#all that pain all that fear all that blood
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Lucifer|| Prolouge
Synopsis: After you found your husband cheating on you, you found a different kind of comfort in his devilishly handsome colleagues.
Pairings: detective 02z × fem!reader
Warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, minors please do not interact, catcalling, mention of alcohol, reader is cheated on by Heeseung, cheating (which I do not condone in real life)
A/N: Prologue for my 02z short series everyone! I abandoned everything else after Enha dropped Memorabilia just to write this BECAUSE I CAN. I will try to put out the oneshots as early as possible and I hope all of you will enjoy it! Au revoir!
Taglist: Open
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Crystalline tears filled your eyes as you walked under the dark azure sky. Your feet ached, your heart thumped hard against its prison and your mind spun and yet you kept walking. Walking somewhere, you didn't even bother to understand.
Adjusting your skirt, and moving your scarf down to reveal your bloodied lips from having bitten them too much, you tried to recall what had happened today that made you so miserable. Was it the broken coffee machine, or was it the recent murders in the newspaper? Or was it a person? Perhaps it was the latter.
Heeseung.
You loved Lee Heeseung. With all of your soul and all of your heart you loved him all the way through the bright Mays and the chilly Decembers. You loved him in a way only the setting sun could love the ocean, the way its rays danced with the water so gracefully.
And yet you caught him in your own bedroom, strong sinews of muscles handling another girl's lusty bones, as she merged her body with someone you thought belonged to you.
His apologies went deaf to your ears, you spent an hour or so packing up all your things and driving out the house without a second thought. You didn't even realise how much time you spent screaming your head off at him, trying hard to stop your tears from escaping their barrier as you shoved each and every gift he ever gave you into his arms and asked him to burn them to the ground. And yet you didn't know how to cope without them either.
Your mother never taught you how to handle grief without alcohol and your father's blood always seeped through your mouth in words of fire and fury everytime something went wrong. It was no wonder you had found comfort in Heeseung, a man who could handle all of your pain and all of your anger.
You had trusted him with your life, marrying him happily to escape your childhood home and entrusting in him your most beloved secrets, your love and dedication and your virginity as well. You thought that had been enough, staying home whilst Heeseung worked his ass off at the police station to provide you with everything you could ask for and more.
And when he came home, you were his toy, a plaything for him to release his stress on and yet you didn't budge. Why should you? When you were recieving all the pleasure you could ever want and giving all the pleasure back to your husband. Nevertheless, you stared at your empty ring finger now, hands shivering in the cold as you scolded yourself on not wearing mittens. Heeseung used to scold you too.
Lee Heeseung. What would you have done to absolutely irradicate Lee Heeseung?
You had parked your car at the nearby park where you knew it'd be safe, and had gone for a walk. Thoughts rushed to your mind. You had known about Heeseung's affair for some time now, but you wanted to catch him in the act, to prove to the world, to yourself, that your melancholic delusion could be justified. Here you were now, dragging your feet across the cemented pavement, knowing there's only one other place you could go to. The darkness was a bad place for a woman to be, at 10 pm but you didn't give a single fuck about anything as your prosaic body tried to get itself up. You swore you could have heard voices behind you.
"Hey, hey you!" You heard a voice shout behind you, "What's a pretty lady doin' in a place like this?"
You gulped in fear as your feet sped up. Stupid stupid girl, you thought to yourself, should have stayed in the goddamned car!
"Hey you ignorin' me?" The voice shouted again, and you could hear the gruff footsteps which followed you, getting closer by the moment, "Stop fucking runnin' away from me!"
Your heart pumped blood faster as you picked up your skirt and ran, at the fastest speed you could. This wouldn't have happened if Heeseung was here!, you thought, and though a part of your brain tried to scold you about still thinking about him, at the moment all you were focused on was getting somewhere safe.
The man's drunken voice could still be hear by your ears, and his harsh footsteps told you he was running behind you, chasing you as if you were a wild mongrel to be caught and leashed.
Only one place. Only one place you could go now.
Turning swift on your feet, you ran down the wide lane filled with shops on one side and the empty road on the other, being careful not to crash into the glowing streetlights, as your destination came into your visage.
The police station. Where you knew, your last hope would be standing.
|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|
"Got the Samson case solved yet?" Sunghoon yawned and stretched his limbs above his head, like a prosaic cat, "Man I could do with a drink right now."
"It's 10 pm." Jake checked his pocketwatch, running his hand through his hair as he always did, "What bar is going to be open at this time?"
"Hey, should we steal Jay's stash?" Sunghoon glanced, with mischievous eyes at Jake, who mirrored an equally mischief filled smile back.
"Don't even think about touching my bourbon." A dark haired man, with eyes as black as kohl, walked in, equally black gloves decorating his hands, "Unless you want to be stuck on traffic duty all week."
"Who pissed in your cereal today?" Sunghoon snickered, leaning back in his chair, a crack of his bone could be heard as he lazily stretched, "Let me guess, Heeseung?"
"Is it about his wife again?" Jake groaned, hair tangled in his hand again, "Jay, just leave it man, they'll sort it out."
"Sort it out?" Jay looked at the long haired man with a quizzical look, "What kind of a man cheats on a beautiful woman and brags about it?"
"Most of them." Sunghoon broke out into his drawer, hands reaching for a eloquent wooden pipe, which he lit and transferred to his mouth, sighing out the smoke as he relaxed into his chair, "You're too righteous to understand that, Jongsoeng."
Jay wrinkled his nose, as Sunghoon blew a puff of cigarette smoke into the air. Settling into his own chair, Jay's eyes flickered towards Heeseung's desk, where files lay messily scattered. A solitary photo frame brightened up the lonely atmosphere of the desk. Lee Y/N, Jay thought, his wife, not yours.
"Jay, come on, stop sulking over your little crush," Jake scoffed, his hands busy with a sleek, brownish-yellow bottle in his hand, "Just have a drink and get your mind off it."
"First of all, how did you get into my bourbon cabinet." Jay snatched the glass from Jake's hand, and toyed with it protectively, "Second of all, I can't just get my mind of it. I mean, come on," He extended his glass out to Jake who poured the elysian liquid into Jay's glass, "Who the fuck would have the gall to cheat on such a pretty woman who loves him to bits?"
"Look, you like her right? And don't say no, we all know it Jongsoeng." Sunghoon leaned forward in his chair, "So when she finds out about everything, just offer to take her home and, you know, let her sob into your arms and then take her into your bedroom and-"
"Since when did you start reading romance?" Jake chuckled, pressing a glass of bourbon to his lips.
"Since lover boy here started crushing on..what's her name? Y/N wasn't it?" Sunghoon laughed, taking another piquant drag of his pipe, "I get it, she is really pretty."
'Really pretty' was one way to describe you, Jay thought, smiling into his glass of bourbon. Every inch of you called out to him, beckoned him closer and closer to your poisonous radius. It wasn't that he didn't try to fight it, lusting after another's wife, but it was that he found that hidden sadness in your eyes heartbreaking everytime he looked into them.
"Want to head home, fellas?" Jake briskly sat up straight in his chair, "Or are either of you going to stop at a brothel?"
"Don't have time for that." Sunghoon chuckled darkly, putting out his pipe, "Plus I've got a-"
Bang!
The door of the quite airy police station burst open with a loud bang, and it seemed as if a hurricane in the guise of a panicked woman had swept in, alarming the three detectives. The sudden action caused them to act on their reflexes, pulling out their revolvers faster than their eyes could comprehend the sight in fron them. Jake's eyes seemed to work the quickest.
"Ma'am? Are you alright?" Jake called out, signalling the other two to lower their weapons. He stepped forward and turned a switch on, which caused the entire room to light up in bright light, contrasting to the soft yellow light that earlier shone from the desk lamps.
Jay's senses had seemed to ding up after the initial shock of the entire thing, as he walked forward with careful steps towards you, as Jake and Sunghoon whispered to each other, making out why you were here. Your eyes took a moment to register the man in front of you.
Jay Park, you thought, a man who was perfection incarnated.
"Y/N," Jay spoke softly, careful not to frighten you, "What are you doing here? Are you alright?" He looked you up and down to check for any disfigurements.
"I-" you spoke, your throat tightening by the moment, "Heeseung—he" you couldn't speak any more as his name uttered out your mouth. Bursting into tears, you buried your face in your hands as you felt your cheeks burn up with embarrassment. You really weren't crying in front of your (ex) husband's colleagues, men who you barely knew, apart from the usual condolences.
You felt warm, strong muscles pull you into their hold. It felt like a cozy cocoon, scented with the fragrance of pine and paper.
"Calm down, doll," Jay whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning your neck, "take a breath for me."
Jay coached you through breathing in and out, which restored some of your consciousness. You had nearly been on the verge of fainting, with how much you had ran.
"Can I—May I sit down for a moment?" You asked, weary of the other two men's eyes watching you, "Please."
"Of course." Jay said, supporting your figure with his sinews as he led you over to his cubicle. You could see the other two hastily clearing out messy piles of papers. The shorter one, you assumed was Jake, from his drooped posture and lion-like hair. The taller one then, had to be Sunghoon, with porcelain skin and an ice cold gaze.
"Did-did you walk all the way from your house?" Jake questioned, offering you a seat, which you gratefully collapsed into.
"No, just the park nearby." You shot him a small smile through your croaky voice, which he returned, "My car's still parked there though. I drove from" you stopped in your words uncertain to say his name, "-from Heeseung's house."
You felt the tension in the room as you said those words. Heeseung's house, you thought, it had been home once. You felt Jay shift his position in the chair next to you, and Sunghoon transfer his weight to one foot, whilst leaning on the desk.
"If you want us to go beat him up, we'll gladly do it." Sunghoon offered, making you chuckle and shake your head.
"No it's fine, I mean she wasn't that pretty anyway, he's bound to lose interest in her some day or the other." You smiled, to no one but yourself. Humour had never been your strong suit.
"Aww man I really wanted to beat him up." Sunghoon feigned defeat, "Asshole deserves it for how much paperwork he gave me."
"That's the only reason you want to beat him up?" You raised a brow at the light skinned man, who raised one back.
"And for betraying a pretty lady of course." He winked at you, making you internally roll your eyes.
"Would-would you like some bourbon?" Jake awkwardly offered you a glass. You could see the embarrassment in his eyes the moment he asked the question, "Or water if you want-"
"I'll take the bourbon." You grabbed the glass from Jake, who, with his shocked eyes poured you a glass, which you downed immediately without flinching in front of the three startled detectives, "Can I have another?"
"Can we have some too?" Sunghoon smirked at you, grabbing his own glass and beckoning Jake to pour him a shot. Jay, admitting defeat, had grabbed a glass too, filled with the bubbly alcohol.
"Well," Sunghoon raised his glass in a toast, "to Heeseung hopefully getting bored of the other woman."
"Peculiar toast, Detective Park." You laughed, "I like it."
The moments that followed still felt like a fever dream to you. You had sat in a building, alone with three handsome men, talking down right shit about your husband, whilst drinking more bourbon than you ever had and although you had already defeated Jake in drinking (almost) half a pint, you still wanted more. This definetly was not on your itinerary for the evening, but did you care at this point? Absolutely not.
"Ugh fuck." You swore under your breath. You probably shouldn't have drank that much, but in all honestly, it would have helped to relieve some of the painful memories of the night.
"Woah steady there." Jay looked at you cautiously as you stirred in your chair. Jake was on the verge of passing out, having even taking his glasses off, while Sunghoon and Jay, who hadn't drank as much, looked as calm as the winds.
"You know what?" You started, not knowing the words coming out of your drunken mouth anymore, "Fuck Lee Heeseung, fuck that man." A sudden maniacal giggle from your mouth seemed to have amused Sunghoon.
"Fuck in what terms, Mrs Lee?" He asked, trying to hide his cunning smirk, whilst ignoring Jay's warning glares.
"Mrs Lee?" You questioned, feeling your senses come back, though you were still tipsy, "Who's Mrs Lee? Not me, no sir-ee." You laughed, "If I had the chance to chop off that asshole's dick right now, I would."
"But you wouldn't allow us to beat him up? Strange." Sunghoon whistled out in his usual cocky tone.
"It's getting late." Jay checked the grand clock in the corner of the room, his eyes wavered over the dried tears on your face, it was alarming to him how much a mere glass of bourbon had managed to get you giggling like a cuckoo, "Y/N I can drop you-"
"I'd rather fuck all of you in one night rather than see that idiot's face again." You chuckled again, this time, saying the sentence with full seriousness. Did you really mean it?, perhaps not, as you would have thought later on. But were you up for having sex with three extremely attractive men who happened to be the best friends of your ex-husband? That, was a definite yes.
"Oh really?" Sunghoon placed his forearms on the desk in front of him, leaning in closer to your face. Jay's hand clutched harder against the edge of the desk. "And what if I say yes to that proposal?"
"What are you implying, Detective Park?" You looked into his dark, devilish eyes, "That you'd have sex with someone pathetic enough to get cheated on?"
"Don't say that, you're not pathetic." Jay's eyes softened as he looked at you, but you merely scoffed, turning your face instead to look at Sunghoon, who was evidently smirking. You caught Jake's widened eyes from the corner of your eye, listening intently.
"How about this-" Sunghoon started, folding his arms, "You get a night of good sex, I get a night of good sex, you and I both get to rub that in Heeseung's face, and then we have breakfast in France."
"Are you married Detective Park?" You quizzed him with an amused face, his offer seemed at the very least, interesting to you.
"Not yet, no. I'm still young aren't I?", Sunghoon's mouth stretched like a cat's into a lazy smile, "Why do you ask? Are you....perhaps intrigued by my offer?"
There was something ironic about that sentence "I'm still young" that struck a chord within you, you were the same age as him and yet you were sitting there talking about your husband.
"Intrigued is one way to put it." You smiled back, hoping you looked anything like a vixen, matching the bastardous fox like energy of Sunghoon's, "But don't you think it's greedy of you, Detective Park? To want me all to yourself?"
"And what do you mean by that, Miss Y/N?" Jake smiled in his boyish manner, "Is Sunghoon here not enough for you?"
"I'm just saying." You held up your hands in mock defence, "wouldn't you both like to get a taste too?"
You glanced at Jay in the corner, who you had expected to be shaking his head in disapproval. But to your utter surprise, he had one of his gloves hands stroking his chin as if in deep thought. His eyes were dark even in the fluorescent light of the room, deep pools of cataclysmic waters floating around in his pupils. He looked vaguely interested.
"So just to recap," Jake started, clearing his throat, such that his Adam's apple was clearly visible, "You want us to bed you, so as to make your ex husband, our colleague and friend, someone's whose wife we definetly should not be sleeping with, jealous?"
"That's the blueprint." You said in a sweet honeyed voice, "How exactly you make him know that I'm not his anymore, you figure that out. If I even so as look at that man's face again, I will jump off a cliff."
"But the question is-" you put on a proud smile, eyes darting from one man to the next, "Who's going first?"
"Shouldn't you decide that sweetheart?" Jay's deep voice came like a rumble through the ground during an earthquake, slightly startling you. He hadn't said anything in the past few minutes, his sudden break of silence alarmed you.
"Alright then." You chuckled, not daring to meet Jay's eyes, you knew you'd melt as soon as you saw them, "How about the person who suggested this?" You turned your face towards a smirking Sunghoon, with his head held high like a peacock's, "Detective Park?"
"Shall I go with the lady's word boys?" Sunghoon asked Jake, who nodded his head, taking his glasses off the desk and outting them on again. The effect it had in him was quite handsome, according to you.
"Should we make a pact then?" Jake asked cheekily, glancing around for a piece of paper, finally picking one up from underneath the mountain of files lying on the wisened wood. Putting it down on the paper, he scribbled something down quickly, showing it off proudly to the others. You let out a laugh when you saw what he wrote.
"'The make Heeseung jealous organisation'?" You laughed, "I can't tell if you're serious or not."
"I'm dead serious." Jake looked at you with glossy eyes, he always was a funny one, you recalled, "Come on everyone, I need signatures."
He's serious about this, you thought, amused at Jake's comedic demeanor. You swiftly pressed the black ink to the paper, leaving off a flashy signature to decorate it. Jay signed off last, with an impeccable font.
Words couldn't have described that very evening. No sentence that could come out of your mouth could have ever even begun to explain to a complete stranger about how you had ended up in Sunghoon's car, driving to his house in silence. Shrugging off the moral doubts in the corner of your brain, you stared out the window into a dewy night.
Relax, you thought to yourself, there wasn't anything wrong with what you were doing.
Was there?
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#enhypen#enha#enhypen smut imagines#enhypen smut#enhypen smut reactions#enha smut#enha smut imagines#enha hard hours#enha hard thoughts#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen jay#enhypen jake#enhypen sunghoon#sunghoon hard hours#sunghoon hard thoughts#sunghoon smut#jake hard hours#jake hard thoughts#jake smut#jay hard thoughts#jay hard hours#jay smut#enhypen 02z#jay × reader#jake × reader#sunghoon × reader#enhypen × reader#enha × reader#kpop smut
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ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
ᴏɴᴇɪʀᴏᴅʏɴɪᴀ
𓆩♡𓆪 ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Nanami Kento x (Fem)Reader
𓆩♡𓆪 ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: angst, hurt/comfort, spoilers for the shibuya incident arc, mentions of violence, descriptions of nanamis body injury, descriptions of gore, body insecurity, depictions of dealing with PTSD, mentions of pregnancy
𓆩♡𓆪 ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8200
𓆩♡𓆪 ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: He tried to hide it, but the haunting behind his closed eye spoke the most for him.
𓆩♡𓆪 ᴀ/ɴ: originally i wrote this for the guide (shameless plug go read) but this could be read as a stand-alone easily. just wanted to imagine if kento had actually been married and what could've happened if he survived shibuya. but mind the warnings!
He could feel his world shrinking in on him, his throat closing in as claustrophobia suddenly overwhelmed him and confined him to a world of fear he never knew he could’ve felt. He tried to struggle, get himself free from its coiled vines, tried to open his eyes out of the darkness that was drowning him, heavy like the tons of water from the ocean washing over him, but he found he could not.
Something was wrong, and when he finally opened his eyes, he understood what it was.
It was completely dark; vision wrapped up in a coat of noir that he couldn’t break free from. On the right everything was still horribly vivid; however, the landscape of that day was forever compacted into his brain as he could trace out every line behind a closed eye to draw it up once more for a retelling, or perhaps in a way to continue to haunt himself. On the left there was nothing; a space free from sense, nothing but a hole filled with darkness reminiscent of nothingness and loneliness, something dire to his being and for his view on the world alone.
He couldn’t see out of his left eye.
Because he no longer had a left eye.
It was jarring at first, not even noticing for a moment that his eye had been plucked out by the fish from that Domain Expansion and he had remained still for the moment as he realized he couldn’t see out of it any longer, frozen in time wondering what happened to bring him to that point before the throbbing pain hit him all at once. He had gritted his teeth and bared it, completely throwing it to the side as he had to keep his attention focused on Megumi and Maki, as their lives mattered more in that moment despite all his injuries then. He had to stay focused, and perhaps he could do it right that time.
His body was burning with adrenaline, muscles bunched forward with tension and nerves lit up alive inside of his veins. He had never been in pain like he had been as of that moment, and he had never felt the need to fight much like he did then, and yet he had continued to stand, refusing to feel that uselessness that he had felt when he found Kiyotaka prone on the floor bleeding out from an injury. It brought back an old memory he thought back to every time he fought; a young boy laid out onto the ground missing the entire lower half of his body, the entire ground coated with blood as it dripped out onto the pavement while he carried him back to the school on his back.
It made him furious.
(It had stained his uniform, his shoes, his hands, pieces of his hair were caked in Yu’s blood, but he couldn’t find himself to even care. The dollops smacking onto the pavement were louder than his own thoughts; vacant and speaking so much for everything in spite of him remaining deathly silent and calm as he slowly walked back to the school heading for the Morgue.)
He refused to let anything like that happen again.
(He could feel the blood seeping out the vacant socket where his left eye had been, the same way it dribbled along out of Yu’s body and stained his clothes, much like how his blue button-up meshed into a violet color the more it was ruined.)
Despite his vision, he knew Megumi wasn’t anywhere in his presence, taken away from that mirrored image of his father and there was that underlining need to run after him, but his concern was lying elsewhere at the arrival of another curse that was more of a horrible threat than the one from before. Its head was bulbous and white, possessing only one eye like a cyclops, and he knew who it was as he shifted all concern to Maki for the moment.
He could see his hand, palm out and short, stubby fingers spread, and he realized his momentum was too fast for him to stop before he touched him. He remembered flexing his abdomen out of habit from the unwanted and foreign touch, and he remembered the way he had smiled up at him (cruel, wicked, evil, inhumane, murderous) before his world was suddenly brighter than it had ever been and bursting into a world of white-hot and orange damnation and he barely felt the burning sensation of Jogo’s cursed energy engulfing him.
It was hothothothothothothot – it was too fucking hot. He couldn’t breathe for a moment (his throat was closing up again; airways constricted and lungs twisting and diminishing, he couldn’t breathe and everything fucking hurt), and he truly believed that he was going to die from suffocation in that moment if it wasn’t over as fast as it came.
He was numb for a few moments while it happened and after it happened, ears ringing from white noise and feeling like he wasn’t even in his body any longer and he was but a shell – a husk of what he used to be. Everything was stinging like needles pricking into every nerve and his body was still buzzing with adrenaline, but he felt numb. He knew what was happening, and despite it all he still stood back up; his legs still worked, he could swing his weapon, and that was all that mattered for the time being.
If he didn’t do anything he would feel useless as he did back then, he couldn’t stand to be a victim of his own incompetence any longer.
Yet, his right eye caught a glance of his left side when he lifted his left arm, and he paused as he looked down at what remained of the left side of his body.
Like the sun opposed to his moon from losing his left eye, the fire spread quickly over his body and melted away parts of his flesh on the left side of his body, leaving nothing but the exposed layer underneath his skin peeling away to blood already beginning to ooze out from the catastrophic wounds. He had lifted his left hand, staring at the remnants of what remained of his skin long gone before raising it higher to touch the empty socket where his left eye had sat.
He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be feeling anything with his burnt flesh (it felt fake, yet smooth free of any blemishes, but also rough like it didn’t belong), but it was cold in spite of the scorching heat that had engulfed him. But more importantly, it was a dead fact that he wasn’t dreaming and everything that was happening in Shibuya was the reality he was living in.
Satoru was sealed.
Suguru had sealed him – No, not Suguru, he was dead. But someone was wearing his face.
So many people had already died… Civilians…
Regardless of his wounds stinging and stretching like he was peeling off various scabs making him hold back the hisses of pain, he continued onwards to fulfill what he made himself promise to do that moment he returned back to Jujutsu Sorcery and to never feel that worthlessness any longer. He was severely wounded, and he knew that he was on the brink of death, but it couldn’t matter at that moment.
He had to do something.
So, he walked forward, despite everything burning and aching, and despite feeling so tired and hollow inside in that moment, he continued on to do what he sought out.
If you don’t fight for something, you’ll fall for nothing.
He didn’t know how long it was before he came across the hoard of all the mutated humans, but the feeling of enervation was beginning to consume him. He had to take them on, however, it was what he was brought up to do, but even then with his need to carry on he had to stop but for a brief moment and think about what he truly wanted most in the world.
There was nothing more he wanted at that moment than the serenity of sitting along a beach shore with his feet covered in the sand that it brought, listening to the waves crash forward and feel the wind sing through his ears and breeze by his skin as he read all those books he had bought stashed along the bookcase in his bedroom on the beach. He could retire and rest there, he had enough money to do so and he could always just grow his own little vegetables and fruit if he had to. He could have a simple life there, quiet and in the grace of Mother Nature at her finest, and the more he envisioned it, the more it became a clear vision.
Build a small house on the beach, it didn’t have to be much, just enough to feel cozy and at home – domestic. He could see the figure in front of him walking along the shore barefoot, a short, white sundress coating their form as they dipped their toes in the water and seemingly danced along with the wind. It made him exceedingly happy to watch them, seeing them happy and at peace, safe and healthy, and he didn’t know why it did perhaps at that moment, but it was enough for him to sigh in contentment for the world he could envision.
Malaysia.
Kuantan, Malaysia.
(He was in so much pain.)
He almost nearly wanted to put his weapon down, just to lay down and finally rest as he was so tired, but his mind was fighting his body all at once, telling him there was more that he needed to do before so. That there was something holding him back from doing so, and he sighed as he fought through every memory he had for that pull.
Though he thought of Maki, Megumi, Naobito, hoping for their safety then, that wasn’t what was buzzing in the back of his mind. He thought of Yuji, wondering where he was for a brief second before he realized he must have been going after Megumi, and then understanding that it wasn’t him. He was flitting over each face in his mind that might’ve been in Shibuya and needed him (Nobara, Ino, Toge, Akari, Kiyotaka, Yaga, anyone that may have been in Shibuya), but coming up short, yet he ended up pausing before taking a swing at the mutated humans beginning to crowd him in.
(That figure on the beach with him in Malaysia, he knew that figure. He had etched every single inch of that figure’s skin into his mind, being able to trace lines like constellations in the sky every time he closed his eyes so that could map out everything about them and perfectly envision them in his dreams and memories. It was all black and white at first, then an upsurge of all the hues in the color spectrum that rushed over until you were brought to life like a page in a coloring book and standing in front of him on the shore of a beach in Malaysia living the rest of your lives together like he had dreamt of so many times unbeknownst to you.
That figure… it was you, his family.
His most beloved.)
Where… were you? Here? God, no, you couldn’t be.
No… you were at home.
He remembered it clearly; your eyes shining up at him and making that face he never wanted to see regardless, nearly looking like you wanted cry again when you had not cried in so long and he had sworn to himself he’d never be the reason you cried ever again. He got the call about Shibuya, but you did not; bedridden over an illness you seemed to have picked up and had just gotten home from the doctor over it. You weren’t supposed to be going out anywhere, and he didn’t want you going anywhere if you were sick as was, your health was more important than anything and he would’ve been damned if you were out trying to work sick.
Yet still… something had been off about you.
You had fisted your hands into his shirt, a small smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes as he had curled his arms around your shoulders with his fingers digging into the sweater you wore that was his, however he didn’t mind it since he loved it when you wore his clothes around the house. He had asked you what was wrong, and you had pressed yourself closer to him, with a sheen in your eyes that was the tall-tale sign of your eyes watering. He was nearly ready to drop everything for you just to see what was wrong with you, but you finally answered him, and it startled him just as much.
“When you come home, I have to tell you something.”
“Why can’t you tell me now?”
“They need you… But please come back to me, this is… Promise me you’ll come home, Kento.”
He did; he promised you that he would.
You had sent him off after that, his stomach in knots as he thought back to your worried face and tear-filled eyes the longer he sat on that train to Shibuya. He didn’t know why you had been pushed to the back of his mind, though perhaps it was because he knew you were safe at home, away from everything that was happening and safe at home. Though when you returned back to the forefronts of his brain, he remembered that promise.
He was never one to make promises, but you were adorably cute every time you’d make him do pinky promise over something so trivial that it made him want to laugh and he couldn’t help but to play along. However, those promises from before were nothing compared to the gravity of the oath he swore to you before he left for Shibuya.
He couldn’t break it to you and raising his left hand again to spy the ring (it was miracle it was still there) marring his ring finger, he knew he had to come home to you. And yet… (he let his eye wander over the flesh that was no longer there, red hue startling him more than the sign of blood pouring out of a wound on his body, and knowing that it would never heal over to skin or be the same again; that left side of him was completely tarnished from how it used to be) he wondered how you would perceive seeing him…
He couldn’t think about it too much longer, for the mutated flesh and blood that were the remnants of the humans were closing in on him, and he realized then if he wanted to complete his own promise to live a life free of regrets and free of any uselessness he had to keep fighting for the sake of you.
(He was in so much pain.)
If he ended up leaving you alone, that would be his ultimate sin... His biggest regret.
He took on the mutated humans (every swing was pain; stinging in each limb as blood spattered onto him and the floor), swinging (the burnt flesh along his arm screamed from each quick, rapid movement of his shoulder, the tendons in his muscles stretching and snapping; bleeding) and slicing (his vision was getting hazy, the loss of his left eye beginning to finally take its toll on him as it became too much for one eye to handle everything that was coming at him), until all of them fell away to his feet (the way they diminished and were put to rest made him sigh in longing; it looked so comforting to be put out their misery) and he was left standing.
(He was tired, and his breathing beginning to leave him.)
He wasn’t sure where he came from, but it was a beat and there was another hand touching him; a light tap that made him pause and look up to who was touching him. Mahito was there, palm upon his skin and fingers spread much like Jogo, and the humming of a nauseating cursed energy of his that settled heavy in a squeeze along his esophagus and a coil within his gut. He knew what it meant.
He knew then he had failed in altering the course of what was the happen; the Butterfly Effect already set in motion for what was to happen from the moment he stepped foot onto that train for Shibuya; the moment you told him he had to go because you were prioritizing his work over you (he wanted to laugh; why would you ever think he cared more about work over you?) and he listened to you despite the worry something was wrong with you.
It was all falling into motion, and he couldn’t change a damn thing.
He had felt the same way whenever he had been trapped inside of Mahito’s Domain Expansion, yet that time Yuji wasn’t busting through the veil that had covered them to save him. He wasn’t going to be able to watch you nearly break Yuji’s ribs with the hug you had given him when he had told you what had happened. He wouldn’t be able to hear you tease him over the soft spot he had developed for the boy; Itadori Yuji reminding him so much of Haibara Yu –
It was brief, but he remembered Mahito and he speaking, though the conversations words were lost on him the moment he stopped seeing Mahito and in his place was a face he had not forgotten and wouldn’t forget for as long as he lived.
Yu stood in front of him once again, youth frozen in time while he kept moving forward with age despite that hollow feeling in his heart the moment he realized Yu was dead. He only stared at Yu for a long moment, the toll of his injuries rushing forward all at once and the adrenaline beginning to fade away as all the pain crashed over him like a tsunami’s wave and he just grew so tired. Yet he did not fall there, he let himself fade to a time before, when he had decided to come back to the school after four years and resume what he had been doing for years, but he still wondered as he stood covered in burns and missing an eye what he truly returned for and if anything he had done really ever amounted to anything in the end.
He looked at the boy smiling at him still, despite it all, and wondered if he could find his guidance there.
Haibara, what the Hell was I trying to do anyway? I ran… Even though I ran away, I came back with the vague reason of the finding the work worthwhile…
What was the reason?
He was startled when Yu seemed to hear him, the thought he had kept deep within the recesses of his mind unknown to everyone for the façade he put on, and watched slowly as Yu’s arm raised, pointing an index finger to the left and he heard the name before he saw him.
“Nanamin!”
Yuji…
He could hear Mahito greet him as well, but could not see him, as he told Yu that he could not tell him that and it only be a burden and a curse placed upon the boy’s shoulders in the end. He already had enough on his plate as was, he could not do that to Yuji. He would settle for something not as heavy for boy… and perhaps… maybe tell him something to say to you.
I’m sorry.
(He was getting sleepy.)
However, before he could get the words out to reassure Yuji, Yu moved again, head turning slightly with a gleaming grin painted on his lip to look slightly behind him. He felt confused, but when he heard the oncoming footsteps from Yuji and from the second unidentified person as the harsh crackle in the atmosphere shifted from the arrival of a strong source of cursed energy, he supposed he knew then.
It nearly happened to fast for him to comprehend as Yu’s visage faded away in a cloud of dark colors and he was suddenly looking back at Mahito, whose eyes had widened and had removed his hand from his chest to turn and try to stop the oncoming assailant before the side of their foot slammed into the side of his head in a devastating crack and he heard the flesh tear away and bone crack within the arm that he had placed upon him. He watched the blood fall along the arm, realizing the kick had sent Mahito several yards away crashing through the wall and his arm had been completely torn off.
He knew he wasn’t dead however, his arm would regrow and he’d be back up, but he was more worried at the heartbreaking expression on your face whenever you stood in front of him taking in what he looked like after everything that had happened.
He wanted to ask you what the Hell you thought you were doing, why you were there, why were you crying, until he realized it was all because of him.
Don’t look at me like this, please.
How were you ever going to look at him the same again?
He didn’t say anything, realizing his breath was beginning to leave him the same moment he spotted Mahito again. He couldn’t speak though, legs finally failing him as he collapsed and started to spit up blood in hacks, his body beginning to shut down as he heard you and Yuji scream at the same time.
Mahito would hurt you both, and he couldn’t do a damn thing.
You wouldn’t be able to take on Mahito, he was far too strong for you and could kill you.
He had to do something, but the image of yours and Yuji’s faces hovering over him was blurry; hazy as the one eye he still had begun to close. He realized then the breaths he was taking were panicked, and he couldn’t move his legs or his body as his heart in spite of withering away was pulsing at ridiculous pace.
He was dying.
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t feel –
He had to save you and Yuji, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t feel –
He could hear you both though, calling out to him as he fell down, his world shrinking in on him in the pitch darkness that he slowly begun to fear when he remembered the people within the light he had to care for. He didn’t want to leave you alone, but his lungs were closing; burning like his body when he had been set on fire, and his vision closing into a pit of nothingness like the socket of where his left eye had been.
He had to do something, or else he really was worthless in the end, but –
He couldn’t breathe… and he was dyingdyingdyingdying –
He couldn’t breathe –!
When Nanami Kento awoke, he took a long inhale, eye opening to the familiar ceiling of his bedroom, but not able to hear anything other than the own ringing in his ears and his heart resounding inside of his chest. He was aware he was panting, and everything felt too hot and constricted around him despite the cool breeze wisping through an open window in front of the bed. His throat felt raw and sore, like he had been hacking and choking on his own breaths and saliva in his sleep, and there was an anxiety-stricken situation gripping his heart as he realized he couldn’t move for the moment and suddenly he was thrown back into his dream – no, his memory of that Halloween night five years beforehand.
The world squeezing him tight, his body failing him and everything just fucking hurting again. It was so much pain, and it was too much, everything in him screaming at him as his tendons pulled and snapped, his body stung and bled, and his mind told him to lay down and rest.
He fought it off, he couldn’t fall that time.
Not again, he couldn’t do it again, he had to get up and fight that time…
He could do something – he had to do something.
He had to get up and fightfightfightfight and keep Yuji and you safe –
“Breathe, Kento.”
The voice nearly startled him, but it was spoken so gently and cautiously that he couldn’t find himself to be afraid of it for the moment. It nearly sounded underwater, distorted even as he had to repeat it back into his mind a few times to fully understand what they meant, and when he let the vibrations of it ooze into his skin and let the words spoken twirl around his brain like a ribbon, he understood he knew that voice and it wasn’t there to harm him.
It was your voice.
“You’re okay.”
It made him calm down a little, and you kept your distance for the moment until you knew that he was okay and repeated a mantra that had been told to him many times by the doctor and you whenever he had the horrifying tidbits late at night.
“Count and breathe. Take as long as you need.”
Yes, that was right. He could breathe, his lungs weren’t failing him and his heart was okay.
Kento just needed to count and breathe until he was sure he was able to go on and he was okay.
One; inhale.
Two; exhale.
Three (his fingers twitched, and he realized he was gripping the sheets so hard it was a wonder they didn’t rip); inhale.
Four; exhale.
Five; inhale.
Six (he let go of the sheets, the softness of the comforter returning to his sense of feeling as he realized he was not lying on the cold ground bleeding and instead in a warm bed that molded into his body and let him rest well); exhale.
Seven (the white noise in his ears retreated for the crash of the waves from the ocean along Malaysia outside the house, and the blurred vision of the ceiling fan spinning became clear and allowed him to see the moonbeams from the night glare in and bathing the bedroom in its heavenly shine); inhale.
Eight (he could move again, stretching his legs and wiggling his toes as he blinked rapidly and could move his tongue once more, and there was the soft smell of you wisping up his nostrils as he realized you were there and he was there); exhale.
Nine (he wasn’t in Shibuya anymore, he was at home with you and you were both alive and safe); inhale.
Ten (he wasn’t in Shibuya anymore, he was at home with you and you were both alive and safe); exhale.
Kento blinked the moment he let out that lasting and deep exhale, his mind and body returning to him as he came fully to his senses and finally calmed down. He had that mantra on his mind as he felt himself fall into ease and swallowed down the nausea brimming in his stomach, the burn in his throat subsiding for good as his heart settled down along with his breathing. His lungs no longer screamed for air and his body was his own again.
He was home.
He was alive.
It was just a dream (how many times was he going to be plagued with the images of it?).
And more importantly, you were right next to him, alive and safe still.
“You’re sweating and burning up; I thought you were coming down with another fever again until I heard you.”
Kento nearly sighed when he felt the cool touch of your hand wipe across the back of his forehead to swipe the sweat away, keeping his eye on the ceiling fan spinning for a grounding sense of reality that he was no longer staring up the shrinking, claustrophobic darkness that had threatened to swallow him whole. Your touch would forever soothe him, a solace you offered him along with just your mere presence that he greedily drunk in like the glass of water you were pressing to his lips then.
He felt your other hand slide underneath his neck, fingers tickling the overgrown undercut he had long since abandoned in favor of letting just all be one length, and you lifted his head off the pillow to coax him into drinking some of the liquid. He of course was more than welcome to allow you to do all of it, as it had become a routine of sorts from the various nights the event would happen.
(And as much as he loved it receiving that sweet attention from you knowing you truly loved and care, Kento hated it. He felt like burden each time it happened and you were there to take care of him. You had reassured him so many times, and so many times he liked to pretend that his nightmares didn’t bother him, but it was futile in the end with you. You two were married, you knew everything down to each other’s favorite scent candles, all the way to what made each of you tick.
He hated how pitiful he felt over the trauma of everything, and you were the one lifting him up and comforting him when that’s all he wanted to do for you, and he felt he no longer could.)
“Drink,” you told him, thumb rubbing his nape in comforting circles, “It’ll help your throat.”
He did as you said, parting his lips and letting you tilt the glass forward so that the refreshing and cold water swished along the inside of his mouth and he swallowed it with gluttonous intentions. His throat immediately felt soothed from the refreshing drink, the burning that had been reaching all the way to his ears subsiding as he took a good four gulps before signaling he was done. His tongue slid out to lick along his dry lips (and the one side that’d forever remain that way), and he finally spoke since waking.
“Thank you…”
Kento heard you set the glass back down onto your nightstand, returning to him as your fingers traced along the contours of his face and push away his hair laying over his forehead. “Mm, you don’t have to thank me…” you paused for moment, letting a hand slide down to rest in the middle of his chest, cautious present in your movement and from the way he heard your breath intake and lips part, “…Another nightmare?”
He learned a long time ago that not talking about it made it worse. “Yeah.”
You leaned closer, voice slightly wavering as your sweet smell made him slightly dizzy, yet grounded him, “Was it Shibuya again?”
Against his wishes, his throat closed up and his stomach balled into nausea, a foreign feeling manifesting itself into his eye as he blinked rapidly to try and get rid of it. It wasn’t the mention of Shibuya so much that tore him apart, it was the memories that accompanied him from it and how much he never could escape it despite it being five years since it had happened. He was nowhere near Shibuya, or Jujutsu Sorcery as a whole since he had retired from it after recovering from his injuries, and the society as a whole falling apart on itself after the incident and the many lives that had been taken in the end from the devastating event.
All the lives they had lost… the people he knew that were gone…
He swallowed as that sensation crawled up back into his eye and answering you as he hated the way his voice sounded when he did.
“When isn’t it?”
He felt you shift and then your smell was completely submerging him; shielding him away from all the terrors that threatened to tear his sanity apart and leave him in ragged strips, and his heart threatened to burst through his ribcage for when you came to him for his vulnerability and showcasing your love.
Kento could feel the tear that wanted to fall from the eye he no longer had when you pressed such a tender and loving kiss to the charred skin below the desolate socket free of the eyepatch he wore to kept it hidden from the world, feeling your touch on the same left side of his body completely scarred with the flesh burnt away when you ran your hand along his chest and caressed the area over his heart. It still would beat healthily underneath his ribcage and your touch, a full reminder he was still alive despite everything that had happened. He was still alive with you, and everything was safe.
He was safe.
You were safe.
(You’d be so disappointed in him over his constant worry over you, but he couldn’t help it, not after what had happened that Halloween five years before and the circumstances that pertained to you that day.)
“I’m sorry.”
Your eyelashes fluttered against the wounded skin of his cheek, lips still sweet on him as your hand slid away from his chest and you cupped the smooth side of his face. You turned him to face you, and he was suddenly awestruck like always looking at your figure bathing in the moonshine coming from the various windows of your shared bedroom, every contour on you seemingly shining in the light the moon graced the Earth with as he wanted to find the words to tell you that you were beautiful in spite of telling you so many times before.
One strap of your negligee had slid down your arm, and the soft sigh that left you matched the tenderness in your eyes, “What’re you apologizing for?”
Kento swallowed, wondering how you were still able to look upon him like that when he looked the way he did, “I woke you.”
You sighed and leaned down to press a quick kiss to the area over his heart, pulling your hand away from his face to instead curl your fingers around his own (they were so soft compared to the grooved flesh of his own, and he wondered what it felt like to you each time you touched the left side of him and when you would place a kiss on his mismatched lips). “You know I don’t sleep so much at night as of lately.”
How could he forget? You were twenty-three weeks pregnant. Again.
He paused and lifted his hand, settling it over your belly that was protruding outwards as he remembered his son liked to stay awake at night and kick as opposed to sleeping during the day with you most of the time. He wasn’t sure when you picked up that messed up sleeping schedule (and he didn’t necessarily like it either, often reprimanding you for staying awake into the deep hours of the night and only falling asleep when the clocks began to turn for the morning and sun was rising over the horizon of the ocean), but it made him feel all more bad when you would be awake while he slept soundly half the time.
Holding your stomach brought him more comfort; relaxing him as he remembered the pregnancy along with your daughter’s was an accident all the same. Regardless of it, he was more than happy for a second child (he wanted to laugh when he remembered you told him two was the limit since your daughter was already a handful as was), as deep down he always dreamed of being a father, but being the father of your children only made him all the more ecstatic for what was to come.
“He kicking bad tonight?” he eventually asked, taking to rubbing your belly to see if he could coax any movement out of your son. He loved it when he would kick his hands, his entire body warming with an emotion he couldn’t quite describe as it reminded him of the life inside of you was his family and the very first time you grabbed his hand and let him feel your daughter move.
You stretched and moved to lie back onto your back, Kento subconsciously following you as he rolled onto his side and pressed his lips to your shoulder, and a short yawn left you, “Yeah, though I think he’s starting to take after you and your night owl behaviors.”
“I didn’t stay up late last night.”
“I know, you went to bed at eight. You haven’t done that in so long, thought you might’ve been reverting back to your old man habits.”
He was not old. He was only thirty-three, and you were a year behind him. Kento slid his arm underneath your chest and pinched your side, relishing the small laugh you gave before he sighed and remembered just why he had went to bed so early. “Miho wore me out. I never knew the energy five-year old’s can have.”
“Mmm, I know, she was still wired when I put her to bed. But it doesn’t help you give in and spoil her too.”
“You don’t complain when I spoil you.”
“It’s different.”
He let a hum be his answer, closing his eye and basking in the relaxation he was beginning to feel with you. Yet there was still that lingering darkness haunting him behind his closed eye, and every time he looked into the mirror and saw himself. Kento had never been one for vanity or caring particularly how he looked, however he would admit back when you two had first gotten into a relationship he may have spent a little more time sprucing himself up in the mirror because he wanted to impress you. He had told you many of times he looked like some random guy in comparison to you parading around by his side.
You had told him it was surely the opposite however, reprimanding him for not ever seeing truly how handsome he was.
Nevertheless, he was not a vain man nor took any pride in over his looks, but the moment he looked in the mirror at himself in hospital restroom and saw what he would look like for the remainder of his life, all he could think about was how you would perceive him. Would you look at him in disgust each time he removed his patch and saw the empty place where his eye had sat? Would you shy away from his touch when he would reach a hand out to touch you? Would you never kiss him, hold him, or even touch him again?
Kento knew it was pathetic on his behalf to even think about it, but he wasn’t going to blame you if you were scared of him.
In the end all of it proved to be just his overthinking, you still kissed him the same, still hugged him the same, still held his hand the same, and you still even let him touch you the way he had done so many times before and even waited on him to become comfortable enough again to have sex with him again. It was folly he thought like that, remembering the many times you had kissed every inch of his skin and told him how beautiful he was, but he couldn’t help it at times to think about it.
Especially when it came to his daughter and upcoming son.
Pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder and not yet ready to fall back asleep, he started up another conversation, trying to get any dampening thoughts out of his head, “Thought of a name?”
The sigh that left you made your shoulders droop, your hand moving to thread your fingers into his own as they rested on your ribcage, “No, I even looked at websites… God, don't laugh. You’re a better thinker than I am, have you?”
He hummed and rubbed his cheek along your shoulder, “I have some, but I want you to name him.”
“Kento…”
“It’s only fair. I named Miho, and I thought back then if we were to have another that I’d want you to name them.”
“…You were already thinking about another back then?”
He snorted into your skin, “I told you that having a family with you was something I wanted, even back when we got married it was on my mind… Just didn’t think both times would be unplanned either…”
Sadly, it was true, Miho had been the world’s biggest surprise for him (actually you as well) and the circumstances behind your pregnancy had nearly given him a heart attack when he awoke in that hospital bed, and it was one of the first things that he was told… He could laugh then remembering how pissed you were that you weren’t the one that got to tell him, but the overwhelming emotion of happiness that drowned him knowing you were okay and that he was going to have a child with you won out. His surprise had vanished for an oozing of love and adoration that he was going to have a family.
(You often teased him on how long he held you and how much of a Mother Hen he became over you when he finally got to come home, but he didn’t care, he prioritized you and Miho’s life and health over everything.)
Your upcoming son, however?
He wasn’t sure when that happened, and it wasn’t talked about either as for a long while Kento had thought he’d become infertile from the incident, but fuck, was he wrong. Yet he was not unwelcomed, he was more than happy with you to expand your family by at least one more.
You giggled and he let a small smile press into your shoulder, cherishing in the sound before he felt himself grow sleepier from your voice alone. “I know, but we’ve known longer with him than her, and you got her name out so fast.”
“Give it time, beloved, we still have some months to go.”
You didn’t answer him that time and shifted, turning your head so that your cheek rested atop his hair, the breaths from you tickling his scalp as he realized you were restless. However, you not picking up another conversation was letting those thoughts run their course again, and he was moving his mouth saying and pouring more words out before he could stop them and reprimand himself for bothering you.
“I hope he looks like you…”
“I highly doubt that,” you gave an amused huff and traced a pattern onto the back of his hand with a nail, “he’s more than likely going to look like you.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted that. “Miho looks like you.”
“She has your eyes though, I think my genes only came through because she’s a girl… Though I don’t think that’s how it works…”
Honestly he wasn’t too sure either, he himself knew absolutely nothing about pregnancy and had to read up on it as much as he could to cater to you and tend to your needs. Kento’s eye reopened and he sighed, voice coming out more quieter than he wanted, “…You don’t think he won’t wonder why I look like this?”
He hated that those words passed his lips, but it was fleeting thought he had to let free the moment it passed his mind. He couldn’t hide anything from you any longer, you vouched out every single insecurity to him and he was more than glad you did so that he was able to comfort you, and you had told him many times to let you know if anything ever bothered him; regardless of if it was an insecurity or something you did.
“Kento,” you turned to face him, hand already finding its way to his face as you stroked your thumb along his cheek, “I know he won’t care or wonder, and Miho is proof enough for that too. She’s never once asked you, and she thinks you’re a cool, super, secret hero,” you poked his nose, leaning forward into his face and pressing another kiss onto him while lightly laughing, “She thinks her daddy is a pirate too, she told me today if she thinks if she asked, ‘really nice and with a pretty please’ if you’d take her out on the ocean one day.”
He couldn’t help the rush of heat that flooded up into his cheeks, the flusterment and blush from your sweet words and his daughter’s thoughts about him nearly too much for him to bear. No doubt from the patch he wore over his lost eye she thought that was so, and the few cartoons she had watched that depicted a pirate she associated it with him. It was the most satisfying reassurance he could’ve had knowing Miho never once doubted why her father looked like that and accepted it as was, her childlike fear she may have possessed nonexistent from how much she clung to him.
He had been worried about what his daughter would think of him when she grew old enough to register faces, and even holding her after you gave birth he had been nervous that he was just tainting her alone with the touch of his burnt hand along her soft skin. You had reassured him as quickly as you saw the anxiety present in his expression, something he didn’t think would be possible after everything, and told him that would never be the case. You had told him he wasn’t a monster, that he was still the same Nanami Kento from before and still the same man you had fallen in love with when you were a teenager and would continue to love no matter what.
Kento felt your finger trace down the slope of his nose, breath mingling with his and sweet against his lips as you whispered so softly with a chaste kiss to his top lip, “You really are beautiful, and I wouldn’t trade you or how you are now for anything in the world y’know… You can’t get rid of me so easily either, dork,” you lifted your hand and wiggled your ring finger in his face, the diamond on it glinting and luminous in the moonbeams, “I meant it when I said it that day.”
Eye lidded and sleep beginning to truly befall on him courtesy of your soothing voice and presence, he let a small, lazy smile grace his lips, the hand he had trapped under him and the one forever rough sliding forward to caress your cheek with a thumb stroking your skin as he leaned into you to press a firm kiss to your awaiting lips. You slid your hand down to his heart, fingers splaying as you felt his heartbeat and let him know once more that he was still alive, he was still healthy and you were there with him.
He knew he was more a man of actions at times rather than words, but marriage had made him more sentimental – you had made him more sentimental and he never felt the slightest bit of embarrassment or self-consciousness in ever telling you.
Kento mouthed them against your bottom lip; a lethargic kiss he had placed on you as he let you know from his heart and soul alone like he always did.
“I love you.”
You sighed against his mouth before he pulled away, his eye heavy with exhaustion as you threw a leg over his hip and ran your fingers through his hair, “I love you too, handsome.”
Every time you told him, he stored it away into his heart, keeping it as close as he could as he knew you meant it just much as he meant it every time he told you. Each time you told him was as special as the first time you ever told him, and each time he knew he wouldn’t ever love someone like the way he loved you.
He knew he was able to fall asleep then, the harrowing thoughts and memories gone as you and your touch brought forward new ones he liked to look back into that helped to have the sweet dreams he so longed for that he knew your warmth in the bed with him alone could bring. Yet his sleepiness brought forward more of his eccentric behavior, words flying free of his vocal chords before he could stop them in a rouse to keep the content mood going as he didn’t want to leave you awake without parting you with perhaps something unlike what he would say and knew would make you laugh and lift your spirits.
(And probably tease him over as well in the morning.)
“I’m gonna tell Pumpkin since Imma pirate then you’re the mermaid who captivated me with one look, and now we’re married, and you live on land, and she’s secretly part mermaid.”
“If that wasn’t so cute about Miho, I’d call you corny, Kento. God, you’re such a dad.”
#{🩸} nee fics#nanami kento#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x y/n#nanami kento x you#jujutsu kasien#jujutsu kaisen nanami#jjk#nanami x reader
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blinding faith (1)
fall in line now, bow your head
pairings: cult leader! yunho x disciple! reader (fem) x elder! mingi feat. husband! seonghwa
genre: twisted religious romance (if you can even call it that), smut, late 1970s setting
summary: when it’s revealed that you and Seonghwa are having trouble conceiving, the founder graciously offers his own divine solution.
bend your knee, Child of God
w.c: 4k
warnings: aged up dom! yunho, switch! mingi, subby innocent (?) reader, corruption kink, pet names (for mingi too <3), light pain kink, perversion, major sacrilegious vibes and behavior, heavy mxm, mingi sucks cock, breath play (m receiving), light spit/sweat kink, oral (receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, implied marathon sex, breeding kink, cum eating, squirting, an attempt at impregnation
a/n: this is dedicated to my loveliest lily @bunny4yungi <333 tho this is just part oneee i hope this helps you see the light if ykwim~ happy birthday baby 💕 so yeah this is pure filth,, like idk something must’ve happened to me when i wrote this but it’s prob bc i’m a yunwhore what can i say 🙂↕️🫶🏼 oh and thank you all so very much for getting me to 4.6k followers ;; it means the absolute world to me >< anygaysss happy readinggg and please do lemme know if you’re excited for the second part 🖤
song recs: sunshine of your love by cream - starboy by the weeknd - judas by lady gaga (i’m just a Holy Fool, oh baby, it’s so cruel, but i’m still in love with Judas, baby~~)
As a broke, faithless runaway, especially during such a turbulent decade, you didn’t have many options, to say the least. There was no phone that you could use for miles, not a single soul in sight that you could ask for directions or for a dime they could spare, no map to look at to familiarize yourself with your surroundings — not that it mattered. Why would God provide you with what you needed when your existence itself was an accident? Your own flesh and blood didn’t want you, instead dropping you off at some rundown orphanage while you were still coated in your mother’s vernix caseosa, and crying incessantly for her, for someone, to feed you.
When you were old enough to make rash decisions, you decided that anywhere else was better than that hellish place, tired of waiting for a new pair of faceless parents to force you into their life like a misshapen puzzle piece, instead taking your fate into your own trembling hands.
That was what led you to come across the small, seemingly abandoned town that was located within the forest that you had been wandering inside for so long. All of the quaint, hand-built houses and buildings surrounded a tall, white picturesque church — one you had recognized from the various postcards that you and some of the other orphans had been handed by someone in a long white robe outside of the orphanage, listening intently to their promises of the love and acceptance you would feel if you joined their cause.
And that was when you met him, the man that would alter your life forever, taking away what could’ve been, and instead molding it into what He wanted, what God wanted.
He was hammering in the very last nail into the very last board of wood that kept the church together when he heard the sound of your dirty feet shift through the forest foliage behind him. As if he had been waiting for your arrival, he hummed softly and headed into your direction, not giving you the opportunity to escape when his sweaty, calloused hands enveloped yours, inviting you in with his friendly honey brown eyes, his cracked lips twisting upwards into a smile that sent a wave of instinctual fear into your heart, before his soft, warm words lured you in, forever holding you captive.
“You’ve finally arrived, my child. Welcome home.”
-
Over the years, you were taught by Yunho, your beloved leader, your savior, your everything, that God allowed those he loved the most, those that remained tied to their earthly bonds, to endure deep suffering and endless tribulations — because within that pain, within that humiliation, laid pleasure. Unimaginable pleasure that sat just below the surface. Yunho took great satisfaction in reaching into the darkness, into the depths, and ripping it out with his silver trimmed talons, always willing to graciously bestow it upon his followers.
There was no greater joy than to witness the moment his dear flock began to walk in the truth. He savored the sweet sounds of ecstasy that tore out of their sweat-ridden throats, longed for the moment their rosy faces ceased their contortions, their lips, wet with saliva, their unfocused eyes, wet with tears, knowing that another one of his beloved disciples had seen the light. And they would always look up at him with delicious desperation, begging for another chance to catch a glimpse of heaven once more. And, only because of his unending benevolence and boundless love, he brought them back, expecting nothing in return, except for their undying loyalty.
Yet, none of them were ever as loyal as you, even after you met a lovely man within the congregation to wed. You were still his angel from above. If only he had clipped your wings sooner.
There you were, sitting inside the garden with the other couples, the prettiest flower of them all, just waiting to be plucked, with your husband’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his hands resting gently against your stomach, your hands over his, your head hung downwards, a small, sullen frown gracing your lovely face. Why was his sweetest lily wilting the way she was, instead of holding herself high, closer to the sun, to his everlasting love?
As soon as Yunho made his presence known within the bountiful garden that he had planted with his own two hands so many years ago, his followers grew quiet and offered him their full attention. He basked in it as he made his way in your direction, offering his touch to many of the people nearby, allowing them the privilege of bringing his jewelry-adorned hands up to their cheeks, which he caressed, or their trembling lips, which he brushed gently with his thumbs.
The warmth and light of the sun on your face suddenly disappeared, causing you to look up, your reddened eyes growing wide upon the sight of your savior standing before you. You watched with bated breath as he reached his hand out from behind his back and brought it up to your face, placing a small flower behind your ear. “Savior…”
“Savior, what have we done to be blessed with your presence?” Seonghwa asked, nuzzling his cheek into Yunho’s rough palm once he offered it to him.
“I wanted to check on the progress of your union.” Yunho smiled kindly down at Seonghwa, before returning his attention to you, who continued to gaze up longingly in his direction. “Are you with child, my dearest Y/N?”
You bit down into your bottom lip, your eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, Savior….We’ve been trying our hardest to contribute to your beautiful congregation, yet I remain barren.” You shook your head out of frustration, a stream of tears spilling down your cheeks. “We don’t understand why God has not graced us.”
“Oh, my sweet child. Do not ever allow yourself to cry for sorrow, or pain, but out of joy, of pleasure,” Yunho taught, angling his head down further to gaze at your deliciously distraught expression, unable to keep himself from running his tongue across his bottom set of teeth, pressing one talon underneath your chin, so that you obediently angled it upwards without him having to tell you.
“Yes, Savior…” you whispered, gasping softly at the feeling of the cult leader’s sharpened fingers carefully wiping your remaining tears away, your admiration and love for him sprouting more and more within your beating heart.
Humming, Yunho lowered himself to his knees in front of the both of you, pressing his hands into your stomach through your thin garments. His benevolent smile deepened, his eyes displaying a darkness neither of you could see, not with the allusive veil he had placed over your own. “I will assist you in bearing offspring, my dear. Please come to my bedchambers after supper, and I will show you the true meaning of faith.”
“We offer you a thousand thanks for your grace, Savior…” Seonghwa bowed his head to Yunho, just before he pressed his lips lovingly against your cheek, which you reciprocated without hesitation. Your dear husband sighed with great relief, resting his temple on yours, his long, curled locks tickling your face, his hands returning to your stomach, placing them over Yunho’s this time around.
Despite the tranquility you felt, the sun still shining, a gentle breeze cooling your warm skin, the comforting smell of earth and flowers keeping you grounded, the sound of birds chirping in the trees above your head — there was still something else that you couldn’t quite shake off, something that sat just below the surface of your distorted mind. If you truly wanted to see what it was, you would have to get your hands dirty and dig it up yourself. But, for now, you would live in bliss, in heaven, feeding off of the love and mercy your savior offered you.
Yunho tilted his head to the side, reaching up to adjust the flower that began to fall from your ear, pushing a few strands of hair behind it. He studied your suddenly unreadable gaze from underneath his wispy lashes, his tongue just barely slipping past his curled lips to lick at them. “Is there something on your mind, my lily?”
You simply smiled back at him, your eyelids lowering, batting your own lashes at him. “I’m just admiring my savior and the safe haven he created for us. Makes me want to cry those tears of joy.” You briefly mirrored the perversion he had let slip out only a moment ago. “Of pleasure.”
It was then that Yunho began to grow stiff from beneath his heavy garments, biting at his lip as an attempt to keep himself grounded. This was why you were his favorite. You were his flower to water, to grow, and to tear away from your roots as he pleased. Everything in the garden was his, after all. God told him so.
-
“My love, my heart, my dearest angel, why do you look at me this way? With those tears in your eyes? With such devotion?” Yunho sighed out against your flushed cheek, his body flush against yours, the cold metal of his rosary splayed across your hot skin. You simply couldn’t speak, not with the way he was spilling inside you yet again.
The corners of his lips quirked up into a sadistic smile, his warm, uneven puffs of breath hitting the bottom of your jaw, as he clutched your slick, trembling thighs, holding them farther apart to ensure that he could continue accessing the heaven you kept in between them, the hot, wet haven you allowed your savior to access. “Is it because I’m filling you with my own devotion? Does knowing that my seed will soon grant new life inside of you bring you to tears, Y/N?”
You gazed up at your savior past your wet lashes, reaching down to press your hands into your stomach, feeling the outline of his pulsing cock that twitched inside of you and dribbled a few more beads of cum into your womb, a lust-struck expression carved into your flushed features. “It would be an honor to carry your young, Savior. I’d do anything to carry on your legacy of love.”
“Anything, my dear?” Yunho whispered carefully near your ear, as though he were testing you, before running his tongue along your jaw to get a taste of your essence, slowly making his way down your body, unable to keep himself from tasting your salty skin along the way. “Even though Seonghwa is your beloved husband?”
“Anything. I might be his wife, but you’re my savior, Yunho,” you sighed lovingly as a delightful shiver shot down your spine, not a single doubt present within your meticulously molded mind. Your ideas of the world, your life, its purpose — your saving grace had always been Yunho. How could he not be? Considering he built you himself, with great precision and care. You were the intricate tapestry he painstakingly sewed together year by year, each painful jab of his silver needle acting as a reminder of his divine love for you.
“Say my name again,” Yunho exhaled, his lips ghosting along your abdomen to your navel, unable to keep himself from tonguing it for his own pleasure, his talons leaving red streaks along your skin.
“Yunho,” you repeated, watching as the older man settled in between your thighs, his lips and tongue already exploring your slick entrance, gasping at the sensation of him lapping up his own release once it dribbled out of you.
“Again,” he commanded, his sharp eyes boring into yours from below, pinching your clit in between his teeth, his talons digging into your thighs.
“Yunho..!” You looked down at him with such sincerity, it had the potential to touch Yunho’s corrupted heart, your fingers sifting through his sweat-soaked raven locks, tugging on it once he filled you with his long tongue. You were growing feverish, losing sight of why you were there in the first place. “Don’t stop, Savior…Need more...”
Yunho dragged his tongue over the entirety of your cunt, blowing on it just to make you shudder. “Is that what you tell your husband when you want his cock? What else do you tell him?”
You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling your cunt pulse. “Am I selfish for wanting more of your love? Am I a sinner for wanting you to fill me? I’ll go to hell a thousand times if it means I can have my savior’s love inside me once more...”
The seasoned cult leader’s long-lasting poison was far stronger, far more potent than your sincerities, especially when he administered it to his favorite prey in the most pleasurable, most effective way — with his sweet, saccharine lies that poured out like honey past his shiny, pointed teeth and rough, curled tongue that continued its ministrations on your puffy, used cunt. “Oh, please don’t say things like that, angel. You’ll ruin me for everyone else.”
In reality, you were the one he was ruining, corrupting, defiling — and all in the name of God. It made the cult leader so stiff, he could hardly keep his composure.
You whined softly, shuddering underneath his touch, your hand forming a fist, gripping Yunho’s hair tighter and tighter, the longer he licked at your slit and sucked on your clit like a starved man. “Yunho, please…I won’t last much longer….”
“Would that be such a sin, angel? If you released onto my tongue?” Yunho asked in between lingering licks, his tongue hot and heavy against your leaking cunt, using two fingers to keep your fluttering hole on display for his viewing pleasure, his silver talons gently pressing into your soft flesh. He wondered if he should continue admiring the mess of cum he painted your walls with, or use his saliva-streaked tongue and lips to slurp it out of you, his free hand attempting to milk his slick, throbbing cock. Decisions, decisions.
Yunho wouldn’t have the time to make one, because just then, the cult leader’s most trusted confidant, Song Mingi, knocked on the door and entered without being granted permission, very aware of the privileges he had as a respected elder. The white-haired man saw the nude, disheveled state you were in, your white ceremonial garments laying in a pile on the floor, the love-struck look in your teary, doe eyes, your trembling, marked-up legs still obediently spread open wide for your savior, knowing you’d let Yunho fill and abuse your poor cunt until he saw fit.
“Elder Song, are you going to continue standing there drooling like a dog or are you going to come here?” Yunho asked gruffly, rubbing the pad of his thumb relentlessly into your clit, all while he glowered at the younger man over his shoulder.
Mingi quickly strided over to his leader’s side, sinking to his knees, looking up at him with his apologetic, round eyes. “I…have news, sir. It is of great importance.”
Yunho shook his head slightly, letting out a small chuckle. “The news can wait, Mingi,” the cult leader began softly, reaching over to caress the other man’s cheek, making sure the younger man’s gaze was fixed solely on him. “Can I ask you for something?”
Mingi nodded intently, his lips parted, taking short breaths, as if he was waiting with great anticipation. “Anything, Savior. What do you need from me?”
It was then that Yunho brought the tip of his reddened cock to Mingi’s mouth, drops of pre-cum getting onto his plump, parted lips, his once softened gaze contorting into one of pure perversion. “Can you be a good boy and open up? Hm, princess?”
Mingi closed his eyes, as an attempt to hide the way they rolled underneath his eyelids and the influx of arousal that had spread throughout his body like a virus, his sudden heavy breathing and flushed cheeks betraying him. “Yes, savior,” he moaned out, just as Yunho’s stiff cock filled up his drooling mouth, trying his best not to choke as he repeatedly took it down his tight throat.
Yunho tossed his head back, a few drops of sweat sliding along his straining jaw and staining the bed below, gripping the back of Mingi’s head to make sure he didn’t stop worshiping his cock. “That’s it, princess. You’re taking it so well.”
Mingi groaned wantonly, beginning to grind his own leaking cock against the side of the bed, not even caring that his knees began to ache from being pressed into the hardwood floor below. He found himself gazing down at you, his body on fire from being watched by his savior’s favorite angel, beginning to gag around Yunho’s thick length once he began ramming it down his throat with abandon.
When you let out a small whine from witnessing such a visceral display of power and submission taking place right in front of you, Yunho reminded you with shaky words, “Don’t worry, my angel, this is all for you. Mingi here is going to transfer my love to you once I…Oh, God–”
Mingi’s gaze returned to his savior above, a few tears slipping down his flushed cheeks, his jaw aching from the way Yunho bottomed out completely inside his bulging throat, only to find his oxygen supply suddenly being cut off when the older man pinched his nose.
“You trust me, don’t you, princess?” Yunho asked in an eerily calm tone, not bothering to hide his sadistic tendencies in that moment, throbbing inside the young man’s throat upon seeing his small nods and hearing the tiny, breathless squeaks he made. It was then that he held Mingi completely still until his face began to grow red.
Just when he thought he might pass out, his vision sporting a fuzziness around the edges that reminded him of the television set Yunho had put inside the community room, his throat had finally become unblocked. As he gasped for air, he watched Yunho’s eyes roll into his skull, hot, white ropes of cum splattering onto Mingi’s lolled-out tongue. Before he could swallow, Yunho grabbed his chin and guided him in between your legs.
“Impregnate her, princess. For me,” Yunho whispered into Mingi’s ear, his digits forming a V against your pulsing cunt, spreading you open for Elder Song.
Not letting a drop go to waste, Mingi pursed his lips and sent a wad of cum directly into you, before shoving his tongue in as deep as it would go. He fucked the warm milkiness into you, with sloppy desperation, like the demon dog he was. He looked up to you for approval, which you gave, through your cries of pleasure and your fingers suddenly tugging at his snow white hair. He didn’t even realize he had lost his own composure, until he was whining and whimpering against your slick cunt, soiling his once pristine garments with his sticky load.
Once Yunho watched Mingi pull his tongue out, a few strands of milky saliva connecting his plump lips to your cunt, the cult leader tapped your puffy pussy. “Good boy. Can you fill her up with those thick fingers of yours now?”
Mingi huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath, his pupils blown wide when he looked to Yunho for guidance. “Two? Three? How many, sir?”
“As many as you need to make sure my seed reaches her womb,” Yunho reassured in a gravelly voice, watching as Mingi hovered over you, drops of saliva falling from his open mouth and onto your pleasured face, easily slipping in three fingers up to his knuckles.
Yunho leisurely flicked, squeezed, and rolled your puffy clit, admiring Mingi’s relentless pursuit in finger-fucking you into a state of pure ecstasy, throbbing at the sight of his precious loads dripping down along the other man’s straining wrist and along his veined forearm. “Very good, princess. She’ll be nice and round soon, thanks to your support. Your hard work won’t go unnoticed.”
Mingi bit down into his bottom lip, a few groans slipping out, despite his effort to conceal just how much his leader’s praise affected him. “Thank you, Savior. Now, I’ll make your angel cry out to the Lord,” he began breathily, locking eyes with Yunho for a moment, their digits working in tandem to send you over the edge, their focus returning to you. “Let it be done.”
“Amen,” Yunho sighed, bringing his precious rosary up to his mouth to kiss, the metal cold against his warm lips.
When you began to writhe around, your focus shifting to the various crosses that were nailed to the wall, your forceful release causing your bruised body to seize up, the cult leader suddenly grabbed your chin with his talons, the tips of them stabbing into your skin, drawing blood, making you whimper. His crazed eyes bored into your barely open ones, looking as if he was about to come undone himself, despite not touching himself. “You see it, don’t you, Y/N? Heaven? Isn’t it beautiful?”
It was all too much. The pain. The pleasure. Elder Song watching closely as your squirt soaked his tan skin and the mattress underneath your jolting body, a demonic smile painting his sharp, seraphic face. Your savior clutching you so tight that you bled, his seed blossoming within your womb. It was then that you fell unconscious, your body falling limp against the feather-filled quilt.
Yunho ran his jewelry-adorned fingers along your jaw, letting them graze your neck, down to the cross necklace that laid against your chest. “What did you need to tell me, Mingi?”
Mingi pushed his sweaty bangs back, taking in a deep breath and letting it out, trying to find his composure. “We have two new visitors. They mentioned Y/N by name, and claimed that they grew up in the same orphanage as her. They were hoping to find her here, so that they could…”
Yunho turned his head to glare at Mingi, his gaze alone making Mingi cower. “They want to take her away from me, don’t they? From us? From God?”
Mingi began to scratch at his neck, leaving red streaks behind. “They believe that they can provide her with a better life.”
“And what life could be better than one of enlightenment? Of purity? What could those heathens possibly offer my Y/N that I can’t?” Yunho suddenly erupted, his anger being directed towards Mingi, who lowered his head down, staring at the cross that hung past his chest.
Yunho’s face twitched slightly, his once rage-filled expression dissipating as soon as it had surfaced, as if it had never been there in the first place. It was a simple trick of the light. He placed his hand on Mingi’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, until the unusually timid man found the courage to meet his gaze. “Mingi.”
“Sir?”
Yunho hummed to himself, catching onto the way your breath hitched, as if you had suddenly held it, his honey brown eyes gleaming with pride, and something else, something indistinguishable. “Offer them a room and dinner, oh, and invite our guests to the annual communion on Sunday.”
“Right away, sir,” Mingi replied, getting up from the bed and exiting the room. He pressed his back into the mahogany door and shut his eyes, carefully sliding his fingers into his drooling mouth to savor the taste of his savior’s seed and his angel’s release.
Once he was alone with you, Yunho reached down to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes, smiling knowingly at the sight of them opening. “How much did you hear, sweet girl?”
“Enough,” you whispered carefully, as if you were testing him. You might have been the flower inside his clutches, but you still had thorns.
Yunho began to chuckle softly, before it grew louder and louder, his pleased laughter ringing out through the halls.
One of your threads was beginning to come undone. Nothing a little stitching couldn’t fix.
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Poly!141 X female reader
Title: Shadows in the fog
Pairings: Poly 141 X reader
Warnings: Poly relationship, Typical COD violence (reader gets shot), descriptions of blood/wounds, canon typical COD stuff:)
Summary: The 141 and female reader (call sign: Viper) are on a mission. But what will happen when it all goes wrong?
Type: Angst💔
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The night was dense with fog, the kind that clung to your skin and turned every breath into a veil of chill. Task Force 141 had been sent deep into hostile territory, their mission clear: retrieve critical intel and get out. You were embedded with them, a vital part of the team. Captain Price led the way, his presence a solid reassurance in the murk. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz moved like shadows, each step calculated, every sound absorbed by the oppressive darkness.
You had the rear, scanning for any sign of threat, nerves on edge. Suddenly, the crack of a gunshot shattered the silence. Then the force of the bullet slamming into your side. Pain exploded through your body, and you fell to the ground, gasping for air. The world started to spin, edges blurring as you struggled to stay conscious. How had it happened so quick? Where were they? Why had nobody noticed?
"Man down!" Gaz's voice cut through the haze, urgency sharp in his tone.
Price was at your side in an instant, his eyes fierce with determination. "We've got you Viper, stay with us," he commanded, pressing his hands against the growing wound on your stomach to staunch the bleeding.
More shots wrung out as Ghost and Soap take out the last of the enemies in the area. They flank you, their eyes scanning the perimeter for the shooter. "Oi! Soap, cover us! Ghost, get her ready for exfil!" Price barked, his voice a lifeline in the chaos.
Soap moved to cover, his weapon ready, eyes cold and focused. Ghost knelt beside you, his normally stoic mask cracking with worry. "Hold on, love," he murmured, his voice soft enough that only you could hear. "We're getting you out of here." He grabbed your arm, keeping you stable. He promised you he’d protect you. And he failed.
When you looked down, you groaned. “Fucking ‘ell thats a lot of blood.” Your hands were painted a sickly crimson red from pressuring the wound.
Your vision darkened, the pain becoming a distant throb. Though, you could just make out Ghosts eyes behind the mask, a mixture of fear and protectiveness.
Gaz returned, his face grim. “LZ is hot, but it’s the only way. We need to move now.”
Price lifted you with a grunt, the pain sparking fresh agony through your body. “Stay with me viper.”
Each step was a struggle, every movement a battle against the encroaching darkness. You could feel your strength ebbing away, the world becoming a distant echo. Ghost’s hand remained on your arm, his touch a constant reassurance.
Soap and Gaz took point, their movements precise, deadly even. Every shot was more accurate than the last, determined to get you home safe, a vow to get you home alive. Price’s jaw clenched as they reached the exfil, his jaw set in determination.
Finally, the helicopter loomed ahead, a beacon in the night sky. They hustled you inside, the roar of blades a deafening epiphany. Yet you couldn’t hear them. You couldn’t hear anything.
Your consciousness continued to dip, vision turning blacker than the world outside. Ghost continued to grip your arm, keeping you stable. “You’re going to make it Viper, not long now. We can’t lose you.” You heard the underlying message. He couldn’t lose you.
The others hung nearby, their eyes never leaving your face. Soap and Gaz took defensive positions, their focus split between the enemies and their fallen girl.
The two medics onboard worked frantically, but you could feel yourself slipping further. “Oi, stay with us Viper!” Ghost muttered once he saw your eyes begin to roll back.
The last thing you saw before the darkness claimed you was their faces, a mixture of love and worry. The group showed raw, clear emotion. Ghosts deadly grip on your arm, Price’s intense gaze, Soap’s protective stance and Gaz’s unwavering focus. You knew you were in safe hands.
And so you shut your eyes.
In the days that followed, you drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain a constant reminder of the hardships of your job. Save the world, and sacrifice yourself whilst doing so. However, your stomach was beginning to heal. Not without a nasty scar though.
Every time you opened your eyes, you saw atleast one of them there. A constant companion. They never left you, a constant reminder of the unbreakable bond you had all formed.
#cod modern warfare#cod reverse harem#cod mw2#cod mwii#ghost x reader#ghost x reader x soap#polyamory#poly 141 x reader#poly 141#cod angst#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#john soap mactavish#captain john price#cod x reader#ghoap x reader#gaz x reader#price x reader#soap x reader
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- shadow
summary: feyd-rautha harkonnen - a psychotic, evil man who knew nothing but pain. his coming of age was the most anticipated event of giedi prime, but he did not expect to find his future bride while missing out on the festivities - a quiet bene gesserit witch, who had come to the na-baron’s birthday celebration, just to do her job. oh, how the tables have turned.
pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x afab!bene gesserit!reader
word count: 1.7k
warnings: violence, use of the voice, feyd being obsessed with reader from the moment he saw her <3
author’s note: english is not my first language! if there are any (and i mean ANY) errors, please lmk. fic is unedited!! this is also my first “dune” work so pls don’t go too rough on me ty xx
“I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer.”
You keep repeating that one single statement in your mind as you approach Giedi Prime. In all honesty, you were terrified. You knew, that it was wrong to be scared. You resided the plan given to you by the Reverend Mother. The objective was to seduce the young na-Baron, make him take the Gom Jabbar test and secure the bloodline. Sounds easy enough.
Then why were you shaking like a leaf?
“Nervous, sister?” Margot teased, breaking your trance. Lady Fenring was a beautiful Bene Gesserit, bewitching any man who came her way. Some called her mesmerizing, others - a manipulative she-devil. But that just proved, that she was a master at her work.
“No. Why do you ask?” You finally answered after staring at the wall in front of you for a tiny bit too long. Of course, you were nervous. You were surprised, that she wasn’t.
“You just seem.. worried, that is all,” she smirked after her comment, silently making fun of your nervous state.
You noticed your hands shaking. Shit. You took your gloves, that were laying next to you and slid them on. Perhaps, it was just cold.
“No need to worry about me, sister. It is just colder here than in Kaitan,” You give her a soft smile and continue looking out the window of the aircraft.
You were landing.
As you stood on Giedi Prime ground, you looked around and breathed. It was warmer than you had anticipated. But the people weren’t like the weather at all. Everyone was pale and cold as if they lived in an eternal winter. You couldn’t blame them, though.
You turned. Before you floated the Baron- a large and hideous man, being kept alive by a machine. You wished you could pull the plugs and watch him shake and squirm until he’d die. You couldn’t do that, of course. You’d die instantly if you even laid a finger on him.
To his left stood Glossu Rabban, the Baron’s oldest nephew. He was known as the “Beast”, to which you laughed at when you were alone. You wished you were alone right now. Ironically, Rabban was also a huge and hideous man. Like uncle, like nephew, you figured.
“And this is my youngest,” the Baron pointed to the tall man to his right, “Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. He is my proudest achievement.”
You looked up from the Baron to see this “proudest achievement”. The person you saw.. made your blood run cold, yet your face filled with heat.
Feyd-Rautha stood tall and proud, his muscles showing through the black armor he had on. His piercing blue eyes were already on you. In fact, they had not left you since the moment you stepped foot on Giedi Prime. To him, you were the most beautiful and pure thing to have ever lived. An angel, he thought.
You bowed, not letting your gaze leave his. He was beautiful. Absolutely stunning.
Just then, he started walking over to you. You felt as if everyone had disappeared. It was just you and him. Lady Fenring was standing mere steps away from you, watching intently as Feyd made his way over to you. He took your hand in his, brushing his lips over your knuckles.
“It is an honor to meet you, my Lady,” he uttered in a rough voice. You had heard all sorts of things about his voice - how it scared off even the strongest warriors, how it made people fall to their knees. To your surprise, it was almost comforting. Like music to your ears.
You nodded and bowed.
“I hope to see you this afternoon, my Lady,” he seemed to put an emphasis on addressing you as his.
“I will be there, my Lord na-Baron,” you continued looking into his cold eyes as you spoke.
Feyd smirked and gave your hand one last kiss, before stepping back to his uncle’s side. His eyes never left yours as the Baron continued blabbering nonsense. You tried focusing on his words, you really did.. but something about the man you had just spoken to kept your soft gaze glued to his.
You could not wait for the evening to come.
Everyone was preparing for the na-Baron’s birthday celebration. The celebration being a brutal fight between Feyd and drugged hostages. Everybody knew that, yet nobody seemed to care - as long as the future Baron won every battle he was in.
The dress you had slipped on was a white gown with millions of tiny pearls attached. It reminded you of home - of Kaitan. A long, white veil covered your face. You examined yourself in the mirror ahead of you, taking time in smoothing out your dress. You looked perfect.
“Let me take over the job,” a voice muttered behind you. You spun around to see Lady Fenring, wearing the same gown as you, just black.
“Why should I, sister?” You slowly turned around and treaded towards her. In mere moments, you stood face to face with Margot.
“Because you’re obviously not fit for it. You’re squeamish and a coward. The na-Baron scares you and you won’t be able to secure the bloodline,” she smirked and looked down at you. She was always like this - looking down on you. You were her shadow. But not anymore.
You quickly pulled out your blade, that was attached to your thigh, making her let out a gasp as she hit the wall behind her. You pressed the cold, sharp metal to her pale throat.
“Would you like to test me, dear sister? Though, I wouldn’t like getting your blood on my dress. I have a job to do later, remember?” you threatened her as she pleaded with you to let her go and spare her. You stared at her with wild eyes before letting the blade travel from her throat back to the strap around your thigh. You gestured for her to leave the guest room, that you were staying in. She quickly sprinted out the room, shivering. You felt proud of yourself for standing up to her. You should do this more often, you thought to yourself.
You entered the balcony of the triangle shaped arena and sat down on the right side. The black sun of Giedi Prime made everything black and white - from the pale faces of the cheering people, to the Baron sitting straight across from you. He was staring daggers into your eyes from the balcony on the other side. You lowered your spyglasses and breathed out.
The commentator announced Feyd’s name. You quickly scooted over to the edge of your seat, wanting to get a better look at him. He walked out the large gates of the arena, tall and mighty. He looked terrifying, yet absolutely beautiful. You wondered what he was thinking and how he was feeling. You took your spyglasses and brought them back to your face, just to see Feyd already looking at you. A shiver ran down your spine, seeing how he stared at you. The lust, that glistened in his eyes was undeniable. He was like a predator, about to devour its prey. Well, he was about to do the exact thing to drugged captives.
The fight started. Feyd went through the first two prisoners with ease, slashing their throats and making them fall, dead, laying in a pool of their own blood on the white looking sand. But the last hostage was.. different. He looked conscious, while the previous ones slurred their movements and were gone in seconds. You took your eyes away from the ongoing battle to look at the Baron. Oh, God.
He had a nasty smirk on his face. Vladimir was on the edge of his seat, staring down at his fighting and panting nephew. He had planned it. The Atreides slave wasn't drugged. It was all an elaborate plan.
You drawed your attention back to Feyd. It looked like he was winning so far. He was holding the captive by the back of his head, drool dripping from his mouth, his black teeth shining through his big grin. One last stab and Atreides was on his knees, heaving.
"You fought well, Atreides.." Feyd whispered, yet it could be heard throughout the whole arena.
Cheers errupted and Feyd's name was heard from every corner. Feyd slid his blade out the goner's corpse and lifted it up in the air, the cheers becoming louder. Fyed celebrated his victory by yelling and shouting words in the Harkonnen language, which you couldn't understand. The cheers and chants turned into whispers and people leaving the arena as Feyd made his way to the large gates.
"It was rigged," you spoke in a low voice, just for you to hear.
The celebrations were wild and loud as fireworks went off outside. Feyd walked through the dark corridors of the manor, processing the talk he had earlier with his uncle. Arrakis was destined to be his. All of it. A future Baron and the leader of the spice fields. Everything would be in the palm of his hand.
As he wandered the halls, he felt eyes piercing through the back of his head. Someone was strolling right behind him for God knows how long. He stopped in his tracks, and so did the person following him.
"I know you're there," he voiced in his stern and scratchy voice.
"Good," you spoke, lowly.
Your voice sent goosebumps down every crevace of his body. It was you - the woman he couldn't keep thinking about since the very moment he saw your face. Yes, it might have been veiled but he knew that it was as gorgeous as your voice and your body.
He turned around to face you, gazing down at your, now, unveiled and bare face. You were as stunning and as breath-taking, as he thought you'd be. He had a soft smile plastered on his face.
"You're just as beautiful as I imagined you to be," he whispered softly, caressing your cheek. It was unusual. You'd known this man for, what, eight hours? But you felt like you'd known him for years.
"You fought well."
Your voice ringed in his mind, yet your lips.. they weren't moving. Feyd realized. You were Bene Gesserit.
His eyes slightly widened and his pale lips parted in shock.
"You.. you're a witch," he mumbled, his hand leaving your face.
"You could say that," your soft voice continued traveling through his head like a song.
You stepped away from him, marching straight past him and into the guest wing. Feyd followed you with his eyes and then with his feet. He seemed to be, almost, hypnotized by the way you moved. He didn't even notice as you two strolled into your dimly-lit bedroom. You took your silk hood off, sitting down on the soft, cushioned bed. Feyd stared daggers into your eyes with his own - blue and cold. You gestured for him to come over to you. He, obviously, obeyed.
He slowly strided over to you, now standing right in front and looking down at you.
"Kneel," you stated in a distorted voice. Feyd quickly got on his knees, now looking up. He moved his face closer to yours, before feeling a certain coldness near his right hand. He looked down.
A small box with a gap sat neatly on a tiny wooden table.
He looked up at you to see a worried look on your face.
Then - a sharp needle next to his neck.
This was a night you and Feyd would never forget for the rest of your lives.
#feyd rautha#screaming crying throwing up#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd rautha x reader#feyd rautha x you#gnawing at the bars of my enclosure#dune part two#dune#dune movie#somebody sedate me
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Thinking about monsters right now. More specifically shark mer and his little scuba diver human. Again as they are just too cute not to write about.
It's been hours into your slow ride back to the land and hes shifted you two back into a comfortable position. At least for him. As your sat knelt down with your thighs pinned by his heavy head using you as a pillow while his barrel like arms wrap around your lower half.
The crew not wanting to jostle the hanging cage too much desided that maybe being dipped back into the water would hopefully shoo off the shark mer. So they lowered the two of you back into the cool sea just enough so your lap and half of his face was submerged. It seemed to make him pleased as a content sigh left his parted lips but other then that he made no sign of leaving.
You where now stuck with the world's most dangerous weighted blanket slowly being tugged through the sea. It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't seem to enjoy scaring the life out of you. With little too firm grips to your soft sides. Testing the thin skin with his much too sharp claws or nuzzling his face into your plush belly. While his parted lips allowed those perky white razor sharp teeth to skim over your flesh just barely mising nicking your flesh.
The teasing always enticed a sharp whimper or jolt out of you and in turn he made almost happy sounding thrills and purrs. How could he not!? Having such a silly little thing in his arms making the most silly of chirps made his tail wigge.
It was only when a pretty daring sailor desided "fuck it" and napped one of their long handled nets. He took off the net part and used the handle to start poking at the cage making the metal against metal clang loudly.
"Shoo! Get yah wild thing!" He starts yelling. The other sailors started getting onto him for getting so loud. They where trying to keep the diver alive not get her caught up in a wild mers rampage. Though they didnt do much to stop him other then yelling and watching. In all honesty they all where scared shitless, it was one thing being near sharks but shark mers and a great white one at that ment trouble. And they where not payed enough to deal with that.
This was when your fear spiked past what the mer had started. The loud noises and jostling of the cage made your breath shutter and body tremble. This also seemed to rise an reaction out of the mer, seeing his cute little human becoming so stressed from something he didn't do made the hairs on his neck raise and his head lifted from your lap.
his head lifted up over your hunched form, your hands clenched to your chest as an attempt to keep them from shaking too much. But when the shooting and clanging abruptly stopped curiosity pulled you to peek up at the mers face. His face almost made your heart stop. Eyes narrowed into a deep glare and his lips pulled back in the largest snarl you've ever seen on a human like face.
It just reminded you how much he wasn't human along with his sharp teeth showing, the many rows just peeking out as he started up a low rumbling growl at the cocky sailor. Just daring him fo attempt that again and find out what he can truly do.
The sailor backed off, with a wounded pride and loud hazing from the others. Somehow seeing the mer calm back down and lean back to hovering his race right at eye height of yours with those softened eyes seemed to calm back down your gasping breaths and tremoring hands. He let you relax back into a calm cold sweat before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. The heat of his breath finally calmed you into hesitantly wrapping your arms around his torso.
A sweet little calm after that sudden storm made the perfect distraction before a sudden yelp escaped your lips. It came from a sharp pain enveloping your shoulder before the mer pulled back with a shit eating grin that showed his now blood tipped teeth.
Maybe it was the fear or enticing scent coming from your small frame. Whatever it was he just needed a taste, just to know if he would have to worry about getting sudden hungers for his sweet little human. Thankfully your blood didn't taste any better then others. But that adorable little sound that came from you really made his gills flare before leaning back down to rest his head on your lap.
You couldn't even check the wound as he immediately went to fiddling with your fingers. Bending them and rubbing his pads against the blunt of your nails making it impossible to pull them away and touch at the dull stinging coming from your shoulder.
At least it didn't hurt too bad, maybe only stinging so much from the dried sea salt stuck to your skin. But it did remind you that you where dealing with a wild animal here. No matter how intelligent he showed to be. He was still a creature of ths sea and not to be played with as if some kind of house pet.
Its Pan! I'm so happy that this little idea exploded so much. XD Really makes me happy seeing my ideas being liked and my ideas being explored a bit. Though Iv never really been good at long fics without ideas and prompts from others. Xp If yall have any questions about Shark boi and his little diver go ahead and ask! I'm open for any questions and am happy to answer >w< Anyways have a nice night!
#idk wtf im doing#ideas#monster x reader#x reader#thinking about#monster boyfriend#monster fucker#monster lover#mermay#merman#shark boi
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COME TO ME, [ ]!
The caged bird jolts from its chained perch, eyes flying open at the call from the Master. A summons. Fear and nervousness flutter together in an unsettling swirl inside the pit of its stomach; the master sounds angry, furious, and that’s not a good sign.
Then, Anemo energy crackles up around the bird-demon of its own volition; the Master who owns it has called for it, and so it must answer.
… Whether it wishes to, or not. For the Master holds its name, and so the body obeys swiftly, even when the mind hesitates. Even when the mind screams and refuses–
The Master’s orders are absolute.
I want to die.
Anemo energy whips around his bruised, bleeding body. Then the entire world turns on its head and shifts, and the bird is no longer inside its cage, nestled deep within the caverns of a mountain where light does not reach. Instead–
Light. The sun is blinding, and the surrounding wind howls like an enraged storm.
(Blood lingers in the air, so thick that the bird can almost taste it upon its tongue.)
Battle-honed instinct immediately draws a spear into its hands, blocking the swing of a sword before it can even take stock of its surroundings. But the force behind the sword is unexpectedly strong, and the bird finds itself thrown to the side, violently flung away–
I want to die.
TO ME, [ ], YOU USELESS WRETCH.
The bird gasps, pain exploding across its abdomen as it’s forcibly summoned in front of the Master to block the blade with its body. For the first time, the bird is able to take a proper look at its attacker –the Master’s enemy– and they’re–
Wearing the shape of an adolescent girl, with long white hair and blue eyes that shine with an unearthly light–
A god.
There’s no mistake. Their essence is the same as its master’s. That’s a god.
And clearly, a powerful one.
The girl-god’s blade is dripping with blood –and the bird finally realizes the reason for it. Around them, the bodies of the Master’s other thralls lie broken and bleeding; some of them dead, others on the verge of death. Even the Master –the Master is bleeding, clutching at the bloody stump of a severed arm that drips black ichor onto the ground.
The bird stares at the young god. Blue eyes regard it dispassionately in return.
I want to die.
“You know what to do, my little bird,” the Master snarls from behind it. “Stall it using every means at your disposal. Do not allow her to harm me.”
I want to die.
[ ], defend me.
The bird jolts, and darts forward immediately at its master’s command. A new spear materializes beneath its hands, and it stabs forward. The weapon lances through the air, Anemo energy rippling around it in a wild vortex–
But the winds dissipate before they can reach the young, nameless god. Who simply raises her blade again and easily cuts through the god-killing metal of the very spear that the bird holds. Clang, clang. The broken halves of the spear do not last long beneath the sharpness of the nameless god’s sword, and the bird finds itself staring down the pointed end of that crimson blade.
I want to die.
[ ], fight with all your strength.
The bird screams. Anemo energy surges up around it, but it’s not the pain of uncontrollable winds slicing into its flesh that causes it to scream, but instead the sensation of a clawed hand digging in and crushing its soul, forcing it to obey fight kill devour–
The bird flies forward, slamming into the nameless god with sharp talons, losing grip on its human shape. Bloodied, mangled wings beat behind it, feathers as sharp as knives.
It’s no use. The bird is unable to leave so much as even a single scratch on the nameless god, whose expression does not once change towards it.
… Please let me die.
“It is finished!” The Master proclaims, triumph threaded through their words. No, no, no! “Powerful though you might be, you are but a youngling, unknowing of arcane magics beyond your comprehension. Upon mine authority, the Mistress of Dreams hereby commands you: Henceforth, you shall faithfully obey your Lord and devotedly serve the Master of your soul, Decarabian!”
#Writing#zenith of stars au#guili au#au of an au#this is an au of the mondstadt au#in which balor wanders into liyue instead of staying in mondstadt region#has a not so friendly encounter with a local god#then again#it's debatable whether balor herself is very friendly either#xiao pov#at a loose estimate there are two other parts to this scene#we'll see if i ever get around to them haha
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Witness | CL16
Summary: In the shadowy world of Monaco's elite, the Leclerc family reigns supreme. Charles Leclerc, the charming middle son, maintains their pristine public image—until one rainy night, during a fit of rage, Charles does the unthinkable. A young woman witnesses his actions, and her terrified eyes haunt him. Consumed by guilt and fear of exposure, Charles embarks on a desperate search to find her before she can destroy his family’s legacy. As he delves deeper into Monaco's underbelly, Charles must confront his own darkness and the lengths he will go to protect his family.
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x OC (name to be revealed)
Warnings: Violence, blood, angst
Masterlist
Chapter 2
It was never her intention to stay in Monaco for as long as she did. The decision was made on a whim, a spontaneous deviation from their original plan. She and her best friend, Diana, had pooled all their savings to backpack through Europe, a final adventure before heading off to university the following year. They had dreams of exploring ancient cities, savoring exotic cuisines, and collecting stories to last a lifetime.
Except, they never made it out of Monaco. Halfway through their adventure, they ran out of money. The glitz and glamour of the principality had drained their funds faster than they anticipated. In a desperate bid to keep their dream alive, they decided to find work in Monaco until they had enough money to continue their journey or return home.
But they stayed. For her best friend, the decision was driven by an insatiable hunger for adventure and the thrill of the unknown. Monaco, with its opulent casinos, stunning coastline, and vibrant nightlife, was an irresistible playground. Every day brought new experiences, new faces, and the promise of excitement just around the corner.
For her, staying was about something deeper, something more poignant. She was trying to find a place to call home after the devastating loss of her parents. The memories of her past were wrapped in sorrow, her hometown a landscape of grief she wasn’t ready to face. If she had to return, it would be to a cold, empty apartment filled with silent reminders of a life she once cherished. The photographs on the walls, the worn furniture, the lingering scent of her parents’ presence—all of it was too much to bear.
Selling the apartment didn’t feel right either. It was her last tangible connection to her family, a physical space where she could still feel their presence. Despite her financial struggles, she couldn’t bring herself to part with it. It was her sanctuary, her link to a past that, while painful, was also filled with love and warmth. The idea of someone else living there, of it becoming just another property on the market, was unthinkable.
So she chose to stay in Monaco, finding solace in its cobblestone streets and the endless blue of the Mediterranean. She worked various jobs, from waiting tables to cleaning hotel rooms, anything that would allow her to survive and maybe, just maybe, thrive. Monaco became a place of healing, a backdrop to her search for a new beginning. It offered a sense of anonymity and escape, a way to redefine herself away from the shadows of her past.
Every day was a balancing act between the need to move forward and the pull of her memories. She built a new life in the bustling, vibrant city, finding moments of joy amidst the challenges. Monaco's beauty and chaos gave her the distraction she needed, and the transient nature of the city’s inhabitants meant she could reinvent herself as often as she needed to.
As they gained experience and confidence, their opportunities expanded. Waitressing in the casino was the next step—a more upscale, lucrative option that introduced them to a different side of Monaco's glittering facade. The casino, with its opulent decor and high-stakes atmosphere, was a realm of its own. She found herself fascinated by the people who frequented it: the wealthy, the desperate, the lucky, and the reckless. Each night brought new stories, new interactions, and a deeper understanding of the world she had plunged into.
Now, she manages the blackjack tables at one of the more popular casinos in the city. It's a position of responsibility and respect, one that she has earned through hard work and dedication. Her calm demeanour and sharp mind make her a natural at handling the complexities of the job. She ensured the games ran smoothly, the customers were satisfied, and the house always had the upper hand. It was a far cry from the uncertain young woman who arrived in Monaco, and she took pride in the journey she had made.
Diana's lust for adventure meant she took a different path. Drawn by the allure of the open sea and the promise of new experiences, she ended up working as a stewardess on one of the locals' yachts. It was a job that took her beyond Monaco's borders, allowing her to travel to Italy, France, and Spain. Each trip was a new chapter, filled with sun-soaked days, glamorous parties, and the thrill of the unknown. She revelled in the freedom and excitement, her heart set on exploring as much of the world as she could.
Their paths diverged, but their bond remained strong. They shared stories of their adventures and challenges, finding comfort in each other’s experiences. She would listen to tales of Mediterranean coastlines and opulent yachts, while Diana would hear about the intrigues and dramas unfolding at the blackjack tables. They were both carving out their own versions of success, driven by different motivations but united by their shared past and the dreams that brought them to Monaco.
In the midst of their bustling lives, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Monaco had become more than just a stop on their journey. It had become a place where she could redefine herself, a place where she could heal.
For her, the days following the incident were a nightmare. She tried to stay indoors as much as she could, avoiding the outside world and the risk of bumping into the murderer. The image of Charles, his hands covered in blood and his eyes wild with panic, was seared into her mind. She didn’t know if he would harm her too and if she was in danger simply because she had witnessed his crime.
She was violently ill, throwing up every day as the memory crossed her mind. The nausea wasn’t just physical; it was a visceral reaction to the terror and helplessness she felt that night. Her once safe and vibrant life in Monaco now felt like a trap, with shadows lurking around every corner. The fear was suffocating, pressing down on her with every heartbeat.
When she finally returned to work, she took a different route, meticulously planning her path to avoid that alley. The thought of walking past the place where she saw the life drain from a man's eyes was unbearable. She couldn’t face it, couldn’t let the reminder of that night haunt her more than it already did. The new route was longer, more cumbersome, but it provided a small measure of psychological relief.
Her colleagues at the casino noticed the change in her demeanour. She was quieter, more withdrawn, her usual spark dimmed by the weight of her secret. Managing the blackjack tables required her to maintain a calm and composed exterior, but inside, she was constantly on edge. Every new customer, every unexpected movement, set her nerves alight with anxiety.
Despite her efforts to avoid the memory, it lingered. The dark alley, the rain-soaked streets, the brutal fight—they were always there, lurking just beneath the surface of her consciousness. She found herself jumpy, easily startled, her senses heightened by a perpetual state of fear. The once vibrant city had become a maze of potential threats, each day a challenge to her sanity.
Diana, busy with her own adventures on the yachts, noticed something was wrong but couldn’t quite understand the depth of her trauma. She tried to be supportive, offering distractions and comforting words, but the horror of that night was something words couldn’t soothe. She couldn’t share the full truth, couldn’t burden her friend with the gruesome reality of what she had witnessed.
She was trapped in a silent nightmare, each day a struggle to maintain a semblance of normalcy while the weight of her secret threatened to crush her. And in the midst of this, Charles was searching for her, driven by his own fears and need for redemption. Their paths, once accidentally crossed, were now inexorably linked, setting the stage for a confrontation that would force them both to face the darkness within and around them.
She contemplated reporting the incident, but fear held her back. She knew he had seen her face, and had gotten a good enough look to identify her. The uncertainty of who he was or what he was capable of paralyzed her. The thought of police protection felt like a distant hope. She was a foreigner, a transient figure in Monaco, and doubted the Monegasque police would prioritise her safety over the influence and power someone like him might wield.
The universe seemed to be playing a sick game of cat and mouse with her and Charles, with each of them constantly missing the other by just a few minutes or a turn of a corner. Their paths continued to intertwine in frustratingly close calls—Charles arriving at a café just as she left, her taking a different route home just minutes before he passed by. The tension built with each near encounter, the stakes rising as both their lives remained suspended in this cruel game.
She tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, but every creak of her apartment, every unexpected knock, sent her heart racing. She kept the lights off, the curtains drawn, as if hiding from the world would somehow keep her safe. She longed for her friend’s carefree spirit, for the days when her biggest worry was earning enough to continue their adventure. Now, every moment was tinged with the fear of being found.
As the days passed, she realised she couldn’t keep living in fear. The incident had fractured her sense of security, but she was determined not to let it break her completely. She started to devise a plan, thinking of ways to leave Monaco, to start over once again. But the thought of running, of abandoning the life she had built, filled her with a deep sense of loss.
Unbeknownst to her, Charles was closing in. His determination to find her, to make things right, was relentless. He scoured the city, desperate for any clue that would lead him to her. The closer he got, the more his anxiety grew, knowing that confronting her would mean facing his own demons and the possible unravelling of his family’s carefully constructed empire.
In the heart of Monaco, their fates were on a collision course, bound by a night of violence and a web of secrets. The question remained: when they finally met, would it bring redemption or ruin for both of them?
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Taglist: @annie115 @snzleclerc
#charles x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#formula 1#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#f1 x reader#formula one x reader#leclerc#ferrari f1#charles leclerc 16#forza ferrari#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fluff#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc smut#monaco grand prix#monaco gp 2024#monaco24#monaco 2024#mafia!charles leclerc#mafia!f1#mafia!au
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Faster
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader
Warning: TVDU inspired Vampire Aemond, blood drinking, manipulation (compulsion), Aemond being practically bored, Aemmy is also slight delulu, suicidal thoughts, angst? Could be.
A/N: I thought Aemond wearing Ewan’s CCXP outfit while writing this. Wipes off the drool
Tagging @hotd-bigbang for giving me miraculous push for finishing the last part for the road prompt 24. Love you.
Masterlist
Run.
Someone said.
Run.
You could feel your limbs giving up. Every time your bare feet hit the ground, you could feel the dry twigs and leaves poking and piercing them. Each step now made you feel as if your legs will give out and you’d fall or either they will tear off. You even feared your bone breaking, cracking any moment.
Run.
You wanted to run.
You didn’t want to run.
You should run.
You didn’t want to though.
You want to stop.
You cannot stop.
But why?
Why couldn’t you stop?
You felt yourself slowing down but the very next moment you again gained speed.
Faster.
Something in you was telling you.
Why? You thought, your breaths coming in pants, your mouth open as your body called for more oxygen for energy to run. Why am I running?
You heard a sound going off around you. It was pleasant, for sure, melodic. But it felt just as haunting in the dark night with just a half moon to show you light. You wished it was either a full moon or no moon at all. You’d see something or you won’t be seen too but it was this night you were running.
The branches of the trees around you were not any helpful, you felt them scratch your arms and face every now and then.
You were so tired. So tired, that you hadn’t even seen the root of tree and trip over it, your body slamming into the tree right in front of you. You couldn’t make out what did you hit but your shoulder was throbbing, you could feel your hasty pulse through the flesh.
Thump
Thump
Thump
You wanted to yell, cry out as loud as you could, but all that came out of your mouth was a gasp.
You couldn’t even scream.
Why?
Where did your voice go?
What was even going on?
There was no time for it. You stood up, pushing your hand against the rough tree trunk, you felt it’s bark cutting through the soft skin of your palm, but it didn’t stop you.
You had to run.
You took a step forward almost ending up face first into the dry leaves on the ground if it wasn’t for the tree that had tripped you, you had taken a hold of it as soon as the sharp pain shot through your ankle.
You had hurt your ankle as well as your shoulder.
There was something stuck in your chest. Something heavy that wanted to be let out but you couldn’t. The burning and weighing down on your chest that almost made you fall but you held onto the tree more than that and dragged yourself ahead to whatever direction it.
You had to run.
“Well, this took a boring turn.”
You felt as if you’d pulled a muscle in your neck with speed you turned around as pain struck you. Or was it your shoulder? You weren’t sure.
Whatever it was, it didn’t matter anymore.
In front of you was a man, leaning on a tree, you couldn’t see much of him because of the darkness but the pale skin of his hands and face, half of which was covered in something dark, and the golden silver tresses pulled back that seemed to shine in the darkness of forest on it’s own self and an eye. A vibrant violet eye, that stood out most of him.
And it came to you.
It came to you like water rushing into a river, so fast that it would flood places around it.
He told you to run. He told you not to make a sound. He told you to not slow down. He told you to never stop, even it your legs break. Never. Stop.
He, your captor.
Aemond. A whisper from your mind came. His name is Aemond.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, holding onto the tree for your life. “please.”
You remember now.
He promised you that he’d let you go.
You could leave if you didn’t stop, didn’t make a sound until you made it out of the forest.
He promised. And he promised that if he found you before it... Well you knew what would happen.
Again.
You held your breath as he started to move and you pushed yourself into the tree, it’s bark scratching your open back, you felt a branch in the back of your shoulder, it felt like embedding in it.
“Sh.. it’s alright. It is not your fault.” His voice was soft, just like it was when he brushed your hair this morning and gave your sheer, white shift dress to wear, the same dress that was now coated with dust and leaves, torn at some places. He had smiled at you just like this after that, telling you how you both would have fun tonight, before feeding you all of your favourite delicacies. “You are but a foolish human. That’s why I take care of you. My sweet foolish doll, always making me go to lengths to take care of you. Look how dirty you got yourself.”
His hands reached up to you, you flinched as he rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks, you sniffled at the burn that caused.
You face cradled in one hand, he pulled away the other, the thumb glistening slightly before it disappeared behind the veil that were his lips.
Your tears. You were crying.
The thought made you sob. “I’m sorry. Please. Please! Let me go—”
“Quiet!” He glared at you. He looked angry and offended. You immediately wanted to apologise, ask for forgiveness. Last time he had looked like this, you had been in pain and he hadn’t even healed you, reminding you every moment that it was your punishment for the hurt you caused him. You wanted tell him how sorry you were. If only you could speak. “What have I said about this? Did we not have this useless conversation before?” His hand that was giving you the utmost comfort at your cheek now was gripping your jaw so hard that you thought it would snap. Your hand clutched at his dark clothes. He was blending with the darkness of the forest. Like he was one with it. “What have I said? Tell me!”
“People... People are bad. They... They will hurt me.” You stuttered out, some words unclear but you were sure he understood it.
“Yes.” He hissed, his grip on you tightening even more, you wanted it to be over, you wanted to tell him to get off you but it would just further anger him. He leaned in, his nose tracing your earlobe, you felt him take deep breath, taking in your scent like a hungry man taking in a feast presented to him. You weren’t any less if you could say it.
He spoke again, this time his voice softer. “Why do you make me do it again and again. Can’t you see I just want to keep you safe.” He pulled away from you, his hands were back on your jaw, he softly caressing the silent tears away from your cheeks which now had stopped flowing. “Why must you do this to us? Look what your stupid wish led to. A broken leg, your shoulder too probably.” You wanted to tell him you had just asked to just let you see what was out of the forest just once, but silence was better, you remembered now.
“I’m sorry,” you sniffled and croaked, throat dry, you’d do anything for something to wet it. You just wanted it over. How you didn’t know but you were tired. So, so tired. “please, forgive me.”
He looked like what you would imagine a prince from fairy tales to be like. The one who would kill the evil in the world and save the princess from it, make her his wife and with whom she would live happily ever after.
His eye, his violet eye, so out of world. Something that made you forget where you were. You felt his hand on yours before he placed it on his neck. A smile gracing his deep pink lips. “Of course. It is alright. As I said you are foolish.” His hands, the skin of his fingers and palm always got you confused. How could something so calloused feel so soft on your cheeks. As if silk.
How could someone so beautiful could be cruel?
Before you knew, you back in your room, in your bed, and he was rubbing away at your skin with a wet cloth. You found yourself in another one of your shifts. This time in a blue one.
It seemed he was contend with what he had done, thrown away was a cloth. Was that what you looked like after he was done with you?
You couldn’t help but move a little away from him when his hand neared your face, but you stopped immediately. His eye had went hard and it felt like she was staring into an amethyst, hard, cold and lifeless. Just like the sapphire in the empty hole which would have been his other eye.
“Tis alright,” he caressed your head, weaving his way through them and he pulled you on his lap and his hand stopped, right at tha base of your neck. You felt the other on your thigh, fingers drawing circles on them. You knew what was coming. You felt your eyes wetting.
“Please, I’m sorry.” You whispered, you hand going to his chest, clenching the dark fabric in your hand. “I will never—”
“Hush now.” He kissed your forehead. He was so tall, even while sitting on his lap, you were a good inch smaller. He said he liked it. How you were so small, almost like a doll. “Be a good doll, now. You did something you shouldn’t have. You knew punishment would follow, didn’t you?”
He looked expectant. He was asking an answer. The only appropriate answer. And you gave it to him. You nodded.
“Look at that you’re already learning,” He smiled, it was so cruel. This care, this affection, that smile, if only you never knew how cruel he could be. “You’ve been such a good girl. Perhaps I will make it easy for you.” He caressed your cheek and then grabbed your chin. His beautiful violet eyes boring into yours. “Don’t be afraid.” The his iris dilated and you felt calm wash over.
You were still sad over what was to come but not scared anyone. You were a little weirded out by the veins that came upon his face, rising from the eye lids and vanishing as they went down his face to neck, eye turning a deep shade of red, almost black but the candle light in your room was enough to know the difference. You watched him pull his hand away from your thigh, biting into the wrist, pointy tooth, fangs, protruding out as they tore away at his flesh. You felt surprised that he didn’t even flinch while doing that. He brought it to your lips, you looked at him, his lips covered with some of his own lips. You knew the drill after that.
You didn’t like it. The blood was metallic, you could never tell like what for sure. But you had gotten used to it. You gulped down each and every drop you could before the wound closed on it’s own and while that you hissed, you felt the bone in your ankle and shoulder getting better and on their place. You could breath better now.
His head dipped down, hand going back to your neck, pulling your head away a bit, you felt his soft lips brush your neck, littering kisses over your neck. You also felt the his blood on your neck.
And you held on tight onto him, bracing yourself.
Everything was hazy afterwards. You didn’t even remember screaming, but you had heard something. The world was turning into a blur.
‘Please end this tonight.’ You thought.
And you felt the weight lift off you, through your hazy view you saw him. He was hovering over you, dark liquid coating his chin and lips, dripping down his neck.
Your blood.
He leaned down and you felt his lips caressing yours, devouring you like a lion would his meal.
He pulled away again and you heard him whisper. “Not so soon, doll.”
#house of the dragon#hotd#asoiaf#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#dark!aemond#vampire!au
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Zayne - Collapse of Multiple Deepspaces
Time to drop another #delulu for Zayne! It’s my first time writing about Zayne and all “thanks” to my friend all my ideas recently stem from *tragedy*.
So yeah sorry Zayne boi, you’re first!
I hope you enjoy this version!
What happens if Zayne and Dawnbreaker meet each other....
Collapse of Multiple Deepspaces
"You are no different from a weakling."
This phrase had echoed relentlessly within Zayne ever since he witnessed his friend transform into a Wanderer right before his very eyes.
If others were given a chance to judge, they would tell Zayne that his hesitation or fear, his inability to act, was entirely natural; no one could stand firm in such a dire circumstance.
To witness someone you know slowly morph into a beast and then have to end their life with your own hands? Who in their right mind would willingly undertake such a horrifying act?
But Zayne knew that the "shadow" that disdainfully uttered those words of criticism through its scornful gaze was no longer a normal person.
******************************************************
How long had it been since Zayne last felt this rush of anticipation, as if he were about to enter a battle?
Before him were blood-red eyes that forced Zayne to instinctively channel energy from his right arm as a defense mechanism.
It was this very power that had been the source of many of his tragedies.
But compared to the shadow standing right in front of him, Zayne could sense that the pain he had endured was nothing compared to the anguish reflected in those judging eyes.
Though shrouded by the night, Zayne recognized the person before him, for the power surrounding that figure was familiar to him. It was the power of ice—the same power he wielded.
In other words, the person before him might be none other than himself.
It was as if he were the embodiment of the Grim Reaper he had always feared.
Zayne also realized that the person in front of him not only possessed his own aura but also harbored an unpredictable emotion he couldn't quite grasp.
This emotion was like a drop of poison, ready to overflow at the slightest disturbance, spreading its lethal intent throughout the icy energy. It was this realization that helped Zayne recognize that the figure before him and he were separate entities. He would never allow himself to be consumed by such murderous intent. He was a doctor, committed to saving lives, not taking them. This was his life's principle and the oath he had sworn to uphold.
Yet, the eerie resemblance between them conjured images of two opposing reflections in a mirror, similar yet different, creating a sense of dual existence. If one of these images were to vanish one day, what would happen to the remaining one? Would it also dissolve, mirroring the original?
**********************************************************
While Zayne was observing the shadow, it was silently scrutinizing Zayne in return.
A weaker version, blessed with a life he craved.
Is this yet another part of the dream? But if it is a dream, then why is she not here?
Could even the fleeting dream of being with her be interrupted and dissipate like this?
Or perhaps…
*********************************************************
As Zayne pondered the bizarre occurrence before him in the dark space, he sensed a shift in the atmosphere between them.
A sudden, piercingly cold wind enveloped him, as if trying to freeze his entire being.
This chilling gust, like a raging beast, seemed determined to devour him whole, mirroring the fury of its creator.
Why had the shadow suddenly become so enraged?
Before Zayne could react, crystalline shards of ice hidden within the snowstorm hurtled toward him, catching him off guard.
The surging murderous intent warned Zayne of imminent danger, compelling him to instinctively unleash his own energy.
A formidable ice wall sprang up, separating Zayne from the lethal ice shards.
Yet, the relentless assault and overwhelming malevolence forced Zayne to retreat.
He panted heavily, striving to regain control over his chaotic emotions and energy. Why had the shadow, just moments ago in a state of observation, suddenly sought to end him?
This remained a mystery to Zayne, causing his hesitation to strike back.
Perhaps the gentle world he had come to know had softened his heart, infusing his decisions with the compassion and magnanimity expected of a doctor. But facing the figure before him, such ideals held no meaning.
Clearly, in this struggle for supremacy, in terms of both resolve and strength, Zayne was losing.
As the blizzard engulfed him, with icy spears closing in from all sides, Zayne realized the figure before him wielded far more power than he had imagined.
Arrows of ice began to pierce through his ice wall, embedding themselves in his body, inflicting excruciating pain and a chilling wind that froze him to the core. The agony was so intense it felt as though a curse had been cast upon him, rendering him immobile and leaving him at the mercy of the storm.
This sensation… why does it feel so familiar…
As Zayne struggled to rise, the shadow approached, revealing a familiar face.
The Grim Reaper… the Grim Reaper Zayne had seen before… the one who had look at him with an implication that he was merely a weakling.
With the same face, the same demeanor, the samepower, Zayne saw his own reflection in those blood-red eyes.
Is this… really himself?
Before Zayne could process his shock, the Grim Reaper moved closer, looking down at him with disdain:
“In the end, you are just a useless fool, incapable of protecting the one thing you were fortunate enough to have.”
These words felt like a curse, tightening Zayne’s heart in agony. He knew what his one lucky possession was, for he had felt this same heartache in his dreams countless times: the pain of not having her by his side…
Could it be…
Before Zayne could grapple with the implication, a shard of ice materialized in the Grim Reaper's hand. Its purpose was clear.
But what stunned Zayne more than the imminent threat was the Grim Reaper’s next words:
“If you are now useless, then it’s my turn to protect her.”
*************************************
“Zayne… Zayne!!”
Zayne jolted awake at the familiar call.
He sat up, gasping for breath, his body drenched in sweat as if he had just escaped a horrifying ordeal.
Fear clung to him, but a gentle touch on his back, mirroring his racing heartbeat, offered solace.
Looking up, Zayne’s eyes met the worried gaze of a familiar, tender face.
Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a glow on you and making you appear angelic, which had greatly soothed Zayne as though he were in heaven after wandering in endless darkness.
Unable to contain himself, Zayne pulled your close, seeking your comforting warmth. Only then, with your voice laced with concern, did his surroundings come into focus. The familiar scent of medicine, not the metallic tang of blood, filled the air.
A lingering sense of malevolent energy persisted, a stark reminder of the dream's icy grip. He touched his neck, the phantom pain of the ice shard a chilling echo. Dream or reality?
As he began to lose himself in his thoughts again, a warm touch on his cheek grounded him.
“Are you okay? Why do you keep zoning out? Did you sneak sweets before bed again, making it hard to breathe and sweat so much?”
Like sunlight dispelling the cold, Zayne's heart began to calm. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, a figment of his overworked mind. He clung to this hope, desperate to ease her worry.
Zayne looked at her lovingly, then embraced her once more, yearning to hold onto the warmth only she could provide.
“Thanks for being by my side.”
*****************************
“Zayne, promise me you won’t try to bear everything alone or make decisions by yourself, okay? Always tell me first.”
Seeing her cheerful yet concerned expression, like an old lady fussing over him, made Zayne chuckle—a rare sound for him.
Perhaps the dream was merely a manifestation of his fear, a fear of someday regretting his own "weakness." But what truly defined this weakness? Was it the lack of courage to destroy what could harm her, even if that meant it had once bear the form of a… human?
As Zayne began to drift back into his thoughts, the alarm on her hunter’s watch went off, accompanied by a warning:
“Alert… alert… Wanderer monsters detected… Level A… coordinates X Y… please evacuate residents from the danger zone.”
Both Zayne and you knew what needed to be done in such situations.
As he instructed you on the tasks and cautions for your mission, a rift opened before Zayne, followed by a Wanderer bearing a striking resemblance to…
William…
In an instant, as Zayne stood frozen, the Wanderer lunged, swinging a deadly scythe-like arm at him.
William… is it really you?
Zayne felt his heart stop, memories from that day flooding back.
At Mount Eternal… where the secret he wished to bury lay… where he had once been weak… William… I’m so sorry… turns out, even now… I’m still useless…
“ZAYNEEEEEEE!”
A piercing scream echoed as Zayne snapped back to reality. Before him lay the image of her, shielding him with her body. Blood spurted from her back, splattering across Zayne’s face.
In his arms was the girl he loved, falling.
The blood on his hands was warm…
But this…
Was not the warmth he wanted to feel…
In a heartbeat, everything around Zayne was swallowed by an endless night.
A night filled with murderous intent…
And amidst this darkness lay a path, lined with the bodies of countless fallen.
Zayne didn’t want to tread this path, but it seemed fate had already chosen it for him.
A voice echoed within him, as if from a distant past…
“If the law is a curse… why perfect it… just… destroy it all…”
That's right... destroy everything... only then can I... protect you...
Like a skeleton approaching its tomb, Zayne walked heavily past the rows of piled corpses, heading straight into the endless darkness. And at the end of the road, what Zayne saw was the throne with its many icy blades.
Zayne saw another figure resembling him dressed in an ancient sorcerer's garb... as if he had been sitting there for a long time... just waiting...
Waiting....
"For that daisy..."
As if echoing his heart, the voice of the Grim Reaper opposite him, now replacing the figure holding the staff, sat on the ice throne.
So who was who? He himself no longer knew and no longer cared. Because at this moment, he knew that he and the figures before him had only one thing in common, and that commonality was what all his beings cared about and wanted to have.
You... the daisy we've always sought...
In the quiet night, the cold voice of the Grim Reaper rang out like a warning bell:
"You... are the exception, because only you can have her."
Zayne understood what the Grim Reaper had said.
He sank weakly to the floor, realizing how lucky he was but also how powerless.
"But... you too... are the weakest..."
He knew... he knew... he was weak.
"So... if you can't become strong..."
Before his words could end, Zayne’s chin was grasped, forcing him to face the blood-red eyes right in front of him.
"If you can't do it, then it's my turn. There's no room for the weak."
****************************************
The blaring sirens of rescue vehicles… the screams of the townspeople… only you… seemed to be lying still… in firm arms…
You tried to get up but were held back by those strong arms, preventing any movement.
It seemed that the wound on your back no longer pained you, only a soothing, cool sensation remained.
It looked like Zayne had tended to your injury.
You knew what you had done was dangerous, and you would surely be scolded by him, but you still felt warm inside knowing he was safe….
These past days, seeing his exhaustion, you wanted to do something. But the more you looked at him, the more unsure you were of what to do, as if he was fighting a battle within himself, silently enduring.
That was when you saw him in danger, and you immediately shielded him without a second thought, just to spare him from more pain.
Thankfully… he was unharmed…
As you nestled in Zayne’s embrace, you couldn’t shake off a strange feeling, an unnamed sensation, like you had felt it long ago when you looked into his eyes…. as if… you were seeing a different Zayne…
While lost in thought, Zayne’s hand reached out to touch your cheek.
Fearing he would reprimand you for acting impulsively, you scrambled for excuses in your mind, avoiding his gaze to escape his scolding.
But when you met his eyes, you knew…
Without giving you time to think, the unfamiliar man who resembled Zayne looked at you and smiled, sending a chill through your body.
“Nice to see you again.”
#zayne#zayne x mc#zayne x reader#love and deepspace#lnds#lnd#lnds x reader#lnds x mc#lads#tragedy#jealousy#dark#dawnbreaker#grim reaper#space
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Title: Tonality [6]
Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader
previous chapter
Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, Genre Typical Violence, Mild Descriptions of Violence, Slow Burn, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!
A/N: thank you so much to everyone who continues to read and support my work. i really hope you all enjoy this next installment, please don’t hesitate to drop me a comment or inbox me. reblogs are always golden ❤️
You are not, and then, all at once you are again. Awareness spreads like contagion down each limb, and you know them again as it does. With it, though, comes the pain in your belly, sharp and biting like—
Like a blade.
It fades as you force your eyes open, your clumsy hands searching yourself for the dagger’s handle. You do not find it, but the relief that floods you at its absence is short-lived. The darkness that greets your wide, panicked stare is so deep and unyielding that for a moment you wonder if you have gone blind—but as you raise your trembling hands before your eyes, you can see them clearly. But beyond, there is only darkness.
No, not darkness—nothing.
“H-hello?” Your voice is muted, muddy even to your own ears, the syllables thick and sticky like they passed through honey on the way. “Please-!” The hungry nothing swallows nearly everything but a sluggish, dull thump that echoes in your ears—it is the only sound in the resolute silence. You stumble forward with your hands out before you, fingers outstretched as you wait to encounter something, anything. You do not, though. There is nothing. No cool stone beneath your feet nor the caress of wind your skin. Even the sound of your footsteps is absent, stolen. All there is is the drum.
It must be a drum, you think, because the sound is so deep it reverberates in your bones. Sluggish. Steady. Panic rises in your chest and you force it down with gritted teeth, your nostrils flaring.
If this is death, I was right to fear it.
Your dry tongue tastes like ash and earth in your mouth as you gulp down thick, gasping breaths. But there is no relief in the action, nor in the thick void that flows in through your lips, filling your throat with ink. There is only that sound, deep and heavy—thump, thump, thump.
A hand flies to your breast, pressing against the cool skin above your collar—but you feel nothing. There is no answering pulse from your own veins, your chest cold and quiet. A terrified gasp rips from your throat and you stumble, hands tangling in the torn fabric of your dress. Your blood should be racing, your ears thundering with the roar of it in your veins—but there is nothing. Nothing but the silence and the sound—
Thump.
Thump.
Steady like a heartbeat.
Your heartbeat, drumming in the dark, empty nothing. The echo of it is dull in your ears as if through cotton, but it is the only sound, the only thing in the vast absence aside from you. It rumbles in your bones as you stagger blindly forward, your hands outstretched. The void that presses back against your hands is like spiders silk, strands of ephemeral nothing. You fist your hands in it, and for the first time you feel… something. Like ripping apart fragile cloth—only something inside of you tears too.
The sensation of it makes you gasp, choking on the dark as it rushes past your lips and into your mouth like dry water. You pull at the ragged strips of nothing and they stick to you like wet paper. You push through the ragged hole into the white light beyond—and fall to your knees on hard stone coughing and choking. You draw the back of your hand across your trembling mouth and it comes away stained inky black, the texture like wet sand.
For a moment, you heave there on the floor, sticky, pulpy blackness forcing its way up out of your throat. The air you gulp down tastes of something so distinctly alive that it nearly brings you to grateful tears. After a few desperate breaths, you force yourself up to your knees, bracing your hands against the wall as you stagger up to your feet. You feel weak, as though the earths pull might drag you back down to your belly at any moment.
These… these are my chambers.
You had not thought of this place as home before, but you are relieved to see it now. The siting area is a mess of gauze wrappings, half-mixed poultices and dried herbs scattered across every surface. It looks as though Healer Janna has been hard at work here, you note with a small, grim smile. The sound of rasping, labored breath draws your attention toward the bed. Though the dark, heavy fabric is almost entirely drawn, the soft firelight shining in through the gaps illuminates the shape of a figure beneath the covers.
You cross the room with slow steps, trembling as you approach. The drumbeat roars in your ears again as your eye adjusts to the gloom. Your own features swim out of the darkness at you, pained and ashen, your lips pressed into a grim line. The shock of it draws a horrified gasp from your throat, and you stumble back, nearly falling over. The feeling it evokes in you is new, a mixture of terror and disgust as you tear your eyes away from the empty vessel laying before you. That’s it, you think to yourself as you slap a hand to your mouth to hide the violent gag. My body is empty. You retch, your hands fisting in the stiff, dirty cloth of your dress as you fight to remain standing.
“To see oneself without a soul is quite a sight indeed.” The sight of Geralt is nearly enough to send you to your knees as you stagger against the bedpost. “I think perhaps that is why they drew the curtain.” He stands by the fireplace, his hand resting upon the mantle. His molten eyes seem lit with the fire’s eerie glow.
“I am glad to see you, Little Doe.”
“What’s happening to me?” Your voice is just as dull and muddy as it had been in the other place, the dark place. You shudder to think of it again, gripping the bedpost tightly. Even the sensation of that seems far away, as though your grasping hands merely clutch at the idea of it. Your step-brother’s expression turns concerned.
“You’ve left your body, Dreamwalker.” The thought of looking back at the shell on the bed turns your stomach. “A living thing cannot be without a soul, my little witch. The body needs a soul.” The fear that twists in your belly at his words is sharper than the Duke’s dagger. Your eyes widen, your mouth trembling as you cling helplessly to the bedframe as Geralt moves toward you.
“I—I am—I am not—” Your rebuttals fall from your lips unfinished, scurrying over each other in their haste to leave your mouth. You hold out a hand to halt his approach, and he passes through it like smoke. “I am not a witch!” His amused smile is as off-putting as the sensation of his body diffusing yours.
“Not yet,” he agrees. “But you could be.” You think of the witch, her fingers tipped in purple-black ichor like they had been stained with pitch. “There is power in your blood. The same as mine.” The smile that flits across his lips is grim, and does not reach his golden eyes. “We are more alike than you know.” He moves as if to touch you and then stops, seeming to remember that he cannot.
The fear coiling in your chest beats wildly against your ribs. He knows. You wonder if this means word has reached your mother—or worse, the King. There are no elves in the city save the Witch—and you.
“My mother—”
“Knows nothing.” You’ve little idea what has inspired your step-brother to keep your secret, and a pit of iron forms in your belly as you wonder what steep price he will extract from you for the privilege.
“Why? Why would you not…” The words stick in your throat. “You’ve no reason to lie for me.” Geralt scoffs.
“It is an unwise King who would lead his people willingly to civil war.” Geralt looks tired, then, far older than the summers he has weathered. “We are not all so ruled by petty superstition as Duke Emhyr.” There is no lie beneath the words that you can tell, but they ring hollow anyway, like you’re missing parts of them. “It would be quite a waste to see you hung in the square.” You swallow, your lip curling.
“So I am to be your pawn?” The sneer curls your lips and bares your teeth. “Your grateful servant?” He laughs then—a deep, loud peal of laughter that strikes like lightning. You jerk backward, forcing space between you.
“If my aim was your servitude there are more apt ways to ensure it.” He seems content to say no more than that, his golden eyes glittering like coins.
“But there is a price.” You say, and the corners of his lips curl.
“You think too poorly of your brother,” he purrs. In an instant, he is again the Geralt you are coming to know and despise. “I would ask nothing of you that you could not give.” His lips curl into a deceptively charming smile. “Indeed, nothing you would not want to.” Geralt’s eyes seem to focus on something behind your head, and the smile slips.
“We might discuss this later. For now, little Doe, you must return to your body.” You cannot hide the repulsed shudder that passes through you at the thought of looking at yourself on the bed again. “You spent too long in the ether.”
“Ether?” He rolls his eyes, and beneath the mask of his cool charisma, you see true irritation. Strangely, it pleases you.
“The dark place, the between place.” He sighs. “Lay on the bed.” He pulls aside the curtain, and you swallow the violent retch that builds in your throat. You close your eyes and crawl onto the bed. You feel nothing against your palms but perhaps the slightest pressure. There is abnormal warmth emanating from the body beside you, however haggard your appearance. It is welcoming, even, like a soft embrace. You want to lean into it, so you do—though you doubt you could help it even if you did not.
The room shifts, warping and twisting like smoke. You do not want to return to the cold, dark nothing, and you fight against it with all you have. Your will, however, seems as incorporeal as your spirit. As you spin back down into your own subconscious, Geralt’s voice seems to come from every crevice of the chamber—
“And do keep your promise this time, little witch.”
—
When you wake, there is pain.
Perhaps it is more apt to say that you wake beacuse there is pain, deep and biting as you force your eyes to open. Your lids feels heavy, like you’ve not abided the task of lifting them in quite some time. Each breath feels strange, rattling in your chest. Sunlight streams in through the parted canopy curtains, and you wince, blinking away the spots trailing across your vision.
I live.
You feel… weak. Disconnected from your body. It nearly takes more strength than you have to sit up, and you gasp, falling back against the pillows as pain lances through your belly and up your spine. With clumsy fingers, you pull back the covers. You are dressed in one of your loose cotton shifts, and as you tenderly trace the shape of your own body through the fabric, you can feel the thick layers of bandages wrapped tightly around your middle.
Gingerly, you roll up the hem of your nightdress, your jaw set tight. You follow the edge of the wrappings with your finger. It’s fit snug around your waist, padded thickly with gauze to the left of your navel. It still seems somehow like fantasy, that the duke had stabbed you, that you had felt the cold bite of his steel deep in your belly—
That you had lived.
“Witch.”
Trembling, you press your hands to your face. Duke Emhyr’s accusations still sting as they echo from your memories, his hatred burning hot like coals behind his eyes. Is he only the first of many? You wonder, wincing sharply as you reach for the goblet of water on the stand by the bed. It’s almost too heavy for you, but you grip it, and bring the edge to your lips.
The sound of voices begin to echo down the hall, heralding the approach of other people. As quickly as you can, you adjust your dress and draw the covers back up again, waiting for the door to open.
“—asleep, Your Majesties, when I left to fetch a clean pail of water—”
“And left her alone?” Your mother’s incredulous voice grows louder as the doorknob rattles, and then clicks open. She glides in first, her ornate gown trailing behind her, whispering against the stone. Her eyes narrow as she peers around your chamber in distaste.
“Have the servants clean up this mess,” she says, the words cool, authoritative. Your mother has always been one for orders, only now there is a smugness to the command, an expectation that the bearer dare not fall short of. Kassandra hurries in behind her, water sloshing in the wooden pail she holds by the handle. She sees you first, nearly dropping the bucket in surprise as her eyes widen.
“Y-Your Majesty!” She gasps, practically throwing the bucket to the ground as she rushes to your bedside. “Oh thank the Gods!” Your mother gasps at the sight of you, her delicate brows rising.
“Thank the Gods indeed.” Your mother approaches you, perching herself on the edge of your bed before embracing you. “My daughter… I thought I might never see your eyes open again,” she cups your face affectionately, and though you had not felt the urge to weep before, suddenly your eyes fill with exhausted tears. She is, after all, your mother, staring down at you with concern and relief lining her face. You press your face into the crook of her neck, breathing in the honeysuckle scent of her skin as you sob.
It’s so much—the Witch, the duke—your mind feels both full to bursting and disjointed with the knowledge of every moment of it all. Elf-kin. Witch. Princess. My lady. Your Grace. Doe. Who are you? What is your name? You know not when last you heard it. You do not know when you became such a meek little thing, so easy to trap in a box to bring a hammer down upon—
But you hate it.
“You may leave us. I shall call when we need you.”
Your mother hums softly, stroking your hair with gentle passes. She works through the tangled mess as you cry, parting each snare with a motherly diligence that reminds you of summers spent catching fireflies and frogspawn. You cling to her, like a child with a scraped knee. When she has worked her way through every section of your hair, she sighs, massaging your scalp with the tips of her fingers. Finally, when your sobs turn to hiccoughing breaths, your mother sighs, her hand dropping from your head to your bandaged middle.
“That man is paying for what he’s done to you.” You do not know how her voice manages to be so soft, and yet so hard at the same time. “I will not allow this sin to go unpunished.”
You shiver. “What…what do you mean? Where is Emhyr?” You are glad you cannot see her face, because the smile that drips from her words sounds crueler than anything.
“The place he’s going to die.” Your mother sounds almost joyful. After a moment more, she releases you, dabbing at your tear-stained cheeks with the soft, flowing fabric of her sleeve before stroking the pad of her thumb over the curve of it.
“Why did you leave the castle?” Your mother’s face looms before you, her brows knitted together with concern. There’s something else, though, something beneath that. You don’t know how you see it—by rights, she’s given nothing away, and yet you see it still.
Suspicion.
Why would your own mother be suspicious of you? You hang your head.
“I—I just wanted to see the city.” You make the words sound like an admission. “Without a guard.”
“And look what your stupidity has wrought!” She hisses, gesturing at your belly. “You’re lucky Geralt noticed your absence when he did—did that little, the—” Your mother purses her perfect lips in frustration as she attempts to recall your only lady-in-waiting’s name. “Katherine? Did she help you with this idiocy?” As far as you can tell, she has swallowed your lie whole. You hope it does not work its way up out of her throat to bite you later.
“No, no, I… I just snuck out while the guards were changing, Kassandra knew nothing of it.” You are more glad than ever that you had ordered her to stay behind, the thought of what might’ve happened to her had she come along makes you shiver. The duke did not seem to be much in the mood to deal with stray ladies. The mention of Geralt makes you press your teeth against the inside of your cheek. Your mother sighs, shaking her head as she pinches the bridge of her nose.
“You are too important to lose.” She regards you with serious, dark eyes. “Do you understand me? You are my only daughter—I can have no more children, you know this. Nor could I replace you if I tried, my love.”
“Yes, mother.” You place your hand over hers. “I understand.” You can find no sign in the relieved cast of your mother’s features that betrays any heritage other than the one you know, and your father is too long in the ground to ask yourself. “I’m sorry I scared you.” You had never been particularly good at lying, the words sticking together and jumbling on your tongue as you tried to string them into something coherent. Now, however, you deliver one after another, your hands steady as stone.
I’ve more to lose now than I did stealing biscuits from the kitchens.
“I won’t do anything like that again.” She smiles at you, and it is like sunlight, warmth washing over your skin. You do not know how she does that, make her approval something to crave and bask in, even when you cannot trust her. She makes you want to.
“Thank the Gods.” She presses a kiss to your forehead. “Then all is forgiven.”
—
You have slept for nearly a full week, you find, as Kassandra helps you bathe and dress. Your mother excuses herself to attend to other matters, and you breathe a sigh of relief at her absence. After all, your head still reels with the truths that you’ve had little time to untangle yourself. You revel in the quiet as Kassandra helps you peel off your old nightgown and step into the copper tub. The water smells vaguely of cloves, and you know this is by order of the closest thing to a witch Rivian faith will abide within the castle walls.
Healer Janna’s meager magics have kept your body on this side of the abyss, even as your soul has wandered. What little she is allowed she has done, and you are grateful for it, though you suspect the Witch in the lower city might’ve done a better job.
As Kassandra assists you in unwinding the soiled bandage around your waist, you grimace at the sight of your wound in the mirror. On your side, practically parallel with your belly button if you traced a straight line around. It is not particularly long, but you know by the ache inside that the damage is far deeper than the external cut you see.
“Tis a miracle he missed anything important,” she says, applying ointment to the wound with gentle fingers. “Damnable man.” She winds fresh, clean bandages around you, and you grit your teeth against the pain. You are growing used to it, though. Your mother has laid out another Rivian dress for you, but you do not even consider it, grimacing as you return it, unworn, to the wardrobe. Winter is coming, and you know the light, flowing dresses of your home are ill-suited for the biting chill that already permeates the castle halls, but you reach for one of them anyway.
You reason that the tight corsetry your more local garments might irritate your healing wound, and Kassandra makes no mention of it as she helps drape you in the comfortable and familiar dress you choose. A small part of you, though, knows this act for what it truly is and revels in it—defiance.
“I was so worried,” Kassandra says, sweeping aside your curls to pin a swath of gold colored fabric across your shoulders to create the illusion of sleeves. She has gotten quite good at it, and you wonder if she has been practicing. “When you didn’t come back, and then the prince—” She shakes her head. “I never should have let you go!”
“I shall not have you claim responsibility for my actions,” you reply. “Nor those of the duke.”
“Did you… Did you meed the Witch?” She asks, her eyes wide. For a moment you consider your answer, and then you nod.
“She… She was not what I expected.” Kassandra has proven herself more than trustworthy, she has been loyal—and not just to the crown, but to you. And even so, you hesitate to tell her what it is you know now, the thing that changes everything and nothing all at the same time. Less elf blood in you than I could hold in my hand, but aye, kin we are, still. You have had so little control since you arrived on these shores, so little choice. One stands before you now, a forking path toward ends you cannot see.
“She told me things about myself I had no way of knowing, but that I feel in my marrow to be true.” You swallow. The last person who heard your name and the word elf in conversation drove a dagger into your belly, and the instinct to hide, to coil yourself up like a snake and be unseen, but you forge ahead anyway.
“What? What did she tell you, my Lady?”
“She… she told me I was elf-kind.” You watch Kassandra’s face, waiting for her to run for the guard—but she remains seated, earnest concern still gracing her features. She seems to take it in, her brows scrunching before she nods.
“You are still my Lady, Princess of Rivia. This does not change that.”
You practically sob with relief. Your mother’s coronation had done more than tie you to this strange, new city—it has made you enemies. Scores of them, actually. You suppose you should not feel something akin to joy at the knowledge that Kassandra is not among them, but it blooms in your chest as a grateful smile spreads across your face.
“I know not from whom this lineage comes,” you say. “But the duke…” You grimace. “He knew, though how I can only guess. He said he could see it in my features—he could tell their favor simply by looking at me. Can you?” To your surprise, Kassandra scoffs.
“As winter feeds spring, so does suspicion feed doubt. His theories needed little proof, I’m sure. If I might be blunt, Majesty, I have observed you many times, and never once have I wondered if you might be anything other than human.” She finishes pinning your dress, stepping away to admire her handiwork. It’s almost as good as when Madge did it, but there was a distinct Rivian quality to the neckline she has created with the flowing, loose fabric.
“May I be blunt myself, Lady Kassandra?” You ask, turning to face her. She nods. “I am grateful for your loyalty, do not think I question it’s truth. You have been a true friend to me, even when the very Queen has demanded otherwise of you. Why?”
She thinks for a good few moments, her brows furrowed. She seems to choose her words carefully, ordering them all together before she answers.
“The Queen does not even know my name, Majesty, despite my father sitting upon her very own husband’s council.” She replies. “Your mother knows her allies, and she knows her enemies; and I suppose that leaves little space for those who belong in neither camp. Loyalty is not given, Lady, it is earned. Any that is acquired easier than that should not be trusted.”
The jewelry you are required to decorate yourself with feels especially heavy and overly ornate today, the crown weighing heavily on your brow. You know it would be near scandal to be seen without it, though, and so you remain good and still as Kassandra pins it in place. Now, at last, you may finally leave your chambers, aided in part by Kassandra’s steady arm. Walking is an arduous task, and you find yourself tired and panting by the time you reach the end of the hall. You have no destination in mind, but staying in your chambers feels claustrophobic.
“And here I thought I would find you resting.” Geralt’s voice spreads out over the silence like honey. “I suppose I should have known you would not stay abed longer than it took to open your eyes.” He stands at the curve in the stair, his hand resting on the bannister. His silver-white hair is pulled back away from his face, and the silver wolf pendant at his throat peeks through the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt.
“I am pleased to see you on your feet again.” The insinuation behind his words makes your cheeks warm. You have not forgotten the closeness of him, the safety of being pressed against his chest.
“After a week, I fear I have slept long enough.” You reply with a wry smile. “Thank you.”
“Were you going down?” He ascends the last few steps and offers you his arm, and after a moment of brief consideration you accept. After all, Geralt is much sturdier than Kassandra. Quickly—so quickly you almost do not notice it yourself—he softly sweeps his thumb over your knuckles as he settles you on his arm. It’s an overtly affectionate gesture, one that makes your stomach churn and flutter.
“Thank you.”
Geralt holds you steady, patiently waiting for you to situate yourself on one stair before lowering yourself to the next. Patient was not a quality you associated with the prince, but he demonstrates it now, taking the staircase step by halting step. His hand is warm on the small of your back, and it does not wander. After a moment, you feel the rumble of his voice begin in his chest just before he speaks again, turning back toward Kassandra, just behind you on the stair.
“Ah, I did almost forget, my Lady, your mother did bid you join her at your earliest convenience. I do believe she mentioned a Lord Arasmus?” Kassandra’s pale cheeks instantly go cherry red as she stares down at her clasped hands. The corners of her lips, though, curl upward into a small, but telling smile. You feel a mirroring one growing on your own features as you chuckle.
“Why Lady Kassandra, you did not inform me of your impending engagement.” You tease, and she huffs, her entire face turning scarlet as she glares at you.
“Tis nothing of the sort, Highness. His Lordship is quite a skilled botanist, a-and p-provided my expertise in the gardens—” She stammers out a parchment thin explanation that you fight not to poke holes through as you nod seriously. “I m-might assist with the selection. A-and the planting, maybe.” Her eyes flick up to yours. “Might I be excused, my Lady?”
“Of course.” Kassandra skirts around the two of you, glancing back.
“Thank you, Majesty.” She bows her head politely before she disappears around the curve in the staircase and is gone. Her footsteps fade too, and as the silence settles, you realize you are well and truly alone with the prince. He helps you down another few stairs before breaking the pregnant silence.
“You choose interesting allies, Princess.” He’s so close you can smell his skin pine and sun and earth. “But that one I think you have chosen especially well.”
“Have you only come to complement me?” You ask, hoping fleetingly that you look as unaffected as you sound. He sees too much, you decide stoutly, stomping down the butterflies filling your belly. Even when you don’t think he sees anything at all.
“And if I had?” Your own reply turns to cotton in your dry mouth. For a moment, Geralt’s golden eyes go hot and hungry like they had that night in the corridor. Your skin pebbles with the awareness of him, his size, his proximity. His breath ghosts over the curve of your cheek.
“Then I suppose it is lucky for you that I come with more than one purpose.”
“And that purpose would be?”
“Clarity, Princess,” he helps you down the last few steps to the landing. “Clarity.” The hall is dotted with servants, and stray lords and ladies whose names and exact stations all escape you, but you accept each gracious bow and earnestly delivered platitude with as genuine a smile as you can manage.
“Oh Your Majesty! How good to see you up again, I do trust your mother gave you my condolences.”
“You poor thing! Princess please, you must rest!”
“Highness you look wonderful, I do love Redanian fashion so.”
“That vile, treasonous man! How awful, I trust you have kept well?”
You are grateful when you’ve finished wading through them, their cloying perfumes and grasping hands are almost overwhelming to bear. As you clear the crush of lower nobility crowding the outer hall, Geralt steers you toward the throne room.
“What do you know of the Hunt, Princess?”
The Hunt. You know what everyone knows, you suppose. “The Witcher-Kings of old led them first, to cleanse the land of monstrosities.” You had learned this fact as surely as you had learned your letters. “I know the last one was before I was born.” Geralt scowls at this, his brows furrowing.
“My father has not led a hunt in over sixty years.” You cannot stop your shocked gasp. From what you’d thought, they were led every fifteen years like clockwork. There were always monsters, things born of chaos and flesh, and there always would be, so long as chaos remained tangled in the realms of man—that was what you had been taught, at least. But to hear one had not been lead in over sixty years… You shook your head with disbelief.
“In the days of old, there were many Witchers, Princess.” There is no emotion in his voice nor on his face, but somehow, you can taste the sorrow beneath his words, heavy and cloying.
“And now?”
“There is only one.” Geralt brings his free hand to the wolf pendant. He does not lead you into the throne room proper, instead steering you past the massive carved doors. “My father called a hunt two nights ago, while you still slept.” Your brows furrow. Why now? Why after all this time?
“Why?”
“I aim to find out.”
Geralt casts a swift look down the empty corridor, and pulls aside a heavy woven tapestry, one of many lining the hall. Instead of stone behind it there is a narrow door, one with no knob or handle—only a keyhole. Geralt produces a slim silver key from his pocket, pressing it silently into the lock. You have to step sideways to make it through the doorway, but once you do, you find yourself in a cramped, dark hallway. You start at the feel of Geralt’s hand on your shoulder.
“Forward, Princess.” With one hand dragging along the wall, you take a few cautious steps into the dark.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To learn the answers to both of our questions.” The ground slopes upward beneath your feet, and behind you, Geralt urges you forward. You are reminded uncomfortably of your time in the dark place—the prince had called it the ether—the crushing weight of the silence and the vast emptiness of it all…You shiver. Finally, there is light ahead, and you feel your shoulders sag with relief to see it.
The tiny circular room is perhaps no wider than an arm’s length, light filtering in from the gold mesh that runs around it in a tight band. You realize you are in one of the pillars of the throne room, and you stand on the tips of your toes to peer down through the thin braided metal to observe the scene below. You do not recognize every person in attendance, circled around the stone table behind King Vesemir’s throne, but you can place enough of their faces to understand—the council is gathered here, and they are gathered because of you.
“—is Treason. It cannot be argued.” Lord Jakoby is perhaps the youngest member of the council, aside from Kassandra’s own father. “And it cannot stand.”
“No one argues that Duke Emhyr has committed a grave offense—”
Your mother’s cool voice silences every other in the room. “Conspiring to murder the Princess is more than a grave offense.” You watch her tilt her head, threading her fingers together beneath her chin. “Would you have us send him back to Nilfgaard to gather his armies with a spanking, then?” There is an uncomfortable murmur that passes around the table.
“No, my Queen, I would not.” He holds his hands up placatingly. “I simply suggest there might be other ways to punish him that do not result in civil war.” Lord Thay combs his fingers through his thinning hair. “The Nilfgaardian army is not a light threat, your Highness. They protect our westernmost provinces, which, need I remind you, produce most of the kingdom’s wheat and grain! Duke Emhyr is no backwater lord with a horse a cart and an unwed daughter to his name, he is Regent of Nilfgaard! We cannot simply behead him in the square!”
Vesemir holds up a hand, and you watch your as your mother presses her lips into a displeased line.
“I have heard from Lords Thay and Jakoby, Duke Rhone and mine own Queen. Lord Lightfoot, I would hear your thoughts as well.” Kassandra’s father was not a man of many words—he had barely said hello and goodbye at your own mother’s coronation—and he had thus far proved your impressions correct as he sat at the end of the table, utterly silent. And for another few moments, he remains so.
“Duke Emhyr’s treason cannot be tolerated—but the North must be treated with care.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Her Majesty is right. Duke Emhyr’s treason cannot stand, regardless of his position. There will be strife, Majesty, it cannot be avoided.” He bows his head. “But perhaps it might be mitigated. You must use this hunt as an opportunity to remind the people of your strength. Of the futility of standing against you, my King.” Vesemir is silent, as if weighing the value of each word.
“And should it come to war?”
Lord Lightwood grimaces. “The beetle is a fearsome foe to the ant, Highness. But it may still be crushed beneath a boot.”
to be continued…
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#henry cavill#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill x you#henry cavill fandom#henry cavill fic#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill smut#geralt of rivia#geralt of rivia x you#geralt of rivia x reader#geralt of rivia x y/n#the witcher#the witcher fanfiction#au#dark!fic#darkfic#medieval au#boxofbonesfic#tonality fic
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Never Yours | Part 1
Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader
Summary: He had seen blood hundreds of times before, but never from you. He didn’t know what to expect while listening to your cry’s on the phone praying you wouldn’t lose consciousness.
Word count: 800
Warnings: violent theme, future smut, weaponry use, blood, symptoms of panic.
(Not fully edited, apologies for any inconsistencies!)
He had seen blood hundreds of times before, but never from you.
He didn’t know what to expect while listening to your cry’s on the phone praying you wouldn’t lose consciousness.
He had just left. Just left minutes ago to get to the food for dinner tonight, when you called him huffing through tears trying to get air into your fragile lungs.
‘Si-Simon please come home I can’t…I cant get up please.. please hurry everything’s spinning a-and there’s blood.’ Your sobs echoed through the phone as he fell still only for seconds in the spice isle at the local grocery store.
He dropped everything he was holding, and sprinted out of the small store, paying no mind to the cars slamming on their brakes almost hitting him as he crossed the lot, or the people who were in his way when getting to the car that tried to curse at him or call him off.
Now he was driving at dangerous speeds, swerving through cars giving no thought to anything but hearing your breathing through the phone. His world felt as if it were caving in from all sides and his heart felt stuck in his throat. He tried to talk to you as he pushed harder on the pedal to make it through an ending yellow light.
‘It’s gonna be okay dove, what’s happened?” His voice cracking calling you his dove as he did every day, trying to remain focused on the road. He forced himself to sound as calm as he could, knowing that if he sounded panicked it would only make you more scared. Why did it feel like it was taking so long to get home? The phone clenched in his fists and beads of sweat forming on his face, the speedometer reaching far higher speeds than it should on the back road to your home.
All he could hear were your distant groans and then a cry out, before continuing to sob into the phone. He had never felt a pain like this before, to feel so afraid for someone- wishing in every way to take their pains all onto yourself. Every groan he could hear, every whimper of his name in between sobs tore at his being in every possible way, making him feel more sick by the second.
‘I know dove, I’m coming I promise you I’m coming. Don’t worry I-I’m almost there, you just need to stay with me. I’m almost home I promise.’ The tears welting in his eyes began to blur his vision as he wiped them away quickly onto his shoulder. He didn’t know what to say, he could only tell himself that reassuring you was the best thing. He was listening more intently than ever as your groans began to fade.
‘Dove?’ I need you to talk to me.’ Please you can’t. You can’t stop talking to me, please. Say something.’
Nothing.
His foot hit the bottom of the floorboard of the car as he sped down your road. There were no thoughts after that, but simply action. In a matter of seconds, the door and locks he had installed had been beaten in viscously as he scoured the entire house for you, every piece of him torn between desperation of getting to you, and fear of seeing what had happened to you.
He sprinted upstairs taking 3 steps at a time as he saw a boot mark on the door leading into your bedroom, and then the blood. The trickle of blood leading from the entrance to the bedroom towards the bathroom. Your blood was so much more real, so much closer to him and it made him panic more than ever. The next few moments felt like hours as he saw the splotches and eventual puddle of blood coming out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, you were in there.
You were in there and hurt and he didn’t prevent it. He was here after you had been harmed and not been the one to prevent it or take it on himself. He couldn’t stop not even for a second to consider these thoughts as he ran to the bathroom door that had been broken in.
There you were, laying on your back on the tile, the phone begin a foot away ,blood smeared on the screen. His world stopped. His entire body went numb and his blood ran cold. No amount of military or emergency training could have prepared him for this moment. He immediately grabbed you as delicately as he could and rushed down stairs, and out the door to the car.
Neighbors had begun to come out of their homes hearing the speed of the car and crashing in of the door. Hearing a man yelling as loudly as he could for the name of his loved one through an echoey, quiet house. They saw him, in his blood covered shirt as he put his soul in the back seat of the car and sped off again, nobody was stopping him.
#ghost x reader#books#call of duty fanart#cod fanfic#cod ghost#ghost cod#ghost mw2#ghost x y/n#simon ghost riley#ghost x you#simon riley smut#simon riley x reader#simon riley cod#simon riley#ghost simon riley#ghost call of duty#cod#cod x reader
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This is a small continuation to this, and this is how i personally imagine the relationship DU Drow and Orin had before, and a lot of this details come from @meanbossart and i cannot thank you enough for sharing Drow with us, and alas you have inspired me to write my little stories again, and so i made this for you. I hope you enjoy this little snipped of how i see them. @meanbossart
"Specter"
And Orin knows,
She knows she has him in the palm of her hand, eating out of her every word, every thought. But his own arrogance shall be his downfall, his own dagger will stab his wound. The favorite of father, the scion of Bhaal, his precious prince, so oblivious to his own personal demon coming to hunt him, he never saw her coming, never saw her climbing through the ranks. Always believing she worshipped him as all of them did, ready to fall on his feet and kneel in front of his seat.
But he didn’t see her coming, didn’t think her a fool enough to try and take what he had as a right, he was made from the flesh of Bhaal, she was for a mere imitation, he was everything she wanted to be. She could feel it, as his cold hands gripped the rope pulling at her neck, his lower body pushing against her backside showed her just how excited he was at the prospect of her death at his hands, teaching her the lesson she had thought herself the master of.
“Orin..” he growls, a warning, and she should know better than to keep pushing past this point, but the promise of pain comes harder than survival instincts, there’s nothing that brings her more joy than punishing him. Its a game they both play, a game he invented but she became the master of. A sibling fight, a tough pull of the rope to see who breaks first; she knows it will be him, who will end up storming off to kill something or fuck something or perhaps both.
And what angers her the most is how easily he turns a blind eye to Sarevok, to his abuses, to his pushing and prowling for her to accept his affections, how its the will of Bhaal, how there wouldn't be a purer spawn breed ever before.
"Blood-kin" She calls for him, a knife hidden behind her back, under her clothes. "Come to me, it is time we continue our work in you. and perhaps if you behave, I shall reward you." She teases him, taunts him, and he is too fool or too brave too see behind her mask. behind her hate, as he approaches her, a smirk on his face because perhaps this time she wont pull away when his hand lingers slightly too long on her back, or when his fingers dare move lower than her neck. perhaps she has finally understood how he would be perfect for her.
He sights as he lays down and Orin, radiant, sinister, enticing as she walks to him, as she stalks to him, dagger clutch in a hand she will never admit is shaking, and tears of joy gather in her eyes as she asks like good girls do.
"Don't you think we should finally start in your back?" She grins and rejoices when he agrees, not without first waiting for her to sit on his waist and his hands feel the fire to lay on her legs but he resist and turns around, if he pushes he fears she may simply withdrawn this pleasures from him again, as she has been doing so often lately.
His scream fills the air, like the war drums of blood in the temple when her blade finally collides with his head. and the crack of his skull as she has to use her strength to push and break, to open him, to prowl in and she feels his hands pushing back to hit at her, her time is limited as she keeps stabbing, pushing, and his blood covers her hair, her skin, her mouth and no satisfaction ever compares to the look in his eyes as he realizes just how wrong he had been, how life slowly fades from them. At last, she has won the price she had always deserved.
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Prince Paul x
Knight Feyd AU
What if Duke Leto had managed to stage the coup the Emperor feared.
The people Prince Paul trusted could be counted on a single hand with ingers to spare. This was why Paul immediately protested his father's choice to bring back Duncan Idaho and the bested Na-Baron as ghola slaves.
As a ghola, Feyd remembered nothing of his life before he was woken from his suspension pod. Dressed in Harkonnen garb as a symbol of Atreides' conquest as soon as the artificial amniotic fluid dried.
The beautiful stranger wearing Feyd Rautha's skin brought back memories of the duel and the innocence of their boyhood rivalry. Memories Paul swore to take to his grave before ever sharing a bit of it with Feyd's long-haired doppleganger.
The true Feyd Rautha Harkonnen had fallen with his house. Paul being the one to finally best the champion of the arena in combat. With his dying breath, the true Feyd Rautha gifted Paul with words of praise and a congradulatory kiss. Sometimes Paul's mind tortures him with the sticky taste of Feyd's blood on his lips. A sick reminder that the true Feyd Rautha, his Feyd, was gone forever. Ghola were genetic copies. Close siblings to the originals, but not the same. While his mind knew this imposter was not his Feyd, his body and his heart were struggling to accept this reality.
At times, Paul saw glimpses of a boyish Feyd Rautha in his ghola. Back when he would run off from the Harkonnen Courtiers to tease and jeer the heir of Attreides. Dragging Paul into a competition or game young Lord Paul would have never chosen to engage with otherwise.
That playful, chaotic, and competitive part of Feyd came from someplace deep in his bones.
As time goes by, Paul is charmed by the Feyd ghola but the heartache doesn't leave him. Eventually weakening Paul's resolve against the Bene Gesserit's prophecy. Accepting the twisted fate they had for him. After all, Chani left him, he murdered his only childhood friend, Duncan died protecting him, and Gurney died during their coup. becoming a prince has cost Paul some of the dearest people to him. The visions pull Paul into madness.
The ghola versions of Feyd and Duncan team up with the Fremen to rescue Paul from the Golden Path. As always, Duncan doesn't bend when facing the impossible. Remembering his extraordinary life as a legendary swordsmaster. The first ghola to ever do so. Unlike Duncan, Feyd's past life isn't something that he finds any comfort in. Remembering his life as the Na-Baron filled his body with terror. Though his mind remembered nothing of the fallen House Harkonnen, the body has a kind of memory all its own.
The Feyd ghola is unsure if his mind can survive the pain of that life a second time. He was not the masochist the Harkonnens groomed the late Na-Baron to be. The only way to reach a future where Paul doesn't die from madness is if Feyd's mind doesn't break under the trauma. Like centuries of ghola before him.
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Knock. (angst & fluff)
It was this scene again, etched into her mind like a relentless curse. She could smell the acrid stench of burning wood and rotting garbage, mingling with the desperate cries and screams of her neighbors. She was nine again, small and terrified. Her head throbbed with a dizzying pain, the bruising ache from when a piece of plywood had crashed onto her.
A deafening roar shattered the air as another explosion tore through the neighborhood, sending shockwaves of fiery devastation in all directions. Flames danced hungrily, consuming everything they touched. The stench of burning flesh was unbearable—thick, nauseating, and infinitely more horrifying than charred pork or beef. It reeked of something profoundly evil and utterly revolting, a scent that clawed at her soul and churned her stomach into knots.
The black smoke invaded her lungs, a suffocating grip that squeezed tighter with every breath. She choked, each inhalation a desperate struggle against the oppressive heat and toxic fumes that swirled around her, burning her throat and searing her insides. The smoke was so dense it felt like it was wrapping around her, binding her in a lethal embrace.
Amidst the chaos, her vision blurred with tears and pain, she saw dismembered limbs scattered on the ground, charred beyond recognition. The grotesque sight of lifeless bodies, twisted in unnatural positions, added to the overwhelming horror. Blood pooled on the scorched earth, dark and glistening under the flickering flames, a grim reminder of the carnage.
"Mama… mama…" Her voice trembled, a pitiful cry swallowed by the chaos and destruction. Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat against the cacophony of terror. She tried to move, to find her mother, but the fear paralyzed her, roots of dread anchoring her to the spot.
Suddenly, she jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. Her heart raced as her eyes darted around, adjusting to the dim light of the enclosed room. The air was still, the silence heavy and almost oppressive. There was no fire, no smoke—just the lingering terror of her nightmare, wrapping around her like a suffocating shroud.
“It’s all a dream… just a dream…” she murmurs to herself, wrapping her arms tightly around her trembling body. She’s alive. She’s awake. The nightmare was over.
She forces herself to stand, her legs shaky beneath her as she makes her way to the shared kitchen. The images still haunt her, vivid and terrifying, refusing to fade.
"A nightmare, huh?" Ghost's low, husky voice cuts through the silence, startling her. His sudden presence, as always, is unexpected yet oddly comforting.
His voice softens, though it still carries that rough edge. "Nightmares been getting to you again?"
“I thought you were on guard duty,” she replies, trying to sound dismissive but failing to hide the quiver in her voice.
Ghost leans against the wall, his massive frame dwarfing her in the small room. The proximity is both intimidating and strangely reassuring.
"I was," he says, his tone gruff but laced with a softness he reserves only for her. "But I thought I'd check on ya. You haven't been sleeping well lately."
She looks up at him, meeting his gaze. There's a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, barely perceptible but enough to make her chest tighten. He's a fearsome soldier, renowned for his combat skills and unwavering presence on the battlefield. Yet, here he is, his demeanor softened, his concern for her palpable.
“I’m fine. Just a dream. That’s all.” She gulps down the water, the cool liquid doing little to quell the tremors running through her.
Ghost's expression darkens as he watches her try to brush off her troubles. “Yeah…” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “and I’m the King of England. Those nightmares are taking a toll on you.”
He’s heard her wake up in the night more times than he cares to count. Each time, he hears her whisper in her sleep, gasping for breath in the aftermath of the nightmare. He knows the dreams haunt her, more real and terrifying than she lets on.
“Respectfully, Sir… I think you should let it go.”
Ghost’s eyes narrow behind the mask. “And respectfully… I think you should talk to me 'bout these dreams.” There’s a raw edge to his voice, a hint of pain beneath the brusqueness. “We’re supposed to watch each other’s sixes. How can I do that if you shut me out?”
“Don’t.” She raises her palms, a defensive gesture, but her voice wavers, betraying her inner turmoil.
"Don’t what?" His gaze remains fixed on hers, intense and unwavering. "Don’t care? Don’t worry? Don’t try to help?”
A sigh escapes his lips, heavy with frustration and a touch of vulnerability. In this moment, he isn't Ghost, the fearless soldier, but just a man trying to understand. His voice softens, “I’m not good at this feelings stuff… you know? But you’re important to me. And, hell… I worry about you.”
“Tell that to the woman you kissed at the pub!” she snaps, the words out before she can stop them. Her eyes flash with hurt and anger.
Ghost’s eyes widen behind the mask. Shock and guilt etch across his face, though mostly obscured by the skull covering. He stumbles over his words, a rare occurrence for the usually collected soldier. “I can explain,” he starts, but she shakes her head, cutting him off.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she mumbles, trying to maintain a semblance of indifference. “I’m not your girlfriend, right?”
And that… that truth cut deep. She wasn't his girlfriend. Despite the electric chemistry crackling between them, despite the longing glances and the lingering touches, they had never crossed that line. But Ghost couldn't deny the storm of emotions raging within him.
He had kissed the woman, hoping it would ease the ache in his heart, hoping it would dull the sharp edges of his feelings for her. But now, faced with the reality that she had witnessed him with someone else, all those emotions crashed over him like a relentless tide.
He tries again, his voice betraying a crack of desperation, "that woman… she meant nothing to me. She was a distraction. She was…”
But he trails off, the weight of the truth bearing down on him. He had used that woman as an escape, a way to hide from the relentless pull he felt towards her, a futile attempt to silence the longing in his soul.
But now, he can't hide from the truth any longer.
“Let me deal with my nightmares on my own.”
And that stings, too. The way she keeps pushing him away, refusing to let him in, refusing to let him share her burdens. He wants to be there for her, to hold her through the darkest nights, to chase away the demons that haunt her dreams. Yet she keeps pushing him away.
“Why do you push me away?” His frustration spills out, mingled with a raw vulnerability that he rarely shows. "I want to help, damn it. I…"
He hesitates, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. "I care about you. More than I should.”
“And you shouldn’t.”
Those words cut deeper than any bullet ever could. Yet, he presses on, his voice heavy with emotion.
“Why not? Because it’s not what we signed up for? Because it’s not what’s professional?” He steps closer to her, his voice barely a whisper now. His gloved fingertips graze against her cheek, the touch gentle, as if afraid she might vanish before his eyes.
“It’s not professional. I can’t have you risking your rank.”
“To hell with my rank!” His gruff voice reverberates through the room, his hand now firmly cupping her face.
“I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve stitched me up, patched me up. You’ve saved my damn life on innumerable occasions. I owe you that and more.”
His gaze holds hers, pleading for understanding, for acceptance of the truth he's finally admitting. "Maybe it’s not ‘professional’. Maybe it’s messy and complicated. But it's real, damn it."
He brings his other hand to her face, cradling it gently, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. The leather of his glove contrasts starkly against her soft skin.
"I’m done pretending."
His voice is rough, filled with a desperate intensity. The walls he built around his heart, the barriers of restraint, finally crumble as he speaks the words he’s been holding back.
"I don’t care if it’s not ‘professional’. My heart is already yours. And I don’t want it back."
“Am I… interrupting something?”
Gaz’s eyebrow is raised as he uncaps his water tumbler.
Ghost's eyes widen in realization, embarrassment flushing his cheeks beneath the mask. He turns towards Gaz, annoyance and surprise lacing his voice.
"Bloody hell, Gaz! Can't you knock!"
#ghost cod#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost x reader#ghost simon riley#ghost x reader#ghost call of duty#simon riley imagine
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ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 6: the hunter and the hunted.
pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, bang chan & fem!reader, jisung & fem!reader
series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth.
glimpse: the gardens hold the beauty of the labyrinth . . . as well as its horrors. creeping forward without jisung's companionship, you face the roars and growls ahead, alone.
warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, bang chan is referred to as chris, mild violence, cruel punishment, injuries, blood, fear, fights, strong language, faerie lore!!, world building, hyunsung tension, let me know if there needs to be more tags!
word count: 7.8k
series masterlist
Roars echoed through the Labyrinth, shaking the greenery around her. Some rogue flowers curled into themselves, hiding away like sea creatures returning to their shells. Startled bird-like creatures croaked and crowed as they flew off with leathery-sounding wings. There was a rustling within the hedges like the leaves themselves were crawling away from the frightful sounds. Yet here she crept forward, holding her breath as she finally reached the entry-way, a grand hedge archway shadowing her as it opened into a courtyard.
This courtyard was different from the others. Instead of being encompassed by the hedges, the immediate space in front of her were evenly spaced porcelain columns holding up the large rotunda above them. It was only then she realized she was closer to the edge of the Gardens than she had thought – the false sunlight was still bright overhead, making sweat drip down her neck but, she could also see the rest of the Labyrinth in front of her, maze after maze crawling over large undulating hills. It looked like it was made for an ant, how far away and never-ending the maze felt from this perspective. Looming over it all was the Castle, ever present and ever far away. She swore she saw a light twinkle from the highest tower, like a winking eye. The Runner looked away and peered towards the cacophony filling the air.
There was a maze of columns now, scattered in no exact pattern she could distinguish, but providing cover as she crept forward. The floor was between cobblestone and dirt, uneven and changing in its consistency. Yes, this wasn’t the well-maintained Gardens of before – it felt like she was off the chosen path once more. Creeping forward, each pillar seemed to hide what was happening purposely, shifting to prevent her from moving forward fast enough– growls and roars only increasing but also screeches of giggles from squeaky-goblin voices. The same tones she had hear in her bedroom chanting and snickering from underneath her bed. That felt like ages ago…
In the shadow of one of the columns holding the grand rotunda up, she could see a man hung by his wrists, high above small furry goblin creatures wielding weaponry of all sorts. He was well-built, shirtless, his white linen shirt torn to shreds below him where it soaked in a puddle of his own purple blood and sweat. Injuries and bruises painted his skin like a mosaic of muddy emerald, inflamed vermillion, and bloody purple-violet. His head was thrown back in pain as he bellowed out an animalistic noise, too deep and monstrous to truly be human. It almost didn’t process that it was coming from his chest, yet she could see his human-pecs vibrate faintly with the sound. That was when Y/N noticed the ram-like horns curling out of his temple, framed by messy, sweat-plastered brown curls.
Yes, he was certainly not human. (But what here was?)
The fine muscles in his neck and shoulders strained and bulged as he swung by the iron chains looped around his hands. All his weight on just his wrists must’ve been torture. The fae-man took a deep breath, his stomach concaving and expanding, before he heaved himself upwards as he tried to adjust the weight on his wrists. He only had a moment to breath out a hiss before he slumped down, groaning from the pain of holding his weight. Shoulder bones popped and creaked inhumanely.
Even worse were the goblins surrounding him that took joy in his agony, giggling and cackling with sharpened fangs. Each one held a different sort of weapon – a spear with a sharpened tip dripping in violet, a javelin with some sort of creature tied atop with millions of fangs and blood-stained claws at the ready, a flower-esque whip with red-thorns lining the long strip of vine, the list went on. One by one, the goblin creatures dressed in miniature knight-wear would approach with giggles and chatterings, egging one another on. They poked and prodded the man, who grunt and struggled.
A particular strong bite to his ribs by the javelined-creature made him roar out in pain. Inhuman noises broke free from his gnashing teeth, bearing chipped fangs at the guards who tormented him.
It wasn’t right.
The horned man was dripping in purple blood, the violaceous rivulets staining his bared skin. His eyes squeezed shut as he groaned out a growl. The clash of a whip went against his bared back, and Y/N flinched back at the sound.
She had to help; she just wasn’t sure how. Glancing about she tried to find something to defend herself with. The goblins were small but there were five of them and only one of her. Five armed, one unarmed.
“Take this,” she heard a voice squeak out as a spear prodded the fae man’s chest and he let out a wail, head thrown forward now. As if he could somehow protect his chest. Breathing heavily, he glared at the little creatures, struggling against his bonds once more as he twisted and swung in a slow circle. Eyes wild as he spun and spun. She thought for a moment, their eyes locked. But he soon was groaning out in agony.
The Runner glanced at the jewels on her waist. Would one of these be large enough to throw or cause damage? No, not truly. Perhaps—
She felt a nudge against her shoe. Holding in a yelp, a hand over her own mouth, she looked down to see… a rock. Nothing magical about it. Not a bauble of light, a bubble she had seen the King tempt her with time and time again. Just a sandy-looking rock, large enough to be a softball size. It nudged her again slowly and intentionally. It kept a snails’ pace but it nudged and nudged and nudged. Insistently. As if called to her. It took her a moment of awe before she heard another cry of anguish, and her eyes flashed back to look at the captured fae-man.
Her heart squeezed to see tears drip down his cheeks as his teeth gritted into a scowl. This wasn’t right; she had to try something. Squatting, she grabbed the rock that inched forward slower and slower, and brushed her thumb over the rough edges; it didn’t look magical, or living, but this place had made her question things before. The Runner glanced back up to see all five of the ‘knights’ count down, preparing to rush forward the weapons ready to strike the poor trapped fae. It was now or never!
It was then she aimed and threw the rock, aiming for one of their heads. With a clank, she hit her target. The rock bounced off of one of the guard’s helmets, swinging it around almost comically until it covered their eyes. With loud squeaking words in a language she couldn’t decipher, the creature spun about with their weapon tilted before it pierced through another guard’s chainmail. Shrieks of chaos, bickering and moans of pain came from their pile of fur and claws.
“You hit me!”
“No, you did!”
“I’m reporting this to our commander!”
“No, you won’t!”
They spoke over one another in a hurried mess.
Most goblins weren’t clever; they followed their instincts and forgot things. Like their prisoner and the rock that had hit their comrade in the first place. Off they marched, babbling over one another still, until the prisoner and the Runner were alone.
Y/N let out a breath.
That was surprisingly easy. What wasn’t easy was finding out how to get the injured man down now! Rushing forward, she heard a low growl shake the ground.
She slowed, hands rising as she took in his appearance. He was huffing and puffing, his ribs expanding and decompressing rapidly. He had finally stopped swaying in the wind, but it only seemed to trap him more. His body huffed and puffed, eyes wild as they eyed her and snarled.
He looked uncanny in this moment – less human than he had been a minute ago. His mouth too large for his face as he let out a menacing growl, rows of fangs as if he were a shark were visible as he glared at her. There were far too many sharpened fangs for her to feel comfortable and yet she still tried to soothe him.
Those goblin guards had been torturing him for fun.
She wouldn’t.
(She surely hoped that would mean he wouldn’t hurt her in return.)
He growled again and she paused – doubting herself for a moment. She met his eyes and saw how they were shaking. The irises were trembling, jumping from her form to the environment around them. Maybe he was just… scared, overwhelmed.
She offered a gentle smile, hands held up in defense.
“I won’t hurt you!” she called out softly. “I promise.”
Before she continued forwards carefully. He jolted backwards and growled. His movement made him spin from his wrists once more.
He was afraid – that was the only explanation. But she could feel his pain as he spun once, twice, three times. He squirmed and tried to readjust again only to swing wildly. His chest heaved and there was a whine of pain escaping his throat.
“Oh no,” the Runner rushed forward quick, hoping he’d be facing away and not startle too badly as her hands rose to stop him from spinning. Two small hands resting on his broad back with care, sliding to settle on his ribs to avoid any of his wounds. His body was cold as stone and sturdy as rock. She felt his muscles jump as she minded his injuries the best she could. He stopped swaying and she took in his restraints from up close for the first time. Far too many chains of iron curled around his form. There was a shackle around his neck, a chain looped around his lean waist, wrapped chains around each of his biceps and finally a myriad of overlapping chains around his wrists from which he hung from. She gently turned him around, trying to keep it slow and gentle.
She met his eyes, grey and stone-cold. They were piercingly heavy and she couldn’t help but stare. His face was all masculine angles, sharp jaw, rectangular face. His nose was broad and bore a large scar, like an animal scratch starting from his right cheekbone traveling across its bridge to the other cheekbone. His teeth were snarling at her, perpetually stuck in this growl. His bottom canines were sharpened and chipped in places as if he had used them to fight before. Her eyes flickered back to his eyes that seemed to speak for him now. It was commanding but not in a way that was magical – it was a brute strength, cold-stone glare.
“Down,” he finally spoke to her, more like growled out to her; his tone still edging towards animalistic still.
She nodded agreeing. “I’m trying.” She reassured, her hands leaving his form after a moment. “Trust me.”
“Before they get back,” he rumbled.
“I know. I’m trying to find how they strung you up,” she relayed as she followed the chains high above them. Like his own bonded wrists, the chains linked and overlaid one another in a patterned mess. They stretched up across the columns, criss-crossing like a spider’s web. She could even see some bird nests in between the chains, making their home there and weighing down sections. Her gaze went one way and then another. This way and that, that way and this. Twisting around columns, decorating it in intricate weave work. Until they came to the end. Which was thankfully not too far. The last end of the chair curled around a column like ivy before hitching over a hook in the rockwork.
Rushing over to the end of the lead, she quickly released it, unwinding it and letting go as it tugged ferociously. The man crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. He hissed out but remained still on the ground for a moment. Huffing and puffing.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” she cried out, rushing over to him and falling to her knees beside the fae-man.
She watched, cautiously, as his body heaved and huffed. His muscles finally had a break, his joints cracking loudly as he shifted this way and that. He pressed his forehead to the ground beneath him, his horns digging into the soil. Skin to raw earth, he seemed to relax. His shuddering stopped as he took in deep slow breaths.
“Are—are you okay?” The Labyrinth-Runner queried. She didn’t touch his bare back nor move from her spot beside him.
He breathed in before nodding.
“Yes,” he replied, sounding different. More whole now. His voice was no longer a rumbling growl but instead it was shifting into something far softer. He cleared it gently.
“Thank you for helping me.”
Rising up onto his knees, his hair fell over his forehead in mussy natural curls with leaves and twigs from the ground tangled in his locks and dirt clinging to his forehead, but what caught her off guard was his eyes. They were no longer stone-cold but instead a gentle grey. Sparkling and gentle as he took her in. He leaned back onto his legs, matching her kneeling position as he blinked owlishly at her.
“I’m… I’m Chris,” his voice was careful, soft. Tinged with an accent Y/N couldn’t place but felt far different from the others’ she had met so far. But what had shocked her so far was his sincerity.
Despite everything - the mussed curls plastered to his sweatied forehead, the overwhelming chains wrapping around his form, the claw marks, goblin bites, and cuts oozing violet-purple blood across his torso, the layered scars up and down his arms and shoulders, the prominent slice across the bridge of his broad nose, the dirt across his brow – his grey eyes felt soft and real. Honest. His lips twitched into a careful smile, far from the uncanny rows of fangs she had sworn she saw while he was trapped.
She would take this in stride she thought. Not everything is as it seems but… if she was honest, he seemed to be different from what meets the eye.
“It’s nice to meet you, Chris,” she greeted, a hand slowly going to pick the leaves and sticks from his chocolate hair carefully. He flinched away at her movements at first, his overcast eyes dilating before focusing back in on her like a big cat as he froze and allowed her to pick a pine needle from his hair carefully.
“I’m Y/N.”
He repeated the name with a softness. “I’ve never heard of a Y/N in the Labyrinth before.” Chris murmured.
“Is there only one person for each name here?” she queried as she continued her picking and fluffing of his curly hair. He blushed an otherworldly purple, the color high on his cheekbones.
“Names are special here. No one is ever named the same,” he informed her.
If he had been even more honest, he’d mention that names held power. (There was a reason Jisung never gave her his, nor did Hyunjin. Learning names from other sources gave them less power than someone giving it to them but it was still power. Naming a fae was entering a pact with them.)
She hummed in acknowledgement before taking the final loose leaf from his hair with a satisfied smile.
“I’m trying to beat the Labyrinth,” she told him, hands going to her knees. “I’m trying to get home. Do you know the way to the Castle?”
There’s a glance towards to the looming image of Hyunjin’s castle – it somehow was able to look so close yet so far away in one blink, as if it were an optical illusion. Chris pressed his lips together and swallowed, looking away from the centerpiece of the maze.
Despite his strength, in that moment, he looked small. Hand going to scratch at a wound on his arm as he shook his head softly. Eyes downcast, almost child-like. Frightened, she realized.
Maybe it was due to the King’s cruel guards, or maybe the King had declared this sort of punishment.
It made her blood boil – the King was frightening. A tyrant king. She had yet to meet one person with a positive view of him. It was guards long forgotten at posts deep in uncared for mazes, remains of Runners scattered in the Labyrinth like forgotten toys, trolls left to rot in oubliettes, power-lusting goblin guards torturing a man. All away from the castle and yet shadowed in Hyunjin’s power.
She glared up at the Castle she was trying to get to. What would become of her if she fails? If this is how he keeps his Labyrinth’s order? She knew he wanted her to be his – but if this was his Kingdom, was she to become nothing but another ghost in the many twisted paths of his Labyrinth?
“Okay,” she buzzed. Too much energy in the word to sound calm. But she didn’t push him, not when he winced after grazing over a wound too closely. Her gaze settled back on Chris, taking in the way the iron chains wrapped around his body. They cut into his skin harshly, his wrists dripping with deep-violet blood, and even his biceps had rivulets of blood running down his arms with every movement. That had to hurt.
“Let’s try to get these off, okay?” she changed the subject, hands moving from her lap to brush tenderly over a chained bicep before fingering the ones around his wrists. The chains were heavy and criss-crossing like snakes around his wrists. She couldn’t see where one chain started and ended.
Chris couldn’t help but let the awe in his eyes gleam as she touched his shackles with ease. (Iron is cursed to fae – remember this. Iron-metal burns with a thousand suns to weak faeries; why do you think the human realm is made up of it?) Chris had grown used to the ache and sizzle where the metal laid but every push and pull made his eyes water in agony. But she touched them easily.
“It’ll hurt.” Chris rumbled - eyes wide as he pulled back from her grasp. His hands going towards his chest protectively.
“But, doesn’t it hurt now?” Y/N asked, eying the cuts carefully.
Chris visibly gulped as he tried to shrug.
“It’ll be over in a second,” she promised. “We’ll tug them over your hands and figure out what to do next.”
The horned man shook his head, eyes wide like a pup’s. “No, no way; it’ll hurt!” he pleaded.
“Trust me?” she asked. “Like before? I helped you then and I want to help you now.”
He swallowed. “I do trust you. . .”
“Good, here let me see,” she soothed as she took his hands once more in hers.
The chains wrapped over and over around his wrists, weaving in and out. They were made slippery with his magenta-hued blood. It took time and each time she unwound it further, each time she found a new give in the chain, she’d apologize quietly. The push and pull of metal had to hurt against his irritated skin.
“I’m sorry, I know it hurts; it’ll be better once its off,” she apologized once more as she tugged and tore at the shackles from his wrists. He whimpered, the sounds escaping from his clenched fanged mouth.
As they continued to unravel, the iron digging into his skin became more and more rusted and sharpened. There were odd-crystal structures of rust piercing into his skin, like thorns, and it made her only gasp in horror as she continued to pull at the irons.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured softly as she saw how torn up his wrists were. It only made her want them off quicker. He sniveled, eyes shutting tightly. She quickly continued onwards, flinching as these crystallizations scratched her own hands up. But they were almost unraveled, more and more bare skin visible. Puffy and inflamed, deep-violet and navy spiderweb bruises bloomed where the chains had rested.
“I’ve got it I promise.” she quickly slipped the cuffs away.
His violet and her ruby blood mixed together on their skin as she dropped the cuffs to the ground.
“There,” she smiled proudly before looking over his hands. “Oh Chris, are you alright?”
Only, he was staring down at her own hands, covered in red and purple.
“I’m okay.” his voice was strained. “You’re bleeding, Y/N.”
His nostrils were flared. His chest rose and fell harshly as he smelt the blood billow into the air.
Her hands stung but she simply shook her them as if its rid them of the pain. Chris’ large hands went to grasp hers, his touch harsh at first as if he wasn’t used to his own strength. Her furrowed brow, soft gasp, and clenched teeth were cues enough and he held them gentler, tenderly. His eyes were sad, almost like a kicked puppy dog.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“I’m okay,” she reassured. “Just some cuts and scrapes.”
His fingers brushed over some of her wounds with the carefulness of a parent, not wanting to cause her any more pain. She squeezed a finger gently, trying to let him know it was fine.
“Let’s get these off too,” she nodded to his arms. They looked easier to wiggle off, less wrapped and more like a singular chain that dug into his skin. With some effort and Chris flexing and twisting his arm, they too fell away to the cobblestone floor.
His biceps were ringed in irritated-inflamed violet while remnants of magic-infused blood, sparkling and shimmering like amethysts in the Gardens’ light, dripped down his tanned skin.
“Do you want us to try to remove the neck and waist chains?” she queried, wiping her hands on her pants (luckily, they were dark and wouldn’t show the blood that now painted her fingers a pinky-purple color.) Each brush of fabric made her flinch.
Chris looked down at his bound waist, long chains of iron wrapping around him and draping to the floor, tumbling around his legs.
“No, let me try; I can move my arms,” he tested the strength of the chain, gripping it by his sides. Gritting his teeth, he held the shackle’s chain in his hand and pulled. Pulled, pulled, pulled until the link shattered. The shackles fell from his waist like it was a paper chain.
Y/N’s eyes widened at the display of strength.
“Wow.” She murmured. “You’re really strong.”
Chris smiled, his eyes squinting into half-moons as his cheeks flushed.
“You're strong too," he complimented, because in his eyes, she was.
"I was a Hunter before this,” he admitted to her.
“What happened to get you caught up in this?” her chin nodded to the shattered remains of the chains and his shredded shirt on the ground beside them.
He frowned. “I failed a mission set by the King,” he replied. “He cursed me to a hundred years of imprisonment.”
“That’s horrible,” she replied. “What was the mission? Nothing is worth a hundred years of imprisonment if it was just a task he gave you.”
“I was sent off to destroy a beast – a monster in the desert sea, but when I found it—him—I realized it was just living peacefully,” he commented. “He hadn’t caused any destruction or deaths. So, I spared him.”
Her brows crinkled. “So, the King punished you for mercy?” she queried.
Her blood boiled. Hyunjin was becoming more and more unsavory to her. How dare he! How dare he punish someone for mercy!
“He wasn’t himself after—I thought maybe a courtier had planned it, made the plot to blame the destruction onto someone else – he didn’t believe me.” He murmured, fingers brushing over his no-longer aching wrists. “The Prince had tried to help me.” Chris admitted after a moment, head tilting in acknowledgement.
Prince… King… wait. Y/N’s eyes widened.
“How long have you been captured, Chris?” she asked.
“I can’t remember—maybe a few years.” He admitted. “Minutes can feel like days.”
She feared it had been much longer if there was a Prince when Chris was put into chains and now there were none. Unless Hyunjin had a son running around in the looming Castle but there were never any tales of that in her storybooks.
“I’m sorry that you’ve been stuck for so long – especially with those goblins looking over you,” she nodded in the direction the ‘guards’ had scurried off to. Her eyes flashed over his bared skin, the cuts and bites and bruises looking gnarly on him.
“I’ll heal,” he promised, smiling at her kindly. “The pain will leave soon; thanks to you.”
She smiled gently. At least she helped him in her quest. He seemed kind. There was a warmth to him and bigness that felt like he was sturdy and true in himself. Confident but quietly so. Comforting like the way mountains were comforting in their ever-presence.
“I need to keep going now,” she admitted. “I need to make it to the Castle – will you be alright?”
His grey eyes widened, soft pouty lips pursing into a frown.
“Without me?” he murmured. “Can’t I go with you?”
It didn’t feel like a ploy. It felt like he was genuinely sad you were parting.
“I mean, we will be going against the King,” she told him. “I don’t want you to get into any more trouble, Chris.”
He shook his head firmly. His lips now falling into a disapproving line rather than a pout.
“Nah, nah, nah,” he said. “I can help you – like you helped me.”
Her own eyes were soft and gentle as she looked at the hulking man before her and yet his words were gentle and kind.
“Are you sure?” she clarified.
“I can’t let you leave without me,” he insisted. “We—I’m here for you now.”
It was insistent and genuine. Not insistent and obsessive. It felt like for once… she had someone truly on her side. Not won over by prettied jewelry or by loneliness in the middle of a maze with only their lover. But for her and her actions.
Her smile made her cheeks ache with how large it was.
“Okay. We’re friends now,” she told him sincerely.
“Friends,” Chris beamed back as he took her hand in his giant one.
His hand encompassed hers easily, but he held it with care of a gentleman.
“So where to?” he asked.
The path onwards felt counterintuitive. They were led away from the Castle, their backs to it as they settled on the now-dirt path. Light from the rotunda above them still glared down but now felt more like a sunset’s rays rather than a noontime sun. Perhaps it was due to them being so close to the edge of the false sky-light.
They had walked only for a short time before Chris queried.
“Why do you want to get to the Castle?”
“I’m a Runner,” she said. “I’m in the middle of a deal with the King.”
He shivered faintly from the corner of her eye. “I’m surprised he took upon a Runner.”
Her brows crinkled. “Why?”
“His Champion-Queen fled to the human-realm a few years ago.” He hummed. “He hasn’t been the same since.”
“That’s interesting,” she mumbled, glancing around and winding around a column.
There was now just a large bank to her right and the Gardens and their large columns to her left. The gorge was dark. Misty and shadowed as the light of the garden’s rotunda failed to reach it. There were no fantastical floating lamps and no fire pits in this part of the Labyrinth. Just darkness. Trees seem to sprout into existences as they continued onwards, large piney trees that crept higher and higher, growing denser and denser. This shadowy darkness spilled over onto the path like an oil slick leak.
“Can you tell me more about the royals?” she asked after a moment.
Chris offered a bashful look. “I don’t know them that well,” he admitted scratching his neck. “I grew up in the Shadow of the Castle; I know the Royals by face not name; I doubt anyone really does. There’s the Goblin King, the Heir Prince, the Queen-Consort. We all know of the Champion-Queen but I’ve never seen her.” He shrugged a bit.
“I don’t know what else to say – they are the rulers of the Underground? The Prince loves celebrations; the King loved the Labyrinth once.” He tried to find anything else to say but it seemed to be difficult. Was it the topic or was it something more?
“Tell me about you then,” she conceded, hoping maybe she’d grasp some more information about this world.
Her eyes stayed locked on their surroundings, watching as the dark shadow-like trees of the forest beside them shifted and bent in the wind.
“I was the King’s Hunter – my father was their Hunter before me. My brood will be their Hunter after me,” he said easily, shrugging. “I’m tasked with maintaining the peace in the Kingdom when it comes to unrulier creatures.”
She nodded slowly. So, there was supposedly order here and Chris was once their enforcer, which felt like he was higher than the guards that were poking and prodding him.
“What will you do now?” she asked.
He nudged her playfully with his shoulder, having to dip to nudge her with his muscular shoulder. It made her smile.
“I’m with you now!” he chimed. “You got me, Runner, in your graces. I’ll travel with you and make sure you are safe like you have for me.”
(Blood for blood. Life for life. He was here until his debt was paid.)
“But… after I leave. . . “, she wondered. “What then?”
Chris pursed his lips, looking off into the distance. There were faint hazy orange-light over the horizon – from what she could only assume was the entrance of the Labyrinth, the way she came. It looked so far away now. She couldn’t help but feel optimistic that they were making progress even as they approached where she came while following this path.
“I could go back –”
There was a scuffle in the brush. Chris’ hand reached out to grasp her shoulder. She wished he had a weapon but his bared teeth reminded her that he always had a weapon with him.
“Y/N,” he began before there was a hissing sound and flash of color in the dim light.
He shifted her to the side, pressing her behind him as his large arm blocked an attack. There was a loud thud as the creature was tossed aside. It thudded to the ground, a pile of red. Another flash of light was to its right.
It didn’t look humanistic. The way it shivered and shuddered with technicolor light, too bright and too flashy to really grasp onto its features. It was more of a shifting, shimmering light leak.
Chris grunted as he stood fully in front of her as a screech escaped the creature on the ground. In a blink, all she could see was red dripping down the creature- with its long talons and dripping crimson rivulets down his forehead. Large antlers pierced through its skull and his eyes gleamed a burning red.
Meanwhile, the entity of light danced this way and that, around the crimson creature, around Chris, and around her. Like it was dancing in a waltz amongst a battle. Chris hissed.
She shifted this way and that as she batted off the tendril of light and color. It didn’t harm her, didn’t even touch her, but it was almost observing her as she backed into the hedges of the Gardens. It hovered beside her and she tried to maintain a distance while keeping her eyes on the fight.
A low growl rumbled from Chris and the creature shifted low on the ground. Her back pressed against the leaves of the Gardens, ivy scratching at her ears and neck as Chris’ posture shifted.
(Faeries all had glamour. Some wielded it; some didn’t. Some wielded it quite well.)
Chris seemed to have great control over his glamour as the same uncanny features appeared. Larger mouth, his form felt larger even if was the same height as before and there was a fearful aura around him as he dug a hand into the ground.
The crimson creature jumped and jittered about, long limbs cracking inhumanly as it crept forwards. Its gaze was locked on Chris before they rose to linger on her. There was a deep chuckle, humming through the threads of existence.
Chris rumbled again, a warning hiss. There was a jolt and movements too fast for her human eyes to follow. In a blink of an eye, the creature was gone from her vision. Chris turned and swiped towards her; the crimson creature far too close to her now. The entity of dancing-lights seemed to swerve in front of her, an inhuman type noise pushing out of its existence. She stumbled back as the two grappled one another. Antlers against horns, their feet slid in the dirt and mulch of the path. She shrieked as her feet fell deep into loosen soil by the bank and she yelped, trying to escape the cave-in of their path along the gorge. Nails dug into the remaining solid rock, her head only above their path now.
“Chris!”
Chris’ muscles strained, wounds dripping purple, before he grabbed both creatures and tossing them aside like they were nothing but a leaf. He turned to find her amongst the concaving dirt.
Mud and mulch kicked up into the air and a blur of color rushed towards her. Chris quickly leapt into action, pushing the creature away as the Runner was shoved to the side, out of breath. There was only a moment of calm before she was slipping off the path. The bank crumbling from her weight and becoming nothing but mulch and loose dirt beneath her shoes. She scrambled, trying to grasp onto something as the crimson creature roared from overhead. The entity of dancing technicolor light swirled and whirled as it danced in and out of existence until it was gone.
“Chris!” she screeched out. “Han!” the name left her throat in fear. “Help – please! Jisung!”
A barking noise, like a creature whining and running off, pierced the air before there was a huffing puffing Chris in her vision.
“Y/N, I’m here!” he cried out, reaching a hand out.
There was no time for relief as her shoes sunk into the dirt and she slid further down the gorge. Hands scrambling against tree roots and dead brush as she tried to climb towards her friend. But the dirt was too loose, too damp. She kept sliding down and falling. The wind was knocked out of her as a log buried in the dirt nudged her stomach painfully. It dislodged her from her clawing, making her tumble onto her back.
“Chris!” she screeched out as she fell, her feet gripping nothing as she slid fully now.
She tried to grasp onto something, a root, the dirt, but everything was so fast and the fall was so steep she was soon tumbling down faster and faster until she was far below the Gardens in the darkness of a forest.
-
“She’s so dumb – I can’t believe she’d- just,”
Jisung was wandering around the last of the Gardens’ hedges – huffing and puffing about the Runner and her stupidity. His clothes were clearly ruffled from maybe, possibly, probably forcibly-pushing his way through the hedges to get back onto the main path. His curls were messed with twigs and flower petals. He stomped a bit as he passed into a new part of the Labyrinth.
The cobblestone had faded back into a dirt path. There were destroyed arches of stone, large sculptures that were tumbled over, and cobwebs casting a haze of fuzz across near everything. Old trees and barren hedges of rot framed this place. A dried fountain ached for water in the nearby courtyard of an abandoned castle. The Old Castle. This was a place for ghosts and dust. Dust sprites huddled together by a barely lit fire. In the corners, abandoned shadows clung to concrete columns and broken hunks of fire-eaten wood.
There was a large sculpture of a familiar face – strong jawbone, pout familiar, and a glowering brow – half destroyed as if by a blast of magic. Jisung passed by it without a second glance.
“Running towards roars – she isn’t going to last long; why would she do that?” he grumbled and muttered, fussing with the bracelet on his wrist. “Why would she do that?”
He didn’t understand it; he didnt understand her. But he wanted to, itched to. He couldn't help but feel so so...
“Han!” he heard her cry in the distance and he froze, jeweled eyes widening. “Help, please!”
It felt like liquid ice was injected in his veins. She needed him. She was hurt or in pain or about to be in pain and he left her. Left her. He left her alone in a place that was just built to prey upon her. His only friend. . .
“I’m coming, Y/N!” he breathed, turning to race back to the Runner only to run into a sturdy chest. The smell of fire-smoke and honeyed-mead flooded his nose.
“Where are you off to, Jisung?” the King hissed.
“Hyunjin,” the goblin-fae breathed out, startled by his appearance.
Dressed in a white silken shirt that was lazily open to reveal his chest, leathered pants, and a dragon-scaled purple cloak. He wore a fine halo-like crown of kingly-gold, intricate and delicately embellished with rubies. His face was one of annoyance, his lips drawn into a line and his brows furrowed.
It was a surprise to see the King in a place like this. Even the solidarity shadows hid away from their corners and pillars of stone, far away from the King of the Underground. Hyunjin glanced aside, looking over the ruins with a curled lip.
“Jisung, what did we agree upon last time we spoke privately?” he queried, remaining ever close to Jisung even as the goblin-fae continued to back away until his back hit the statue’s remaining face.
Hyunjin’s gaze flickered over the half-desecrated face of the King of old, his eyes squinting in disdain before settling back onto Han’s pout.
“Lead the Labyrinth Runner away to the beginning – which-which I was going to go do, like you told me to. She simply, uh, escaped me. Got too eager.” Jisung replied. “I’ll go lead her back right now!” He wiggled against the press of the King’s body. Hyunjin held Jisung’s shoulder down harshly, digging him into the sharp cheekbone of the Old King’s statue.
“I see; I thought you were running off to help her,” he mocked.
Jisung snorted out, the sound forced as he let out a strained smile. His shoulder-blade ached with the way Hyunjin pinned him to the stone.
“No, no,” he smiled, pleadingly. “Not me, Hyune.”
There was almost a look of fondness in Hyunjin’s eyes at the nickname. His hand rose from the other’s shoulder to squeeze Han’s cheeks. The metal claws that Hyunjin wore pricked his skin and Han grimaced. There was a beat before Hyunjin pulled away, a glaring smile on his lips.
“Of course,” Hyunjin hummed before letting go of the goblin-fae with a rough hand. “Not after my warnings, no.”
Jisung stumbled away as he rubbed at his cheeks. His gaze flickered upwards, looking at the other through his messed curls.
“Poor, poor Jisungie,” the King condescended, sighing out. “I noticed your jewels are missing,” Hyunjin noted.
Jisung’s hand instinctively went to wear they usually weighed on his waist. They were absent; his bracelet thudding against his belt with a plastic scrape.
“Oh, oh.” He stuttered.
“Jisung!” there was a distant cry from the Runner, so far off in the distance it was barely audible. She needed him. Hyunjin was quick to speak over her and her following yells.
“How’d that happen? After all you went through to obtain them, you’d think you’d be more… careful with your treasures,” Hyunjin commented.
The goblin-fae’s hand rose to itch at the back of his neck, fiddling over the raised scales that resided there. “I—You’re right—something must’ve—I’ll have to look for them,” Jisung stumbled over his words. “But, first, I’ll go and whisk the Runner back to the beginning!”
Jisung bowed slightly as he began to back away, step after step, heading towards Y/N. Y/N needed him. He had to find her. His fingers fiddled with the charms of his bracelet, rubbing one charm back and forth as he tried to sneak away only to feel the world stop. Birds shushed; the brush ceased to shift in the air; sounds and squeaks of the world tumbling along quieted. The air chilled to a freezing temperature and he froze.
“Wait, Jisung.”
It was an odd thing – a power only the High Fae had with their pure-connection to magic, blessed by the Underground to be able to control time and reality at whim. Hyunjin didn’t do so often, and only when it benefitted him.
It had been a while since Jisung had felt the effects of his power. Time stopping was useful when you wanted to avoid something or prolong another thing. He has memories of forever parties where time refused to tick forward, air frozen cold from magic being warmed by his body pressed to Hyunjin’s and other courtiers, and paused moments around the Castle, just him and Hyunjin, locked in embraces and pleasantries beyond Time’s eye.
Jisung’s eyes shut before he turned and falsified a smile to his King.
“I have a better plan.” The King mused. “Give her this.”
Hyunjin commanded with a flare of his fingers. Suddenly, a fruit was daintily perched in between his clawed fingers before he tossed it to Jisung quickly. The goblin-fae reacted and caught it easily.
“What is it?” He hummed, holding the thing carefully.
“It’s a present,” Hyunjin’s voice was sharp as he paced a few steps forward.
He didn’t like that he had to stoop to such levels, but she was progressing far too quickly. He couldn’t help the rise of defensiveness. He had expected her to be cowering in his shadow by now – he had expected her to be at his knees, sweet and pliant.
“It won’t harm her… will it?” Jisung queried, quietly.
The peach was abnormally heavy for such a small thing. It reeked of magic like honey-suckle with a sour-undertone, like something was fermenting within it.
“Now, why would you care?” Hyunjin paused, glancing over his shoulder at the goblin-man.
Jisung’s lips pressed into a fine line. Silence struck him. He was truly a coward after all that has happened. He couldn’t say what he truly thought even now. If he did, what if it hurt him – what if it hurt Y/N, too? It was odd feeling care for someone else after all these years. It made him swallow roughly.
Hyunjin’s smile was sharpened fangs and rolled eyes.
“Don’t tell me – you like the girl?” the King mocked.
It was foolish but expected of Jisung. He always wanted what wasn’t his. And the Labyrinth-Runner was his. Not Jisung’s. His.
Jisung’s voice was a stutter as he glanced towards a nearby shimmering tree and avoiding the King’s gaze. His throat felt dry as he swallowed. His hands fiddled with the bracelet – her bracelet he was reminded cruelly by a voice in his head. Her bracelet she gave him after he promised to help her. But here he was… discussing her with the King. Betrayer, betrayer, betrayer. Coward, coward, coward. His thumb brushed over the charm he favored the most – the smoothness easing his rising anxiety as he felt a roil of bile climb in his throat. He felt like he was back to the dunes outside the Labyrinth, banished and alone, with only the sands of time as his company and the taste of dust on his lips. He licked his lips – it didn’t taste of grit or death. He wasn’t there.
The King made him anxious and ever-cowardly. A long while ago, he was believed to be the King’s favorite – but it is true that Hyunjin’s blood was cruel, and no one knew that more than Jisung.
“Do you love her?” Hyunjin pressed on, turning fully to look at Jisung.
Head tilting like a predator sizing up his prey, he took slow steps with his long legs. His deep purple coat didn’t dare touch the dusty ground – it was as if small dust sprites lifted it just enough so it wouldn’t tarnish the fabric. It made him look more unearthly, more slowly unhinging at the thought that Jisung wanted her. His Runner.
“Do you think she loves you?” he commented, voice deep and low like a tiger’s growl.
It held an air of warning but also ridicule. As if the idea was fictious – unbelievable. Hyunjin’s eyes stormed as Jisung’s gaze rose at the other’s words. At the sight of the hurricane building, Jisung glanced aside once more as he found his voice.
“She’s my friend,” Jisung finally murmured, glancing down at his feet. “I don’t want to harm her.”
His eyes focused in on the bracelet that jingled lightly. The metal didn’t burn him – despite its iron and silver appearance. He liked that. It made him feel powerful. His other hand’s thumb brushed over a different charm.
“Oh Jisung,” his true name was like a dog’s lead around his throat. His head snapped up to meet the King’s gaze. He was oh so very close now; his smell of fire-smoke and honeyed rosemary burning Jisung’s nose.
“We were friends once, too,” Hyunjin reminded the shorter man.
And he had hurt the King was unspoken but loud and clear. Betrayal bit at the lesser-goblin’s spine. There was a hum in the King’s throat, a soft tut before, with the polished specter, he tilted Jisung’s chin up.
“Jisungie, if she ever kisses you,” Hyunjin was close, the king invading the space of his once-Gentleman-In-Waiting, his estranged best friend, “I’ll make you a Prince.”
Jisung couldn’t help the glow of wonder from sparkling in his eyes. Confusion and awe. He was a greedy soul through and through. Perhaps his blood was of dragon-fae long passed considering how he exceled in green envy and the need for a hoard of pretty things.
If he was a Prince of the Underground, he’d have all the jewels and finery and wondrousness that a fae like himself deserved. Even more than when he was a Gentleman-In-Waiting. All because of a human kiss? No, no, not just a human’s kiss – it was Y/N. Brave, stupid, charming Y/N. She’d probably like him more and--
“The Prince of the Land of Eternal Stench,” Hyunjin finished with a cruel smirk. He loved to watch the awe fade from his subject’s eyes – how Jisung’s Adam’s apple stuttered with a swallow. Hyunjin’s fingers rose to pinch the fair goblin’s chin. “Don’t make me do such a thing, my pet.”
Jisung trembled as he nodded. “Yes--yes, your Majesty.”
“Good boy,” the Goblin King hummed before letting go of Jisung’s chin and stepping away with a scowl.
“Give my gift to the Runner; she’s making too much progress.”
#skz x reader#jisung x reader#han jisung x reader#skz imagines#stray kids x reader#stray kids imagines#hyunjin imagines#hyunjin angst#hyunjin reactions#stray kids scenarios#stray kids fanfic#stray kids fantasy au#han jisung imagines#jisung imagines#jisung reactions#han jisung reactions#jisung angst#han jisung angst#bang chan x reader#chan x reader#bang chan imagines#bang chan fluff#written by haley#hyunjin x reader#hwang hyunjin x reader
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