bed of an ill person.”, Loki mused.

“Ain´t a promise. I swear this by my mother´s life and my Harley.”

“I will remember this. But be assured: I have no intention to ever hurt your sister. She is the purest and most caring person I have ever met in my life. If she allows it, I will lay the earth to her feet and give her everything she wants, needs, and more.”

“Good. And you do well to remember that Laufeyson. I will trust you with her now that I know I was right about you. I will leave then. Have a nice day.”, you heard your brother move. You did not want him to leave.

“You can stay here if you want. I will let my men know that you are no danger to (y/n) and that I allowed you in here. I have to speak to the doctor and then make a few calls.”, Loki said.

“I will let her know if she wakes up. If she lets me speak that is.”

“Thank you Mr Lowmann.”

“Call me Happy. Only Cops, Judges, and agents call me Mr Lowmann.”

“Happy.”, Loki nodded and soon later, you heard the door to your room close.

Heavy leather boots closed in on your bed and not a second after the screeching of cold metal on the tile floor reached your ears.

“I am sorry for what you went through all these years. I know I will never be able to make it right to you, and I totally understand that. Ma already had my hide after what I said a few days ago. And Tig gave me a black eye when he figured out why you ran crying. It´s ironic, isn't it? I do all of this to protect you and yet, here we are. You are in a damn hospital after nearly dying through a drunk driver who drove a car I fucking repaired a week ago. Karma is a bitch, huh? I wonder if fate wanted to hit me and not you.”, you felt your brother reaching for your hand, gently brushing his thumb over the back of it for a few minutes before his phone rang and he sighed.

“Yeah?”, he asked, “With my sister at the hospital. Na she seems to have only minor injuries. Yeah, best luck someone can have. What do you want?… alright. I will be there in twenty... I am sorry, sister. I gotta go. If I don´t see you before you leave for NY, be well. I love you, little Sis.”

And then he did something he never did and you wished he would do when you were younger; placing a kiss on the top of your head and ruffling your hair.

It was soon after your brother left that you once again fell asleep.

Part 16

AN 2.0. So, be honest... Who saw this revelation coming?

REBLOGS and comments are appreciated:)

Thank you very much.

~MaggY

Taglists:

Permanent:

@jadepc@pacifyhxlsey @thankyoukarenclifford

@thankyouforanonymity @punkrockhufflefluff

@scarletraine @buckycaptspideypool @markusstraya @graveyard-groupie @markusstrayya @randomgirlkensy @the-soulofdevil

@marshyrebelcloud

MCU:

@yknott81 @banner-and-bucky-are-life @forext20 @dyanlzbb @so-finster-die-nacht @emmii4 @bitchwhytho @ladyofmyst @jilldsumner @momc95 @appreciating-fanfics

Sugar:

@bits-and-bobs-and-kawaii-stuffs @mimmie666 @fullranchwolfoperator

@cluelessnitwhit @youknowitsclouds @his-paradox @purplerainharry

@spootgaai2000 @iamsuperjenna @nikkipea @alexakeyloveloki @timelordy-fangirl2 @girrafeeeeeee @emilyjane44x @randomgirlwholoveskpop @deathkat657

I couldnt tag a few of you… sorry.

Want to get tagged as well? Comment, Reblog or send an ask to let me know.

#Sugardaddy Loki #Sugardaddy Loki x Reader #Loki x Reader #Reader insert #loki laufeyson #MCU #alternate universe #Sons of Anarchy

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chibienvychan03 · 4 years

Text

A Spooky Surprise

Since you know many have plans for Halloween night, yourself included, you schedule the Halloween shoot the day before the holiday. Little do you know that you’re in for night of nightmares.

Your show features experts on the paranormal and psychics. Since it’s a holiday special, they allow you more time than the usual for the final edit. You decide to shoot more than less as you can always edit stuff out, but if you don’t have enough, needless to say filler material is a sign of an unprofessional. You’re a professional. After each expert and psychic gives their presentation, you open it up to the Q&A section of the program where the audience can asks questions to either the entire group or a specific person.

The question that you dread hearing the answer is the one about their scariest experience or encounter they ever had. You’re not paying full attention to the guests but rather glancing around to see if anything funny is happening. Maybe you’re reading too much into this. Yeah. So you turn your attention back to the shoot, not noticing random objects being moved without anyone touching them, and it can’t be the wind as the shoot is indoors.

After you finish the shoot, the audience swarm your guests, wanting to ask more questions. You gather your crew to get some semblance of order before anyone becomes injured. It takes awhile as everyone is in high spirits, and they’re eager for more information, namely their futures or answers from loved ones who are no longer there. Your team manages to corral people into different lines as opposed to a huge mob. Order has been restored or so you think.

Once the guests and audience leave, your team and you begin putting your equipment away and cleaning up after them. Goodness. For such a “small” audience, they make such a big mess. With many hands on deck, you clean up the set in no time as well as take care of your equipment. You decide you want to check up on a few things while you’re there in preparation for your next shoot.

Minor, Kiki, and Willow hang around as they’re concerned about your safety especially Minor for some reason or another. You’re not sure why. Maybe it’s because the two of you used to be classmates. As the Q&A section has run longer and the audience have several personal questions, it’s late. You’ve already taken up much of their day. At this point, you’re all doing overtime. You insist they head home. Minor reluctantly leaves with the girls, however, unbeknownst to you, he gives a lame excuse to linger around longer and out of your sight.

You’re engrossed with ensuring you have what you need and that it works you’re unaware of an entity that’s becoming angry that you’re ignoring it. When you’re certain everything is in order, you decide it’s high time you head home. You check your watch only to realize it’s much later than you thought. The temperature drops, and you’re shivering. Such a drastic change in temperature could only mean... but isn’t that the stuff of movies? That’s what you tell yourself or rather attempt to convince yourself until...

Your heavy and large camera starts floating higher and higher. At first you think it’s Gavin. “Very funny, Gavin. It’s not Halloween yet...” You check your watch. “You have half an hour.”

However, you know there’s a limit as to what Gavin can do even if he’s very talented with his evol. In addition to the large camera, chairs, stage props, the background, and things that you know have been bolted to the ground start floating. He would never do anything to hurt you on purpose, and even if it’s an accident, he would keep blaming himself for not keeping you safe. So when the floating equipment and other stuff start crashing near you, you know it’s definitely not him. This is completely opposite of him.

Scared out of your wits, you pull out your phone in attempt to call or text your knight in shining STF uniform. The thing slaps your phone out of your hand, sending it crashing into a nearby wall and destroying it. You’re ready to cry at this point, but you’re not given a chance as you apparently now have a bullseye on you and everything is aiming for you even the kitchen sink. Not really. It feels like it. Somehow you’re managing to dodge most of of the flying projectiles, some of them coming very close to your body. Thanks to your clumsiness, you keep this up for some time. That is until you jump out of the way of falling light. You attempt to stand up only for your ankle suddenly decide to not support your weight. Great you’ve twisted your ankle or worse sprained it.

The thing is far from being finished as it picks up the damaged equipment and prepares to send it your way again. With no way to dodge, you’re out of luck. You mentally and physically brace yourself for the impending pain. Closing your eyes and shielding your head with your arms, you wait for the inevitable. But after a minute of nothing happening, you open your eyes and remove your arms from protecting your head.

What you first see is a very, very, very pissed off Gavin, flying in all his STF uniform glory. He places a wind shield around you before dealing with whatever has tried to harm you.

Gavin fiercely glares at it or where he believes it to be. A killer aura surrounds him, but you’re not afraid. In fact, you feel completely safe in spite of what’s happening around you. Your knight has arrived and just in time too.

“Do you wish to die a second time? Because I WILL make it happen.” The way Gavin says it sends chills down your spine. You’re extremely thankful you’re not on the receiving end, not that he’d hurt you, but it’s still a scary experience.

Whatever it is must have decided Gavin is not someone to mess with and flees the studio, dropping everything it has floating where they are. You’re not sure how long Gavin stays flying and scanning to make sure it has really left. It feels like an eternity before he’s by your side. Forgetting your injured ankle, you stand up, only to cry out in pain and fall, but you never feel the floor. Instead you feel the strong arms of the reliable and protective Gavin.

Gavin inspects your ankle and wants to immediately take you to the nearest hospital, but the tears start falling. He starts panicking as he believes he’s done something wrong or something to offend you. In between sobs, you tell him you’re happy to see him and relieved he has come to the rescue. You omit the fact you’ll have to spend a lot of money repairing or replacing any damaged equipment. He still insists on getting you medical treatment.

“I just want to go home,” you sniffle.

“Okay, I’ll take you there.” Gavin scoops you up and carries you bridal style out of there. You’re too emotionally exhausted to be embarrassed and/or complain about being carried out. Not to mention, a lurking Minor who is giving Gavin the thumbs up and go for it signs.

When you arrive at your place, Gavin places you on your bed before grabbing your first aid kit (how he knows where... who knows) and tending to your ankle. He wraps it as if he’s done it a thousand times.

“Wow, you’re good at this.” It dawns on you. “I hope you’re not wrapping your own ankle.” You hate it when he hides his injuries.

Gavin freezes for a few seconds. His next statement hits you hard. “I don’t want to lose any more teammates.”

You practically throw yourself at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I wasn’t strong enough then, but I am now. I won’t let it happen ever again.” Gavin says it as if he’s making a promise, but the both of you know battles and disasters are completely unpredictable. Nothing is guaranteed in life except death and aging.

“Still... You shouldn’t be the only one to shoulder this.” You want to be there for him, but you know there’s not much you can help him with when it comes to his work. It’s frustrating.

He pulls you closer to him. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Once you’re settled in for the night, Gavin is about to leave when you grab his jacket. “Please don’t go.” You’re still scared.

“I won’t if you ask me.” True to his word, Gavin stays the entire night. He does, however, move into the next room as to not disturb you. Many people owe him big time, and he’s calling in those favors for you.

The next morning, you don’t want to get out of bed as it’s comfy and you really don’t want to face your friends/coworkers to explain what happened last night. They probably won’t believe you. You even don’t believe it, and you lived through it. As you’re curled up underneath your blankets, you hear some noise near you. Then you realize it’s Gavin and you blush big time. You had asked him to stay, and he did stay.

“Good morning.”

You peek out from underneath your blankets. “Not a good morning.” You know you have bed head, but at this point, you don’t care.

Gavin frowns. “You must be hungry.” As if on cue, your stomach growls. “How about I take you to your fave breakfast cafe?”

Very tempting. Warm, comfy bed versus a very yummy breakfast.

Your stomach wins this duel. You’re about to ask Gavin to step out so you can change, but he’s already exited your bedroom. Yes, trust Gavin to be respectful, something you love about that man. You hobble over to your dresser and closet. This time you manage to get changed without face planting onto your floor. How embarrassing it would be for Gavin to rush into your room with you half-dressed.

After breakfast, Gavin insists on taking you to work, but you shake your head. You’re not ready to face them yet. “I don’t think I can... How am I going to explain it to them? They’re all going to laugh at me.”

Gavin tightens his grip on you. “I won’t let that happen.” He says what he means and means what he says. You know with him there, there’s nothing to be afraid of, yet, there’s still that irrational fear.

“You’ll stay with me?”

“All you need is to ask.”

“Please?”

“Yes.”

When he lands outside the building, you cling to him or as much as you can from your position in his arms. He’s carrying you bridal style again. Seems to be his favorite. You close your eyes, not ready to see it.

Gavin uses the key you handed over to him and unlocks the door. Very carefully he maneuvers the two of you inside. Having been there several times (more like practically living there during those projects), you already know where he’s going. You can walk there in your sleep.

When he stops, you’re hesitant about opening your eyes. It’s not that you’re afraid of being injured or scared... you just don’t want to see the aftermath of that paranormal attack. But after some gentle coaxing form Gavin, you open your eyes to see...

nothing has happened. Your set looks like it hadn’t been through World War III. It’s back to normal. Tears begin falling.

Gavin panics as per usual. “I’m sorry. Did I get anything wrong? I can fix it. Just tell me what to do.”

You shake your head, telling him these are tears of joy and that you’re completely relieved you don’t have to explain this to anyone. Trying to pull a joke, you mention something about them locking you up in the funny house. Unfortunately it backfires as Gavin takes it literally. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“Oh.” Gavin’s now blushing.

The awkward moment stays awkward until you hear someone.

“Man, is it getting hot in here or what?”

Trust Minor and his ‘perfect’ timing.

“Don’t mind this idiot.” Ah trust Willow to keep him in line. She drags him out by the ear with him whining the entire way out.

As if it couldn’t get any more awkward.

While you’re working with your editing team, Gavin assigns himself a mission. He somehow manages to track down that spirit, entity, whatever that not only caused you so much trouble but injured you as well. What happens next... well that’s up to your imagination.

But somehow Gavin persuades it to never cause trouble, not harm anyone, and to stop any property damage. How he managed to injure it? Who knows.

This man makes the impossible possible.

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc haku

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highgaarden · 4 years

Note

131 for Catherine and Peter?

peter/catherine + can we just stay in bed? // this accidentally turned into a whole oneshot, whoops?? wrote this entirely in the answer box so excuse mistakes, if there are any.

black out days;

Upon Chekhov’s orders, Catherine is confined to bed. Peter sets about cheering her. (2156 words) (read on ao3)

day one

Catherine is carried into the palace, screaming treason.

Lady Svenska is nowhere to be found.

That is all she remembers before Chekhov puts her under.

day two

It’s a mundane sort of day in Russia where hunting is cancelled because of the pounding rain and nothing exciting happens except for Velementov accidentally tripping face-first over Marial’s dog, right into the ridiculously cream-frothed cake Peter wanted to have for breakfast.

In bed.

Despite the fact that Velementov had been pestering him all week to look over some maritime reforms, and Orlo had been pestering him about - he can’t remember. It’s Orlo. Who the fuck listens to Orlo?

“I, for one, think you should lend a more attentive ear,” Catherine mutters as she turns a page in her book.

“That’s because lending you books is the closest he will ever come to grazing a woman’s hand,” Peter points out, mouth full of cream. “How’s your ankle?”

“I can twitch it to the right with only excruciating pain.”

Peter eyes her bandaged foot. “And the left?”

“It is as if I am paralysed.”

“Interesting.”

“Indeed.”

“Is it just me,” Peter asks as he feeds her some cake, “or do you sound terribly bored?”

Catherine swats the spoon away. “No, Peter, I am just tired. I cannot imagine anything more delightful than having to spend four bed-ridden days--”

“Five,” Chekhov, who they had managed to successfully ignore for the past hour, says from one corner.

“Five bed-ridden days in the embrace of your apartments. With you.” Catherine smiles sweetly. “In it.”

“It is very strange how there was a sudden, awful smell coming from your room.” Peter says, observing a crumb studiously.

“Hmm.”

“Your hmm sounds rather displeased.”

“Merely contemplative.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Are you sure? I sense as if--”

“You sense nothing. Perhaps it’s the reading material.” Catherine lowers her book. “It’s getting quite confusing.”

“Do you have a headache?” His question sounds a bit garbled because he’s pulling a spoon out of his mouth. “Chekhov!”

Chekhov waltzes over to her, back of his hand ready to gauge her temperature, which Catherine deflects as quickly as she had Peter’s spoon. “I am fine. Please stop hovering.”

“I will not,” Chekhov says, and strolls back to his seat.

Peter stops licking cream off his thumb and focuses his entire attention on her. “What is wrong, Empress? Is it the book? I have told you that Orlo is as dull as wet rocks - I will lend you some of my erotica.”

“No, I…” Catherine bites her lip, deliberating, before rolling her eyes. “It’s this word. Here. It doesn’t make sense syntactically, and I know my Russian comprehension is advanced.”

Peter looks to where she’s pointing and says, “Oh, that’s because you’re probably reading it wrong. The /за/ changes it into the instrumental case.”

Catherine stares at him. “You know grammar.”

“Mother used to bite chunks out of me if I stuttered during my revisions. Do not ask for Aunt Lisbeth’s recount of it; she will only lie and say I am exaggerating but it was the unadulterated truth and I still have proof of it.” He shakes back his sleeve. “Look.”

Catherine ignores the rather vicious-looking scar to ask, a bit suspiciously, “You are not jesting. So this man here is not actually running?”

“No, he is chasing moonshine.”

“What does that even mean?”

“That, my pure little wife, means drinking vodka.” Peter lifts his glass and grins. “Bit like that poetry you like, isn’t it?”

“Not really…” Catherine says, looking at him from the corner of her eye before returning to her book. “But it comes close.”

day three

Catherine wakes to sunshine filtering in through the curtains a maid has already pulled open. She stares longingly at the sprawling green, the effervescent sky, the loll of bodies dotting the estate like wildflowers.

“It’s a perfect day for a picnic!” Peter announces as he’s getting dressed. He looks at her for agreement as a serf does his buttons.

“It is,” Catherine says. Miserably.

“Chin up, Catherine. Want me to eat your pussy?”

“I--” Catherine swallows. “Chekhov says I’m not to be moved.”

“That is true.”

“Fuck off,” Peter snaps at the omnipresent doctor. “That is a pity. What will cheer you then?”

“Growing wings and flying far, far away,” Catherine says wistfully, eyes glazing over. She snaps back to reality. “Only - only because I am starting to feel claustrophobic.”

“Hm.” Peter mulls this over. “Very well. If you cannot go outdoors for a picnic, I shall bring the picnic to you.”

Catherine barely has time to utter a bewildered What? before Peter is already marching out the door with one boot unlaced, serf stumbling after him, hollering orders.

“He’s acting strange,” Marial mutters as she spreads the blanket usually reserved for lounging on grass onto the bed, carefully tucking it under Catherine’s foot. “Strange-er. Did I jostle--sorry. But look at him.”

“He’s certainly… chipper.” Catherine winces when the bed dips as Marial starts artfully placing fruit, bread, and various cheeses and dried meat around her. She takes a deep breath through her nostrils, leveling herself through the pain, before saying, “He’s been like this since he’s been sick.”

“Figures a near death experience would shake him out of his arseholery.” Marial straightens the blanket. “Fucker.”

Catherine shushes her; Peter strides into the room.

“Is it ready? Brilliant.” Peter clambers onto the bed with surprising care, not disturbing Catherine’s ankle one bit. Marial gives a stiff curtsey and makes for a quick exit, but she never quite makes it to the door, because Peter asks her to stay.

“What?” Catherine blinks.

“What?” Marial asks.

“Yes, stay. Catherine’s been cooped up too long with Orlo’s books which is a frightfully more effective sleeping draught than anything Chekhov can come up with. Come trade stories of the court with us.”

He motions at the bed.

“Us?” Catherine mouths.

“I, uh - sir,” Marial fidgets. “What makes you think - I am just--”

“Please,” Peter scoffs. “You had the sharpest ears and most vicious tongue when you were one of us.”

Marial’s cheeks flame red. Catherine disguises a laugh as a cough.

“Cheese tart?” Peter holds up in offer, before getting distracted by a particularly delectable piece of fig.

After a short bout of nonverbal exchange with Catherine, Marial finally, finally, gingerly sits a corner of herself onto the very foot of Peter’s bed. She wordlessly accepts the wine he passes her, and when he’s not looking shoots a confounded look at Catherine.

Catherine can only shrug, helplessly.

“How’s your father?” Peter asks, mouth full of bread and meat.

“Still shoveling shit,” Marial answers politely, holding her cheese tart.

“Brilliant. Glad he’s getting the hang of things. You are comfortable where we’ve placed you?”

Marial smiles thinly, still holding her cheese tart. “I can think of a few less comfortable places.”

“Nothing a new bed can’t change,” Peter dismisses. “Get Alexei to look into it for you. You know him? Warty fellow.”

“Are you going to eat your cheese tart?” Catherine asks, after getting over her own heart attack.

Marial puts it into her mouth but doesn’t chew it.

“Oh,” Peter says, before he forgets. “Chekhov, come have some of this cheese, you dusty cunt.”

Marial sneaks back into Peter’s bedroom when he’s taking his evening bath and hisses, “However it is you’re fucking him, keep doing it.”

“Well what the fuck is going on?”

Catherine drops her pamphlet in shock. “Marial, I am immobilised. A conveniently clumsy Lady Svenska smashed a ball right into my ankle. Do you really think I would be spreading my legs so easily?”

Catherine waves her hands inarticulately. “You tell me.”

“DOOR!”

Marial shoots Catherine one last look before scurrying out of there.

day four

The days go by in a flurry of activities.

One night Peter throws a party in his quarters, something of a pre-celebration to Catherine’s ankle healing soon. Catherine doesn’t see the point of it, but then again she doesn’t see the point of many things Peter does, and resolves to just smile through it.

It is surprisingly entertaining - Aunt Lisbeth brings aboard some acrobats at such short notice, and she is swathed in jewellery; draped in glittering, lush shawls, recent gifts from the Ottomans; perfumed and powdered; comfortable against gargantuan jewel-coloured cushions. She feels as if she sits upon a throne. Marial is there, predictably left out of the festivities, but Catherine notices Peter turning a blind eye when she accepts some pepper vodka from Archie.

Peter plays her a tune on his violin and with enough vodka (carefully monitored by Chekhov, who has been put in a ridiculous hat) she finds herself one of the most exuberant in applauding.

Leo regales the room with tales of rapture and romance and renegade Knights, his eyes careful not to linger on hers for too long. She feels every look like a blade.

She doesn’t even mind when Peter sits by her as she is being bathed by two maids in a portable copper tub, jibbering excitedly about the highlights of the night.

“You enjoyed it?” he asks, a bit too earnestly.

“Yes,” she answers, surprising herself. “It was fun.”

Peter looks down at his shoes, grinning. “Huzzah.”

He watches carefully as she is lowered into bed, and only then instructs for the candles to be put out.

“I do not know why you are complaining,” Peter says as he climbs in next to her. “I wouldn’t mind being in bed all day. It sounds fucking relaxing.”

“Some days aren’t so bad,” Catherine concedes, fluffing her pillow. “Good night, husband.”

“Good night, wife.”

day five

It is almost time.

Her imprisonment is almost at its end.

She slaps her just-finished book down onto the sizable stack next to her with a finality that seemed to echo through the room.

Five days in Peter’s bed was not five days of discomfort; of course his bed would be more plush, more decadent than hers, but she missed the simple luxuries that reminded herself of who she was amidst this chaos of Russian court life. Her mother’s pearl-handled comb. Her favourite paintings. The detailed espionage hidden behind the large tapestry that she, Orlo and Marial had spent the better part of three days organising.

She missed lounging around in the sunshine, watching birds flap across the sky. The feeling of wind in her hair.

Which is why she was up particularly early that morning, having read through the sunrise. Chekhov wasn’t even there yet. She was surprised - she almost thought he’d slept there, by the way his droll face greeted her everytime she awakened.

Peter is a wool-covered lump beside her. He’d gravitated closer towards her in the night, and she finds she doesn’t mind the warmth.

He stirs, blinking in the first rays of the morning light. “Catherine?”

“It looks to be a beautiful day,” she trills, turning her ankle in slow circles. A bit of residual pain, but she could limp at the very least. Bask in the garden, read poetry in the sunshine, and figure out a way to get Lady Svenska back during smash bottles. Maybe she’d lose her footing? No, that was a bit too obvio--

“S’it morning already?” Peter asks thickly. “That went by very fast.”

“Not fast enough for me,” Catherine says, turning wide eyes to the windows that she’d asked not to be shuttered that night. It had been colder than usual, and she was glad for Peter’s furnace-like feet, but she’d wanted to see evidence of her impending freedom with her own eyes.

Plus, some time away from Peter would be nice. He must be bored enough already--she certainly is quite ready to be done with the picnics and the teas and the parties and the reading sessions--

Wait.

Reading sessions.

Peter had scheduled reading sessions with Orlo, and had even ordered a new set of books she wanted when Orlo said he couldn’t find it in his library. They’d arrived that very afternoon, and she’d spent hours analysing footnotes with Orlo whilst Peter very badly hid how much he was snoozing.

Her eyes narrow.

“Shame,” Peter says, and breaks out into a massive yawn. “But at least there’s your party to celebrate your healing. I’ve called for a bear.”

“Bears are still a sore spot for me,” she reminds him.

“Right.” Peter rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Two bears then?”

Catherine snorts quietly. Her husband was an idiot, but at least he was a somewhat… nice idiot. Sort of.

She shifts in bed, delighting at how much easier it is now. She will never again be complacent around Lady Svenska.

“Today’s the day. I know it. I dreamt of it last night,” she tells him. “I am finally ready for some strenuous activity!” She almost seems to vibrate in the bed sheets.

“Marvelous,” Peter cheers sleepily. “Shall I eat your pussy?”

“I--” Catherine stares at him for a beat, before saying: “Alright.”

fin

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#peter x catherine #the great #peter x catherine fanfiction #the great fanfiction #hannah writes things #otp: my brilliant wife #otp: just a few weeks ago i was planning on killing you #Anonymous

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 4 years

Text

Witches, Chapter 29: something of an overdue talk, in a long overdue chapter.

Hey everyone! We’re back at it, hopefully, with a few orders of business.

First things first: I’d like to issue a small warning for a short discussion of past suicidal ideation that pops up during this chapter. Since this series is a retelling, generally most of you do know what’s coming up next and what we’ll run into and to brace ourselves for that. You know about the characters’ past traumas and future choices and know where that pops up, or if it becomes unexpectedly relevant or makes a new parallel, you did at least know in advance that it happened. Phoenix’s occasional oblique allusion to Edgeworth’s “choosing death”, for instance.

As this is not something quite like that and comes up more out of nowhere than usual, I just wanted to make sure that no one is uncomfortably caught off-guard. It felt like something different to me personally as I was writing - whether it’s going to strike any of you as different than other heavier material we’ve had in the past, I can’t say, but I’m erring on the side of caution today. If you’ve got any questions or concerns or anything you want done for content warnings in the future, please do come talk to me and let me know!

On two lighter notes: thank you all for bearing with me through the “oops all Fire Emblem only Fire Emblem” hiatus. It’s been a weird year, obviously. I’m hoping that I can carry on with room in my brain for both.

And finally: Happy UR-1 day! Today is, yes indeed, the exact day that Simon Blackquill is arrested for murder, and in honor of that, have a chapter where I mention him one (1) entire time.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches of Los Angeles Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

Golden Saturday-morning sunlight streams in through the blinds, lighting up the dust particles swirling through the air. The office is colder than Apollo expects for the end of October - colder than it was last year this time - and Phoenix is even wearing a sweater, the shining locket that Apollo hasn’t seen in a while hanging around the outside of the tall collar. “Morning,” Phoenix says, without raising his eyes from what appears to be a manila folder full of newspaper clippings he is perusing. “What’s up?”

Straight to business, then. Apollo is fine with that. He grabs the chair from his desk and drags it around, not directly in front of Phoenix’s desk, but near enough that it will be harder for Phoenix to ignore him.

“Is there any way to break a curse?” he asks, shoving his hands deep in the pocket of his hoodie. If it were this cold in a regular office on a Saturday, that would make sense; save money on heating bills when no clients are coming in. This is just - fae bullshit. The beginning of their seasonal tantrums. Winter only properly begins on the solstice, and Apollo really wishes that the fae of Kurain would respect the astronomical seasons. Stave off the snow until the end of December and end it in March. Don’t allow it to span from October to April.

Phoenix sweeps the scraps of paper all back within the folder and ducks down to set it inside a drawer. “If I knew a way,” he says, rising back up with the magatama in hand and setting it down on his desk with a hard clack, “do you think I would go around looking like I do? You don’t think I would’ve gotten this mess cleaned up a long time ago?”

He doesn’t offer Apollo the magatama for a refresher on what that mess looks like. Maybe he was just making a dramatic point with it. “Oh,” Apollo says, scratching the back of his head, faintly embarrassed by how obvious the answer is if he’d given it a modicum of thought from that perspective. “I guess not.”

“Right,” Phoenix says. “As my understanding goes, you can theoretically maybe mitigate a curse, if you layer another opposing blessing on. I am ‘lucky’” - he makes sarcastic quotation marks to ensure that the bitterness dripping from the word doesn’t go unnoticed, as if Apollo could possibly not notice - “to have known enough fae that I’m saddled with both Fortune and Misfortune, and Life and Death. But I’m also not certain that when you drop those on each other they don’t just each take their own separate niches. I’m not dead, but god knows when I try to go somewhere for a vacation or a day off, I still stumble across crime scenes like nothing else. Stunningly lucky in some aspects, and wildly unfortunate in others. You know me. I don’t need to elaborate too much, do I?”

Apollo nods.

“So that’s the theory, but I don’t think that helps anyway for your purposes, which - this is about Prosecutor Gavin?”

Apollo nods again. Phoenix sighs and rubs his eyes. “Shit,” he says, folding his hands together in front of his face and leaning his head against them. “I - believe me, Apollo, I wish I had some - I wish I had any way to help him.”

And Apollo does believe him. Apollo has to believe him, and believe that Phoenix means well, because he’d go crazier if he wasn’t reminding himself that Phoenix’s most frustrating decisions are born out of good intent. That Phoenix thinks he knows what’s best, but there’s still that old saying about good intentions.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Apollo asks. “You knew before this. You knew before he asked you.”

Phoenix raises his head. “And what does telling him get him? Secure in the knowledge that his brother - who is already in jail by the way, don’t need any more proof of his crimes, he’s already never getting out to be able to hurt anyone ever again - hates him enough to have wished him dead?”

Basically the same reasoning that Klavier had, but Apollo has a counterargument now. “Gives him time to come to terms with it before someone dies!”

“You don’t!” Phoenix slams his palms on the desk. Apollo flinches. Of course everyone is volatile and heated over this topic, but that doesn’t make it easier in the moment that it first gets directed at him from people who are usually frustratingly calm and casual. But Phoenix winces, lifting one of his hands and dragging his fingers through his hair, and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, and repeats, much quieter, “You - you don’t. Or I never didn’t. I knew from right when it happened that I was cursed; I had three years between then and when Mia died - it - I could’ve had a decade, or two, and it - it wouldn’t have helped. I wouldn’t have felt any differently. Any more come to terms with it. With the thought that I - helped cause—”

His tongue heavy in his mouth, Apollo nods. “But - but wouldn’t it have been worse to find out right after she died?”

“Of course it would have,” Phoenix says blithely. “Of course that - this - is the worst possible alternative. Of course I would’ve said something if I’d known that this was what would happen instead.”

“But you have to have expected that someone would—”

“No, I didn’t,” Phoenix interrupts. “That’s not how this works. You know Klavier. You know how much he doesn’t say, don’t you? How much I don’t - you know what people like us are like. Who’s going to tell him? Sebastian forgets half the time that he even has the Sight. Kay only acts like she knows things. Prosecutor Blackquill spent until two days ago acting like magic isn’t real even when he knew we knew otherwise. Someone who means ill isn going to keep that information to use it, and not to just plainly say something.” He frowns. “Well, usually not. Unless they’re a clumsy interloper stumbling in somewhere they don’t belong and getting themselves fucked over for it too.”

“So other than Means just walking all over everything” - because he wasn’t immersed in this kind of fae etiquette, didn’t grow up in it, learned just enough to spot what he thought were opportunities and ruined himself by it - “you think every other random stranger is just going to respect all these - these weird little rules about what you don’t say?”

“Rules of engagement, basically,” Phoenix says. “Yeah, I do.”

“Prosecutor Gavin told me that you’re cursed,” Apollo says. “Don’t just tell me that’s - that’s the exception that proves the rule, or whatever.”

Phoenix’s expression, smug and trying to dampen that smugness back into something that respects the seriousness of the conversation, tells Apollo that yes, yes that is absolutely what his retort was going to be. Apollo considers screaming. “I’ve been tangled up in this for far too long,” Phoenix says. “I can promise you, I know the patterns. I know the way these things go.”

“And because you’re so much smarter than the rest of us, that makes it okay?” Apollo demands. “To take a gamble and just hope that it won’t go wildly wrong?”

And he wants to, really wants to add, I guess that’s what you do, just gamble with people’s fates, and he doesn’t, and Phoenix’s face still darkens like he knows, like he can read Apollo’s mind. Because every time Apollo ends up arguing with him, that’s always at the core. This playing card that haunts them both, burnt a bridge barely built, and they keep trying to balance on the ashen skeleton of it. “Just because Prosecutor Gavin is too fucked up about everything else to be mad at you for hiding this—”

“I did,” Phoenix says, voice low, eyes narrowed and dark as an evening’s storm clouds, “what I thought would be best, based on my prior experiences of both how curses don’t get talked about, and knowing exactly what it is like to personally live with knowing that I’m cursed. This is not something I want anyone to have to know how it feels.”

“So you think ignorance is bliss,” Apollo says. Klavier said that. Apollo wants to know how Phoenix takes that statement.

“I wouldn’t call it ignorance,” Phoenix says. “It’s not like he, or you, didn’t know what Kristoph was like until you found this out. You know the crime, the verdict, the sentencing - and everything else that Kristoph tried but failed to do. That Kristoph also wanted Klavier dead is only another small piece in the grand scheme of it all.”

Still the same argument that Klavier made; Apollo can’t imagine they discussed it. What brought them to the same conclusion? That they both have lived this strange specific kind of grief? This common ground that they share that is foreign to Apollo.

“Come to terms with - Klavier’s already got to come to terms with the rest of that,” Phoenix continues. “It was obvious during that trial how much Kristoph despised him. He knew that too. He knows that Kristoph ruined more lives than just the people he murdered - that he tried to kill more people than he actually succeeded at - cursed and tried to kill children because he couldn’t have - didn’t want anyone remaining who - who could - could… say…”

If Phoenix hadn’t faltered like that - fumbling and failing to continue, words petering out as he went back over what he just said, his eyes going wide and welling up with horror - then Apollo would have simply assumed that his thoughts were moving too fast for his mouth and he couldn’t keep them straight. It would have been easy to talk right through it, and Apollo wouldn’t think twice. If Phoenix hadn’t showed his own hand, gave the game away. Something too terrible for even seven years of professional poker to hide.

“Mr Wright?” Apollo asks, and Phoenix turns his head, glancing away away, no longer meeting his eyes when less than a minute ago he was staring him down with a cold confident glare. “What - what are you talking about? Vera, and - not someone else? Who else?”

Phoenix makes a tiny shake of his head, and even that little motion is a bright, distinct liar’s red. It lights up his eyes, too, when they dart down to the floor. “Mr Wright?” Apollo repeats. When would this have been? He casts his mind over everything he learned, just a little over a year ago, Phoenix sitting him down to explain seven years of information collected about Kristoph, what he’d done and how he’d tried to cover it up. He tried to kill Drew Misham to tie up that loose end; he cursed and poisoned Vera, two precautions because he wasn’t confident enough in the former, hoping that if she ever left the house she wouldn’t be able to speak to his identity and the forgery he requested. He killed Zak Gramarye seven years later to hide the same. He wanted to eliminate every link in the chain that connected the diary page to him. Its makers Vera and Drew, and Zak who knew he was the first attorney on the case, and then the page got to Phoenix via—

Via—

“Mr Wright,” Apollo says. His voice shakes. “He didn’t—”

“Promise me something, Apollo,” Phoenix says firmly. His mouth is drawn in a tight line but he doesn’t look stern. He looks more like he’s going to cry and is desperately trying to stop himself. “Promise me.”

“Wh - what? I can’t—”

“Promise me, Apollo.”

Not until you tell me what I’m promising, Apollo thinks, Apollo knows is what he should say. He’s been told this enough times; he’s aware of this on his own. Don’t agree to a deal before all the terms are set. Don’t sign the contract before it’s read thoroughly. Rules for lawyers and fae are the same. Just because Phoenix means well doesn’t mean that Apollo agrees with those decisions he makes; certainly not the one they have been discussing, and likely not whatever Phoenix is asking him to agree to.

“Please.”

The air in the office is so cold. Even the sunlight seems cold now. Apollo shivers, hunches himself up further. What does Mia think? Is this secret-keeping so natural to her, easy as breathing once was, because she’s fae and that’s what they are, liars by trick and by trade?

“Just promise me you won’t tell her until I do.”

His mouth dry, Apollo nods and croaks out, “All right. I won’t.”

He almost regrets pushing the issue,regrets ever asking Phoenix why he faltered. Phoenix sits slumped, his hands in his hair, and when he glances back up at Apollo, he looks so exhausted that it reminds him of Klavier last night. Burnt-out and broken, when it’s so rare for either of their masks to break. Rarer for Phoenix not to be positioning himself as the one with all the cards in hand; for him to fall apart, for Apollo to actually see him upset. “Yeah,” he whispers, soft enough that Apollo sits forward to make sure he can hear him. “Everyone involved in getting the diary page from him to me, Kristoph wanted dead, or to make sure he could silence them. Everyone who knew, even if she was - eleven years old, or eight. The girl who made it, and the girl who gave it to me. He fucking hated the Gramaryes. You think he didn’t jump at the opportunity to try and get rid of all of them that he could? That he wouldn’t cast a curse on each one who ever entered his sight?”

“And she” - Apollo’s voice cracks - “she doesn’t know? You didn’t tell her?”

“Shit, no,” Phoenix says. He sounds close to cracking, too, and when he drops his hands to his desk he starts shaking his head, his eyes scrunched closed. “Being a Gramarye has been goddamn enough of a curse for her. She lost all her family and then found out that her grandfather buried her mother’s soul in the woods because he was a monstrous son-of-a-bitch who deserved worse than getting to go out on his own terms by shooting himself in the fucking head—”

Apollo shudders. Phoenix had never before directly stated his opinion on Magnifi, but Apollo could definitely tell he held only disdain for the man. This, though, is more than disdain. This is positively venomous, and more than a bit frightening. Did he always feel like this, and hid it, or is this hatred something that has only come about since last year Trucy came back to the office with her mother’s soul in her hands?

“—so yeah, on top of that, I’m definitely going to tell her that the same man who killed her father cursed her just because of the accident of who her family is.”

“B-but—” Apollo doesn’t quite know what he’s arguing. He also doesn’t know where all of his prior conviction went. Of course Klavier should have been told - because he found out in the worst way possible - and Trucy - to take a gamble with her too - that’s got to be just as wrong— “Nine-Tails Vale,” he says suddenly. “We went there, and then there was a murder - that - that’s - is that like—”

“Like what happens to me?” Phoenix asks. “What happens with a curse? Yes. That’s how it goes.”

“And you - you’re not going to - to tell her? Ever? In case - in case something happens to her like with Klavier, or—” Too many thoughts are playing in his head, and the next one grabs hold of him and pivots him away from the point he was going to make about maybe why Trucy should know. “The concert,” he says. “When we went to the concert, Trucy and I, and Klavier was there too of course but that’s - Romaine LeTousse was murdered. They’re both cursed and they - wait, was Klavier cursed then? That was before…”

Did Klavier know when it happened? Did he tell Apollo? He’d said that Phoenix had seen him twice since the trial last October. Presume then that Kristoph cursed him then. The last time the brothers saw each other, and that doesn’t make one bit of sense.

“How could Kristoph have cursed him?” Apollo asks, and he doesn’t miss a momentary flash of panic that passes over Phoenix, his eyes popping wide for half a second and a loud, sharp intake of breath. “Klavier always has iron on him. He gave me—” He looks down at his hand, and then back up, to Phoenix’s lifted eyebrows. Apollo sticks his hand back in his pocket. “What’s the point in iron if it doesn’t actually save you from being cursed?”

Phoenix is obviously trying not to move. He knows Apollo is watching him, waiting for a twitch, anything to pounce on and draw an answer out of him. Staring steadily back at Apollo, he barely blinks; he rests his folded arms on his desk and his fingers curl just a little tighter into where he’s gripping his arm. Apollo is right to be asking these questions. He’s getting closer to something that Phoenix is hiding.

“Or it does,” Apollo says. The veins on the back of Phoenix’s hand flex from his grip. Apollo thinks about someone else with a tense hand and secrets. “And he couldn’t have been cursed then, at Vera’s trial, if it does. So then Mr Gavin hated him that much before then.” Phoenix blinks placidly, but he doesn’t adopt his lazy-eyed gaze. Too serious even for that. “And you lied,” Apollo adds. “You lied about when.”

Phoenix flinches. It’s just a tiny one, pulling his head back, the muscles in his jaw and neck tightening, but Apollo can’t miss the light show. Can’t miss that the lie is bleeding out of him.

He finds himself on his feet, not stepping any closer to Phoenix’s desk, just needing the height, just needing to move a little to stop the shaking in his hands and in his chest, a trembling that goes right down to his heart. “He knew already that he’s cursed! Why did you keep lying to him!”

“I didn’t lie to him,” Phoenix says evenly, but very quietly, and Apollo wants to go over and slam his fists on the desk and make him stop with these hollow justifications, make him face what he’s done couched in none of his winding words. “I just didn’t correct his assumption.”

“That’s lying!” Apollo shouts. “That’s still lying! That’s what happened in Mayor Tenma’s trial! Do you remember that? Do you care!”

“Don’t accuse me of not caring.” Phoenix’s voice is low, his eyes dark, staring up at Apollo. “I do care. I—”

“You don’t care about lying! But you do care about - what, about us? Doing this because you care, because you always know what’s best for everyone not to know!” Apollo throws his hands in the air. Phoenix’s brow furrows further, his jaw set tightly. “Never mind that Athena had a breakdown during the trial because Means hit her exactly where you were worried she would be! And you didn’t prepare her! Never mind that Klavier’s having a breakdown now because he found out at the worst possible time! When you could have told him! You know—”

“And if what he knows already hurt him this badly, then what do you think would be happening if he knew Kristoph cursed him years ago?” Phoenix slams his hands on his desk like he’s at the defense’s bench, pushing himself up out of the chair and onto his feet. “That his brother’s wanted him dead for that long? You think that’ll help anything, for him to find that out right now on top of all this? You want him to have that to come to terms with right now, too? I didn’t lie to him! He made an assumption that I didn’t correct because I’m not in the business of salting anyone’s wounds!”

He makes - a point. Apollo sees where he’s coming from. Why he’d do that. An additional piece of truth, yesterday the same as a salting of the wound. “But you don’t think he’s ever wondered if - if Mr Gavin resented him for that long? If he - if you would be setting something to rest, if you told him that. You can’t decide for someone else what they’re capable of handling.”

“Fair point,” Phoenix says. He sinks back down into his chair, and then motions to Apollo’s, suggesting he sit back down. “If he’d asked, I’d have told him. If he ever asks, I’ll tell him. I just wasn’t about to drop that on his head with him unprepared. Or if he asks you - I’m not asking you to swear silence to that. Shit, if you ever think that it’ll help him to know, then tell him - tell him you just found out from me, throw me under the bus and lie to make me look worse, that’s fine.”

Apollo returns to his chair, still not feeling any less like he wants to take a swing and see if he’s gotten any better at punching since last April. “You want me to lie now too?” he asks.

“I want you to use your best judgment about what he might want to know or be able to handle,” Phoenix says. “To not pile on more if he didn’t ask, if you don’t think he’s prepared. Like I said, when it comes to being cursed, I didn’t ever not know, and I know what the knowing is like. Yeah, I took a gamble that if I didn’t tell them then no one else ever would. That they’d never know, I hoped.”

He shakes his head and then leans it back against his chair, his eyes closing. “See, it’s not just grief, not at all. The woman who cursed me was someone I thought I knew. Though I’d known for a while. She had actually wanted me dead since we first met.” His eyes pop back open. “Eventually she tried to poison me, and when that didn’t work she tried to frame me for murder, and when that plan fell apart she just tried to kill me with a curse because she was pissed about it. She was a lot stronger than Kristoph, I’ll tell you that much. But Mia stepped in, and now I’m still alive and other people just drop dead all around me instead.”

He sounds almost like he is making a recitation, like he’s rehearsed it, scripted it. Apollo wonders if he’s ever told anyone else all these details, if anyone else lacking the Sight knows that Phoenix is cursed, and if he used this same script then too. He’s speaking about himself, something so personal, in a way so curt and crisp, so much more detached than he’s been speaking about Klavier, or Trucy.

Apollo nods numbly, unable to force his tongue to ask any of the questions he has.

“I could have come to grips with her hating me that long and that much - I could’ve come to terms with it and moved on. I was - well, I eventually became glad to know what she was. I could’ve been okay with all that. Eventually. If I hadn’t known about the curse. But I did and the - the knowing, the - Mia was murdered. Three years after she saved me. That long, thinking I could accept that I was cursed, and as soon as something really happened - I couldn’t.”

He presses his hands together and rests them against his chin. “And I couldn’t ever even just grieve her, because I had this guilt. That her death was my fault - I know, I know, some other man murdered her. He got to rot in jail for the rest of his life for his crimes, and he would’ve hated her whether or not I was cursed. For the things she did and because of what he was, and I had no part in any of that, but I was still - thinking, if maybe if she hadn’t ever taken me under her wing. If I hadn’t been around, maybe it would’ve been different somehow. Maybe she would have survived.”

The lights flicker gently and return dimmer and softer than they were before. Everything that gets talked about in this office, Mia hears; Apollo wonders if Phoenix doesn’t get sick of it sometimes, just want to say something without her offering input. Even if this is presumably well-meant, some attempt at comfort, the most a dead woman who can’t speak can give. Apollo exhales and can see his breath. He shivers again. “Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.

“I want you to understand.” Phoenix rubs his hands together, a vacant look in his eyes, like he hasn’t quite realized why he’s so suddenly cold. “What it felt like, and what I’m worried about. If I’d told Klavier, or I tell Trucy - once I say something, I can’t take it back. That’s it, and they know, forever, just like I do. So I want to be sure that this won’t - I want—” He drops his hands and reaches over and picks up the magatama, idly spinning it around between his fingers. Apollo can’t remember ever seeing him this uneasy, this fidgety. “Klavier, especially, reminds me of myself when I was his age, and of a prosecutor I knew then, too. And that - recognition” - he gestures with the magatama clutched in his hand - “is not good, because we were not - okay.”

Apollo wishes he could remember with clarity all that Phoenix said to him about this time a year ago, about Klavier, about Phoenix being concerned for him. He does remember that Phoenix said something about some other prosecutor then, too, that Klavier reminded him of. Or that he was worried Klavier was going to end up like.

Phoenix inhales slowly, and says, “Six months after Mia was murdered - which was three, three and a half years after I was cursed, mind you - I lost someone else. I didn’t realize how badly he was doing - he did a good job at hiding it, and I didn’t know how to reach out. I was wrapped up in my own loneliness and depression, and then he was gone.”

He stops turning the magatama between his fingers, staring down at it for a few seconds, and then he resumes fidgeting with it. “I felt like I’d caused both of those. Couldn’t convince myself otherwise. Every other factor I knew there was, every single thing I couldn’t prevent or control, all these other things that other people did - I still thought that if I wasn’t cursed, then it could have been - just different enough that they would still be here.” He reaches up, brushing his fingertips across his temple. “Wouldn’t have been a fatal wound. Or wouldn’t have—”

He falters, staring past Apollo now, over at the window. This is the same thing he said about Mia earlier, about that sense of guilt, even knowing someone else murdered her. That he held some kind of responsibility, for a curse that seems to manifest itself as coincidence. Just coincidence, a little too often.

“They could’ve been okay, somehow, in the end, I thought,” he continues. “And instead, I was - I was there, I was still around, and they weren’t. And all I could think was that if I didn’t do something, then I would just lose the other few friends I still had - they would be around me, and they would die for it.”

“Didn’t you say that there’s no way you know to break a curse?” Apollo asks. From Phoenix’s solemn expression, he’s not going to suddenly say that there is a method, but Apollo has no idea what he is going to say. What that something he thought to do was.

“Right,” Phoenix says. “So I thought - only way to take the curse out of the equation is by taking myself out of the equation. I thought - as long as I’m not around - if I go and die, then anyone else who I love won’t. The curse will be gone, right, if death finally takes me. But the curse only seemed to hit other people, not me, so if dying was what I needed to do, then I…”

Klavier lying on the stage, wondering why it had to be Courte who died instead of himself. Phoenix’s dark, pained eyes, as he speaks again, finishes the thought in a voice barely above a murmur. “It made - made far too much sense to me, then. Was far too appealing a prospect.”

The question of what Phoenix won’t quite spell out catches sideways in Apollo’s throat, and when he tries to force it he just makes a soft croaking sound. Phoenix presses his lips together and glances away. “It’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone,” he adds softly. “Klavier’s - he’s what, twenty-whatever? I was twenty-five when I—”

When Mia died, Apollo thinks, but that Phoenix doesn’t finish the thought, swallows hard and stares at his desk and says something else, makes Apollo think there was something even worse he could have said, with that implication he didn’t say. “And Trucy - she’s my daughter. I’m supposed to protect her. I took her in because I couldn’t live with the thought of anything else happening to her when I could bring her here, hope that Mia could somehow bless and protect her as much as she did me. But I can’t imagine just - I can’t let that happen to her. To suffer the way I did, to - to spend her life wondering if wherever she goes, someone’s going to die - the concert, Nine-Tails Vale, to ever - to think she can blame herself. Or that everyone she loves is better off without her. Or to—”

He blinks, fiercely, his eyes watering, and Apollo hopes he’ll never have to see Phoenix this close to tears again. Phoenix, cursed and trying - and in the case of Klavier, now failing - to shelter others from that same pain. Klavier, and Trucy, and—

“What about Vera?” he asks. “You explained to me, but did you ever tell her that she’s—” Phoenix stares at him, blinks slowly. Apollo squeezes his own eyes shut. “You didn’t tell her.” He’s unable to muster the same indignation he was before. He can’t really even bring himself to feel manipulated. Phoenix told him exactly that he was saying all this to make Apollo understand. Phoenix sought this reaction. But Phoenix’s chessmaster act has never superceded his desire to keep secrets before; there’s no way that Apollo can convince himself that this emotional vulnerability is all entirely a ploy to get Apollo to shut up. How many times has he refused to explain something and just left Apollo to stay angry about being in the dark? He has never been reluctant to do that. To just sit silent and lock Apollo out. To let Apollo hate him for his secrets.

He wanted Apollo to understand, intimately, whatever it took. So that Apollo would agree keep these secrets. So that Apollo would go along with him. And it might be concern that drives him - he cares, of course he does - but it’s still manifesting in the most infuriating ways possible. In well-meant silence.

“Would you want to know?” Phoenix asks, and that question at this time is an answer and confirmation in itself. “I know the truth is important to you, Apollo - I know it is to all of us.”

For once, Apollo believes he means it. He’d know it’s the truth because he can see when Phoenix is lying, but he’s actually convinced, this time.

“But,” Phoenix continues, “if you already know that the person who cast the curse hates you and is in jail for committing murder - already got to come to terms with that, or grieve that, or for someone else dead - you already know that truth. Would you really, honestly want to live with also knowing that you’re cursed?”

To possibly want to die because of it, like Phoenix did? Apollo opens his mouth. He wants to say yes, yes he would like to know, because that’s the truth of it and he wants to always know the truth, all of its facets no matter how ugly.

Doesn’t he?

He thinks about Nahyuta, about Dhurke, about trying to forget they ever were anyone, because that’s easier than facing the fact that Dhurke abandoned him, and they might both be dead by now. Easier than wondering whether they were human or fae or something else. He doesn’t want to know what they were. He wants to deny the dreams, to convince himself they’re nothing but the weird subconscious mash-up of memory and the fae horrors Clay has spent all these years warning him about. He doesn’t want the truth about his childhood. He doesn’t want to remember his childhood at all.

(Is it well-meant silence when he doesn’t tell Clay, or Trucy, or Klavier, about them? To not worry them about his life and his past? Or is it just cowardice on his part? Blissful ignorance.)

He closes his mouth. Thinks about the smile Trucy forced onto her face as she realized that Apollo was about to reveal to the court that her father Zak Gramarye was murdered six months before then. Thinks about how she couldn’t keep that smile forced when she found out that her dead grandfather took her mother’s soul for his own personal gain. Thinks about Klavier lying on the stage wishing that he had been the corpse there, not Courte. All the pains that truth has caused them. Is that better or worse than that alternative? Does it depend on what truth it is being hidden?

(He thinks about how long it’s been since he’s said Nahyuta’s name out loud. What color were his eyes in real life, and not Apollo’s haunted dreams? He doesn’t remember.)

“I - I don’t really know,” he admits.

The smug, victorious expression he expects never arrives on Phoenix’s face. There’s no satisfaction in winning this argument. “I’m sorry,” he says, closing his hand around the magatama. “I told you about Vera because it mattered directly for that case, but the rest of this - I wanted to shoulder it myself. So the rest of you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t want you to have to keep secrets from anyone. But I don’t know what else to do.” He forces a smile onto his face with visible effort that makes Apollo wince. Nothing masks the exhaustion written into the lines on his face. “Maybe we put our heads and together we figure out some better way to talk about it. If I ever figure that I should tell…”

He trails off, touching a finger to his locket. Tell Trucy. If he ever gains reason to think that he should tell Trucy. Would he actually run it by Apollo first, ask for his advice? The possibility of being in Phoenix’s confidence for something that isn’t a case doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.

“I still don’t think you should try and keep it secret forever,” Apollo says, “but I - I guess I see what you mean. And why you don’t just…”

Why he doesn’t just tell her. More reason that just because Phoenix doesn’t “just tell” anyone anything. For once, he’s not being a cryptic bastard.

“Believe me, Apollo,” Phoenix says darkly, “I’m always thinking ahead and trying to plan for the worst. I’m not naive enough to just hope that anything will stay one way ‘forever’. But I have to be sure I don’t make it worse, either.”

It isn’t the lack of a visual cue that makes Apollo believe him. It’s knowing him that makes Apollo believe him. Phoenix always has his eye on something down the line, playing out the plan a few steps ahead to find the complications. Even - especially - while he wasn’t a lawyer. A gambler’s steady hand holding the cards, chancing on an outcome, because the cost of doing nothing at all is even more unthinkable.

Apollo nods, more times than necessary, lacking anything else to say. Phoenix cocks his head. “Apollo, you all right?” he asks.

What the hell is he supposed to say - how the hell is he supposed to be? Fine? In what world is he possibly fine? At the end of this, he’s learned more than he ever dreamed he would from his sole initial question, but in it all, that first answer has never changed.

This is all there is. A rabbit hole of pain so unfathomably deep and winding, and in its darkest depths, the same as the answer given to him on the surface: there’s no way to break a curse. Their lives aren’t the kind of fairy tale where true love’s kiss can wake a sleeping beauty or transform a beast back to a prince - it’s grimmer than that, colder than that, crueler than that. Curses not so concretely visible but more like haunting coincidence, a ghost whispering at the shoulder with reminders of guilt. How could a man who wasn’t even there when the crime happened blame himself for his mentor’s murder? And yet, even after the killer’s confession, how could he not? How can even the curse’s caster be blamed when someone else wielded the murder weapon? And yet, how could they not share in it?

Apollo would rather someone have been turned into a frog, honestly. Wouldn’t that be easier to grapple with, a simple chain of cause and effect, and no ambiguity in who to blame.

“No,” Apollo finally says. “Not really, no.”

“I guess that was a bit of a stupid question, huh.”

Apollo nods. No kidding. What’s a better question at this point, anyway? Not what he says. “How - how can there really not be any way? For a curse to be broken, I mean.”

Phoenix spins his chair around, resting his head back against it, eyes turned up to the ceiling. Once he slows to a stop, facing the windows, he says, “I mean, maybe it’s possible there was, once, but it was forgotten. There’s a lot of magic that’s gone that way.”

He gives Apollo a moment to digest that, and then continues, “The Court’s heyday was thousands of years ago. They’re living ruins of what they used to be, and a fraction of what they used to know. Maya - you haven’t met her, she’s Pearl’s cousin - Maya’s helping me out with some matters by trying to dig up more about some kinds of magic they’ve forgotten the nuance of. But even that’s something we’ve got a hint that they knew, once. Not like—” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry. Don’t hold your breath waiting for a way to break a curse.”

“Oh,” Apollo says, somewhat surprised, but pleasantly so, that Phoenix said that much. It would be typical of him just to reiterate that no, there just isn’t any way he knows, that’s all, and to skip the explanation for fear of giving Apollo false hope. But thinking about the prospect of false hope is still easier than really, truly considering the meaning of what Phoenix just said - that this, that everything they’ve ever had to deal with in regards to the fae, could have be so much worse. They could do so much worse than all this pain they’ve ever wrought - they were once so much more dangerous than this, and now their Court is only ruins. This is what they are when they are weak.

“If I do find anything out, I’ll—”

Phoenix breaks off, rising up slowly from his chair, staring at something past Apollo, over his shoulder. Apollo twists around to look, not sure what he expects to see, but it certainly isn’t Vongole standing in the doorway, her head held high, her body much more solid than it usually appears, and stiller. The wispy fur at the back of her legs and off of her tail does not stir as though she is made of mist and surrounded by a breeze that affects only her; she could almost, in this moment, be a normal dog, but for her glowing eyes and her ears so bright red as though they were dipped straight in paint.

All the color drains from Phoenix’s face. He snatches up the magatama and springs to his feet, hurrying past Vongole to peer into the other half of the office. Apollo rises to his feet; if Klavier was here - if he heard what Phoenix was hiding - how Apollo promised to keep it a secret—

Vongole stares at Apollo. She doesn’t move. Phoenix reappears in the doorway, curling a hand in his hair, but his face has fallen slack with obvious relief. The claws curled into Apollo’s heart unclenches. “So then what are you doing here?” Phoenix asks the hound, whose ears fold back flat against her head, though her snout does not turn to shift her attention to Phoenix. She stares Apollo down like she will pounce. “Does he send you places or did you just wander here yourself?”

“You don’t know?” Apollo asks.

“You think I’ve ever had the chance to ask either Kristoph or Klavier about the logistics of their spectral hellhound?” Phoenix asks. Apollo tries to remember when he first started seeing Vongole. Whose ownership she would have been under. How soon after Kristoph’s arrest did Klavier come back to Los Angeles?

Despite her weirdly lanky proportions, like a regular dog was put on a rack and stretched out, Vongole always moves with grace, a predator’s prowl and elegance. A monster, but a beautiful one. She circles Apollo like she intends to herd him somewhere, like she is a shark smelling blood waiting for the moment to strike. “What—” Apollo spins too, trying always to keep her in his sight. She moves just slowly enough that he can keep up, but just quickly enough that he becomes slightly dizzy in his efforts. “What do you want?”

She stops. Apollo steps forward, trying to escape her circle, but she swings suddenly to the side, throwing her body up against Apollo’s hip. He expects her to fade through him, as she does walls and doors, but when she hits him he staggers with the force of her weight. And the cold - her body is cold and it reaches straight through his clothes, cold enough to burn, ice on bare skin type of burning, and Apollo doesn’t understand. He’s touched Vongole before, without problem, hasn’t he? Surely he has. What’s wrong with her? Or is something wrong with Klavier?

She trots over to the door, standing on the threshold, staring back at Apollo with her head aloft. He can’t bring himself to move, can’t unfreeze his feet from where they are riveted into the ground. Vongole presses her ears back against her head, lowering it so that her neck is level with her shoulders, prowling again, and she makes another circle of Apollo before again stopping in the doorway.

“I think she wants you to go with her,” Phoenix says.

She wags her tail, much faster than the usual low, wide swishing path that it takes. Apollo wrenches his foot from the floor and takes one step forward. Vongole bounds through the front room of the office, weaving between magic props tossed carelessly on the floor as though she couldn’t pass through them. And she stops and waits at the door, glancing expectantly back at Apollo. He fumbles his phone free from his pocket, finding no messages waiting for him; why would Klavier do something as cryptic as sending his faery dog to collect Apollo, rather than just calling or texting him?

Unless it isn’t Klavier instructing Vongole. Unless she’s acting on her own. Or unless Klavier is in trouble.

“You’d better go,” Phoenix says. “I can lend you the—”

“It’s fine,” Apollo says. He’s pretty sure that Klavier hates the magatama, and he found him fine without it last night. And he didn’t have Vongole guiding him then.

“Let me know that everything’s all right,” Phoenix says quietly. Apollo opens his mouth to ask what Phoenix knows, why he’s so sure that this means something is wrong - remembers what Phoenix said about himself and how Klavier reminds him of himself, long ago. Closes his mouth. Knows why Phoenix worries.

Phoenix always worries. He means well. His road is paved in well-intended worry.

“Yeah,” Apollo says. “I’ll - I’ll let you know.”

Vongole waits for him only to reach the door, diving through it as his hand reaches for the doorknob. He next finds her waiting beside the bike rack, her smoky fur drifting independently of the chill breeze, and as soon as he mounts his bicycle she lopes off down the sidewalk. She never looks back at him but is obviously monitoring him in some way, her pace changing depending on obstacles and traffic so that she always remains in his sight. He follows her through the quieter (relatively, anyway) city of weekend mornings, through his usual stomping grounds, to end up on the stoop of an apartment building that is - quite frankly, not as grandiose as Apollo would expect. He presumes this is where Klavier lives.

(If it’s not, then he’s far too deep into something that it’s also far too late to back out of.)

Vongole noses one of the buttons on the buzzer at the entryway and disappears through the door. Only seconds later, too quickly for her to have physically covered the necessary amount of ground, the door clicks to unlock. Apollo enters the lobby and before he has time to take in his surroundings, she appears in front of him. Literally appears - not bounding up to him out of a wall, but materializing out of the air, white fog swirling in circles around her ankles. She directs him to the elevator, pressing her nose into the button for the fourth floor and then several times in quick succession slamming her nose into the close doors button. “So were you always like that, or did you pick up your impatience from him?” Apollo asks.

She sits down and fixes her eyes on him. He doesn’t know what that means. He’s not sure why he bothered talking to her. She can’t respond - can she understand? Does she have some way to communicate information she hears to Klavier? Surely not - hopefully not, depending how long she was in the office.

She does not move until the elevator halts at their destination, and she springs to her feet and slips through the doors before they have opened wide enough for a fully-corporeal dog of her size to pass through. But when he makes it through, she meets him right at the other side, her impatience not taking her any further down the hall until Apollo can follow right at her tail. The walls are not cracked and peeling as in Apollo’s building, but they are certainly plain - again, very much not the kind of place he would imagine Klavier to live.

Vongole throws herself through the door of Apartment 404, and Apollo waits in front of it. A moment passes, and then another. Right. Even a faery dog doesn’t have opposable thumbs to grip a doorknob. He fails to swallow his apprehension but knocks anyway. There has to be a reason Vongole brought him here. He can’t just run away from it.

The seconds crawl past. Apollo reaches up to knock again, but the door swings suddenly open, and he flinches back.

Klavier’s hair is barely held together in a ponytail, strands falling loose around his face, and he looks even more like he hasn’t slept, going by the shadows under his eyes. And Apollo never thought there would come the day that he sees Klavier in sweatpants, but - he’s still alive. He’s still intact in one mobile piece, and he’s lucid enough to look annoyed. Apollo fumbles for words, any at all, but none arrive on his tongue. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. He starts to raise his arm to point at Vongole, to blame her, and before he can, Klavier sighs, shaking his head, his apparent annoyance sliding into exhaustion, and he steps out of the doorway, pulling the door open wider, and gesturing for Apollo to come in.

[notes on the chapter]

#roddy fanfics #fic: the witches of los angeles

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luna-almighty-god · 4 years

Text

Comfort a Little Dream N°12 [Epilogue]

The finale of Comfort a Little Dream! Thank you to have followed!

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

===

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

===

They never agreed, bickering all the time over nothing. Often because of Killer, who was always trying to test him, to see if Color really loved him or was going to abandon him. And Color, although he was tender and understanding at first, had had enough, couldn't stand it when people questioned his love for him.

Bickering had become bickering, real bickering. Killer tested his limits more and more, could sometimes make terribly hurtful remarks and, touched in his pride, Color retaliated harshly, hurting back the one he loved.

Wasn't that a laughable situation? But it was undoubtedly what proved the honesty of their love. For despite their many conflicts, they were still crazy about each other...

So when Killer finally left him, Color saw his world come crashing down. He didn't try to hold him back, he didn't want to force him into anything, he simply believed that their love had no place in the end.

However, no matter what he did to forget him, Killer never left his mind, never, and Color had to assume a terrible truth: loving him was his destiny. If it hurt so much to part with him, it was probably because their souls were connected, as they always had been and always would be.

[ CHUCKLES ]

He didn't think he could love someone that much, or even that you could love them that much. Plum had become so used to being hated, rejected, accepted only for his body and nothing else, treated like a little whore, an object that you take, use and throw away, that you don't even bother to wash and care for. An object that is useful, but that one hates. An object that we soon replace when we find it more useful.

He hated himself and he hated the world in which he was born. He hated the monsters who took advantage of his body and hated life, fate, which seemed to mock him every minute of his life. He had so many times wanted to die, to disappear, to give himself up to the easy way out and forget his worries. But he had responsibilities, he had his brother, he had ...

He had this unbearable fear of dying. And this crazy hope to live, to REALLY live.

When Nightmare blackmailed him, forced him to join the bad guys, he saw this as a new cruelty of life, the fulfillment of his hopes and dreams. But if the first times had been difficult, he had been surprised - what am I saying? - the amazement of finding skeletons similar to him. Not because they were Sans, but because they all had a very special relationship with destiny.

Fate had bent on them, destroyed them.

And finally, their small group of psychopathic killers had taken a different turn. A softer, more complicit, compassionate turn.

They had become a family. And if Plum had been able to fit into that family so well, it was definitely thanks to Horror. Horror who had intrigued him at first sight, who had surprised him with his delicious and ever more elaborate dishes. Horror who could prove to be terribly wise and patient. And Plum, at each of his laughs, had fallen a little more in love with him without realizing it.

When they had sex the first time, the purple skeleton thought he would burst into tears, terrified that the cannibal had used him and would abandon him. But Horror had never left. On the contrary: he had pampered him, pampered him, won him over with his words and his caresses.

He had always been there, with his big smile and little mockery, but also his ridiculous nicknames and his desire to kiss him, to always be one with him.

[DOES NOT ABANDON ME]

Cross had teleported to Ink to support him. Unfortunately, the Creator was only a little stunned and had no trouble getting up again. But if he went back into battle, the swordsman preferred to stay behind. By fear? Yes. Out of fear that Dream's soul - which he still had in his possession - would be hurt. And it is this same fear, this apprehension, that suddenly pushed him to open a portal to go to another UA.

Plum was biting his nails in anguish, alone on his couch, impatiently awaiting the return of his lover and hoping that nothing would happen to him.

Color was in his own universe, slumped in a field of echoing flowers, watching the sky and thinking about Killer, what he would have to do to get him back.

Neither of them had expected such a situation.

Neither of them would have thought they would see a gate suddenly open, followed by a skeletal hand that came and grabbed them forcefully to pull them into another AU. And what was their surprise when they landed in the middle of the forest, confused and stunned, to find themselves in front of a livid Cross.

“What is ... ?” said Color while standing up.

But the swordsman left them no time at all:

“There's a portal to the West, we have to help Dust! I don't have time !”

He teleported again, disappearing in the eyes of the two skeletons who definitely didn't understand the situation, until Plum realized that - Shit - the ritual had gone wrong!

He got up in panic and rushed to the gate, dragging Color after him as a ball formed in the hollow of his throat.

- Their hands became clammy, their strength diminished, and the sword of Damocles hovering above them seemed eager to strike at their skulls. –

Horror was in danger. HIS Horror was in danger.

- And he fell down, dry and mercilessly. –

- Dust dropped them both. -

They came to the gate, saw a body over halfway through. Dust's body was shaking on all sides, as if caught in a convulsion and jolt.

Terror took hold of both skeletons.

[ EMPTY ]

Killer fell. He saw the world turn, he saw Dust's gaze, he saw himself moving away, sinking, falling. But he felt nothing. He heard nothing. Nothing, except the high-pitched whistling of the wind in his ear canals.

A second state. A semi-consciousness. Silence.

He should never have left Color. He should have stayed by his side, believed in him, in them, in their bond. He should have been honest, explain his apprehension, his fear of abandonment and change. He should have told him that he loved him, he should have told him so many times.

He loved Color. Hadn't he told Dust? Yes, he did.

He loved Color with all his fucking, fucking madness.

And he closed his eyes bathed in tears, his soul heavy with regret, silent sobs.

The shock was imminent.

[ CRACK ]

It was a heavy noise. The sound of a body hitting the ground. The sound of someone hitting the ground hard.

A noise ... which had been preceded by a teleportation.

The sound of Killer and Color as they teleported behind Dust.

The skeleton of dust turned sharply, eyes wide open, throat dry, and face ravaged by terror and sadness, only to stumble upon a sight he had not expected. No ... No, he was not expecting to see Color and Plum. To tell the truth ... NO ONE expected to see those two teleporting, receiving their companions to teleport back to safety.

Horror was stunned, just like Killer who didn't understand the situation, who didn't know if they were still alive or not.

“ABRUPTED!”

The cannibal blamed the masterful slap he took, this time having this time beautiful and well the proof that he was alive ... and his wide-eyed eyes turned to Plum, his adorable Plum who was crying with anguish and relief mixed together:

“I told you I had to come with you, you moron ! Asshole ! You fucking ... !”

He emptied his bag, the terror that he had accumulated in a fraction of a second, but Horror didn't let him say any more - to tell the truth he had barely listened to his cries - and grabbed his face with force, to come and kiss him, devouring his mouth and sobbing in turn. He never thought he would be so happy to be alive.

Plum did not struggle, quite the contrary. Too happy to be reunited with his beloved, he clung to him with all his strength, responding to his kiss with all the passion and love he had inside him, as if he was afraid that Horror would disappear and kill himself for good this time.

Next to them, Color was trembling. He held Killer without daring to overdo it, without daring to make inappropriate gestures in spite of the anguish he had felt when he saw him fall into the void. If he hadn't intervened, if he hadn't been there, if Cross hadn't come looking for him ... Killer ... Killer would definitely have killed himself.

“Color, I …” began the madman, before stopping at the sight of the tears that were beading in the eyes of the colored one.

Color let a poor sob escape, brought Killer a little closer to come and bury his face in his neck:

“Damn, shit, Killer ... goddamn Killer ... I love you ... I love you ... I love you so much ... I'm sorry, I love you ... I love you ... I love you I love you, I love you ... !” he murmured nervously, his soul trembling, struggling not to burst into tears despite the emotion.

Killer remained mute, blushing violently despite the situation. Moved, he came to respond feverishly to the embrace, not quite recovered from his near-death experience.

“No... C-Color, it's me, it's all my fault ... Sorry ... I love you so, so much …”

The colored one raised his eyes, plunged his gaze into his own, before coming to fetch his mouth in a clumsy but terribly tender kiss, to which Killer took pleasure in responding.

But a sob interrupted the two couples. Killer and Horror froze, simultaneously turning their heads towards Dust. Dust was cracking, really cracking.

“I let go... I'm sorry, I let go…”

He took his skull in his hands and finally began to cry with fear and guilt as the pressure dropped heavily. His two best friends almost cried again, but held on to rush to him and take him in their arms.

They were alive, that was the most important thing.

They were alive. All three of them alive.

*** ***

Cross had a poor laugh accompanied by a bitter smile, a downcast look. He raised his head feverishly, without daring to look at Nightmare or Dream.

He made the little soul appear to be throbbing, and gently held it out in front of him.

Shattered had a broad smile. His tentacles sped faster than the wind, violently grasping the soul they brought back to him.

And Dream couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. Because even though it had saved his brother's life, even though he was happy that Nightmare had survived, he was forced to see the cruel truth, the truth that he had wanted to bury forever.

He was inferior to Nightmare in all areas. It didn't matter the fine words of their friends, of Cross ... Nightmare was the favorite. The most beloved. Nightmare ... was more important than him.

Dream would have wanted to smile, to be strong, to tell his twin that it didn't matter that it was better this way. But he couldn't even do that. Unable to contain his tears, his sobs, his terror and his apprehension.

He could only be Dream, the frail guardian of good emotions. Dream, the one who clung to his brother, looking for comfort. Dream, who had been unable to protect his best friend or to honor this stupid ritual.

[He was just a weak, stupid moron]

“Owwwwwn, you two are so adorable!” Shattered ecstatic with the crazy smile he never left, playing mischievously with the soul he held between his fingers.

The ellipse was coming to an end, everything was going to end like this. And Shattered shuddered with joy as he watched the inverted heart he held in his palm:

“Dream, Dream, Dream ... you are so pathetic, so weak in the face of corruption! Your soul is only a reflection of your personality: bland and tasteless. So fragile that it has lost its colors, its flamboyant gold, to give way to this grey, so dirty, so sad. Ah ... HAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHH! “

Dream clung a little more to his brother by closing his eyes. And if Nightmare tightens its grip around him, Cross's weak voice rose:

“Nightmare ... is it really too late?”

The acerbic tone of the nightmare master answered him:

“By your fault, yes! If you had returned his soul to Dream, he would have been saved! We had completed the ritual, the ground was prepared, the surrounding magic could heal him! But now the other bastard has his soul! There is no more possibility to do anything!”

The words were hard, so hard ... But did not destabilize Cross, far from it. Cross slowly got up and walked towards the twins.

“DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!” Nightmare screamed Nightmare, mad with rage, ready to strike the swordsman despite his weakness.

Except that Dream held him back, raising his tear-filled face in his direction :

“Night, no... i-he did this for you, to save you…”

But Nightmare, with tears in his eyes, could only shake his head:

“I don't care! He has condemned you!

- Night... please…”

The master of misfortune clenched his teeth, his throat tied, and had to use violence to let Cross kneel beside them. Cross who looked sadly at his boss, hoping to meet his gaze, but had to give up and finally look at the guardian of dreams:

“... Dream ... I'm sorry for everything ... I never meant you any harm ... I only wanted ... to be like you, to follow your example. Bring happiness to others …”

Dream lowered his eyes sniffing, unable to respond.

But Cross's words made him shudder:

“... Take care of Nightmare for me …”

He looked up at the swordsman, imitated by Nightmare, neither twin understanding his words ... until Cross made a soul appear. A beautiful golden soul.

The world froze, Shattered petrified.

“Wh-?”

He looked at the soul that he himself held in the palm of his hand.

A grey soul. A golden soul.

It ...

[Cross had not given him the right soul]

“CROSS!”

He threw himself towards the trio, appendages drawn, the atmosphere twisting under the anger he released.

But it was too late: Cross struck Dream's torso, inserted his soul in a guilty smile.

The magic imploded, a ray of lightning struck the sky and fell to earth to strike Dream head on. Nightmare, Cross and Shattered found themselves thrown backwards, too weak in the face of the power released. A magic that flooded the entire UA with powerful waves of heat and sweetness.

Nightmare was forced to close his eyes, trying to shield himself from the light with his arms. This is why he did not see Cross come between him and the rays, so that the master of misfortune would not be disintegrated by the powerful light.

This same light came to engulf Error, whose face was buried in the neck of his lover, hugging him with all his strength despite the body which was leaving in dust ... before the dust regroups again, that it reformed the missing parts of the wounded body.

The multiverse ellipse. A moment when opposites become one, when negativity and positivity blend in perfect equilibrium, to restart the cycle of the worlds from scratch].

[Nightmares and Dreams]

[Destruction and Creation]

[A reset.]

[Among other things ...]

[A RESET]

The light stopped. Calm returned as the ellipse finally ceased and the sky took on a magnificent bluish hue.

Shattered stood up, sounded, trembling. He scanned the landscape with his eyes to fall on Dream ... who was standing, eyes closed, as if in a trance.

Dream blinked, revealing his pretty yellow pupils that had regained a soft glow. Dream ... which seemed free of a weight, which seemed light, peaceful, happy.

The ritual had worked.

“No …”

[Shattered had lost]

“NO”

[And all because of ... of ...]

He threw Cross's soul to the ground, kicking it violently, making his owner scream, who collapsed in pain, before being received in-extremist by Nightmare. Nightmare, who felt guilty for having doubted the swordsman, who felt a deaf anger invade him while he was still devoid of magic, and thus unable to recover the soul of the monochrome.

“CROSS ASSHOLE!” Shattered shouted Shattered, who disengaged his appendages before attacking the trembling soul, ready to finish him off.

But an arrow pulverized his tentacles, caused him to scream in pain and retreat. He raised his head, to become completely livid.

Dream was in a fighting position, bow in hand, holding a shattered yoke without mercy. And if the broken Dream wondered how his double had been able to retrieve a bow, he was even more pale when he saw Ink and Error at his side, understanding with terror that the Creator - in addition to being fine - had regained full control of his powers to the point of being able to create a bow for Dream.

“You lost Shattered.” scolded the guard, arched arches.

To affirm his claims, Error disengaged his sons and recovered Cross's soul, taking him away from Shattered, who found himself truly destitute, disarmed and without the slightest possibility of blackmail.

[He had always been alone]

“It's not fair …”

[ Alone against the world ]

“It's not fair ... !”

In spite of his good attentions, his sacrifices] [In spite of his good attentions, his sacrifices ]

“Why ... ?”

[ Shattered tears ]

“WHY DOES EVERYONE SUPPORT YOU? WHY DO THEY CONTINUE TO LOVE YOU?! WHY AM I THE VILLAIN OF THE STORY?!”

Dream hoqueta, destabilized. Destabilized in front of his double who fell to his knees crying, who hid his face in his hands trembling all over, shouting insults to the whole world.

[HE WANTED TO HELP EVERYONE]

[HE WANTED TO HELP HIS BROTHER]

[HE HAD ALLOWED HIMSELF TO BE CORRUPTED FOR HIS BROTHER'S SAKE]

[AND HIS BROTHER HAD TURNED HIS BACK ON HIM]

[EVERYONE HAD ABANDONED HIM, HE, THE DREAM SHATTERS]

Dream slowly lowered his bow:

“... Ink ... Error ... can you remove my brother's necklace”

If the Destroyer grunted, disliking receiving an order, the Creator nodded his head and executed it immediately.

Dream gently approached Shattered :

“... I can't answer you. We are the same. We should have had the same destiny, I suppose ... ...but…”

He crouches at his height:

“... You are not alone ... You don't have to be ... I know how you might have felt. I know exactly how you feel. And I won't let anyone else continue to feel that way…”

Shattered looked at him in amazement. Without the slightest hesitation, Dream came gently to wipe away his tears with a poor smile:

“We don't have to fight anymore. We've never had to. Let's stop all this, to build a better future for ourselves. When do you say?”

The broken dreamer looked away, feverish:

“... Why is it so ... Why would you do this ... after everything I've done…”

Dream laugh, before offering him a resplendent smile:

“Because everyone deserves to be happy, no matter what they've done in their lives. And I do need someone to support me in my role as a janitor. What do you think about that?”

Shattered exploded with a frank laughter, eyes wet :

“You are ... Ahah... You're really too dumb... Proposing such a thing to someone who wanted to destroy you, who failed to kill your friends... You're just…”

He looked shyly at Dream :

“... you are much too nice. A true guardian of positive emotions.”

A compliment that made the guard blush, and he reached out his hand to his double. Hand that Shattered took with pleasure, exhausted by all these emotions.

*** ***

Dream flickered gently with eyes, gently waking up, drawn from the world of dreams with regret, to slowly become aware that he was in his room, regaining contact with reality. He yawned, stretched out like a cat, almost purring as the sun's rays filtered through the curtains to caress his face. His dream was so good.... he would have liked to enjoy it a little longer. Just a little bit more. But now that he was awake, he knew he could not go back to sleep.

He began to move to stand up, envious to go to the kitchen... but an arm came tenderly to bring him back against the sheets, then came to squeeze him against a torso.

The guard laughed softly:

“Dust, I'm not a teddy bear!”

The skeleton of dust groaned, squeezed Dream more tightly, whose face ended up in the neck of the elder, making the little dream blush, which was definitely not used to this new daily routine, even though it had already been a few days.

“Duuuust! he cried, swelling his cheeks. - Shut up...!” grumbled a voice in the back of the guard.

Before Dream could apologize, tentacles also came to embrace him, and he felt Nightmare sticking to his back in a weary but possessive gesture. This made him pouffer: his twin was terrible when he woke up!

“Sorry Nighty, I didn't mean to wake you up ...

- It's not you... answered his brother. The other moron woke me up long before.”

Another moron who was none other than Cross, whom Nightmare had pushed out of bed without the slightest scruples when he realized that the swordsman was moving too much in his sleep. Shit what, he may have been the guardian of nightmares, he too needed to sleep properly!

And while Dream laughed, sympathetic to the monochrome which was surely going to have some nice aches and pains, the door opened on the fly to let appear Plum and Killer, a little too awake in this early morning :

“Hey marmots! exclaimed the Lustian. Breakfast is served!

- Horror made pancakes !” The madman almost drooling, imagining himself already sitting at the table in front of the food.

But their joy was short-lived when the atmosphere turned cold, and they swallowed simultaneously at the sight of Nightmare who rose very, very, very slowly, the crackling magic around him, his appendages releasing Dream to come and shake and slam the air.

The two intruders retreated:

“Okay, we'll keep a share!” Plum finally finished Plum before running away in a hurry, grabbing Killer's arm and dragging him along with him.

Nightmare grunted, annoyed to hear the duo's laughter rise in the corridor. Dream had a tender smile, straightened up in turn to come and put his head against the shoulder of his twin:

“Pancakes are fun.

- ... Yeah ... Only with maple syrup.”

Dust yawned in his turn to come back to stick against Dream and mumble :

“Mm ... and whipped cream …”

A rustle was heard, and Cross finally woke up with a grimace, badly awake but aching - just as the Dream Keeper had predicted. He glanced sleepily at the trio on the bed, before he could hardly get up to climb on the mattress and drop his skull on Nightmare's lap:

“... I want chocolate …”he gibbered as he fell asleep again.

And Dream laughed again, savoring this quiet and intimate moment.

*** ***

“So they're not going to come to eat, as usual, Horror shouted, arms folded, while Plum came tenderly to massage his shoulders to comfort him.

- Own my heart, they enjoy a moment with four, we can leave them that!

- Pff, but I've gone to a lot of trouble myself!”

The Lustient pouffed and came to kiss his cheekbone:

“I know, and I'm going to take full advantage of it!”

To prove his point, he grabbed a fork and stuck a small piece of pancake in his mouth before moaning with pleasure - deliberately exaggerating his reaction while sticking more closely to his companion.

This made the cannibal blush and he quickly pulled Plum on his knees, before smiling mischievously:

“If you keep going, I'm going to eat you.

- Oh, I'm looking forward to it!”

They exchanged a complicit glance, slowly bringing their faces closer together, while the glow in their eyes showed all their passion, this little game that would soon lead them to ...

“Find yourself a room!” exclaimed Color, whose face was completely red. He had reason to be embarrassed: he was sitting right in front of the couple and didn't miss a crumb of their ride! How embarrassing that was!

Plum and Horror stuck out their tongues at him before laughing and kissing without the slightest shame, embarrassing the colorful man who came to Killer for comfort:

“Killy, they're laughing at me !”

The madman was not of much help, laughing in turn without taking his boyfriend seriously, which caused Color to pout.

And sitting at the end of the table, watching all this little world squeaking, Error breathed a long, very long sigh, massaging his skull, already regretting having agreed to settle officially at the castle. But he had no choice. Already because he liked the bad guys, even if he didn't show it much, but also because Dream had chosen to settle here. And if Dream lived here, it was obvious ...

“RURU!”

... that Ink comes to live there too, not to let his best friend out of his sight for a single moment.

The Destroyer received his lover without the slightest harm, still grumbling under the weight of the Artist:

“Damn, you're so heavy!”

And Ink, who deliberately leaned more, sneered:

“You're supposed to say, 'Oh my love, I missed you!

- I would never say that!

- Oooown, you're cute when you're embarrassed!

- Ink, shut up!”

The Creator laughed as he teleported himself away, narrowly dodging a blow from his lover, only to appear on the other side of the table to grab a pancake which he came to savor with delight, acknowledging without difficulty Horror's talent for cooking.

His attitude made the other skeletons present smile, as well as Dream who joined them shortly afterwards in the company of Dust, Nightmare and Cross. The pancakes left at such a speed that Horror was forced to make some more, fortunately with the help of Plum and - surprisingly - Dust, who in turn revealed their own little cooking talents.

In the midst of laughter and bickering, Dream was astonished:

“But ... Shattered is not there?”

However, his double was always one of the first lifts.

Nightmare shrugged and grunted:

“Maybe he went for a walk? I still can't believe you forced me to take him in.

- Well, you're giving me a good home, so why not him?

- Your unconsciousness will kill me Dream. For one thing, this guy is not my brother. Of two, I do not accommodate you, you LIVE here!”

The guardian of dreams laughed innocently while coming to embrace his twin:

“Olala, you're so grumpy in the morning!”

He stood up:

“But Shattered may come from another timeline, but he's still a version of me, so he's sort of your brother! I'm going to go get him!”

He waved to the congregation and left the room in a hurry, anxious for his other self. Shattered was a corrupt being, full of negative feelings, especially resentment and guilt. Dream was determined to help him, not to let him go now!

But fortunately he had no trouble finding it.

Shattered was just outside, right in front of the castle entrance, sitting on the stairs leading to the courtyard. His gaze was focused on the whole of Dreamtale, as if he was rediscovering the world that had given birth to him. And this was surely the case, since the Dreamtale of their childhood no longer resembled the one they had known. Probably because the way he looked at it today was that of an adult.

Dream was just as moved by it, which is why he took all the delicacy in the world to come and sit next to the other guardian, without allowing himself to speak - which would surely have broken that moment of calm.

It was Shattered who took the initiative to launch the discussion:

“What do you want?”

The little dream shyly smiles at him:

“We are having lunch. Care to join us?

- ... Mm-hmm... I'm not very hungry.”

New silence, but both of them savored this moment, this moment when there was not the slightest tension in the air, when they did not feel oppressed, just ... liberated.

“... It's strange to come back here, even if it's not MY Dreamtale ... Shattered confessed Shattered, nervously coming to play with one of his tentacles. But most of all, to live there again as if nothing had happened, to see everybody talking to me quietly as if it was natural …”

He added grumbling:

“Well, if you except for that jerk Nightmare. It seems he's just as stupid, no matter what the timeline …”

Dream elbowed him lightly while puffing:

“Hey, don't talk like that about our brothers! They're just a little rough and clumsy!

- Just a little?”

They laughed at the same time, exchanging a brief complicit smile before returning to contemplating the landscape:

“... Seriously ... resumed the broken dream. I feel that I am disturbing. No one will be able to forget what I did.

- No, it's true, no one will be able to forget ... but if I could forgive you, others will as well.”

He put a comforting hand on Shattered's shoulder:

“So stop standing back like that and come and eat! Horror's pancakes are really delicious, you'll regret it if you don't taste them!”

The other raised his eyes to the sky:

“All right, I get it, let's go!”

And they both got up to return to the castle, while the soft rays of the sun came to illuminate Dreamtale to announce the arrival of a beautiful, beautiful day.

[END]

#undertale #Hurt / Comfort #comfort a little dream #fanfiction #dream #nightmare #Shattered Dream #bad sanses

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