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marsbutterfly · 3 years

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Skyfall

Summary: When you are hired to kill the most dangerous mafia boss, things get a little complicated.

Wattpad Version! | AO3 Version!

|◁ II ▷|

“This is the end

Hold your breath and count to ten

Feel the Earth move and then

Hear my heart burst again”

7:34pm

The clock on your wrist tics quietly but in the silent room, it nearly sounds like bombs being dropped from above. Not a word is exchanged between you and the man sitting across the room but you know exactly what he wants.

In his hand rests a dark colored suitcase, you can barely tell until the light hits his belt ever so gently but you finally see the gun he’s been carrying.

You take a deep breath, getting up for your seat. The sound of your heels clicking on the floor fills the atmosphere as you walk towards him, the smirk on his lips is undeniable and you don’t understand what he has to be smiling about.

He stands up a second after you and walks in your direction, bumping against you and dropping his suitcase and the papers in his hand. In response, you throw on the floor the suitcase you once held.

The man apologizes profoundly as you help him collect the papers on the floor. You say over and over that it is ok, while all the curious eyes in the room land on you. As you stand up, you hand him the suitcase you once had in your hand and he nods, thanking you for the help and apologizing one last time.

You begin to make your way back to your car, the smirk on his lips still engraved in your brain as a chill travels down your spine. “Why was he smiling?” You ask yourself not wanting to admit it but you are a bit scared of knowing the answer.

Though once you open the suitcase, you understand why. Inside, rests the pictures and information of your next target, the millionaire leader of an enemy gang. Though you don’t enjoy taking sides, you’ve been paid a large amount of money to take her out, more than you have ever made.

The war between these two gangs has been going on for the longest time and you have killed enough people on both sides to earn a fair amount of enemies, but this time you couldn’t help but feel a sinking hole opening in your heart.

Hanji Zoe has always been the deadliest member of the underground group. Her kill count is even higher than yours, at least 500+ heads under her belt. They say her torture methods surpass even the ones they use in hell.

She’s known as the Devil herself.

“For this is the end

I've drowned and dreamt this moment

So overdue, I owe them

Swept away, I'm stolen”

8:15pm

Your keys unlock the heavy doors of your house and somehow the marble floors feel colder than ever. Your shoes rest in their designated spot by the coat holder and you throw the suitcase on the couch.

Two cups rest on the counter near the bar area inside your home. One of them contains what you assume is whisky, due to the color and the amount of ice in the cup, it has always been her favorite after a work day.

The lipstick marks are fresh meaning she has just now gotten home. Upon paying closer attention, you realize the shower is on and steam is coming out of the bathroom. You think about joining her but ultimately decide to have a drink first, trying to forget about your next target.

Gently, you take two rocks of ice and place them in the clean cup specifically placed out for you. Pouring yourself a single shot of whisky, you walk towards the balcony feeling as the cold air of the night hits your face.

You knew this day would come but you hoped it would take longer.

Deep in your own thoughts, you don’t realize the water has been turned off in the bathroom and wet footsteps approach your body.

It’s not until her wet arms wrap around your black dress that you realize you are no longer alone. Her face is buried in your back and you can see steam leaving her arms as the hair on her skin stands up.

The tattoo of your initials on her hand still brings butterflies to your stomach. The memory of the night she got it is still one of your favorite moments you spent together, especially since it was after your first date and she told you she knew you were the one.

“I missed you.” She says, placing a kiss on your skin. You can feel as her breasts are pressed against you and a gasp leaves your body.

“I missed you too.” You reply, a disobedient tear rolling down your face as you chug the contents of the cup in your hand.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, placing her hand on your waist as she turns your body around so you can face her. She is a few inches taller, nothing too extreme but enough to make you look up at her gently.

Her thumb brushes the tear on your cheek before rubbing it above your lips. You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to tell her the news you just received.

“You are my next target.” You say and Hanji nods, a sad smirk on her lips.

“Let the sky fall

When it crumbles

We will stand tall

Face it all together”

9:00pm

The brush goes through her hair with ease for the first time, as if she took care of the tangles in the shower already knowing what the news you were bringing would be. After shower moments were the ones where Hanji was the most vulnerable.

She would simply close her eyes and appreciate the attention she’s been given as she fades in the echo of your voice. You hum a melody quietly, Hanji’s favorite song in the hopes to bring her any comfort at all.

Your tears drip down your nose onto her scalp as you put her hair in a ponytail, attempting to help her get ready for the party she will be attending in an hour. At the highest floor of the second tallest building in the entire city.

“How are you going to do it?” She asks, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke up in the air while trying to make rings out of it. You giggle, touching her shoulders before sliding your hands down her arms.

You notice the goosebumps rising on her skin and can’t help but smile at how she reacts to your touch. “Must we talk about it?”

“I need to know.” She replies and you nod, sighing heavily while finally agreeing to talk about the elephant in the room.

“I’ll be on the roof of the Paradise building. I am pretty sure they will send someone to watch me do it.” You begin, spraying the bottle of perfume around her and noticing as the drops of liquid fall on her tan skin, masking the smell of the cigarette.

“But they might not.” She says and you shrug your shoulders.

“They might not.” You say quietly.

“I wouldn’t expect any less from this city’s top 1 assassin.” She says, taking your hand in hers and planting a soft kiss on your palm, leaving behind the red mark of her deep colored lipstick.

She stands up, allowing the robe to fall to the floor and reveal her naked body. You can’t look away from the perfect shape of her breasts, the line that goes through her abdomen from a previous surgery and all of her battle scars.

“Make me yours one last time.” You say, pulling your shirt above her head as you expose yourself to her and she nods, a devious smile curling up on her lips.

You see a few old bullet wounds, some healed while others are still healing. Every single one of them tells a story about who she is and how she has lived her life but your favorite story has always been the one of how she lost her eye.

It was three years ago, the day you met. How could you ever forget?

“Let the sky fall

When it crumbles

We will stand tall

Face it all together

At Skyfall”

Since you were a teenager, you’ve been good at killing. First your shitty parents and every family member who sided with them, including your own brother and sister. Finally being able to control your life, you decided to make a living out of it.

This career put you through college where you earned a chemistry degree, learning how to mix your personal kinds of poison, some of which no one has ever even heard of which makes it hard for the police to find who was responsible for it.

At first, you would go for basic targets: rapists, animal abusers, anyone who dared hurt another soul but word got out of how excellent and quick you were at your job and your number of clients tripled and your name was in everyone’s mouth.

One day, you got a call from a blocked russian number. A smile creeped on your lips as you heard a familiar voice over the phone, Erwin Smith. The man who gave you a chance to grow in this life and made you who you are today, your mentor.

“Y/N, I’m dying.” He says, his voice is faint and you notice his life force is fading away.

“I can tell.” You reply trying to lighten the mood and he laughs.

“Will you still work for the next boss?” He asks, coughing out a liquid which you could only assume was blood.

“If that is your dying wish.” You respond and he hums in agreement over the phone, “Then yes.”

Later that week, two men showed up to your house to escort you to Erwin’s funeral. The rain poured over his coffin, hiding away the tears of those who loved him.

Surrounded by at least five men sat a woman in a black coat, her eyes looking in your direction as she took the cigarette to her lips. The tattoos on her leg on display for anyone to see, you could’ve sworn she was silently flirting with you.

And in a moment of weakness, a car drove by shooting up the place completely. Of course they were received with a buffet of bullets as well, but nearly a third of the people around the casket were now dead.

As a bullet makes its way towards you, the brunette with danger in her eyes rushes forward to protect you only to receive the bullet with a glass platter. Needless to say, an uncountable amount of shards found their way into her eyeball.

While she bled in your arms, you tried to make sure she remained awake.

“What’s your name?” You ask and she smiles, bringing your hand towards her lips and licking your thumb with a palpable sexual energy.

“Hanji. Hanji Zoe.” She replied, “The new boss.”

“Skyfall is where we start

A thousand miles and poles apart

Where worlds collide and days are dark

You may have my number, you can take my name

But you'll never have my heart”

10:05pm

Once you are finished redoing Hanji’s hair, she stares at the closet before finally picking out a blood colored suit. No shirt underneath, she places the blazer right above her nipples, only enough to cover them while allowing the rest of her breasts to be exposed.

You on the other hand plan to dress yourself in a completely black outfit hoping to blend into the darkness of the night. Luck was on your side for there were no stars to brighten the sky, allowing you to take complete cover.

As far as you know, nobody is aware of your relationship with Hanji, not even her subordinates. Keeping business away from your private life has always been a priority, even before you committed your first paid killing.

She places a final kiss on your hands and one of your lips, though it does not feel like a goodbye and you sadly accept any kind of comfort you can find.

When her car is out of view, you decide to go up and take a shower by yourself. You wanted to decline this job, to throw everything away: your reputation, the money and simply run away with Hanji to a place where you could live your lives.

But you can’t. Before even knowing who your targets are, you are always made to sign a consent form and if broken, it would cost you your life.

The warm water hits your face and you can still smell Hanji’s strawberry shampoo in the air mixed with the fading smoke of her cigarettes. You begin to remember every shower you spent together, every kiss you shared at the most exquisite places around the world.

Hanji always knew how to make you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Eventually, you can no longer if the water streaming down your face comes from the shower or your tears.

As you finish your shower, you begin to get ready. The black outfit had never been colder and the unsettling feeling at the pit of your stomach still remains. While putting a mask above your face, you look at your rifle.

It has your initials and Hanji’s secretly carved on the side and on the other it has the date you started dating. A good luck charm, as she liked to call it.

Tonight will be a fucking awful night.

“Let the sky fall (let the sky fall)

When it crumbles (when it crumbles)

We will stand tall (we will stand tall)

Face it all together

At Skyfall”

1:53am

Hours have passed since you've been sitting at the top of this building by yourself, looking through the binoculars at the party happening not too far away. In the end, they decided not to send anyone to watch over your shoulder as you do your job.

The richest and most powerful people in town were all attending and, even though they wore masks, you could still tell exactly who they were. The years of analyzing and recognizing targets from afar has given you the extraordinary ability to identify covered faces.

By the bar, you see her as she rests her arm on the glass top. She looks beautiful. Her whiskey brown eyes match the liquid in her cup as the black mask covers her features. For a second, you could’ve sworn she looked directly at you.

The instructions were clear: at 2am, a single bullet should be shot directly to her head, killing her instantly. So you position your gun, looking through the lense as Hanji disappears in the crowd for a bit before returning to her usual spot.

You sigh, stopping the tears that attempt to cloud your vision. Your finger slowly moves towards the trigger, as if time itself is desperately trying to stop you from killing your loved one, but it doesn’t matter. No one could stop you now.

Counting the seconds, you make sure the shot to her head is clear and you pray she won’t suffer at all. “Goodbye, my love.”

Time nearly stops once you pull the trigger. You watch closely as the bullet goes through her brain and blood splatters across the clear counter causing every person in the room to desperately run for their lives, not knowing they are all safe.

Only one man stands in the room and he raises his glass at you for he is the only one who knows no more shots will be fired. The asshole who hired you to kill the love of your life. Fucking Zeke Yeager.

With every ounce of your body, you decide that killing him isn’t worth it. He deserves to live to suffer in the future.

You bring your body back up, beginning to disassemble your rifle. It takes you less than a minute to be on your way and you can hear as police sirens approach the building in front of you.

“Where you go, I go

What you see, I see

I know I'd never be me

Without the security

Of your loving arms

Keeping me from harm

Put your hand in my hand

And we'll stand”

Finally getting back to your house, you throw the bag containing the gun on the couch before plopping your body right beside it, a long sigh escaping your lips.

Your eyes then notice the packed bags, all ready to leave as soon as possible. The clicking of heels comes from the other side of the house and you smirk, rushing your thumb through your lips.

“I feel bad for the lady you hired to die in your place.” You say, turning around and propping your chin on the back of the couch.

“Would you prefer if I had died in her place?” Hanji asks, rushing her hand through her freshly shaved head in an attempt to get rid of any hairs that still remain attached to her.

“Of course not, love.” You reply, walking towards her before taking the glass of wine from her free hand.

“Hanji Zoe is dead and the witness to it is Zeke Yeager himself.” She says, a devious smile on her lips.

You can’t help but link your mouth with hers, tasting the delightful mixture of alcohols she has had tonight. Her hands travel through your body, exploring every inch of your skin before gently brushing against your inner thigh.

You gasp gently, nearly melting in response to her actions. God knows you want to melt but you don’t have time.

“It’s 4:25am, the plane leaves in 35 minutes so we should go.” She says and you nod.

You grab one of the packed bags plus your rifle and she grabs the rest before extending her hand to you, hoping to walk away from this life with you by her side but not before staging your own kidnapping and death, everything so no one would ever look for either of you.

Once done with arrangements, she smiles.

“So where are we going to make our new home?” You ask.

“My home is wherever you are.” She replies and you feel your cheeks getting warm before she continues, “But I was planning the Carribeans.”

“Fuck yes.” Is all you say and she laughs, squeezing your hand as you both say goodbye to the apartment you’ve shared for years. Leaving behind a life of danger to live together in the house of your dreams, far away from all the negativity.

Just you and Hanji. And maybe a few cats and dogs along the way.

“Let the sky fall (let the sky fall)

When it crumbles (when it crumbles)

We will stand tall (we will stand tall)

Face it all together

At Skyfall”

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insomniasymphony · 3 years

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Obsessive Killua Zoldyck x Female Reader [No way out]

Constellation: Obsessive Killua Zoldyck x Female Reader Words I got: → Storm → Danger → Cave Sentence I got: You still couldn't believe what you had seen a few hours before. Rating: Teenage and up Audience/ Mature (a little bit) Warning: Little Description of Violence

►► Running away has many different meanings. For some, it's like playing tag. For others, it's sheer escape. And for a few, it is nothing more than mere suicide. ◄◄

Your breath comes in gasps over your lips as the storm lashes the rain against your face, tugging at your hair and chilling your skin. Goosebumps have spread across your numb skin, but it can't compete with the inner heat that has been germinating inside you since you started running. You have to get away. From him. From this family that could hardly be more sickening and finds nothing reprehensible in their behaviour. If you stayed, there would be no chance of survival, even if part of you wants to believe that Killua would protect you. But he is only a thirteen-year-old boy who knows little of the world itself, as you like to believe. He doesn't understand what's so scary about assassins, and he doesn't understand that you don't want to be part of a world full of torture and fear.

Branches whip around your legs, getting partially tangled in your clothes, which cling wetly to you as if they were a second skin. Your lungs burn and a glance back reveals that the Zoldyck estate has disappeared. Instead, you are surrounded by endless trees and bushes that offer you light shelter, but no one can tell you when the butlers will find you – or Killua.

For a moment you dare to stop, take a breath and recover your strength, even though the uncertainty is at your back and won't let you escape. All this you had imagined differently.

Killua, after Gon and he had parted ways at the end, had decided to take a short breather at home. And he had invited you. You'd already spent a lot of time with the two of them, starting in Greed Island and beyond, during which your love for Killua had risen and his affections had wavered in your direction as well. Once, when Gon hadn't been looking, there had been a kiss, brief and shy, but meaningful, as if you had a chance together. After that, Killua had changed.

He became more attentive. Always got in front of you. He constantly knew where you were and he demanded that you stay close to him. All that had been kind of sweet. The thought of someone caring for you so intensely had warmed your heart. But you had missed the signs of his obsession.

When he had brought you home with him, there had been his parents. A father who eyed everything quietly and a mother who had almost melted with delight. Then Killua had shown you the torture rooms because there had been interest.

And the next moment you were busy running away.

With difficulty you try to put one foot in front of the other. You must not stop until the estate is completely behind you. But the forest seems endless and your heart is pounding wildly, because the calm doesn't want to come and the fear is deep in your bones. And it is precisely this fear that gets you moving again.

Over roots, in the pouring rain that gets colder and colder, it drives you forward. Always past the same images. There is nothing here but this forest and more forest beyond, endlessly, ceaselessly, until your legs are almost numb and you get caught on something that pulls you down.

A suppressed scream sticks in your throat before you hit the muddy ground and for a moment you can't breathe. You lie still, inhaling and exhaling, before you quickly pick yourself up and slip away again.

Cursing, you slam both fists to the ground, a little distressed, a little breathless, until a little further in the distance a narrow hole comes into view and promises rescue. You crawl towards it on all fours and with every metre you get closer you realise that it is more of a crack that seems to lead into a cave.

As you reach the passage, you barely wait a moment before you stand up on both legs and push your way through the opening. It is wide enough for you, somehow, leading straight into the inner arena, which widens after the first two metres and lets you into an almost open antechamber. The bare stone walls are dimly lit by flickering torches and the first thing that really occurs to you is that it might be a way out. At the end of the room is a staircase leading down, presumably to underground passages that you can follow to get out in another city. That would simplify a lot. So you follow the ideal of an idea and hurry down the steps.

The light lasts every inch of the way. Almost as if the torches are changed regularly so that this place will never be surrounded by darkness. You take the steps double, jumping down like a rabbit in its own burrow until you reach the bottom.

The air down here is stuffy, humid and musty, joining only a metallic note you can't place. In front of you is a narrow corridor that leads straight into another room. There are no junctions here, nor does escape seem possible. Nevertheless, you follow the corridor, hoping for a way out at the end, and almost start to run until the knob of the wooden door on the other side is in your hand.

It is frighteningly warm.

You turn it, open the barrier and it opens barely a crack before the pungent smell of blood and urine hits your nostrils. It is sharp, stinging in your eyes, gathering tears in your lower lids as you let the door swing open with a push and briefly take in the image before you.

All of a sudden, Killua's stories come to you visually, awakening wild thoughts that jump up and down. He told you about all kinds of things. Moments when someone was nailed to the wall by the arms and legs, howling because the rusty nails burned in the wounds. People squirming under electric shocks so that they would reveal information before the electricity made the blood boil and the flesh stew.

Across from you, heavy chains lie on the floor while thousands of whips and knives, nails and needles adorn the walls. Blood has drawn dried patterns across the floor, hangs fresh on some blades that have been neatly placed on a metal plate.

The sudden sigh behind you sends a shiver down your spine, cold and biting. “This is one of the newer torture chambers, because my mother complained about the noise that sometimes resounds through the house when she's trying to sleep.”

Quick as a flash, you turn and try to gain distance, but you don't get far before the click reaches your ears and you can feel the resistance against your neck. A collar of iron, just for you.

“Killua...I...” you begin, but can't find the right words. There is fear, uncertainty and panic about what he plans to do with you. The only thing that is certain is that you are in danger and you will never forget the images you saw almost visually in front of you just a few hours before, because Killua knows how to describe something vividly. Partially, you still can't believe it.

“What's wrong?” Uncertainly, Killua tilts his head. His gaze is normal, his pose casual. One hand he keeps hidden in the pocket of his shorts, while with the other he firmly holds the chain to your collar. The long-sleeved shirt on his body is dry, as if it had never come into contact with the storm out there.

“I'm sorry if I scared you,” he mumbles a moment later, and for a second hope sprouts.

“Let me go then,” you beg him, but there is nothing more than bewilderment reflected on his features.

“Then you would run away again.” He pronounces it as if it were natural to bind people you love to you with a chain. “That's just for your safety.”

Probably he's talking about the butlers and the beast in the front garden, all of whom tend to kill anyone who moves freely without permission. They would see you as prey no less than Killua does, except that he cares about you. At least that's what he claims.

“Killua...” you begin again, indecisive yet pleading. “I-I won't run away. Really, I won't. But you scare me.”

His eyes widen before he presses his lips tightly together and pulls harshly on your chain, causing you to stumble towards him. It's impossible to stop before you bump into him and the warmth of his body seems to warm a part of you. He doesn't put an arm around you, but you can hear his heart beating faster and feel him slowly lean down towards you.

“I won't let anything happen to you. You are mine and no one will take you away. Not the people on our journeys, nor my family.” The chain rattles as he eases up and places his other hand gently on your cheek, making you look at him in the very next blink. His gaze is full of care, but his words seem like poison in your blood. Because you know he won't let you go. Not until you are dead.

[picture is from a collecting card game] [Want to give me some Kudos? Visit HERE!] [You have a wish for my collection? Check up HERE!]

#Hunter X Hunter #hunter x 2011 #hunter x reader #killua hxh #killua zoldyck #killua x you #killua x reader #My writing #my ao3 #my fic #obsessive #on the run #angst

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wordstro · 3 years

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[9:47 AM] + hero/villain au + "you should sleep well knowing that no matter what you do, i will never kill you." + part 5

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 masterlist

you are not caught in your lie.

you expected eunwoo to notice the half-water, half-serum mixture. you sat with your knees pressed to your chest for hours, waiting for the inevitable moment of wooyoung bursting through your doors and making his warning a reality. the cruel part of your brain flit through all the things he would do to you, from burning you to leaving you in eunwoo's clutches, alone in a cold metal lab with a mad scientist with a penchant for experimentation and no qualms with hurting you. in fact, eunwoo liked to laugh when you winced in pain. he only stopped when wooyoung started staying with you during your serum shots. maybe wooyoung would lock you up like a true prisoner. maybe he would shoot you up with so much serum you'd disappear completely.

still, you almost wish wooyoung was angry when he stepped into your room later. instead he knelt in front of you and changed your bandages with a gentle touch that still made you feel something, and you despised yourself for it.

wooyoung looked at you that night with the same kindness he would from Before, nights when it was late and he walked you to your apartment door, his eyes carrying the stars as he smiled at you, or when you were drunk and he let you hold his hand tight as your group stumbled from dinner, or when you were sick and he arrived at your apartment alone with all the ingredients for soup and a you look like shit dripping from his lips.

he reached up and cupped your cheek, and he whispered, "when this is all over, i'll let you have your revenge. i'll let you do whatever you want to me. you can kill me, even."

you blinked at him, searching his eyes for even a fraction of his thoughts, but his face remained unreadable, "do you think this will end? at the rate we're going, do you think i'll be around to see it?"

he looked you in the eye, determined as his warm grip tightened on your jaw. the unreadable expression slipped, giving way to guilt and longing and a sort of sadness that hooked around your heart and yanked at it. yet, there is no regret there. there never will be, you know. wooyoung always did as he said. always. he said, "i know my promises mean nothing to you, but i give you my word, y/n, that you will not die under my care. not by my hand. you will live. you will see this through to the end. i will never let you disappear."

"but," you took a deep, steadying breath as you whispered, "what if i want to disappear? what if i don't want to see this through to the end?"

wooyoung's eyes blazed and heat radiated from him. you watched him work to keep his voice quiet, to remain soft. he said, "i won't let it happen. i promised hong - i made a promise when i first met you that i would not let you die. i'm keeping that promise. it's selfish, i know, but this is the only selfish thing i'll allow myself. everything else - it's for the greater good. i do it because i need to succeed. but this," wooyoung looked at you with a kindness that set you back a thousand days, back to Before, "is for me."

you remembered his promise, when hongjoong finally let you join the alliance and your first week you were all faced with a real mission, one that wasn't orchestrated by the alliance or the government to boost public morale. real villains creeping underground and causing havoc had just started to take root then. wooyoung's smile was toothy as he threw an arm over your shoulders, leaning into you, and said don't worry, joong, i never let cute little rookies die under my watch. ask san. all they have to do is trust me and i'll take care of the rest. it was a joke, one that had hongjoong narrowing his eyes, protective hand still pressed to your elbow, and seonghwa groaning as he asked wooyoung to be serious for once, but over the years, wooyoung kept his word. he never even laid a finger on you, not even during training matches at the alliance headquarters. not until the betrayal, at least.

"you've hurt me, though. time and time again."

the guilt was there, in his eyes, but he kept it contained. he dropped his hand from your face, glancing at your bandaged hands, and he whispered, so quietly you would not have heard it if you were not listening intently for his response. "i had to."

"so, that's it?" you reached out then, pressing your bandaged hand to his chin, pushing it up so he'd look you in the eyes, "you'll hurt me. for the greater good. but you won't let me die? that's all you'll give yourself? give me?"

his eyes searched yours for a long, long moment, before he reached up and pulled your hand from his chin. he placed it carefully on your lap as he stood. he loomed over you, the kindness, the gentleness, the wooyoung from Before gone. "it's the only thing i'll allow myself to be selfish with. you should sleep well knowing that no matter what you do, i will never kill you."

it's another warning, another threat, thinly veiled, but it still brings you a tiny bit of relief. still the relief is dashed by the underlying meaning. he won't kill you, but he'd hurt you to keep you in line. as he had this entire time. that this existence, of doing horrible things for his cause, will never stop. that he will do whatever it takes to succeed in his goals and you will be there every step of the way. it's fucked up. he knows it. you know it.

"get some rest. we have a long week ahead of us." he'd said before he left your room.

~.~.~.~.~

seonghwa watches you eat, leaning against the counter, yeosang hovering aimlessly in the kitchen behind seonghwa. jongho's shoulder brushes your shoulder whenever he leans close. the touch is admittedly comforting, taking away from the discomfort seonghwa's watchful gaze brings you.

"what?" you finally snap, looking up at him. you let your voice rise, since wooyoung isn't here.

seonghwa frowns, "you haven't eaten since yesterday."

"who would want to? after..." you trail off, biting your tongue, your eyes flickering to wooyoung's closed bedroom door.

"you brought that on yourself." seonghwa sighs, "you had to know you were going to get caught. why can't you..."

he lets out a frustrated groan, dragging a hand through his hair.

you blink at him, incredulous. you force yourself to keep your voice down as you say, "do you want me to stop fighting back? you want me to sit back and do as i'm told?" you jab a finger in yeosang's direction, "then make me. tell yeosang to make me."

"y/n." seonghwa stands up straight, looking you dead in the eyes, his tone soft, kind. too kind. it digs into your chest and tears at your resolve, at the walls you've spent this entire time building between you and them. you've been trying to keep them out, ignoring the way seonghwa angled himself between eunwoo and you when eunwoo alluded to experimenting on you, his metal arm glinting, ignoring the way yeosang gave you little reprieves here and there, your favorites from the pastry shop, reruns of your favorite movies and tv shows stocked in the living room, ignoring the way jongho always hovered and spent time with you, sitting in silence. you ignored the little things because if you let yourself dwell in it, then you'd grow attached again. you'd remember just how much you've missed them.

"do it!" your voice echoes throughout the room, "make me listen. make me think we're the happy fucking family you're pretending we are. make me!"

your eyes drift to yeosang, and for once he does not look away. he holds your gaze. unrelenting, unwavering.

a sob catches at your throat and your nails dig into your palms as you plead, "make me stop fighting back because i'm tired of it. please just..." your chest heaves, and your voice drops to a whisper, a plead where all your walls are gone, "make this stop."

seonghwa nods and nods and nods, and his eyes are glassy and his touch is cold. he kneels before you, at eye level, and he keeps nodding. his gaze is too fucking kind, as he whispers, "i'll talk to him. i'll ask him to let up on you. i know that's not enough, and i'm sorry, y/n. i am so sorry."

you wonder why he isn't sorry enough to let you go, but you don't say that. wooyoung is in the other room. seonghwa is gripping you in his cold hands, with tears in his eyes, and he's making you promises. you're suppressing your sobs, but they still spill from your lips, broken and tired and long, long overdue.

jongho's hand is on your back, rubbing up and down, a comforting weight.

"i won't let him hurt you again, okay?" seonghwa holds your head in his hands, dipping his head to meet your gaze full-on. you want to ask why he hadn't promised this earlier, but you don't. you know not to bite the hand that feeds you, no matter how minimal the food is.

you nod and he nods, before pressing your face to the crook of his neck. you look over his shoulder, meeting yeosang's gaze, his furrowed brows and frown. he looks at you as if he is making a decision. you're afraid, almost, of what that decision is.

~.~.~.~.~

you walk in silence beside yeosang, wooyoung leading the way through the winding underground halls.

wooyoung pauses at a fork, glancing over his shoulder. his gaze lingers on you for a long moment, before he looks at yeosang. he says, "yoojung needs to discuss some logistics for tonight. you know where the lab is?"

yeosang rolls his eyes, "why wouldn't i?"

wooyoung shrugs, "you're bad with directions."

you can't help but snort. you can personally attest to just how bad yeosang is with directions.

"not my fault these halls are constantly changing, " yeosang pouts, earning a small fond smile from wooyoung.

wooyoung glances at you, still smiling, but then he addresses yeosang, growing uncharacteristically serious. it's ironic, that he's finally learned to be serious after joining a villain organization. "sit with them during the shot. make sure eunwoo doesn't try anything funny."

then he swivels on his heels and disappears towards the left, not looking back at you once, his footsteps fading. you would be lying if you said you didn't feel anything at his words.

you look at yeosang. he's watching wooyoung walk away, his brows still furrowed. then he gestures for you to follow him, stepping into the right corridor.

after a few minutes of walking, yeosang takes another right.

you run into yeosang's back, stumbling back as he turns. he looks down at you, and his eyes are full of an emotion you cannot quite place.

yeosang says, "when i was a little boy, i accidentally sent my parents away. then, i told a boy to jump off a bridge. when i met wooyoung...he helped me. he made me want to live again. i swore to him that i would follow him to the ends of the earth. i would walk through hell itself if he asked me to."

"what -"

"then i joined the alliance," yeosang takes a deep, staggering breath, his eyes filled to the brim with a million emotions. grief, concern, fear. "and i swore i would do anything for them too. for you."

"yeosang, what did - what did you do?"

he sighs, "i knew you lied to us. about the serum. i switched it with a full one before handing it off to eunwoo."

you blink, "oh."

"and now i'm going to let you walk free."

you shake your head. you can't believe you are, but you do. you say, "no. they'll know it was you. you'll...what if wooyoung...?"

if wooyoung is willing to hurt you, then you're terrified of what he will do to yeosang for setting his weapon free. you're terrified for yeosang, despite everything, despite what he brought you into and his broken promises.

"the exit is right there, down the hall." he jabs a hand behind him, eyes piercing yours. your gaze follows his movement, and every nerve in your body screams at you to run. to take his offer.

"i can't leave knowing you'll be punished. i..." you blink, "you could come with me."

"i can't." yeosang laughs, a quiet musical thing, "i'm still going to follow wooyoung into hell. i have to keep him safe."

"you don't have to."

"who will protect him from himself if i don't?

"that's not fair to you!"

"it is. i owe him my life."

"yeosang -"

"i don't have time to argue this." yeosang grabs your arm, looks you dead in the eye, and he says, "i've made my decision, y/n, and you will follow it."

you see the look in his eyes. you know what he will do, because he still can't keep his promises. you bristle, struggling in his grip, "wait, no, yeosang, don't -"

yeosang shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is soft, compelling, his powers consuming you, "now it's time for you to go. go back to hongjoong, yunho, mingi, and san, and don't look back. keep walking until you reach them and do not look back once. forget all the things i told you to keep to yourself. tell them anything you want. when you walk out this door, you can use your powers against us without consequence. and," he pauses, and you can't say a word under the spell of his powers, "tell them that i'm sorry. tell them that i'm sorry for everything. i can't speak for seonghwa or jongho, but i know they are too. to an extent. y/n, tell san...just tell him especially. i know he hates me, but tell him." yeosang takes a deep breath, his grip tightening briefly around you arm before he lets go, "now, leave."

you blink as your legs move on their own accord. you get one last look at kang yeosang, long dark hair to his shoulders, sharp features filled with love and anger and self doubt and grief, and he nods once before you turn away. you cannot look back, yeosang's powers moving you forward. as you walk out of the villain's base, you can't do anything but follow yeosang's orders. you despise him for it, for the lack of autonomy, but you keep your eyes ahead and you pray hongjoong, yunho, mingi, and san won't shoot you on sight.

#wooyoung angst #wooyoung #ateez #ateez angst #ateez scenarios #hero/villain au

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jjaeong · 3 years

Text

The Heiress, & The Twelve. Act I.

Episode II: The World, Turned Upside Down.

Series: KPOP Girl Group: 이달의 소녀 (LOONA).

Pairing: OT12 & Mafia Heiress Female Reader.

Summary: As Haseul told Y/L/N Y/N of her origin and purpose, her life had quickly shifted in preparing for her upcoming initiation. And if Y/N thought coming back to take the position that had been destined to her by blood was going to be easy, she'd yet to think again—as she'd been blatantly deemed unworthy by a few members of her own Family.

"So what you're telling me is that.. My real name is actually Y/L/N Y/N, Sooyoung-unnie isn't my real sister—and that I'm supposed to be an heiress to a Mafia Family that's currently the most strongest running Family there is..?"

"Yes."

"..And I'm just supposed to become a boss? Just like that?" The orange haired lady whom had introduced herself earlier by the name Vivi giggled at your puzzled expression, before looking back at the acting boss, Haseul, that studied you carefully as she sat rested back on her seat.

"Precisely."

"But I'm barely of legal age? And I'm still in High School?"

"You Grandfather became our boss just when he graduated from Middle School."

"This doesn't even make any sense!" your eyes snapped over to Sooyoung's who looked almost just as exasperated as you were. Though the woman had been revealed to not be your actual sister, the way you both seemed to have acted with one another after the revelation was exactly the same—even though she knew of it from the start, she still looked at you with the same gentle eyes as if nothing had been said. Jinsol, the woman with the defined jawline shot up from her seat to stare directly at you.

"She's right, this doesn't make sense anymore," Jinsol turned to Haseul with a pleading look while the other girl just kept her eyes dead set on you, "Haseul, we're good now! We've peaked over the last year under your leadership—if we hand it to this.. Child, we'll lose control over our own people before she even gets past initiation!"

"Jinsol, don't—"

"Don't what!? You know damn well what I'm saying right now is what's going to happen after this! What more do you guys need to hear!?" Hyunjin stood from her spot to make a move towards Jinsoul who shot her a warning look just when Jungeun grabbed ahold of the younger girl's wrist, Haseul then tore her eyes off of yours to nod at Jungeun before looking up at Jinsoul's dejected expression.

"Go outside and keep watch with Gowon's team, I will speak with you later." Jinsoul clenched her jaw, practically scowling at you before bowing in Haseul's direction, slipping out of the room just as Jungeun stood from her spot to follow after the girl. Haseul then looked over to Hyunjin, who remained standing stiff on her spot with eyes stuck on the entrance of the living room.

"Would you like to follow too, Hyunjin?" Haseul asked just as Hyunjin blinked, shaking her head in reply before sitting back down and staring vacantly at the ground.

"At your command, Unnie."

"I'll go," Sooyoung answered, rising from her seat when you opened your mouth to protest—not wanting to be left alone with these people you barely knew—but your older sister only shook her head at you, "you can trust them with your life, Y/N. I'll be back when they leave," her eyes then moved to the two girls that sat closest to you.

"At least when the majority of them do."

"We're not asking you to immediately become the boss, Y/N. What we're asking from you is for you to accept the role which was bound to you by birthright." Haseul didn't waste a single second as she quickly resumed from where she left off—just before Jinsoul's outburst. Sooyoung then bowed as well, leaving you with only four members of your Family with you as Haseul turned to look at Heejin this time, motioning for her to present you something.

"You are to be trained, to take all the necessary steps until you're enough to not just be an image to our Family—but as an actual boss, the matriarch of thousands of our associates who's loyalties lie only to you, to the blood." you felt your throat dry up as Heejin reached over to place a small, golden plated box with twelve colored gemstones that surrounded the outer rim and the lid of it with the first letter of your last name engraved on the top. The girl pressed what seemed to be a hidden lock on the box, for it to slowly open and reveal what reminded you closely of Jungeun's pin from earlier—except this one had a clear image of a golden full moon in the middle, surrounded by what you'd initially think as blue gem stones but from how it practically oozed of vivid clarity..

A blue diamond ring.

"You can't escape this, Y/N. Your predecessors had carried this through for thousands of years—none of them even dared to attempt a decline. And so will you."

"Is that a threat?" your voice almost failed you as you tried to muster up the courage to talk back, to which Haseul only returned a disappointed expression at.

"If that is how you want to look at it, then so be it."

You leaned back on your seat, feeling defeated as everyone looked at you expectantly with the ring that sat in the golden box taunting you—as if it was asking you to take it and just accept your destiny. But would it truly be such a loss if you didn't bother to try in the first place? How would you know how deep this entire.. Bounded by blood to the Mafia would be any different to how you've always lived your life? Other than the usual days spent doing your chores and diving into your hobbies once they're done—would it be replaced with dropping out of school to do combat training and sign paper works?

The saying with "curiosity killed the cat" echoed in the back of your head, but then will your curiosity get you killed as well?

"We're not like the usual Mafias you see on television, Y/N. Your grandfather had always been clear with the Family values," you looked back up to find Haseul's lips pulled up into a tight lipped smile, eyes seemingly in deep thought though she kept them on you, "for all these years that we've worked under his care, he lived a simple life and wanted all of us to have the privilege of living the same way."

"You mean after years of slaughtering who ever got in the Family's way got repetitive so he decided to stop?" Haseul's thoughtful eyes quickly shifted into an expression that looked as if she was stung by your choice of words.

"We never resort into such barbaric actions—until it is just."

"And how do you know that? Aren't you just taking orders from him because that's where your loyalty lies? To the blood? Because he's a Y/L/N?" you pressed even further, slowly finding yourself disapproving of whatever statement the acting boss was trying to convey about your Family. The thought of the current highest ranking member of your Family speaking of the group as if looking through rose colored glasses had rubbed you the wrong way.

To you, this is just another Mafia—you've heard about the association well enough to understand that they kill when needed to, but that doesn't justify all those who could've possibly felt the wrath of your Family name when they were barely proven guilty. But to Haseul, as you've observed, she holds the Family at such a high place that it even convinced all four members that were present in front of you, everyone seemed to have understood where she was coming from.

Only you didn't understand, having the perception of a complete outsider, a civilian that was about to be dragged into the dark depths of an underground business empire.

"Y/N, please. Keep an open mind.." Haseul pleaded through her teeth, making you look away from her to stare at the wall behind her. She seemed to have paused for a moment to see if you had wanted to push even further, but when you kept your mouth shut she released a sigh, feeling disheartened at how little you expected from them when they've anticipated for your return for over a year.

"When you become boss.. You will be able to turn the Family around, your beliefs will be weighed along with the members to find a common ground. We can shape the values to what you'd want under your command, Y/N—your grandfather did his best to undo the mistakes of the past bosses as well," your eyes locked with Haseul's yet again, but this time, she had a knowing look set on her features, "you can turn this Family around, just like he did when he took us in."

Took them in? So all these women were all under your grandfather's care? He took care of over seven or more girls yet he couldn't even pay you a visit?

"Why did he.. Keep me away?" you dragged slowly, keeping your eyes on Haseul even though she could clearly see the pain in your eyes as you spoke. Heejin turned to look away from you, not wanting to make you feel any less of yourself at the slightest hint of vulnerability in your voice as Hyunjin inhaled deeply before doing the same.

"The night your Mother was assassinated—was your Father's initiation. You were with her in that separate room, supposed to be kept safe until it was done but.."

"We were attacked," Vivi continued, speaking for the first time since she introduced herself. The lady who was claimed to be the eldest of the group had a calculated smile gracing her features as she looked at you, "at the ceremony, I was the one that first identified the traitors—they were interrogated after that night. It was a coup, they didn't approve of your Father becoming the boss."

"Why?"

"He had the same vision as your Grandfather, he wanted everyone to live a simple life just as he'd experience when he left with you and your Mother a few years back."

"He returned because your Grandfather fell ill. But when your Mother died, his guilt got to him and.." the grim expression that fell on Haseul's face already said enough of how it all ended as you sat there, moving your eyes from Haseul to Vivi who eyed the Leader before she faced you again, nodding slowly.

"And so your Grandfather left you with the Ha's to make sure you were kept alive."

"You're our only hope in finishing what they both had wanted for your Family, Y/N. We can't achieve this on our own, we need a true Y/L/N to stand for us.." Haseul started to sound desperate, the collected girl looked as if at any given moment she would lose it and shut herself down. You still couldn't entirely understand what these girls were trying to persuade you into—but something inside of you just gave into it, they barely even look like the type of members that would end lives without a second thought.

They were following what seemed to be a great cause before, there must've been some sort of oath that had been pledged among these girls with your lineage even before meeting you.

You’d be lying if your curiosity didn’t catch up at the thought of uncovering more.

"Okay." the members tensed up on their seats as you sat up on your own, eyeing the ring that made your heart race up at the thought of it slipping it on your finger.

"You'll guide me, right? Tell me how everything goes and.. Not lie to me about it?" you mentally cringed at your lack of proper vocabulary that would be suited with your destined high position.

Haseul made it look easy.

"Of course, you'll be the future of our Family—coming clean with you is the least of your worries with us." Haseul waved her hand dismissively as you hummed in acknowledgement, eyeing the ring yet again when you heard Vivi giggle yet again.

"Go on, you're supposed to wear it to officially become one with us." she pointed at the box before standing up on her spot, grabbing the empty tea pot that she had practically finished herself before slipping past you and your members to probably make some more. You took note of Vivi's informality with the acting boss when Haseul barely tore her eyes away from you, anticipation practically dripping from her expression.

Reaching over to the box and pulling the ring from it's velvet cushion, the members seemed to have held their breaths as you inspected the delicate designing of the ring closely, eyeing the material in awe at how luxurious it seemed. And with the thought that Jungeun's pin looked expensive, this one looked almost ten times more than what it's bargained for. You slipped it in your left pointer finger and the three practically sighed at the image, your eyes still stuck on the golden full moon crest that lay on the top of the ring.

"Just like your pins." you breathed, looking over to Heejin’s tie to observe her pink gemstone pin with a golden silhouette of a rabbit in the middle. The girl smiled charmingly back at you, eyes crinkling into crescents as she did so.

"Just like our pins."

"I'm going to call Sooyoung-unnie and tell the others we're finished for the day." Heejin simply pat both her knees before standing up with a grin on her lips, smiling even further when you looked up at her which made your cheeks flush before she literally skipped out of the living room. Hyunjin rested the back of her head on the couch, covering her face with both hands as Haseul continued to smile warmly at you.

"We'll be meeting again soon, but for now this is where we'll cut it short. I've assigned Jinsoul, Heejin, and Hyunjin to stay here with you and Yves starting today—just a precaution if the news about your return breaks out." Haseul said as you blinked at her before knitting your brows, thinking to yourself about how fast the leader had planned everything out—as if she already knew how this meeting would end up.

"If I'm guessing the.. “Aliases” correctly—Jinsol is Jinsoul, Heejin is.. Heejin, Hyunjin is—"

"I use my real name too." Hyunjin's muffled voice uttered against her palm, which made you look at her and she just winked at you, completely expressionless.

You wonder why the girl acted like that.

"Okay, then.. Um.. Why is Sooyoung named Yves?"

"The Ha's had been part of the Family since before your grandfather's time, when your grandfather named us—he had certain ideas in mind. Yves refers to the first woman to ever grace the Earth." you looked at Haseul in astonishment.

"So he's sentimental?"

"He named Jiwoo-unnie 'Chuu', I wouldn't go that far." Hyunjin snorted as you almost followed suit, clasping a hand on your mouth at the thought of some Mafia member beating the living daylights out of them, only to remind them to remember her name.

"Kahei is Vivi, Chaewon is Gowon, Hyejoo is Olivia Hye, Yerim is Choerry, and Jungeun is Kim Lip." Haseul named them all for you to only furrow your brows in puzzlement at the information that there were actually more of them.

And why was your Jungeun-unnie named Kim Lip?

"We don't always use our aliases when we're just with one another, we only use them when we're outside doing errands." the acting boss added, holding a finger up as Vivi came back from the kitchen with what seemed to be a handful of the brownies that Sooyoung had made the night before. Vivi then gave you one before handing another to a suddenly perked up Hyunjin that shoved the entire thing in her mouth in one go. You stared at her as she stared right back at you with a mouthful of brownies, tilting her head as she chewed.

"Sooyoungie needs to make more of these." Vivi said as she bit a piece from her brownie to which you followed with your own. Haseul stood up to then bow at you which quickly got you up on your feet to bow back but she shook her head, smiling as she straightened.

"You need to get used to the formalities soon, you'll be our boss after all."

"Please, call me Y/N. And tell them outside as well.." Haseul nodded as she walked out of the living room with Vivi following suit, but not before smiling back at you. You felt your brownie being snatched from your grasp, only to find Hyunjin shoving it in her mouth as she stared at the entrance of the living room with a pondering expression before turning to look back to you.

"You're oddly informal with me—compared to your leader." Hyunjin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand after she swallowed down your brownie, scrunching her nose up at you before eyeing you from head to toe for the second time since your meeting.

"Aeong."

After the events had settled in, you found yourself squished between Jungeun and Jiwoo's embrace as you all managed to fit in your small bed. The two kept apologizing as you gave them a look the moment they stepped foot in your view and had you in theirs arms in no time, and it didn't stop until the two were sleeping peacefully in bed with you, Jiwoo mumbling an apology as if she was still dreaming about it. You'd expected your room to be packed as Jinsol, Heejin, and Hyunjin had made this place their own as well, but since Sooyoung shared her room with Jinsol—the guest bedroom was then occupied by the two other girls, after much to Heejin convincing Hyunjin you'd be safe since your two Unnies have decided to stay with you just for the night.

But Hyunjin swore that the next day, she'd be sleeping in your room whether you'd wanted it or not—to which Heejin only sighed at and asked you if she could as well, not wanting to be the last one to wake up if there was an emergency.

Breakfast was practically the liveliest it’s ever been since you and Sooyoung moved to the house in the city, with both of your parents staying in the country side and Sooyoung graduating High School just a year ago—you both had barely seen each other in the house, but when you did you check up on how the other’s been until your workloads caught up with you again. And so watching Hyunjin and Heejin arguing from who’s getting the last pancake, Jiwoo and Jungeun singing a duet song you’ve heard too many times in one morning—and a silent Jinsol sitting next to Sooyoung who then stood up to grab Hyunjin and Heejin by their ears to tell them to just cut it in half.

But as you found your eyes lingering Jinsol, she tore her eyes off Sooyoung's prepared breakfast to set on you, a grim look setting on her features before she pushed off of her seat to leave. Jungeun stopped singing with Jiwoo to watch the woman retreat, to which you'd hope was just back upstairs to her room but only to feel disheartened when you heard the front door shut close—looking back down on your plate without seeing Jungeun and Jiwoo's worried eyes trained on you.

You could already tell that being stuck with these girls wasn't going to just smoothly pass you by, adding up the fact that this was a Mafia, with real lives on the line under your name—you understood the cold shoulder that would've come from a member sooner or later.

The way to school had you sitting in the back seat of the luxurious yellow car from last night—that had been revealed to be Hyunjin’s—with a void expression set on your face as your mind did it’s best to decline the image in front of you. Hyunjin tailed Jungeun’s electric red car in front on the way to your school, with your mind making up some excuse that you wish the two that sat in front were only kidding as they donned your school uniform which you had merely glanced at earlier—only realizing what was about to happen the minute you squeezed in the back seat. As if it couldn’t get any worse, Heejin popped open the compartment to rummage what you couldn’t see at first—until the girl pulled out a golden plated pistol from the container, as if it was completely ordinary for her to do so.

“Heejin, what are you even—we’re going to school, not a battlefield!” Hyunjin glanced at Heejin who looked at you as if you're the one that had grown two heads.

“We need to be ready at all times, Y/N. They won’t hesitate to kill us, trust me—I’ve seen it.”

“You guys can’t be serious!” Heejin kept her concerned eyes on you the entire time she loaded her gun, glancing down at the magazine to pop it back in and easing a bit of your tension when she put the safety on before handing it to Hyunjin, who only needed one hand to hold the wheel to shove the tip of the gun on the band of her skirt behind her—concealing the gun with the uniform coat. And so there you sat, watching in complete despair as the two supposedly simple High School girls—looking almost like an image of pure innocence in their uniforms—continue to arm themselves on the way to school. Just before Hyunjin parked the car, Heejin attempted to at least hand you a combat knife which made you shoot her a look.

“You’ll get used to it sooner or later.” Heejin nonchalantly said as Hyunjin pushed her door, exiting the car to quickly pull her seat to the front so you could also get out. You suppressed a groan once you found almost the entire student body standing still on their spots to gawk at Hyunjin’s car and the two new students that had easily won the hearts of the onlookers. The only thing that stopped you from stomping to your class was Jiwoo exiting Jungeun’s car that had just shut it’s engine next to you, she let her usual excited squeal out as if the three of you didn’t just tail after them or came from the same place as they had.

“I told you I had someone in mind to park in my spot! Aren’t you excited Y/N? You’re finally going to have friends in your class!” Jiwoo wrapped her arms around your body to spin you around while giggling, correcting herself mid way to drag the word “family” before releasing you from her hold, smiling adorably at Hyunjin who looked at the older girl in horror. As Jungeun and Heejin rounded the car to join the three of you, Jiwoo bounced on her feet excitedly before squishing her cheek against an endeared Heejin who did her best to reciprocate the energy.

Wait.. Did she just say your class?

“Why me..?” you stared up at the sky in dread when an unfamiliar voice called Hyunjin from the other side of Jungeun’s car, the familiar wavy haired girl smiled brightly at the sight of the five of you, followed by the short girl, the mint hair colored girl, and the expressionless dark haired girl who almost fell over when Jiwoo ran up to smother the girl with affection.

“Unnie! You look cool in our uniform!” the girl with the bright smile complimented Hyunjin who’s expression quickly shifted into an endearing one, reaching over to ruffle the younger girl’s hair to which the girl laughed at, attempting to shove her hand away.

“Girls, introduce yourselves to Y/N.” Jungeun cut the encounter short, the four girls turning to look at you.

“Choi Yerim, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you Y/N-unnie!” the wavy haired girl beamed up at you, no hesitation as she reached over to grab your hand and shake it excitedly—for her to only gasp when she stopped mid-way to stare down at the ring on your finger, to which made your eyes subconsciously look at her tie to find purple gemstones and a golden resemblance of a bat.

“Park Chaewon, and this is Son Hyejoo. Yerim, Hyejoo and Hyunjin are triplets.” the mint haired girl motioned to the girl with intimidating eyes next to her, but as Hyejoo seemed to have assessed exactly who you’d be in her life—she bowed in greeting, to which Yerim gasped at before she did the same.

“No, it’s fine guys—please, I’m not initiated yet,” the stood back up on their height as you turned to look at Hyunjin who seemed to have been staring at you the entire time, “and you three bizarrely do.. Look alike.”

“We’re not related, it’s just what we’re known to be called for. Chaewon always tend to give off the wrong impression.”

“Im Yeojin.” the shortest girl bowed without directly making eye contact with you, turning to Jungeun to tell her she’d be heading to class now and left without another word. Yerim gave you an apologetic look.

“She’s Haseul-unnie’s younger sister, she’s just worried for her," she shyly smiled this time, looking around at your group before placing a hand on Jungeun and Hyunjin's arm to glance at the commotion behind her to Jiwoo shaking Hyejoo as she coo'ed, with Chaewon groaning at the sight and Heejin laughing—arms wrapped around Chaewon's arms as they both stared at the other two, "we did our usual rounds, no signs of threat today too."

"Good, that means no one's caught up on our rendezvous yesterday. Stay on guard, they could easily get someone in the vicinity." Yerim nodded at Jungeun's calculating look before the older girl looked at Hyunjin with a stern expression.

"And if it comes down to a fight, Hyunjin and Heejin are with Y/N. That's the closest they can get to her."

"They'll have to figure out which one of us is the boss first." Yerim's lips started to pull up in a grin when you looked at her in confusion just before Hyunjin nodded, grabbing hold of your forearm gently to then eye the two.

"Get to class, we'll talk more later." and with that, the expressionless girl tugged you over to Heejin whom she also practically dragged away by the forearm. Jiwoo and Yerim waved at your retreating figure with big smiles as Chaewon apparently followed behind the three of you, staying close but not too close.

"Why wouldn't Chaewon just walk next to us?" you asked once Hyunjin let go of you and Heejin, the older of the two scurrying from Hyunjin's opposite side to take her place on your left with a contented smile on her lips. Hyunjin merely glanced down at your curious gaze before facing the bustling hallway again, not paying an ounce of attention to your fellow students that gawked at the two girls that walked beside you.

"She's guarding our rear," Hyunjin stated before looking back at you with a knowing look, "if she's seen with us, the enemy would assume she's part of our group. So if she guards from afar.."

"We're at an advantage, got it." you finished, to which Hyunjin nodded at, turning back to the hallways—with you not being able to see the impressed look on her face as you caught up quickly. Heejin peeked from next to you, smiling with her hands behind her back.

"Did you ever catch Chaewon following you around?" Heejin asked when you looked at the girl in bewilderment.

"What?"

"She's been ordered to guard you since the boss passed, over a year ago." Hyunjin said beside you, making you look behind you at the striking girl with flowing mint-colored hair who looked as if she was gliding smoothly past the people around her—something about her aura lit the halls up yet at the same time, she camouflaged in them.

Park Chaewon had been walking behind you for an entire year, and the only time you've actually seen her was that one time in the gymnasium assembly—and the other when she talked to Jungeun in the lot.

The girl was damn good at her job.

"Don't stare at her too long, you don't want rumors of being connected to her floating around. You'll make her job harder for her." you heard Hyunjin say, feeling her hand on your forearm yet again to which made you turn back to the front—but not before shooting Chaewon a tiny smile, making the girl's lips twitch before nodding ever so slightly.

"But she's in the class next to ours, right..?" Heejin laughed, gently bumping her shoulder to yours which made you also bump into Hyunjin who didn't even look back at you two. The soft-featured girl slinging an arm loosely around your shoulders to grin at you.

"Just trust in Kahei, Y/N. She knows what she's doing."

Oh, so the team's strategy is Vivi's role.

When you sat on your assigned seat, you've decided to finally drop the continuous surprise at how fast the group had seemed to settle in your life when the two seats by your own that were usually occupied by your classmates had now been moved to sit in the back of the room—to which Heejin and Hyunjin then taken as if it had been theirs all this time. It didn't stop them from their class introduction though, with Kim Hyunjin staring at the back of the room with a vacant expression—the complete opposite of Heejin's shy smiles and sparkling eyes setting on each student in your class.

You winced at the boys cheering and the girls quickly trying to chat them both up in front of your class advisor, telling them to settle down when Hyunjin barely spared a glance at them as she walked back to the seat next to you—with Heejin apologizing and waving along the way.

You wondered how much longer the day would drag before something else comes to continue flipping your world upside down.

Hello~

I started to write on my laptop and this is way more fun than doing it on my phone (specially proofreading overused words) but as far as this series goes, this chapter did not go the way I envisioned it but.. It still came close. And this is fine too, but now that Y/N and the girls have met—I wonder how this is going to play out. A soft next episode? Maybe a hint of action? We won’t know until it’s there~

Are you guys liking this too? I kind of am, but I need more foundation to the lore in my head and I’m trying to plan out each episode the best I can. All writers want to achieve with their writing is giving a clear picture of their vision through words, you know? Vibe.

Anyways, here’s an episode~ I hope you guys really are enjoying this, I’m slowly easing back into my writing style back when I used to be passionate about writing—so it’ll continue to be lengthy, and more so when I keep at this~ But that’s all for this Author’s Note. The idea of the pins and ring though, had me giggling like a school girl to myself lmao.

And yes, the title was a Hamilton reference aha!

Laters,

JJ.

>ovc: Mnet-KPOP (200206)

https://youtu.be/BRgfqbu3GdE

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kolachess · 3 years

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Ghostman’s Backstory

Who is Ghostman?

First, you very likely have no idea who I’m talking about. Ghostman, as Wu Xie dubs him ‘鬼影’, is a character that shows up in Volume 8 (the last volume, and in drama-speak it means the events right after Ultimate Note) briefly to impart a lot of insightful explanations on Wu Xie (and we the audience).

This does mean this will be a lot of spoilers then and quite lengthy. I’ll usually tag these with posts spoilers, but I’m using a cut this time too.

When does he first appear?

So technically, he’s made an ‘appearance’ earlier, as the mysterious figure stalking them around Banai, and the person who tried to steal the box containing the iron block from Xiaoge when they first visited his former residence.

Although described as ‘collapsed’ or ‘sloped’ shoulders, this should not be confused with the ‘collapsed shouldered’ figure standing behind a screen Wu Xie saw in the old photograph that led them to Banai in the first place (that was later unveiled to be an iron figurine (Vol 6, Ch. 35)). (However, there does seem to be another mention of the photo that may contradict this... so idk. It’s all Wu Xie hypothesizing anyway.)

What does he look like?

From Wu Xie’s description in the novel:

His whole body was like a mass of wax that had quickly melted at first. All the skin was mottled with holes, but the melting process seemed to have stopped abruptly. His shoulders were practically nonexistent, his hands hung on both sides of his body, and all the flesh and skin on his shoulders were wrapped around his body. I could even see the joints through the thin skin covering his shoulder bones. His whole face had been melted and his hair was so long and unkempt that it was practically knotted together.

When and why does he approach Wu Xie?

He approaches Wu Xie (and Pangzi technically) as they are about to enter the mountain to find Zhang Family Ancestral Manor and save Xiaoge.

Recap: A long-range authentication system was set up for the manor in Sichuan, which is where Wu Xie’s team operated. After they messed up a password though, they lost contact with Xiaoge and Pangzi’s team in Banai. Wu Xie then rushed over to perform a rescue operation, and for reasons, had to utilize his Sanshu’s identity to do so (so he’s posing as his Sanshu). Pangzi managed to make it out somehow, and now they’re both trying to get back in.

Ghostman approaches Wu Xie because he recognized Wu Sanxing and was curious what he was doing back here. Hence, he finally shows up and asks Wu Xie to follow him (Vol 8, Ch. 31).

Who is he really and what is his story?

It turns out his name is ‘Zhang Qiling’ (though presumably no meaningful connection to THE Zhang family). Thirty years prior, he was part of the ‘archaeology team’ of Chen Wenjin that came to Banai.

He joined the team because he was part of the result of a nation-wide search for people named ‘Zhang Qiling’, and was the only one who remained by some qualifications (Vol 8, Ch. 36). He doesn’t know the significance of the name, however.

Although an archaeology team nominally, their real task was to bring a coffin into the mountain (Vol 8, Ch.35-6). What this is, he has no idea. But he says they were all deceived, and only three people probably knew the real situation.

When they went into the mountain and finally reached the building, the miluotuos (rock beings that preyed on humans and were attracted to their warmth) had been hot on their heels, even if they couldn’t immediately breach the alkali barrier. This concentration of Miluotuos triggered the Manor’s defense mechanism - a spray of alkali mist that kills / scares them off, but also liquefied the team. Those in the building were instantly liquefied, and Ghostman was fortunately in the tunnel and only got lightly exposed, and he still became the way he is today (Vol 8, Ch. 35)

He only survived all these years thanks to the help of Panma. And since then, he’s been raising lynxes and keeping people from approaching all these years. If they did get too close, he’d kill them, because it was better they died by his hands than inside that terrible place and feed more miluotuos.

He asks ‘Sanshu’ what he’s doing back here and if he knew things would happen the way they did back then, and if that was why Sanshu did not join their group. He also wants to know who is ‘in charge’ now and if Sanshu agrees now that the ‘secret’ should never be revealed.

What all did they learn from him?

Since Wu Xie was posing as Sanshu and didn’t have his actual memories, he had to tread very carefully on how to answer / ask follow-up questions.

The origin of the qilin tattoo

The Yao people in the area would tattoo a qilin tattoo on their best hunters when they come of age. It turns out the reason it took the shape of the qilin it is today was because a Han tattoo master had come through around Ming or Qing dynasties (1300s - 1900s) to teach here and decided to modify / improve it.

Now as to where the original tattoo came from... it was deemed a necessary thing for hunters who hunted deep in Yangjiao Mountain, which to the people was a very unique place. They’d forgotten the reason though, and only carried it out of tradition.

Eventually, Ghostman’s team chased down enough clues to realize it was a very precise topographical map of the mountain. It mapped the route to the Yao ancient road. The Yao people spent a lot of time trying to figure out what special thing was at the end of the route, and Ghostman’s team similarly presumed this special thing must be the Manor. But then they realized it was a closed loop. (Vol 8, Ch. 34)

Miluotuos and secrets of the mountain

The path that wound around complicatedly was in fact more of a ‘fence’ to keep the miluotuos at bay. Miluotuo actually means ‘old grandmother’ and refers to the whole mountain. Technically the rock people are the miluotuo’s shadows.

The miluotuos eat people by trapping them inside the rock they secrete, which is why when Wu Xie and co. got stuck in the cave from the siphon, they couldn’t find any entrance. And since the miluotuos are everywhere in the mountain, it’s like the entire mountain is jelly with shifting passages.

And as I mentioned above, miluotuos are attracted to heat and while trapped in the walls, could break through if attracted enough. Hence, the Manor has a defense mechanism of misting alkali, which would force them to retreat. (Vol 8, Ch. 34)

Thousand year plan

The Zhang family had actually planned to move the Manor to this area nearly a thousand years ago. Two points - 1) the vegetation around this mountain was of especially good wood for construction. And there was a great fire in Ming dynasty (1300s-1600s) that conveniently wiped out the original vegetation. 2) To transport this lumber down, they formed a deep vertical hole all the way to the bottom of the underground cave. They did this simply by placing a copper ball at the entrance of the cave, and let thousands of years of rain slowly wash away the stone since water would pool at the bottom of the ball. (Vol 8, Ch. 33)

Others

There was a ‘Chen Qing’ group that was Sanshu’s faction, presumably led by a ‘Lao Yu’.

There’s a secret in the mountain that should not be revealed to the outside world. And they’re very close to losing the ‘key to all the secrets’ presumably because Xiaoge got trapped inside.

Notable questions / implications:

What is the significance of the five pointed star that he tosses ‘Sanshu’? (Vol 8, Ch. 32)

Whose coffin was carried into the Manor? (Vol 8, Ch. 35-6)

Some netizens have hypothesized this to be Wang Canghai, but who knows.

What is the ‘secret’ that must not be known by the outside world? (Vol 8, Ch. 35)

I want to say that while this might be related to the Zhang family secret / gate, it’s not quite it. Otherwise Ghostman would probably know what Zhang Qiling meant?

What’s the ‘only key’ that will soon be lost? (Vol 8, Ch. 36)

Again, maybe he’s referring to Xiaoge, but then why would he not know the importance of Zhang Qiling?

Why does Wu Xie feel like he recognizes Ghostman? What’s his relation to Wu Xie? “As he spoke, he regained his composure. Although his whole face was melted, I suddenly had a thought—I seemed to recognize him.He wasn’t in that photo and didn’t have the kind of relationship I thought he did with Uncle Three. As I was thinking this, I immediately broke out in a cold sweat. I had met him before, but where? Who was he?” (Vol 8, Ch. 35)

Only ‘three’ people probably knew the full truth of the situation. Assuming Chen Wenjin and Huo Ling were two, who was the third? And was this before or after the ‘replacement’, so were these even the real Chen Wenjin and Huo Ling?

Why did they conduct a nation-wide search for Zhang Qiling? (Did they actually care to find their patriarch for once?)

#dmbj #daomubiji #the lost tomb #spoilers #wu xie #zhang qiling #connecting the dmbj dots

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ryukoishida · 3 years

Text

QianQiu/Thousand Autumns Fic: [Ch. 2] In which teacher!SQ and mafia leader!YWS talk for the first time.

Title: You’re a Problem I Encounter Fandom: Qian Qiu / Thousand Autumns Characters/Ships: YanShen Rating: NSFW eventually Chapter: 2/? Summary: Yan Wushi was the proud leader of Huan Yue Group, one of the most influential syndicates in the underground world, who wanted nothing more than to see the world burn. His accidental encounter with the pure-hearted school teacher Shen Qiao was a problem he didn’t expect to get entangled in. A/N: No more touching this fic until I’m done with the finals T.T List of Chapters: [1] [2] [3]

ii. No Saint

It was pitch black when Shen Qiao woke up. He blinked once, twice – endless black, deeper than the night — his breath stuttering in his throat and heart thudding against his ribcage in that strangely familiar, bitter taste of terror: the inability to perceive light, the anxiety of facing the unknown.

“You’re finally awake?”

A deep voice entered his consciousness like distant thunder, rumbling with warmth yet charged with danger.

A light to his left blinked on, cold white fluorescent flooded his peripheral vision and made Shen Qiao’s eyes sting from the sudden brightness. When his pupils adjusted to the light at last, he was able to make out a fuzzy outline of someone sitting by his bedside. The figure was mostly cast in shadow, but even in the best lighting, it would have been impossible for him to see anything further than half an arm’s length with any semblance of crisp clarity.

Driven by habit, Shen Qiao began to reach blindly to the side for his spectacles, which, of course were not there.

“Looking for these?” the man with the same deep, baritone voice asked, placing a piece of mangled metal that used to be his glasses into his hand.

Feeling the warped titanium remnants with his fingers, Shen Qiao heaved a soft sigh. He knew there was no way these could be repaired, so he’d have to endure the inconvenience of blurry vision until he could get new glasses or get his hands on some contact lenses, which had long fallen out during his rough scuffle with He Huan Group’s people.

Not that it was anything new – the cloudy eyesight – since he’d spent most of his childhood with his eyes in even worse state until he was in his early teens when Qi Fengge persuaded him to undergo surgery, which had improved his ability to see if only just slightly.

Wandering in his own thoughts though never allowing himself to be defenseless in an unfamiliar environment, Shen Qiao suddenly sensed more than heard the stranger invading his personal space – the surrounding air becoming too hot from the man’s exhale and body heat, too stifling from how close and physically intimidating the man’s presence exuded, looming over him like a hunter anticipating the taste of its prey — and Shen Qiao tried to back up as best as he could, given how parts of his body were too numb from sleep or too painful from the fight to move promptly.

The man chuckled but didn’t advance further upon seeing Shen Qiao trying to shuffle back to keep his distance.

“Are you sure you should be moving around like that?” the man sat back down in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he continued to observe the injured man with an interested gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

Ever the polite gentleman, Shen Qiao realized that he was acting quite rude to the person who’d rescued him from a terrible situation that he very likely wasn’t going to get out of by himself. Still, his delicate frame, warm hazel eyes, gentle smiles, and soft-spoken nature all contributed to a first impression of a man who was agreeable and amiable, maybe even somewhat unassuming to the point of foolish naiveté, yet those who’d been acquainted with him long enough knew that beneath his kind and considerate disposition was someone constructed of steel bones and unyielding morals.

There was a reason why he was known to be an anomaly in the underground world, crawling with all sorts of criminals and infested with coldblooded monsters that found thrills in destruction and the fall of humanity. Shen Qiao was the adopted son of a once-famed assassin Qi Fengge, who’d retired for the last decade now but had since headed one of the largest and most formidable assassin organizations that employed the best professionals good money could hire.

“You’re a funny one,” the man commented, hint of amusement seeping into his voice. “What are you sorry for?”

“I just… don’t like it when people I don’t know well get too close to me,” Shen Qiao explained quietly, his body visibly relaxed a little once he knew the stranger had backed off. “I did not mean to be disrespectful to someone who’d saved my life.”

When the stranger didn’t immediately respond, Shen Qiao continued with hesitation, “may I know the name of my savior?”

“Yan Wushi.”

He seemed content enough to offer that, at least.

“Leader of Huan Yue Group?”

Shen Qiao’s slight frown didn’t go unnoticed by the ever-observant mafia leader.

“You’ve heard of me?” Yan Wushi leaned in just a degree.

“My father had told me about you.”

Also, Shen Qiao didn’t think it was a good idea to say it out loud, but he knew that in recent years, Yan Wushi – and really, all of Huan Yue Group – was infamous for being gutsy enough to be striding the border between the criminal world and the political sphere, and still benefit greatly from both.

“All good things, I hope.”

“Huan Yue Group mixes with government officials – specifically Yuwen Yong’s faction – and gets on their good side either by offering them financial assistance under the table or getting rid of any political opponents that stand in Yuwen Yong’s way through any means possible,” Shen Qiao recited the information like he was memorizing it from a textbook.

“It’s a mutually beneficial relationship,” Yan Wushi admitted.

Shen Qiao’s frown deepened when he continued, “several deaths and disappearances had been suspected to be connected to members of Huan Yue, but the police never found any solid evidence to arrest or lay charges on anyone.”

“You can’t possibly blame us for the police department’s incompetence. And here I thought you’re blissfully ignorant of how our side works,” one corner of Yan Wushi’s lips twisted upwards, his interest in this frail-looking man had been elevated from indifference to modest curiosity. “It seems Qi Fengge had taught you the basics after all, despite the fact that you’re not expected to be his successor. Fascinating.”

“Father simply didn’t wish for me to be completely uninformed,” Shen Qiao exhaled, letting his eyes fall close as if he’d suddenly become too tired. “Having knowledge is a kind of advantage, though it may not seem like it at the time. I didn’t want to take over the family business, and father respected my decision, but he said even if I have no desire to work underground, the underground world will still find its way to catch up to me eventually. He was right, of course.”

He sounded exhausted, like he’d been running and escaping for years, and every time he thought he’d gotten ahead of the bloody claws of the clandestine world, it came at him snarling with gaping jaws, a cruel reminder that no matter how far he thought he’d gotten away, no matter how hard he’d convinced himself that he wasn’t part of the bloodthirst and violence, the mere fact that he was the son of Qi Fengge, the prodigious assassin’s greatest strength and weakest link, had already sealed him to a certain fate.

Shen Qiao loved and respected Qi Fengge. When Qi Fengge found him beaten and half-starving on the street and took him in one rainy night, five-year-old Shen Qiao would have never thought he’d feel the warmth of family and safety of a home again after he’d lost his parents.

He wanted to repay Qi Fengge in any way he could, but when he was old enough to finally understand what kind of organization Xuan Du was and what Qi Fengge’s real identity entailed, Shen Qiao was torn: he could – no, should – accept the position, train hard to become Qi Fengge’s next successor, and take over Xuan Du and its commitment to only execute those who were deserving of it, if only for the sake of doing what he could to show his gratitude towards his adopted father, yet his righteous moral compass and absolute belief in humanity’s good nature – borne from his education and the teachings of his father – forced him to make one of the most difficult decisions in his life.

It was ironic, how the assassination group operated under Qi Fengge’s guidance: Xuan Du Group only accepted jobs whose targets were beyond anyone’s saving and the victims’ families’ reconciling, their crimes numerous or excessive, their sins unpardonable. But who were counting the number of lives taken away by the hands of Xuan Du’s assassins?

Yan Wushi’s baritone voice pulled Shen Qiao back to the present.

“Everyone says the adopted son of Qi Fengge is different – refined, pristine, pure-hearted, a white water lily untainted by the dirty muck that brought him up,” Yan Wushi watched him closely for any flicker of emotion, “but I don’t believe that a person can truly remain unaffected by the surrounding environment.”

Yan Wushi moved so swiftly that there was no way Shen Qiao could have dodged in his current condition, so when he felt strong fingers gripping his chin and forcing him in place while the mafia leader hovered close – terrifyingly close, breaths hot and vivid against Shen Qiao’s own lips – and the other arm trapping the injured man between himself and the wall, Shen Qiao froze, eyes wide open and the only thing he perceived was Yan Wushi’s eyes.

Dark brown, but almost glowing with the rusted red of blood.

“You’re exactly the type of people I’d like to see battered and broken.”

Shen Qiao swallowed, silently willing himself in his mind to keep calm, and when he was certain his voice wouldn’t shake, he asked while maintaining their shared gaze, “then why did you save me?”

A short pause as Yan Wushi regarded the composed expression on Shen Qiao’s face, and then he barked out a laugh, roughly letting go of the other man and stepping back.

“Don’t think too highly of me, Shen Qiao. I’m certainly no saint. You were in Sang Jingxing’s possession, and I just happen to hate that man and want to fuck with him. Besides, I enjoy having people owe me.”

From this distance, Shen Qiao couldn’t see Yan Wushi’s facial expression, but years of living with vision disability meant that he’d trained his ears to pick up on the smallest nuances in the rise and fall of a person’s voice. He could almost picture the man uttering the last phrase with a snide grin.

“Regardless, I’m grateful for what you’ve done,” Shen Qiao lowered his head in a nod of thanks, “if there’s anything I can do in return in the future, please let me know.”

“Anything?”

Shen Qiao could practically hear the smile in that purr.

“Anything within the legal and ethical realm,” Shen Qiao corrected calmly.

#qian qiu #thousand autumns #yanshen #yan wushi #shen qiao #bowie's crappy writing

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years

Text

A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 7; Parva Sub Ingenti

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Chapter 8 babyyyyyyyyyyy! Oh man, the next chapters to come are not going to be fun for Henry. I also had to rewrite this chapter like... Halfway through finishing the third-to-last chapter bc I realized that this route would be better to go with <3

Also, note, in case I did not make it clear in the actual chapter: it’s a week’s timeskip between this chapter and last chapter!

Also also! Since I have written all chapters now, I would not mind to update more frequently if that would be desired! Either I can hold onto the schedule I have rn (twice a week - Wednesday and Saturday) or I can change it so I update three times a week, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday? I would very much like some opinions on how often to update!

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Wordcount: 4300

Chapter summary: Brokenshire and the Scotland Yard come to a disappointing discovery, but waste no time in following a new lead.

CW [for this chapter]: Mentions of blood, mentions of murder.

[Ao3]

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Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire, a man who so often took pride in the loyalty and hard work he put into his position in the Scotland Yard, did not like his night duty.

He sat by his lone desk, elbows placed upon the only empty space on his messy workspace that was not already occupied by paperwork. The only source of light that found itself in the dark office was a flickering flame from a tiny, half-melted candle that was placed next to him, so bravely and so obediently bringing light to the documents that had caught his sole attention. For once, it was completely quiet. Not even the normal noises from the world going on and on outside could be heard tonight; no drunkards laughing their way home from the pubs, no footsteps from late-night wanderers exploring the streets, not even the sound of other officers standing guard outside seemed to find its way into the office. Had Brokenshire not long since gotten accustomed to the eerie silence that so specifically seemed to haunt him tonight, he might have found the loneliness and the quietness a bit depressing, a bit bleak. Perhaps it was merely because he had one of the most boring, yet most important jobs tonight. Perhaps it was merely because he was waiting. Perhaps it was merely because he was alone.

Of every late-night duty he could have gotten, Brokenshire got the unfortunate luck of being stuck in his office for the evening. He could have been out wandering the corridors of this very station, maybe checking on one of the few currently held in the cells in the basements, or maybe he could have been patrolling the streets with Wipple and Jenkins like he normally did. Maybe he could have been breaking up gang fights, catching thieves, or inspecting the new shipments and arrivals by the docks and train stations in search of stolen goods, but no, he was stuck waiting for his two colleagues. A soft sigh of boredom escaped his lips, and yet he decided to occupy his time by gazing over the many documents laid upon his so often neat desk, the shiny wooden surface now hidden under dozens of chaotically sprawled papers. His eyes traveled, and yet it did not take long until his gaze was caught by a single photograph that displayed none other than Dr. Henry Jekyll, stapled to a short investigative essay about the doctor’s career in London, written and documented in hopes of getting a bit of insight about the whole case. Through the two weeks that had recently passed since his estimated disappearance, it felt like they hadn’t managed to get a single step closer to figuring out what had happened to him, who did it and where he was currently located. They could find no possible motives; after all, Dr. Jekyll was a beloved man. No one seemed to have any ideas of someone who had actively disliked him, rather than his work and connection to yet-so-stigmatized science, yet they were stuck on the single ‘suspect’ they had gotten from finding branded trinkets on the crime scene. They had interrogated practically every single person that had lived on the streets by the Society, and yet there hadn’t been a single witness, not a single trail to follow-- not even the blood that had so horrifyingly splattered upon almost every surface in the entire study had been found anywhere outside of the room, not in the corridors outside nor by the broken window. It seemed like the doctor had just disappeared in thin air, once he was, assumingly, dragged out of that window. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense at all and yet this wasn’t even one of the most gruesome or violent cases the Sergeant had gotten his hands on, no, but it was still so very unnerving, maybe because of the specific circumstances, maybe because it was specifically Dr. Jekyll everything was about. No matter, it was unnerving regardless and Brokenshire was going to stand by that fact, and yet he couldn’t help but let out another sigh. Another sigh among the thousands he had made just this night. Another sigh among the thousands to come.

He felt how his eyes began to roam once more, and yet they did not wander for long before they were caught by a second photograph; this one displayed the second subject of the mess of his desk, one Mr. Richard Crawford. Having found his name-engraved jewelry on the crime scene, the opposition, aggression, and hatred that Crawford harbored for the Society for Arcane Sciences had only seemed to confirm their suspicion of him as a suspect, and since there were no more suspects at all, he was currently their main lead as well, yet Brokenshire doubted that Crawford had a vendetta against Dr. Jekyll himself, rather than their two opposing beliefs and opinions. There had been a lot of theories for why Crawford would have wanted Jekyll out of the way, some including the simple fact that Jekyll was probably the only other man in all of London as popular and influential as him, some including their clashing opinions in important political and scientific questions, and yet, through their feud, it had seemed like their rivalry had been quite one-sided. Brokenshire and his team had spent the last two weeks researching both men and their rivalry and at this point, the Sergeant was quite sure that he could give a ten-page essay for each topic respectively. Crawford was about a decade older than Jekyll and had therefore been in the public eye much longer. He was a working aristocrat and a businessman, having funded many of London’s most successful businesses, spanning from medical supply companies to breweries to real estate, and it seemed like he had seen the rise of Dr. Jekyll’s career as a threat to his own. It was not a secret that most of London and the people of power in the city were-- or had been-- against science, so while Crawford had been on top of the food chain for years, the establishment and success of the Society seemed to have struck a nerve of some sort, especially so once Crawford’s allies began to support it. It seemed like Crawford had seen that as a type of betrayal, and had come to the “clever” solution of trying to shut the operation down immediately, and yet he had never managed. It seemed like no matter what Crawford threw at Jekyll, the doctor would catch it with a smile on his face, light it on fire and toss it in the trash. No matter what the aristocrat did, Brokenshire couldn’t find a single instance of Dr. Jekyll doing anything to actively harm Crawford, his image, or his businesses, despite everything the latter did to him.

He guessed it was just another instance of what a goodhearted man that Jekyll was, of course. Ask anyone on the street and they would all tell you what a great man the doctor was, and it always seemed like every single person in London had a story about how the scientist had personally helped them, their family, or their friends. The only ones that Brokenshire and his team had heart talking badly about him had, of course, been the few people still against the Society, and yet it had never really been about his character rather than the entire idea of the Society. Everyone knew the doctor was a kind, helpful man who just wished everyone well. Men of his stock were, sadly, few and far in between, and it saddened the Sergeant to know that people were willing to hurt such a good man like that. He could not figure out why someone would do such a thing-- sure, Jekyll had made mistakes, but who hadn’t? He doubted that the doctor could have done anything to anger someone to the point of them thinking the only logical solution was to hurt him, abduct him, murder him. Sure, there were probably people mad at Hyde who decided to take it out on Jekyll, but that made no sense at all. After all, Jekyll had been just as much of a victim of the fire and Hyde’s scheme as everyone else had been. Going after Hyde’s ex-employer after leading the Scotland Yard to the Blackfog Bazaar was absolutely absurd, yet a type of revenge that Brokenshire would not put past the many criminals that lurked in the London Underground.

Really, the reason why the offenders could have done it was completely unimportant. What was important was the fact that Dr. Henry Jekyll was gone, and they had to find both him and his kidnappers as soon as possible. Hell, Jekyll could be dying or very badly injured at this very moment! Who knew what kind of torture, what kind of sadistic treatment he was suffering through? Who knew if he was even alive still? Who knew if he even was in London at all? Who knew what kind of man he would be if he was found? For every day that passed, the probability that he would be found and found alive plummeted heavily, the odds and statistics were against them. They had to be quick, so very quick, and yet...

Brokenshire’s hands found the edge of his desk as he pushed his chair away quite abruptly, grunting as he got on his legs and turned his head away from all these godforsaken documents, feeling the clinically white paper blinding him in the dim light. He made a beeline towards one of the few windows in his office, quietly running a hand through his ginger locks as he peaked between the blinds, observing, watching, praying that his goddamn colleagues would come back soon. It was dark, yet it was brighter out there than it was in his office, giving him just enough light to be able to decipher anything going on outside. The streets were empty, the night was quiet... Goddamnit, where were they?

He sighed and shook his head, mostly to try to get rid of the slight paranoia and weariness that began to grip him. He moved away from the window, feeling how all the energy in his legs only got worse and worse for every second, and he almost could not stop himself as he began to pace around the office, trying to pass time and trying to distract himself as it only seemed like all his energy got worse and worse and worse for every second that passed. Jenkins and Wipple should have been here a long time ago. What could possibly have taken them so long? They didn’t have all night!

Brokenshire was an impatient man as it was, he knew that. He seldom had the patience to wait for something unimportant and he had particularly no patience for things that were important. The fact that Wipple and Jenkins had been sent out to collect documents, proof of possible evidence of Crawford’s involvement in Jekyll’s kidnapping that could either incriminate him or prove him innocent of the whole ordeal... Sure, they had his jewelry, but that was certainly not enough proof to arrest him just yet. They needed more... More proof of Crawford’s suspicious behavior, proof that he was not above kidnapping, proof that he was not a man to be trusted. Two weeks of research, two weeks of potentially wasted and precious time amounted to this. Two weeks of quietly investigating Crawford, sinking so much time and so many resources in a potential dead-end... They were hoping to find the evidence they needed to arrest Crawford, after all, they hoped that he was the criminal in all of this, the orchestrator to the entire kidnapping and especially since they had no other leads, but for that, they needed definite proof, proof that Jenkins and Wipple had been in charge of, and if they never showed up...

The Sergeant rubbed his sore eyes, regretfully feeling how the late-night weariness slowly began to get to him, slowly washing over his body like algae clinging to every surface, only seeming to become worse and worse and more and more in quantity the longer you didn’t pay attention. He had been working on this case non-stop for the last two weeks, having barely gotten any rest at all during that time, and yet it was much less because he couldn’t pawn the case off to someone else while he took his normal days off and got the rest he so desperately needed, it was much less the work piling up and being forced upon him because there was no one else to take the case, no, it was mostly the fact that he wanted to get to the bottom of this as fast as possible, and he wanted to be the one in charge of such an important case. He trusted his colleagues with his life and yet he only trusted himself with the Henry Jekyll case, even if he wasn’t fully sure why. Everyone was worried, of course, so he had no doubt that the other officers would be just as precise and active with the case as he currently was, but... Yeah. Jekyll was a beloved man, a man who was friends with practically everyone-- the commissioner specifically, but Brokenshire could not deny that he had taken a liking to that man, as much as he regretted admitting it. He knew the cautionary tale of scientists who went mad with hubris, narcissism, and... Well, madness all too well. He knew the tale of the bright young men and women who wanted to test the limits of every aspect of the world they lived in, who wanted to understand how things worked and wanted to manipulate it into their own liking, who only got hungry for more and more until they went insane and could find themselves in the Asylums all of them seemed to fear so, or until they found themselves exiled and on the run from the law. After all, Brokenshire had known Moreau once upon an eternity ago; he had been just as respectable of a gentleman as Jekyll was, then Moreau had shown his true colors, got exiled, and now he spent the last of his days stuck in a padded cell under solitary confinement and burnt to a crisp in Bethlam Royal Asylum. He knew that there seldom were scientists who did not go mad in their own way-- everyone knew the story of Frankenstein, even if she did seem... Relatively sane now, she had still caused catastrophic damage to the people around her, innocent people specifically, and Moreau was already mentioned... The odds that Jekyll and his Society, too, were just as mad as the rest of the scientists that had made and snuck their way into the history books were far too high. Respectable facades and silver-tongued speech were all they needed to trick practically everyone, both of which Henry Jekyll undoubtedly had. Impulsive, uncontrollable, testing the limits of reality while claiming that it was for the betterment of society, humanity as a whole. It was a tale Brokenshire knew all too well and yet Jekyll had done a good job of pushing himself away from any and all possibilities that he was like those scientists. They were rogue scientists, he would say, not mad scientists.

Oh, it was a speech that the sergeant had heard a handful of times already, yet it was almost endearing, and quite charming after a while. He guessed that was just the effect the doctor had on the people around him. He was a charming man and no one could deny that. He had all of London wrapped around his pinkie, spun and held together with the silken thread he had woven with his silver-tongue, and that had been quite obvious, and it still was. After all, people had been outraged over his disappearance, and they could still hear the people of London making a ruckus and demanding that they find the doctor they all loved so much. Many of Jekyll’s friends had offered to put up rewards for whoever could come forward with any possible statements or for whoever could find the doctor, and with many, he meant many; Dr. Robert Lanyon, Sr. Lanyon, Sir. Danvers Carew, the commissioner himself, and of course the entire Society, and that was only to name a few, so there was quite a large sum of money at play now. So much money was at stake and yet they still had heard nothing related to the Henry Jekyll case. No one had seen suspicious activity, no one had any clue what possibly could have caused it... You might as well have thought he disappeared in thin air just because someone wished him gone, for no reason whatsoever. You might as well have thought the doctor never existed.

The only real ‘evidence’ and the only real statements they had about the case came from their investigation of Crawford. They had dipped their noses in practically every part of Crawford’s life, investigating and interrogating every servant, worker, acquaintance, business partner, and rival with a connection to the man in question, their statements now placed upon the sergeant’s desk, neatly waiting for when they would be of use. All they needed was Jenkins and Wipple with the rest of the accounts and statements, and hopefully they would bring the long-awaited truth. They all had theories, of course, both personal and more... Hmm, official ones, so to speak, all of which suggested that the kidnapping of Henry Jekyll was not the only crime that Crawford may be involved in, many of which seemed to be about tax evasion, blackmail... The classic stuff that men of his stock often dipped into sooner or later. Now, if Jenkins and Wipple could just come back...

Knockknockknock--

Speaking of the devil, Brokenshire couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath he hadn’t known he had been holding as he finally stopped his pace. His attention immediately shifted towards his door, and it only took a moment before he saw the door handle moving, and then through the darkness, Brokenshire finally-- finally!-- saw his dear colleagues entering, the expected documents in hand.

“Oi, sergeant, why are you cooping up in the darkness?”

As Jenkins moved forward with the documents, Wipple stayed behind to close the door behind them, taking the opportunity to also turn on the light, which, in its turn, successfully blinded the poor sergeant whose eyes had gotten so accustomed to the soft, simple light from the candle on his desk. He did not get a lot of time to adjust to it, however, as Jenkins soon placed the new documents down on the little empty space on the sergeant’s desk that had not been occupied with paperwork and, instead, occupied it with more documents. Brokenshire watched the papers, then his gaze turned to Jenkins, who looked less than proud of the work they presented. His thin lips and mustache curled into a frown, the disappointment in his sigh seemed to echo through the room.

“You are not going to believe this, sir.”

“Well, what is it? Did you find anything?”

“Well... You are not going to like it.”

The three of them surrounded the desk, waddling together so everyone could have a good view of the newly added documents. Brokenshire eyed it up and down with great interest, if not suspicion and caution, yet he was quick to look back up at Jenkins, quietly gesturing for him to continue to explain.

“Crawford has been actively against the Society, as we knew, but his way of sabotaging, as we theorized, is nowhere near illegal.” Jenkins filtered through the documents until he got a specific page, tapping it with his finger against the headlines, and them moving the tip of his finger down to the summary, “According to his bank statements, the only money that has been taken out and put into anything remotely against science as been into perfectly legal campaigns, some of just so happens to affect the Society, would the things they push for actually go through. Other than that... The only proof we have is the jewelry found on the scene. Sure, yeah, it’s clear proof but it’s nothing we can arrest or accuse him with. It’s practically impossible for the jewelry to have found its way into the office...”

Brokenshire might as well have thought he got a door slammed into his face.

Their main suspect turned out to be a dead end. All the work, all the time, and all the funds they had put into investigating Crawford turned into a dead-end, and now they came up empty-handed without a new suspect.

But... That didn’t explain why his jewelry was in Jekyll’s workspace.

“Well... Do either of you have any idea why the ring and necklace were in the office otherwise?”

Wipple and Jenkins stayed silent, glancing at each other for a short second, yet they quickly looked back at Brokenshire and seemed to struggle to come up with a logical answer to such a question. So many things could have made the jewelry appear where they did, yet none of them actually seemed as logical as... Well, the theory that Crawford paid some thugs to get Dr. Jekyll out of the game, although having paid them with jewelry-- specifically name engraved jewelry-- was certainly not the most logical option, either. The thought that Dr. Jekyll might have stolen the trinkets didn’t even cross their minds, the thought that Dr. Jekyll might have planted them there seemed too absurd for any of them to even consider it, the thought of Dr. Jekyll having faked the entire thing would probably be the dumbest thing either of them would have thought in years. Dr. Jekyll was gone, he was kidnapped, there had been blood everywhere in the office and the blood might have dried into the wood at this point. Red crimson that coagulated and stained into the mahogany wood was a reminder of what Jekyll, in this very moment, might be suffering through, a reminder that if they weren’t quick, Jekyll’s blood might not have only stained his office.

But... Hold on...

“What if it wasn’t Crawford who planted them there?” Jenkins suddenly spoke up, you could practically see the lightbulb shining over his head as the idea struck him. Both Wipple and Brokenshire furrowed their eyebrows, looking at their colleague.

“Well... Obviously. It isn’t like someone-- if Crawford did hire criminals, would have put them there intentionally. Crawford would clearly not have done the dirty work himself.” Brokenshire pressed.

“No, no-- What if someone tried to frame him?” Jenkins continued, “Think about it-- Crawford is a high standing man, he has a lot of enemies, someone might have stolen the jewelry and planted it on the scene when they kidnapped Jekyll, to throw us off of their tracks?”

The officers all went silent for a moment, as Jenkin’s words and his theory began to sink in. It only took a moment, and then Wipple gasped, almost with excitement. He grabbed Jenkins’ arm and stared at him in awe, before immediately giving him a quick pat on the back.

“Jenkins! You might actually be onto something!”

Jenkins grinned proudly, preening under the praises before the two constables turned towards the sergeant for his input. Brokenshire continued to stare down at the documents, eyebrows knitted into a deep, deep frown upon his forehead. Jenkins’ and Wipple’s excited grins slowly washed away as they watched their friend, a bit confused, a bit worried, as the sergeant reached up a hand to scratch his beard in thought.

“That... Complicates things.”

Brokenshire straightened himself, placing his arms behind his back as his frown only seemed to deepen by the second, yet his eyes did not leave the documents. If someone had kidnapped Jekyll and tried to frame Crawford for it... This might be a much more complicated situation than they had anticipated. This must be a gang activity, or someone who was very dumb for using two pieces of jewelry and nothing more. He could not deny that the idea seemed plausible-- it actually sounded quite reasonable and logical, But how did the criminals get their hands on the trinkets? Could the Scotland Yard afford to finally go and confront Crawford about it, if he knew that his things had recently gotten stolen?

Well... It wasn’t like they had anything to go on, otherwise.

“Gentlemen... I think it’s time that we go to the source, eh?”

“Source?”

“We have to interrogate Crawford. Perhaps he can point us to the reason for why his stuff was in Jekyll’s office.”

Wipple and Jenkins looked at each other, and yet they both immediately turned back to the sergeant.

“Well... What are we waiting for, then?”

The three of them looked at each other for a short moment, only allowing a second of hesitation before all three of them practically sprinted to the door, tearing it open and practically running down the corridors, immediately jumping into the police carriage that was stationed outside and then they were off, galloping through the city streets, off to an unsuspecting Richard Crawford. They had no time to waste, perhaps that’s why they all decided that they had to rush, perhaps that’s why they decided to be quick, or maybe it was the excitement of finally having another lead-- another lead that actually made sense and could be true. In just a few hours they might have their truth. In just a few hours they might find the culprits. In just a few hours, they could all just hope that they would find out what happened to the beloved Dr. Henry Jekyll.

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This chapter was originally going to be Thomas going home from the... Ahem, “hook up” with Robert and meeting Emma Carew and flirting a bit with her, but that plan was only in the drafts and I never wrote it so it’s not what I originally had planned and mentioned in the notes above, but I’m weak for Emma and also Emma X Henry so I hope I will be able to write something for them when this fic is over <3

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Taglist: @artzycreature @jekkiefan

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#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs fanfic #tgs fanfiction #the glass scientists fanfic #the glass scientists fanfiction #banshees fanfic #banshees writing #tgs brokenshire #tgs sergeant brokenshire #tgs sergeant enoch brokenshire #the glass scientists brokenshire #the glass scientists sergeant brokenshire #the glass scientists sergeant enoch brokenshire

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

1 Day Before Rebellion

All Hail (Diavolo x Reader)

The current ruling class is brutal. Draconian. Tyrannical. Every demon who has sat the throne for the past ninety thousand years has brought nothing but hardship to the Devildom—something Diavolo and his father intend to remedy by seizing power as leaders of the Resistance. When Diavolo happens to come across the princess of the Devildom, he’s overjoyed. He sees you as an opportunity, a sign from a higher power that his cause is just; and he plans to use you as a pawn in his Rebellion. But life rarely goes as planned, especially in Hell. And when Diavolo realizes that he’s falling in love with you, things suddenly feel a lot more complicated than they used to be.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | ✔

MASTERLIST

All you can think about is Diavolo.

And the overwhelming stench of blood that lingers in the air.

You swallow thickly and study the arena, gripping the edge of your bench in hopes that the action will soothe the sick feeling in your stomach.

Have the cage fights always been this bloody?

You toy with the question in your mind, struggling to come up with an answer. It's been nearly half a year since you last visited one of these underground rings—you've been using your free time on Diavolo instead, these past few months—and your memories are foggy. The only proper thing you remember is how savagely the Victor had assaulted Diavolo the night you met, and how this season doesn't seem to be any less violent.

"It's okay," You mumble to no one, forcing yourself to heed the words. You have to be calm. Diavolo has enough to worry about without knowing that you're terrified to the core on the benches. "He's going to be okay."

But no matter how many times your mind whispers that your lover will be fine, your heart beats a different rhythm.

"And now, we have the first of our competitors for the fourth round of combat! On one side of the cage, we have the second-place semifinalist from last season's tournament! And on the other side, we have a total newbie, calling themselves the Fists of Purgatory! Let the fight begin!"

You wince as the two fighters start for each other, a shudder running up your spine when the unfamiliar men grab at each other's throats.

There isn't an ounce of restraint in the way their fists swing. These men are making use of sick lack of rules for these underground fights. They have nothing to hold them back, and their fists are flying wild, blood already spilling onto the floor.

They're fighting to kill.

You shiver, gripping the bench tighter.

Diavolo told you not to come. He knew that seeing these fights wouldn't be good for you. That you're already worrying enough about how he'll fare when he inevitably goes against the Victor, and that this will do nothing but further your concerns.

At the time, you whacked him on the head and told him not to be ridiculous. You'd been sneaking out to watch cage fights for years, and the violence had only unnerved you once or twice.

But now?

Every demon who gets injured takes the face of Diavolo. And when the stronger demon in the ring grabs the weaker one by the neck and bashes his head against the wall, it's Diavolo's face you imagine being brutalized.

The very thought makes everything so much worse.

"And we have a winner! In record time of just forty-two seconds, our semifinalist from last year advances to the fifth round! Check back in two hours to find out if our losing demon is truly dead, or if he's simply unconscious. And now, onto the next set of competitors—"

You tune the announcer out, standing abruptly. Diavolo defeated his opponent for this round a long time ago; he won't be fighting for another half hour, at the very least.

But a voice pulls your attention away.

"Where are you going, miss?"

Your eyes dart down to the man sitting next to you, surprised to find him looking up at you in an expression of curiosity. You can't see his face, given that his mask covers everything except his eyes, but you're positive that there's a smile on his face as he speaks.

"A-ah," You mumble, feeling caught off guard. It's rare for people to speak to each other during these fights. Most conversations happen between those who already know each other, and the rest simply wear their masks in silence, guarding their anonymity like it's the only treasure they possess. This may just be the first time someone has spoken to you from within the stands. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to disturb your view of the fighters. It's just that I was feeling rather lightheaded, so I was hoping to get some fresh air outside. If you don't mind, might I go past you?"

"I see," The demon responds, looking thoughtful. "I have no qualms with letting you past, miss, but would you entertain the notion of me joining you? These fights have been rather boring, after all, and I also would like a change in scenery."

"Of course, Sir!" You exclaim instantly, your princessly instincts taking over as you accept the man's courteous invitation. You wince a little on the inside, abruptly realizing that this might not have been the best idea, especially given the shadiness of all things and people tied to these underground cage fights—but you're confident in your strength, so if this mysterious man tries anything, you're positive that you'll be able to defend yourself.

"Let us go," The man responds with a twinkle in his eye, extending his arm to you. Without a moment's hesitation, you take it, masking all your inner reservations as the two of you walk in line until you're outdoors.

"Ahh," You whisper the moment you've stepped outside. The cool wind rushes through your body like a tidal wave, and you're overcome with the urge to rip your clay mask off to feel the breeze against your face, but you resist it. "It's much more pleasant out here. Wouldn't you agree, Sir?"

"Indeed. Perhaps we ought to recommend that these cage fights be held outdoors instead. I can never sit through a full night of watching without sneaking out to the balconies at least once."

The man lets out a low chuckle, and you can't help but think that the sound is awfully similar to Diavolo's laugh. Of course, this man is nothing like your lover, his stature built smaller and leaner—but a quiet voice at the back of your mind tells you that there are more similarities between them. Perhaps the way they walk or the aura that hovers over them—but something about this man distinctly reminds you of Diavolo.

You study him from the corner of your eye.

Now that the two of you are outside, you can properly see the demon. The moon watches over the two of you, illuminating the green hair that peeks out from behind his mask, curtained just behind a bright patch of turquoise that hangs off one side of his face.

Lovely, you can't help but think.

The boldness of the green reminds you of Diavolo's own fiery reds.

"What brings you to these cage fights, Sir?" You try to start a conversation, breaking the silence of the night.

"Boredom, I suppose. Though on occasion, it is duty that calls." The man muses. "I often tell myself that I come to watch the fighters fight. The tides of the realm are ever-changing, and it's crucial for us commonfolk to know where the power lies in the underground. Other times, I come on the orders of the man I owe fealty to. He enjoys learning about new combat techniques."

"And tonight?" You keep your tone light, almost teasing.

"I'm here to visit a friend and an enemy."

The demon doesn't say anything after that.

"I see," You murmur, bringing a hand to your face, pushing your mask further up so that it doesn't impair your vision. "I hope happiness finds your friend and that vengeance is delivered for your enemy. May the lords of Hell see your wishes true."

"Thank you, miss." The demon takes another step forward, bringing you both so close to the balcony that the loose fabric of your commoner's robe touches it. "And what brings you here? You do not seem the type to view violence for the entertainment of it."

A light laugh leaves your throat at that, awkward at the realization that this man saw how unnerved you were. It's wholly unbefitting of a demon to flinch at the sight of blood—but you couldn't help yourself. The very thought of Diavolo being hurt sends a chill down your spine.

"I'm also here for a friend. In case he gets hurt."

"I see. Do you worry that he will be defeated?"

"Oh no. Not at all. If I'm being perfectly candid, Sir, I'm quite confident that he'll make it to the finals. It's simply that I fear he may get injured in the process. I spent a rather long time healing him before, you see, so I'd rather not have him get hurt again."

"A noble sentiment. You must be a healer, then." The demon's words are even, and you abruptly realize your mistake.

"Y-yes," You mumble instantly, hoping that he won't press on the subject. Only royalty has access to medicines and most healing products; nearly all healers have been driven out of business by your family's laws. If the man asks a single question, you know all too well that your lying skills will be no defense.

You draw your hands into fists as subtly as you can, already preparing to knock him out.

"If I know your profession, I suppose it's only fair that you know mine." You blink as the man skips over your words entirely, not a single word of doubt crossing his lips.

"Which is?" You press, eager to move on from the topic of your own supposed occupation.

"A butler."

You blink.

"A butler?" You ask, trying to confirm what you heard.

"A butler."

You nod your head slowly, forcing yourself to process the words. A butler, you think, squinting at the demon from the corner of your eye. Only the royal palace and the highest-ranking nobles have butlers—nearly all commoners are either too poor or too oppressed to have any—but you're positive you've never seen this man in your life. Namely, you've never seen that patch of teal before, the only distinctive feature you can identify when this demon's face is hidden by his mask.

"I see," You mumble after a long time. "That's quite fascinating, Sir."

"Is it? A butler's duty is hardly anything special. I'm sure that healers are much more interesting. Especially given the condition of the medical markets. It must be quite the journey, obtaining all the materials you need for your work."

"Do you truly think so?" You laugh awkwardly, beginning to sense an edge to the butler's voice. Was it always there? "The underground markets have everything, Sir. Even those which the imperial palace has denied to the commoners."

"I did not know that, miss." The butler looks at you from behind his mask, and suddenly his deep green eyes no longer seem casual. His gaze is dark, as if he's seeing into your very soul. "Despite all my connections, I can't think of a single demon who has received any medical supplies in a millennium. You simply must tell me where you're buying your goods from."

The shrewd, calculating look in the butler's eye sharpens, and now it feels like he's no longer staring into your soul but surveying its contents, analyzing every truth you have hidden away.

It sends a jolt of fear straight to your heart.

"I'm getting rather cold, Sir," You deflect, hoping that your nervousness doesn't seep into your voice. You were confident before that you could defeat this man if the situation called for it, but you're beginning to have doubts now that you can feel how sturdy his grip on your arm is. "Might we go inside?"

"Of course, miss."

Abruptly, the greens of his eyes lose their scrutinous edge and fade into a softer tone.

You instinctively relax.

A voice at the back of your mind whispers that maybe it was all your imagination. Your paranoia at being found out. Your fear for Diavolo infecting all else, causing you to view everyone and everything through a lens of skepticism.

But when you glance at the butler on your right, your eyes glazing over his features once more, you're certain that you didn't imagine that cunning gaze. You may have read too deeply into his words and overanalyzed actions, but that look he gave you was real.

And it was terrifying.

"Oh my," The demon murmurs, though the surprise in his voice sounds fake. "It would appear that we missed quite a few matches."

You blink in surprise, your eyes flying to the far wall where the winners from each block are drawn up. Your eyes widen when you realize that the fifth column is almost completely filled, only the bottom bracket left without a clear winner.

The man at your side pulls you forward, walking you back to your seat, and you squint to make out the figures in the cage below.

Alas, it seems that the two of you are late even for this fight, and it's clear that the battle is over. One demon stands over the other, the standing demon's foot hovering just above the weaker's stomach in a silent threat as to what will happen if surrender isn't swift and immediate.

The demon on top presses his foot down a little further, now touching skin, and his eyes take on an intimidating glint, burning bright with the adrenaline of combat—and then the demon beneath him has raised a hand with four fingers extended in surrender, and the round is complete.

The winner withdraws immediately, stepping back as the crowd rises to their feet with the ringing of bells, everyone elated at the realization that the first night is over.

But then, the demon looks up. Up at the crowd. Up at you. And your eyes widen, because you recognize those eyes.

His mask hides his face well, and his outfit is different than anything you've ever seen. But you know that shade of red too well.

Diavolo.

But as you watch the demon raise his fist, egged on by the cheers of the crowd, a small part of you think that this isn't quite the Diavolo you know. That this man, with such a dark glint in his eyes, is as unfamiliar to you as the butler you met outside.

You shake the thought from your mind, forcing yourself to applaud with the audience as you stand in congratulations and try not to think about the look in Diavolo's eyes.

It must have been your imagination.

Diavolo's training room stinks of sweat, blood, and grime.

The sweat is Diavolo's own—one can hardly participate in a cage fight and not expect a little perspiration.

The blood is of his enemies; not a single one has been able to land a clean hit on him, though their ichor paints his knuckles as a reminder of every punch he's delivered today, every punch you taught him to deliver.

But the grime?

The grime is an entirely different story.

The grime has been in this room from the very start. The grime is a reminder, a filthy, disgraceful reminder of the overwhelming loss Diavolo suffered at the hands of the Victor in the previous season. The grime is a message from those running the cage fights that Diavolo means nothing to them, that they see no potential in him. The grime is an outright insult, not an ounce of subtlety, claiming that he doesn't even have the right to a clean room like his competitors.

In this awful, disgusting room, Diavolo hardly cares about how the towels on the floor are covered in dried blood and sweat.

No, it's the grime that disturbs him.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, yanking his shirt off and throwing it into a locker, one of the only things in this room that isn't downright filthy. At this point, he just wants to change as fast as possible and wrap you in his arms, showering you in kisses and affection.

Of course, the world never gives Diavolo what he wants.

"There you are."

The demon freezes, his eyes widening. Impossible, he thinks. There's no way…

Diavolo turns around slowly, eyes round in disbelief as he casts a glance behind his shoulder—and sure enough, there stands the demon butler that has been by his side for so many centuries.

"Barbatos," He whispers softly, turning around.

"My lord."

The butler smiles cryptically, but Diavolo knows him well enough to see the quiet happiness that lurks in the greens, pushed far back but still not far enough.

The men stare at each other for a moment, eyes communicating everything that words cannot—and instantly, they understand each other's stories. Barbatos sees the trouble Diavolo has been facing for months on end, the struggle of love and obligation, battling each other eternally in the back of the future prince's mind. Diavolo, in turn, realizes how much his friend seems to have aged over the course of these past months, a soft sympathy settling into his eyes when he considers just how much Barbatos must have been working in preparation for Rebellion, his workload nearly doubled since Diavolo hasn't been there to help him.

The demons stare at each other for a beat longer, eyes searching for anything that might have been missed—and then the moment has passed, the spell broken. Barbatos steps forward, and Diavolo turns around fully.

"It has been too long," The redhead murmurs, leaning back against a wall.

"Indeed. But there is no time to speak, my lord."

"Oh?" Diavolo's lips curve into a frown. A bitterness settles in his heart, the abrupt realization: Ah yes, you fool. What did you expect? Barbatos is here for one reason, and one reason alone.

"Tell me," He grunts with as much politeness as he can muster, continuing to dress. "What is so urgent that you couldn't use magic to speak with me?"

"It is not a matter of magic. I am here to fight you."

"Excuse me?"

Diavolo stares dumbly at the butler, wondering if he misheard the man. But the utterly serious look in Barbatos's eyes leaves no room for confusion, and the demon is positive that he did not misspeak.

"Barbatos, why would you ever want to—"

Diavolo can't even finish his sentence before the demon is attacking him, swift punches being thrown left, right, and center as the redhead scrambles back in defense.

"Barbatos!" He shouts, desperately scrambling around the tiny room as he evades the butler's kicks. "What are you doing?! This is madness!"

But the butler pays him no heed, only continuing to throw a flurry of attacks that Diavolo scrambles to avoid. "I order you!" He tries, eyes wide in alarm. "As your liege lord's son, I order you to stop!" Yet Diavolo has no authority over the teal-haired demon, for the butler works for his father, not him, and it's hardly long before Barbatos has begun to wear the redhead down, the abrupt assault after a long night of nonstop fighting forcing Diavolo's hand.

He grunts in anger as he begins to fight back, no longer dodging Barbatos's kicks but countering them with his own, red eyes narrowing in an odd mix of fury and confusion as he begins returning attacks.

Within minutes, the two are genuinely sparring and giving it their all in the small space, Diavolo panting and shirtless as he throws what little strength he has left at the butler and Barbatos only mildly disheveled as he continues to attack.

Diavolo is practically gasping for air by the time he finally traps Barbatos against a locker, slamming the demon against it with enough force to kill, though the demon of time looks wholly unaffected by the motion. Fighting Barbatos is nothing like fighting you—you, at the very least, have the graciousness to warn Diavolo before you start. And when you punch, there isn't the risk of shattering bone.

Diavolo grabs the butler by the collar and uses what little magic he knows to trap the demon in place, holding him still even as he stumbles back and collapses against the other side of the wall.

"Good," Barbatos blurts, abruptly freeing himself of Diavolo's magic. "That was very well-fought, my lord."

"What?" Diavolo snaps, and this time, he's genuinely irritated. He raises his fists in preparation to fight once more, but the butler waves him away.

"Your father wished for me to come and test the extent of your skills. Indeed, you have improved as much as you claimed to have. I assume that this was not your full strength, given that you've spent the greater majority of the night fighting other demons in cages, but you do indeed have the potential to defeat the Victor."

"You...were testing me?" Diavolo asks suspiciously, eyebrows still furrowed.

"Yes, my lord."

The redhead groans.

"Why couldn't you have just said that, Barbatos?" Diavolo runs a hand through his hair, noting with frustration that it's damp with sweat once more.

"Why, that would have taken all the fun out of it, wouldn't you agree?" The butler smiles his usual cryptic smile. To anyone else, it looks ominous. Cold. Maybe even scary. But Diavolo can see the childlike amusement that curves the butler's lips upward, the man almost giddy with satisfaction after his little stunt.

"Thank you for that," Diavolo blurts sarcastically, reaching for a towel. He tries not to think about the fact that he'll have to wash up all over again.

"You're welcome, my lord. At the same time, however, we do have urgent matters to discuss." Diavolo arches an eyebrow. "The princess."

He sighs.

Whatever illusions he may have harbored about Barbatos's sudden appearance are shattered the moment those words leave the demon's lips. Hearing them from another Resistance member makes the situation feel so much more dire, so much more real.

So much more urgent.

"Say what you need to," Diavolo mumbles, keeping his eyes low.

"I met her."

Diavolo’s eyes narrow.

"Barbatos, do not—"

"I did not do anything to her, my lord. We merely had a conversation. A rather brief one, at that. Do not look at me like that. It was entirely unplanned. I might not have even spoken to her if she didn't appear so nervous during the cage fights."

"She was nervous?" Diavolo interrupts, eyebrows raised. You had assured him time and time again that this wouldn't be a problem, that you wouldn't be uncomfortable with watching him fight.

"She was trembling, my lord."

Diavolo clicks his tongue in aggravation. "I told her it wouldn't be a good idea…"

"No matter. There were no bystanders around us when we spoke, so you do not need to worry for her safety. Though I must say, you were right about her utter inability to lie." A ghost of a smile appears on Barbatos's face. "It was almost enjoyable to watch her attempt to deceive me."

"Quiet, Barbatos," Diavolo warns sharply, though there's no real edge to his voice. He leans back, a soft smile dancing on his lips as his mind fills with pictures of you. "But what did you think of her? You must understand what I mean now, don't you? She's genuinely good, Barbatos. I'm certain that if we introduce her to Father, he'll realize that she's nothing like the family she hails from, and—"

"My lord."

Barbatos shakes his head disapprovingly.

"You are beyond the age of fairy tales. There is no happy ending for this princess, no matter how much you like her."

And with those words, Diavolo completely deflates.

His shoulders drop and he turns around, quietly knowing better than to argue with the butler when he speaks these truths. But when Barbatos sees Diavolo dressing so sullenly, he's reminded not of the future prince he will one day serve but is instead brought to thoughts of the past: a time where he and Diavolo were nothing but casual friends, a time when Diavolo had the luxury to pout like this and do nothing but brood.

"She does—" Barbatos clears his throat uncomfortably, not used to speaking of people in this way. "I did not mean to invalidate your feelings, my lord. She does have a...strange sort of charm. And there is...a certain...kindness, ahem, that one might find in her."

"There is, isn't there?" Diavolo pauses in buttoning his shirt to cast a wistful glance at his friend—and for a moment, Barbatos shudders, because the look that Diavolo wears as he thinks of you is pure love. "She's absolutely amazing in every regard. You can't help but be drawn to her. No matter how you try to fight it. Which is why I truly believe that if we introduce her to Father, we—"

Barbatos cuts Diavolo off abruptly, raising a hand.

The redhead quiets instantly, already prepared for his butler to launch into another lecture about how ridiculous it is that Diavolo is even entertaining these notions in his mind—but then he sees the alarmed look in his butler's eye, and Barbatos drops his voice to a whisper.

"I must leave, my lord." Barbatos sounds panicked, rushed as he mumbles words out while glancing at the door. "But remember, Rebellion is hinged on your success in defeating the Victor. You have it in you, my lord, you simply must be prepared for—"

He's cut off in the middle of his sentence when the sound of a click rings through the room, and then Barbatos has vanished entirely, gone in the blink of an eye such that when the door to Diavolo's room opens, the demon is standing alone.

"Diavolo?" You call gently, somewhat surprised to see him staring at empty space.

The moment Diavolo hears your voice, all thoughts of Barbatos and his warnings go out the window. He grins, kicking a towel away to trap you in a hug that lifts you off your feet for a few seconds as you laugh and press a kiss to the demon's cheek.

"Why are you taking so long?" You pout, buttoning up the remainder of Diavolo's shirt. "Nearly all the other cage fighters have left for the night."

"I'm sorry, darling," Diavolo apologizes, sighing. "I got caught up. I'm ready to head out now, though."

"No worries," You mumble casually, wrapping your arm around Diavolo's as you slip his mask onto his face and open the door, gesturing dramatically with a giggle as the two of you step outside. "But I just wanted to let you know that I'm very proud of you."

"Oh?" Diavolo asks, interlacing his fingers with yours. It's a bit awkward due to the height difference between the two of you, but within moments your arms are swinging at a leisurely pace, one comfortable for you both. "You know, I think you were more scared than proud up on the bleachers."

"I was not!" You defend indignantly. "If—if you saw me shaking, it was with excitement, Diavolo! Not—not fear! I was excited!"

The demon opens his mouth to say something more, to criticize your atrocious attempt at lying or to laugh some more and lay a kiss across your forehead, but he's interrupted when another demon pops up out of seemingly nowhere.

"Ma'am!" The demon shouts, waving a bandaged arm as he's carried away by a stretcher. "Thank you so much again!"

"I am glad to have helped you, Sir," You call back, cheerful. Your mask hides your face, but Diavolo is already aware of the beaming smile you wear based on how bright your eyes shine. "I hope your injuries heal well!"

The demon shouts something back at you, too far for either you or Diavolo to understand, but you respond with a gentle wave, calling "Good luck!" to the man for good measure.

"What was that all about?" Diavolo asks once the two of you have stepped outside. "You helped him?"

"Yeah." You let out a light laugh, almost sheepish. "Right before I went to see you, I saw him on the ground. His arm was injured rather severely, but had some medical ointment with me in case you got injured, so I used it on him. That's why I was late in coming to your room. He must have wanted to thank me, since he was mostly unconscious while I patched him up."

A warm smile crosses Diavolo's face at that, the demon proud to know that his lover has such a selfless heart.

"You really are too good, do you know that?" He squeezes your hand gently, wishing that he could rip his mask off and kiss you here.

"Hush," You mumble. "You would have done the same. It's our obligation to help those who need it."

"Oh?" Diavolo's eyes are filled with teasing mirth. "Are you saying that when you first tended to my wounds, it was out of obligation?"

"Hey!" You pout, swatting Diavolo's arm. "You know it's not like that! I just…"

"You just…?" Diavolo quirks an eyebrow at you, grinning as he pulls you outside the cage fighting arena and onto the street, already heading in the direction of the Temple of the Grim Reaper.

"I just want to help everyone I can." You relax as Diavolo tenses his hold around your fingers, the demon instinctively stiffening the moment those words leave your mouth.

"I do, too," Diavolo mumbles. But he's no longer thinking of you helping that demon, but instead of everything he'll have to do to you in the name of saving the greater good.

"I know, Diavolo." You grin at him, untying your mask as you beam up at him.

For a moment, the soft, understanding light in your eyes makes it seem like you really do know.

But then Diavolo is exhaling sharply, hiding his pained expression behind his mask as he realizes that you don't. That you can't. That Barbatos was right, and your story will end in nothing but misery.

You've never seen so much death.

All around you, there are corpses: bodies lying on the ground, either already lost to the world or drowning in their own blood. But you don't stop to look at them. Your dress is bundled up in your fists as you sprint down the hall, racing to a secret exit that only you know about.

The place that surrounds you seems to be the palace. Seems to be, because you're certain that the real palace isn't this dark. This ominous. This foreboding.

You shudder as a voice calls your name, a weak "princess" escaping the lips of a palace worker you vaguely recognize the voice of. Still, though, you don't stop.

The bodies that you've left behind in your run seem to be pulling you back. The weight of their burden falls on your shoulders as you struggle to take each step, the secret exit to the palace so close but so far away.

You reach a hand out, trying desperately to grab at a corner of the wall. To yank your body forward and pull your way to safety, to a place free of all this bloodshed.

But your fingers only touch air, and you're left struggling to move forward once more.

You fight your way forward, a garbled gasp leaving your lips as you struggle past a room—but you make the mistake of looking inside.

And there you see it.

Him.

Diavolo.

He's sitting in the throne room, though you can't come up with a single reason why he's here. You can only see the vague outline of his body, but you've spent too many hours running your fingers through his hair to miss the distinctive shape that the tresses take.

You halt in your run, your arm abruptly reaching for the man you love.

"Diavolo!" You shout, hoping that he'll come forward. That his silhouette will turn clear. That he'll save you from this dark, violent dream.

You call his name again, the word forcing its way past your lips despite the difficulty it takes to say it, but then it doesn't even matter because you're screaming for him, and you're desperately wondering why he isn't moving. Why his silhouette is so still. Why he does nothing as the outline of his figure watches you drop to your knees.

"Are you dead too?" You ask meekly, dropping to your knees. You glance around you, and even more bodies litter the floor.

But Diavolo is poised as ever: too upright to be dead but too still to be alive.

There's a man behind him. Another distinctly familiar figure, though you can't place where you know him from. You glance up at the two of them, your eyes filled with tears, and you reach an arm forward to crawl your way to the throne—to the darkness that Diavolo seems to emanate.

"Please," You whisper, practically dragging your body forward as you throw yourself at his feet. "Please be alive," You pray, clasping his foot when you're close enough.

And it's only here, when you're this close, that you can look up and see the expression on his face. If you do, you'll see his eyes, the amber eyes you've fallen in love with, and you'll know whether he truly is alive.

So you raise your head.

Slowly, impossibly slowly, you lift your gaze from his feet to his knees. His knees to his chest. His chest to his jaw.

You brace yourself for the worst, your sobs already worsening, and you begin to look higher and higher, just below his eyes and then you've looked up and—

"Darling!"

The shout pulls you from your nightmare, your eyes flying open in alarm.

Diavolo.

You shoot off his chest abruptly, impossibly alert despite having woken from your nap mere seconds ago, and spin around in his arms, cupping his cheeks with both your hands.

"Diavolo?" You mumble, a rush of emotion hitting you all at once. You were crying in your sleep before, but now is when you truly begin to sob, giving the demon no choice as you fling yourself forward and trap him in an embrace so tight he seems to choke. "You're alive," You mumble, still not believing the words. "You're alive. You're alive. You're alive."

If Diavolo didn't know what was troubling you in your sleep before, he's able to piece together the clues from your words. Within seconds, he's got his arms wrapped around you in quiet reassurance.

"Shh," He mumbles into your ear even as you continue to choke over the fact that he's actually here. That it was just a nightmare. That you're not surrounded by death and blood and violence, and that things are okay once more. "It was just a dream, darling," He rocks you in his arms, fingers running through your hair in soothing motions as you struggle to compose yourself. "I'm here. I'm alive. No one hurt me. I'm alive."

Your fingers tremble for a moment as you recall the contents of your dream: that he might be alive, but those palace workers were doubtlessly dead as you crossed them.

A sick feeling settles in your stomach. An overwhelming sense of anxiety, prompted by the inexplicable notion that this wasn't just a dream. That it was something more.

The very thought makes your eyes widen.

It felt like a warning.

"Diavolo," You blurt, leaning back. You force him to look you in the eyes, ignoring the concerned look he shoots you in return. "You can't go back to the cage fighting ring."

"Don't be ridiculous—"

"I'm serious! In—in my dream, I didn't know if you were alive or dead! It was—everyone was—there was death in the air, Diavolo! It—"

"Shh," He mumbles, quieting you as he pulls you into another embrace. "Darling, seeing those cage fights must have scared you more than you thought. I'm not going to get hurt. And even if I lose to the Victor, I'm not going to die. Alright?"

"No," You blurt, withdrawing. "Diavolo, you don't understand. My dream—my dream felt real! Like—like it was a sign—I'm being honest! And I know it sounds stupid, but I hardly think it's a coincidence that you were the focus of my dream, and now you're going off to the in the final night of the cage fights."

But the demon shakes his head, the look in his eyes disbelieving even as you try to get him to understand your dream.

"Diavolo, please! Just do this one thing for me! I know that it's a matter of pride, that you want to defeat the man who humiliated you—but I feel like my dream was urging us against this very thing!"

"Darling," Diavolo interrupts softly, touching your cheek. "You know you're a terrible liar, right?"

Your cheeks warm at that, and you feel a slight blow to your pride, but you nod your head. "Fine. I am. But how exactly does this relate?"

Diavolo chuckles, stealing a chaste kiss from your lips. "You're just as terrible at hiding things, love. I know that you've been on edge ever since you saw me fight on the first night of the cage fights." The demon leans back, tracing the outline of your cheek. "This dream is just the manifestation of those nerves. It means nothing. I'll be fine, I promise you."

"You don't know that," You grumble. But in your heart, you do see the merit to Diavolo's words.

It's been three nights now of nonstop fighting. You've already fallen into a schedule. You stay at the palace for breakfast and dinner, pretend to travel to the homes of various nobles for lunch while you visit (and nap with) Diavolo, and spend your nights watching the demon fight his way through the tournament.

But tonight is the fourth night.

And short as the fighting "season" is, none of the past three nights' combat will be able to compare to the brutalities Diavolo encounter tonight.

Every waking moment has been spent in quiet fear for Diavolo; you believe in his skills, but you have no faith in those around him. Cage fighting is a sport of the underground for a reason—the participants are not to be trusted. These past few days, you've been living in constant fear that Diavolo is going to go against a less-than-honorable fighter who will approach him with poison coating his knuckles. Or that he'll face someone concealing a weapon. Or that the no-teeth rule will be "forgotten," and your lover will be publicly mutilated.

You can't even try to pretend that the fear hasn't been messing with your mind.

"I don't think you should come tonight," Diavolo mumbles quietly.

"What?" You snap. You lean back, glaring harshly. "Diavolo, tonight is the single most important night—"

"And it will be the bloodiest. Those remaining are strong, but fierce. I made it to the fourth night when I last fought, and you remember how savagely I was defeated."

"Exactly!" You protest. "Diavolo, you can't possibly expect me to let you go in there alone. The arena is practically a den of wolves!"

"And this year, I'm going to be the strongest wolf of them all." Diavolo holds his gaze firm as he stares at you, his resolve nowhere near cracking. "You and I both know that I have what it takes to defeat the Victor. And even if I don't, I can defend myself better this year."

You stay quiet for a moment.

Internally, your brain is running at top speed. Weighing the pros and cons of letting Diavolo go alone. Trying to gauge the potential risk he might face. Figuring out how likely he is to get injured, and whether those injuries will need immediate treatment or not.

"Please," Diavolo mumbles quietly. "I know it must have been scary for you to have that nightmare, but it was just as awful to have you in my arms and shivering in fear, all without being able to do anything. I don't…If we can avoid that, I want us to do it. At all costs."

"Even at the price of me not being able to celebrate your victory with you?" You mumble quietly, trying to detect the faintest trace of hesitation in Diavolo's eyes.

"Yes." His answer is swift and immediate. "The second I leave the cage, win or lose, I will come here." Diavolo intertwines his fingers with yours and brings your hands to his lips. "And then we can celebrate together."

"You're awfully confident," You laugh lightly, already beginning to forget your dream in lieu of Diavolo's charms.

"Only because you trained me yourself," Diavolo grins cheekily, kissing your hand once more. "And because I already know how beautiful your smile will be when I tell you that I've won."

Convincing you to stay behind was the right decision.

Diavolo fights back the sick feeling that emerges in his stomach every time he glances at the pile of bodies that has been crammed unceremoniously into the corner of the prep room, just beyond the sight of the spectators but practically in perfect lighting for all fighters to see.

Thus far, there have been eight deaths. Three demons are expected to be dead within the hour (though a medical expert said that if they survive this hour, they'll make full recoveries), and two more seem to have lost their pulses but not their souls.

None of this has been at Diavolo's own hand, of course.

It's almost entirely been the work of the Victor.

Diavolo swallows nervously as he remembers snapshots of the fights he's watched. The Victor seems more unhinged this year than the last, and his combat style has been wholly erratic. Where he had some semblance of control in previous seasons, he seemed to care for nothing today as he swung his opponents around, thrusting them throughout the cage and giving them little chance to surrender, even if they wanted to.

Yeah, Diavolo thinks. Definitely a good idea to convince her to stay back.

He shudders, remembering how desperately you had cried his name during your nightmare. How he had shaken your shoulders but had been powerless to wake you. How, even after you awoke, he was hardly able to console you, only pulling you away from your memories of the dream with distractions.

If you were disturbed enough to have nightmares from the things you'd seen before, today's battles would send you to an entirely new realm of night terrors.

Diavolo has to try his hardest to push the memories out of his mind, continuing to change into his shirt. The last one had been ripped during combat—so the runners gave him something else. It barely fits, tight around Diavolo's chest but loose around his midsection, but the demon hardly minds.

After all, there's only one fight left.

He leans his neck from side to side, stretching the stiffness out as he prepares to enter, listening quietly to the growing noise around him. The break that took place right after the last match—held so that all spectators would wrap up any last-minute business to watch the final free of disruptions—finished five minutes ago. Diavolo isn't sure what the holdup is, but he's not going to let the delay shake him from his preparedness.

As such, he's entirely ready when, not four minutes later, he hears his title being announced through a microphone, his name booming through the room as he pulls his mask higher on his face and steps forward.

He enters the cage to the sound of restrained applause.

Diavolo's the underdog, he knows. The people who cheer for him cheer out of politeness, out of courtesy. No one expects the defending Victor to have his title stripped from him. Not when he's held the title for so long. Not when people are so used to seeing him defeat everyone who stands in his path. Not when it's public knowledge that Diavolo was practically obliterated by him last season.

The roars that erupt from the crowds the moment the Victor enters the cage from the other end are a reminder of who the expected winner is. Diavolo can already see the cruel glint in his opponent's eye, the calculated method the demon is planning on using to secure the final win.

But Diavolo has no plans of giving him the chance.

The moment the bell rings and the match has begun, he has already ducked low, prepared for the way the Victor's fist swings forward.

And then there's truly nothing but a flurry of fists, feet, and pain.

Diavolo holds his hands high as he retains his combat stance, never sacrificing his form even when he sees the rare openings in the Victor's movements. He approaches the fight the same way he would approach training with you: minimal offense, maximum defense. His goal is to tire his opponent out before he strikes, twisting the odds ever in his favor.

The Victor seems to have an inexhaustible source of energy, though. And while you were absolutely right when you said that you were stronger than him, the fact is that this demon is bigger than you, and Diavolo has to account for that every time he steps back to avoid a punch.

Curses, the demon thinks the moment he finds himself backed into a corner. His eyes widen momentarily, panic and raw, primal instincts taking over, and Diavolo closes his eyes as he lowers his head, thrusting all his weight into a single punch.

He makes contact.

Everyone's eyes seem to widen at the same time. It's the first decent hit someone has gotten in on the Victor all night. But while Diavolo was confident that he'd eventually be able to begin his offense, he never expected that such a poorly executed attack would make contact.

He could have dodged that easily, Diavolo thinks to himself, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

But then a sudden realization strikes him.

You could have dodged that easily.

But the Victor is too big to evade like you.

And the demon grins. Because if the Victor's defense is weaker than yours, then Diavolo knows he has this fight locked down.

He begins attacking his opponent with renewed purpose, and he can almost feel the shift in the room as the crowd slowly begins to realize just how strong Diavolo truly is.

It only emboldens him.

Within seconds, it looks like he and the Victor are going toe to toe with each other, both men getting in an equal amount of kicks and having to dodge the same number of punches. But Diavolo can feel his competitor's defense crumbling under the nonstop barrage of assaults. It starts with a fingernail just grazing his shoulder, then a stray punch landing on the demon's abdomen, and then Diavolo has managed to deliver a swift kick to the Victor's stomach, sending him flying back.

The Victor jumps back up within seconds, but the damage is already done. The crowd is murmuring now, and tension settles over the room.

But Diavolo can feel the tides of the fight. And they wave in his favor.

"Do you remember the last time we fought?" He hisses, glaring at the Victor even as they continue to spar. "You—" Diavolo grunts, trying to land a kick, though it's deflected by his opponent's arm. "Shattered my ribs—" Diavolo dodges an uppercut. "Bashed my head against the ground—" He throws a punch, and it catches the Victor square in the jaw. "Stood on top of me—" Both men kick. Their legs cross, both deflected. "And when I wanted to surrender," Diavolo practically spit the word, grabbing the Victor's collar and throwing him backward. "You broke my arm so I wouldn't be able to."

Diavolo's gaze darkens as he draws closer to the Victor, making use of the fact that his opponent is now backed against the wall. The roles are reversed as they stand, this time, but Diavolo doesn't make the same mistake as the Victor. He continues to throw punches, refusing to let up even as his competitor fights back, wincing only briefly when the demon lands a hit to his jaw.

Diavolo spits blood onto the ground, wiping his mouth.

Careless, he thinks. I'm getting careless.

But while that thought should stir Diavolo back into action, it only pulls the redhead deeper into his own mind, obsessed with thoughts of strategy and technique.

The Victor sees the moment of distraction.

He lunges forward, making a grab for Diavolo's throat. It's an attempt to tackle him to the ground, to thrust his head against the iron cage and beat him to death.

It's a move that will end the fight, should he succeed.

Diavolo's eyes widen when he realizes his predicament: his utter lack of defense as the Victor all but flies toward him, and for the second time in this fight, he lets his body's autopilot take over, legs moving faster than his mind could ever tell them to.

Diavolo forces his eyes to stay open as his leg swings upward and then clamps down, hitting the Victor straight on the head as the force thrusts the demon to the floor, where Diavolo stands over him.

The opponent's eyes widen instantly, and Diavolo seizes the moment, wasting no time in forcing the Victor to roll over before pressing his foot against the man's throat, standing over him.

It's one of the first moves you taught him.

And he executed it perfectly.

The look in Diavolo's eyes is nothing but menacing as he towers over his competitor, eyes blazing.

All around him, the crowd cheers. Masked watchers stand to get a better view of what is doubtlessly a defining moment of the fight, but no one can hear the words Diavolo speaks to the Victor.

"I will not kill you," The redhead warns sharply. But he continues to balance one foot on the Victor's neck and uses his other foot to step on the demon's stomach, Diavolo using his own body weight to force the Victor to stay on the ground. "I will not give you the privilege of escaping this fight by death."

Diavolo glares at the man beneath him. "Nor will I break a single bone of yours."

Diavolo presses down harder on the demon's neck until he can hear the quiet wheezes of the Victor.

"You will surrender to me now, or you will suffer for hours on end like this until you're ready."

And indeed, Diavolo has that luxury.

The Victor is in an inescapable position, weighed down by an opponent too heavy to throw off, his neck open and vulnerable. Every time his fingers twitch, Diavolo presses down a little harder on his neck, eyes bright with the promise of pain.

“Surrender,” Diavolo demands.

And for the first time, his eyes take on those of a king's.

His words are not spoken as a cage fighter urging another to end this fight. They are a command, spoken so icily that the Victor can sense the unspoken threat that underlines them.

Diavolo watches with unwavering eyes as the Victor braces himself before lifting his left hand, four fingers extended in the telltale symbol of surrender.

The crowd goes wild.

Diavolo can hardly hear the sound of the bell ringing as the audience screams in shock, elation, and confusion as they realize that this season has borne a new Victor, usurping the old. In fact, the redhead can barely hear his competitor's words of shame as the demon hangs his head while the crowd continues to whoop and cheer, and Diavolo abruptly thinks that you must be able to hear this noise from your location on the cliffside.

But then there's another sound.

And this one is coming from inside his head.

My son.

Diavolo flinches on instinct, eyes widening as he gazes around to check if anyone has noticed the magic. They're all too preoccupied with their cheering, though, but it unnerves Diavolo.

Raise your fist, my son. Let them bow to you.

The demon realizes abruptly that his father must be in this room. That his father is here, in this arena, just like Barbatos was, three nights ago. Diavolo's eyes fly everywhere that he can see, searching for the hulking frame of the true leader of the Resistance.

But amid the sea of masks, he finds nothing.

What are you waiting for? Do it now, before their cheers die out.

Diavolo gives up his search for his father, opting instead to heed the demon's demands. He raises a fist, slow and steady, to the sky. It's the mark of a Victor: only the strongest may assume this pose, and all before them must bow in submission as an acknowledgment of their power.

It's an awe-inspiring experience.

Diavolo watches with wary eyes as the (ex) Victor next to him bows first, the demon's head touching the ground. Then the first row of demons in the audience halt their cheering to drop to the floor; then the second; the third; the fourth—until every demon in the room is bowing to Diavolo, head lowered in loyal submission.

All except one.

Diavolo almost lets out a cry of surprise when he sees his father standing directly ahead, in the very midst of all the other spectators.

"My friends," The man announces in that booming voice of his. Everyone stares at him in surprise, confused as to why he isn't bowing. "You may rise."

All heads turn to Diavolo for reassurance, no one willing to withdraw from their bowed positions without explicit assent from their strongest, their protector, their Victor.

Diavolo nods his head quietly, and one by one, they begin to rise.

And then the magic begins.

Diavolo watches as his father takes to the air, robes flying up around him as the room gasps in shock at the use of magic.

"S-Sir!" Someone shouts. "It's—it's forbidden—if the imperial palace sees you using—using—"

Diavolo winces. The palace has driven such fear into the peoples' hearts that they can't even say the word magic.

"The imperial palace is our concern no longer," Diavolo's father responds smoothly once he's in the center of the room, floating to where all may see him. The man reaches behind his head, removing the elegant mask which had covered his face, and another collective gasp goes around the room—for removing one's mask breaks the single most important tradition of cage fighting.

"It is my pleasure to meet you," He announces, arms crossed proudly. "I am the leader of the Resistance, the rebel faction that is seeking to usurp the current crown."

The demon gestures downward.

"And the new Victor you have before you is my son."

Everything else that his father says is textbook. It's the same exact speech that he uses whenever he wants to bring people over to the Resistance. It starts with a list of the imperial palace's wrongdoings, goes on to explain how the oppression of the people has only worsened through the past hundred millennia, includes a few impassioned "We will not stand for this!" statements here and there, but it always ends the same way.

In cheers.

Diavolo's gaze is level when the sound of cries surrounds him once more, every soul in the room raising their own fists at the encouragement of his father, ready to defy the crown.

"It's time for the royal family to answer for their crimes!"

Hurrahs and whoops.

"It's time to restore balance to the Devildom!"

Shouts of agreement.

"It's time to usher in a new royal family—one chosen by the people!!"

Screams of approval.

Diavolo waits until his father is done speaking, used to every thought-out line in this speech. But then, right at the end, where the crowd is supposed to descend into cheers and every soul in the room is supposed to pledge loyalty to the Resistance and to Rebellion, his Father goes off-script.

"And now," The future demon king practically roars, and Diavolo looks up in confusion. Doesn't it end there? "The time has at last come for our Rebellion to venture out of the shadows and into the open!"

What?

"We have prepared for this moment for millennia! With the powers of foresight, power, and magic in our hands, the time has never been better for the people of the Devildom to take back what is rightfully ours!! To take back our rights! Our happiness! Our freedom!"

I've never heard this part before.

"The time is ripe, everything has at last aligned! Our Rebellion is no longer a process in the works, my friends, it can at last begin!"

Wait…

"The thousands of members of the Resistance are loyal to me! Every soul in this room recognizes my son as the strongest! And now, with these forces combined, the power harnessed in my faction and your strength as those who are honor-bound to follow my son, we have everything we need!"

No. This can't be. Father can't do this. Father won't do this.

"Tonight, the moon fell from the sky and closed its eyes to a broken nation! A shadow of its former glory! A miserable Devildom, more pitiful than it ever has been! But tomorrow, when the moon rises in the sky to gaze down at us once more, let it look upon a new world! A Devildom ruled by the good! The people! Us!"

"Father," Diavolo mumbles, numb with shock. But his voice is a whisper next to the roars of approval from all around them.

"Our Rebellion begins tomorrow, and with it, we shall burn everyone in the palace who has ever wronged us!"

Those words throw the crowd over the edge, and Diavolo's father raises his fist in response, the overwhelming support coming in the shape of shouts, whoops, cheers, and applause. The demon fills the room with magic, a forbidden hum that only further frenzies those in this room after it has been banned for so long, and Diavolo nearly shudders under its intensity, for it is more powerful than anything he has ever felt.

Diavolo.

The voice is small, almost quiet. Soft enough that no one else can notice it, but Diavolo looks at his father instantly.

"You didn't tell me Rebellion would come this soon," The demon blurts instantly, still slightly in shock.

Rebellion's arrival was dependent on when we would be able to harness the power of the underground. Timing was a coincidence.

"You knew," Diavolo mumbles, his breath shaky. "You knew I wouldn't fight if I—"

I did what I had to for the greater good.

"No, you lied to me, Father. You lied to me, and you used me, and—"

Go, Diavolo.

The demon blinks up at his father, looking almost stupid in his momentary confusion.

Go to your princess, and spend the four hours you have left in her arms. But do not try to stop the inevitable. You know as well as I do that the wheels of Rebellion have already begun to move—and I will send Barbatos to infiltrate the palace with you at the break of dawn. Say your goodbyes tonight, for it is the final night you shall have.

"Father, this doesn't change the fact that—"

Listen to me, Diavolo. If you do not want to spend your life regretting this, leave now.

"But—"

Go.

Diavolo doesn't wait any longer at that, spinning on his heel as he all but sprints out of the cage. The demon doesn't bother trying to contact anyone, doesn't bother changing out of the clothes that are drenched in sweat and blood, doesn't bother acknowledging anyone who bows to him as he passes.

He has only one goal in mind: to find you.

And to save you.

He transforms into his demon form the second he's outside, blending into the darkness as his wings carry him to your location within minutes. He drops himself in the swamp outside the cliffside so as to not scare you, but he's so desperate that he bursts out of it all the same, sprinting in your direction as you widen your eyes at him.

"Diavolo!" You shout, grinning that beautiful smile that he would appreciate so much more if he hadn't just learned that Rebellion will begin tomorrow. "How did it go?" Your eyebrows furrow the moment you see him. "Why are you running? Darling? You're still in your training clothes, do you know tha—"

Diavolo barrels straight into you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he all but clings to your figure.

"Diavolo?" You ask gently, running a hand through his hair. A wave of sympathy washes through your body, seeping into Diavolo's own. "Don't feel bad. There's always the next season, and—"

"I won."

"Huh?"

"I won," The demon repeats, reluctantly unburying his head from your stomach, leaning back to look you earnestly in the eye. "But we have to get out of here."

"What?" You repeat, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Diavolo, you're not making any sense."

"Please," The redhead blurts, grabbing your hand. "We have to go. Now. I can explain...later. But we have to get as far away as possible right now, so please—"

"Diavolo," You mumble, pulling him into a serene kiss. Your disposition is nothing but calm and soothing.

Of course, Diavolo thinks bitterly. It's not like she knows that she's going to die tomorrow.

"Tell me what's wrong," You mumble quietly. "Slowly. Take your time."

"I…" Can't.

Diavolo stares at the ground, knowing all too well that if he tells you the truth—that he's part of a Resistance faction that's about to throw a coup tomorrow in an attempt to usurp and kill you alongside your entire family—you're not going to go with him. And if you attempt to head out onto the streets without him, your naive trust in the world will end in nothing but death. Only death, if you're lucky. But Diavolo knows you won't be.

"Please," He pleads dumbly, not knowing what else to say. He tries to come up with a lie. He tries so hard. But for the first time, he comes up with nothing. As if he's already told you so many lies that his brain refuses to supply him with any more, as punishment for his actions from months ago.

"Please, just believe me. We have to go. Right now. You're going to get hurt otherwise."

"Diavolo," You chuckle, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Your demeanor is still light and casual, not understanding the true gravity of the situation. "Whoever threatened you, I'm sure it will be fine. I can handle myself. And even if I can't, I have you to protect me, don't I?"

Diavolo swears his heart breaks a little at that.

"I love you," He mumbles, gripping your arm. The words are fast and clumsy, hardly romantic—but Diavolo fears he may never get to say them to you if he doesn't tell you the words now. He curses his past self for not saying the words earlier. For lying to you, to himself, and to the world in a pathetic attempt to be loyal to a Rebellion he no longer cares about. "I love you so much. And it hurts so much to love you this much—but I will always love you. No matter what. Please, you believe me, right?"

The demon tenses his grip around your arm, his eyes desperate.

"Diavolo," You whisper softly, pulling him into a hug. "I love you too. Just as much, I'm positive. But whatever has you so worked up is going to be fine, alright?" You press a chaste kiss to his lips, letting your lips linger until you can feel the way the tension has melted from Diavolo's muscles.

"If you love me," He mumbles, and Diavolo feels sick for resorting to this, but he doesn't know any other way to convince you. "If you love me, then you'll listen to me. Please. We have to leave right now." A faint light sparks in his eyes. "We can...we can run away together. And get married. And we can have a big house on an island—any island you want, as long as it's uninhabited. I'll—I'll even build you the house. And we can have children—unless you don't want children. And—and we can—we can—we can—"

Diavolo's eyes light up, imagining a future with you where the two of you get to grow old together, happy until the end of your days.

"We can do all that later," You whisper, embracing Diavolo. The demon realizes that he's shaking. "But for now, let's just get you back to normal, alright?"

"No," Diavolo mumbles weakly. "No please, if we wait, it's going to be too late."

And indeed, he means those words not in the context of Rebellion but in the frame of his own mind. Because the moment he begins thinking about the greater good and the fact that running away with you will doubtlessly doom the Devildom, he'll realize that he has to go through with Rebellion, no matter how much he doesn't want to.

"We have to go. Please, if I tell you why, then you won't come. We need to move now—before—before I change my mind and do something stupid—"

"Shh," You mumble, quieting him. "Close your eyes, darling," You mumble, pressing a kiss to Diavolo's lips. "Relax."

You pull your arms around him and he sobs freely into your arms, clinging to your figure like it's a lifeline as he realizes that he failed. That you're not going to run away with him. That the picture of the two of you, old and happy, holding hands on a beautiful island with no one to disturb you, was nothing more than a stupid dream.

The worst part is that he can't even continue his attempt to convince you. Because he knows it's wrong. That Rebellion is what the Devildom needs. And that Diavolo will be a monster for standing in the way of that.

But won't he still be a monster if he kills you?

"I don't want..." To watch you die, Diavolo wants to say, pulling you close so that he can memorize the warmth of your embrace, the shape of your body, the little details he can savor tonight but never again.

"Shhh, close your eyes, darling. Everything's going to be okay." You kiss him. "I promise."

He lets out a sob, clutching your figure in silent apology as he heeds your instructions and savors these moments of peace, for they will be the last. But as he shuts his eyes and tries to focus on the sensation of your arms around him, warm and loving, all he can imagine is the sight of your body in chains beneath him, the whole world watching as he kills you.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | ✔

Word count: 11.1k

Notes: In my original draft of this fic, Diavolo never gives MC his real name. He calls himself "Brutus," tossing her the name of a character he heard Barbatos talk about once, not really knowing the context of it. At that time, the fic title was going to be The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.

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Next Update: 8/13/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 4 years

Text

And I’ll Succumb To You

Summary: As an Omega, society sees you as either low on the totem pole or a breeding factory. You however have the job as a bounty hunter, and your eyes are set on a large prize.

Warnings: SMUT, rough sex, cursing, abo dynamics.

Author’s Note: Okay I never thought I’d be into this kink but here I am. First attempt. This one is LOOOONG (13 pages/6,643 words!)

The clinking of glasses accompanied with murmurs buzzed about within the Valentine saloon. The walls were dimly lit with hues of red and gold. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, accompanied by the haze that seemed to hang permanently in the atmosphere.

You leaned heavily against the solid bar, tipping a glass of whiskey to your lips. The liquid slid into your mouth and down your throat, the burning sensation left behind a welcoming tingle. Setting the shot glass back upon the slightly sticky surface, your gaze scanned the other inebriated patrons.

Merry laughter and wayward mannerisms tainted this place; drunken degenerates often flocking to this spot after a day of working in the stockyards. Wasn’t your ideal place to stay, but it provided some easy entertainment between the bar fights and drunken flirtatious antics between harlots.

The doors opened with a slam, dragging your attention toward them. The scent hit you first before you saw them: Alphas. A small group of bounty hunters stormed in, their boots muddy from the street outside. They looked rather agitated, perhaps a failed attempt of catching an outlaw drove them here to placate themselves.

It were as if the atmosphere had changed. Valentine was a town full of Betas; Alphas never really bothering to stay much longer than a night here. The evening women would take any chance to be claimed by one, even though a Beta was not what they were after. You watched as one of the bar maids sauntered up to their table, a cheeky smile painted her crimson lips and her voice held an alluring tone as she asked what they needed, leaning over to expose her cleavage. Unphased by her flirting and still disgruntled, they ordered their drinks, turning their attention towards themselves once again.

The bar maid seemed taken aback by their lack of reaction, quickly turning on her heel to hide her damaged pride. You merely rolled your eyes and turned to face forward. Sure, Alphas could have a Beta if they chose. However, you knew they sought out Omegas.

One of which you were.

Your parents were Betas, subjected to a normal lifestyle of mediocracy and normal careers. Betas held the majority of society, and they were the lucky ones. You’d been made with the act pure lovemaking, absent of the forces of nature itself demanding to be driven by carnal urges. Your parents knew, as both of their families were mixed with Beta and Omega. They knew what their children could become.

You were the unlucky draw, having unwillingly presented as Omega at the proper age. Your siblings were Betas, carrying on with their livelihoods while you suffered each month through an unbearable heat. Your mind would cloud, devoid of all thought while your body was degrading itself into pure desire for an Alpha’s rut. Soaked with sweat and riddled with slick, the heat would last for days when it felt like months.

It wasn’t until you were assigned a caretaker did things ease for you. Whisked away to a safe space, you were taught to pleasure yourself to relieve your otherwise overwhelming desires. The intense, throbbing heat had been reduced to a dull ache afterwards, although you could never completely satisfy yourself.

The cruel life of an Omega as once described by your mother. After downing another drink, you’d slammed the glass down with unnecessary force. You often felt resentment toward your parents for even bringing you to life. You ran away years ago, absolutely tired of being carted away each month to be confined and subjected to your own bodily torture. You instead sought out alternative methods after hearing of other Omegas speak about it in hushed tones behind a hotel one night. A concoction of specially brewed rare plants that only few people sell, and fewer people know how to make. It seemed more like a pipe dream, until you saw the effects of it firsthand. Lilith’s Blessing.

It was quite an expensive remedy, and rightly so. Something of which that could change a God-willed act of nature itself would be steep in price. Finding sellers were tricky, them often passing clues for Omegas to decipher. It was such a complex underground operation that made moonshine businesses appear like child’s play.

You had to save up a few months for your first dose. It was only a hundred dollars back then, and a hundred more than you could afford. Working your way around however did the trick, and when the time of month when your expected heat was to arrive, it never came. For the first time in a long time, you rode through that week with bliss and no fear. And you had to find a way to obtain them on a monthly basis.

With your quick reflexes and learned skill of tracking and hunting, you became a bounty hunter.

Bounty hunting was often seen as an Alpha’s position, given how dangerous and rigorous it could be. While an occasional Beta would assume the role as well, it was unheard of for an Omega to do so. This advantage however made it the perfect job; the target would not expect one like you to capture them.

It’s been a few years since you’ve harnessed and perfected your technique. Despite your hatred for your heat, you would utilize it for your own advantage. The closer you were, the stronger your scent would become. Most outlaws and criminals were Alphas, and you would leave your scent in a nearby area to lure them in. Usually an article of clothing such as a chemise or a shawl, you would capture them as they were too busy investigating said object. Despite a few minor injuries along the way, it made for a decent living, as well as providing you with your drug of choice for relief.

The group’s whispers over beer further caught your attention. The frustration in their voices began to ebb away as the alcohol drags its slow grip on their consciousness. From the sound of it, they were already planning their next hit.

“Ain’t had a good streak in months,” one said. “Get nothin’ but the petty criminals.”

“We could try one of them big boys. Maybe the O’Driscolls?” Another suggested.

“Colm’s slipperier than an eel in an oil slick,” A third grumbled.

“What about Dutch’s Boys? Heard someone saw Morgan recently.”

The names all rung familiar with you. As a bounty hunter yourself, you’ve both seen and heard about them a numerous amount of times. Both gangs were a force to be reckoned with; their numbers too sizable for a lone wolf such as yourself. The rewards over their heads ran into the thousands. While the money was tempting, you would be a fool to go after either of them.

“Yeah, heard he’s been runnin’ ‘round West Elizabeth lately, alone,”

“Alone, eh? Looks like we got ourselves a score,”

You knew of course who they were talking about. Arthur Morgan; a substantial member of Dutch’s Boys and one of the most notorious outlaws of your time. You’ve heard his name a few times, and seen his face plastered on wanted posters in different states. From the way multiple people, lawmen and bounty hunters alike, tried to go after him, he and his gang seemed an expert at evading capture.

If he however was alone, perhaps it would be an opportunity for you. Arthur alone was still worth much more than you’d ever made collectively, and you would be set for a while.

Were you a fool for even thinking of such a thing? Yes, although you thought back to what one of them said: nothing but petty criminals. Easier to capture, but paid less. You didn’t want to bounty hunt for the rest of your life, and the high reward offered was becoming more tempting by the minute.

And so you decided to go after Arthur, and you had to do it soon. While these fools drowned their sorrows in alcohol, you hopped off your chair and headed out of the saloon.

---

You left that night, spurring your horse to gallop on across the darkened terrain while you formulated a plan. It only took a few hours to cross state lines. You made a small camp to rest in a thicket, awakening when the sun’s rays kissed your face. As you packed up camp, a familiar tightening below your navel made its presence. Your heat would be coming soon, and you’d planned accordingly. You had a bottle of Lilith’s Blessing tucked away in your satchel, though you hoped finding Arthur wouldn’t take much too longer. Your window of opportunity to lure him in was small. You’d be too useless in your heat, and taking the tonic would staunch your scent entirely.

You rode toward Strawberry, reaching the little town by high noon. It was bustling with travelers and locals alike. The mixture of scents filled your nose as you strolled past some Alphas, whose heads turned to you in curiosity. You kept your eyes forward, knowing you were becoming more inviting as time slowly moved on. You made a note to not stay around for much longer than you had to, in case anyone got any ideas.

You hitched your horse in front of the hotel, staring up at the building with interest. You always did like Strawberry; a small town nestled in the mountains that always seemed like something out of a story book. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, however it held a certain charm that Valentine lacked.

You spent the next few hours speaking to townsfolk, keeping your questions and conversations casual. There wasn’t much information to go around, except that some people spotted Arthur here a day ago before he started heading North toward Big Valley, a prime location for hunting game.

You stayed for a little while longer to gather some needed supplies. It was late afternoon by the time you’d left, trotting towards the thick forest and leaving the town behind. The scenery around was absolutely beautiful, and you could get lost in the splendor of these woods if it weren’t for the predators that roamed through the thicket, both human and animal alike.

The sun sank steadily lower in the sky the closer you got to Big Valley, and you took a deep breath. A melody of different aromas hit your nose, and you opened your mouth to further distinguish them. Through the pines and vegetation, you could detect one: Alpha. It was faint, but there nonetheless. Your eyes fell to the ground, noting a few tracks of hoofprints. Most remained on the path, until you found one set leading into the woods. They couldn’t have been more than a half a day old. You turned to follow, keeping your senses on the trail.

You kept on it, noting the tracks gradually became fresher the farther you went. You’d eventually come across a little clearing, the Alpha scent heavy but stale enough to not be overwhelming. Judging by the indents in the underbrush and the blackened spot that indicated a fire, he camped here at some point. He probably packed up and left just a few hours ago. You were getting closer, and a smile tugged on your lips, practically feeling the money in your hands.

You eventually reached the forest line that broke away to the large meadow that stretched for miles before giving way to the mountains. A breeze carried through, the crisp arctic air from Ambarino breezing through your hair. It also carried something else: the coppery scent of blood. Animal blood. It mixed with the Alpha musk, which was now very fresh. He had to be close by.

Rather than following the tracks further into the field, you rode along the outskirts of the forest. You kept a wary eye out, pacing your horse at a steady gallop. However with the ever darkening sky, it was starting to become harder to see. You would have to find a spot soon.

After a few minutes of looking, you finally settled for a spot. At the base of one of the mountains, one way blocked by the rock faces too steep to climb. He would only have three directions to go. You dismounted and quickly peeled off your clothes, until you were in nothing but your chemise. It was off you within seconds, the fabric warm and slightly dampened from your center. The pressure deep in your belly was growing.

You placed it behind a bush, and brushed against some nearby boulders for additional scenting. You were even quicker to redress, knowing it was only a matter of time before he caught wind of you. Another breeze danced through the trees, blowing out towards the field. Not much longer now.

You hurried back over to your horse, until you felt your foot get stuck. You lost your balance and flailed, desperately attempting to keep yourself upright. You hit the forest floor, your breath coming out in a harsh whoosh. Sharp pain radiated along your stomach and ribs.

“Fuck,” You grunted, yanking your foot free from its prison before standing back up, brushing the debris from your clothes. You were glad no one was around to witness that. Being more careful now, you grabbed your weapons and lasso and shooed your horse away. You hunched over as a shudder rippled up your spine, running swiftly away to a spot of thicker brush. With the twilight darkness and the leaves encompassing you, it should be a perfect hiding spot lest he decided to come this way.

With the wind steadily blowing, you waited, ears pricked and eyes open. The sounds of nature surrounded you, animals of the night slowly making their appearances for food. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, yet.

The wind quieted down after a few minutes, the cool air at a standstill around you. Despite the forest being alive with every animal, you felt as if you were being watched. Another shudder passed through you, trying to shake off the feeling. No one was watching you, you scolded yourself.

Another few minutes passed by when the sound of thundering hooves caught your attention. You were too far to see who it was, however the air alerted you of the all too familiar scent. A wide grin crossed your face. He fell for the bait.

A swell of heat rolled over your belly, a slowly growing wave of intensity. You bit down on your lip hard. Your body was willingly responding to the Alpha scent. You grasped for your satchel and dug around for the familiar tonic.

Only…

Oh no.

You dug around desperately, trying to clutch on something that seemed to no longer be there. The little glass bottle was not amongst the other items buried into your satchel. Your heart began to hammer, shoving things out of the way, hoping it was in a corner.

No such luck.

It was then you realized where and when exactly it fell, and heading back for it would lead you right into your own trap, to him.

Another swell of heat crashed through your system, even stronger now. Your pants felt damp from your growing slick. There was no way you’d be able to catch him in this state. You’d have to run and pray that he didn’t catch up.

In the distance, you heard his grunts. Leaves stirring and twigs snapping underneath footsteps. You focused on listening, trying hard to ignore what was forming deep in your core. The pressure was only steadily increasing, calling for a release. You hated having to abandon this opportunity, the money was just too good. But you could not risk this, not for anything. You turned around and began to move through the brush as quietly as you could.

A deep growl rolled through the woods behind you, surrounding you and gripping you. Your body responded faster than your mind did, bringing a fresh wave of slick that nearly soaked your pants. A whine built in your throat that you were quick to staunch. You continued to move forward despite the heavy drag of your muscles wanting to root you in your place.

He was getting closer. The echoes of the vegetation bending and breaking in his path only grew louder. You hurried your pace, hoping that you weren’t too loud to exactly pinpoint your location. The pressure inside you only ballooned, crawling into your mind and raking through your consciousness. You fought it with determination, your horse was visible through the trees. If you could only make it…

His voice, rough and powerful, ripped across the landscape, tearing through your very soul. Your clouded mind forced your body to a halt, pinning your limbs as if they were tied down by chains. You staunched another growing yowl as you forced yourself back up, though your efforts were becoming weaker by the second. Your dry mouth formed to whistle for your horse, only to fail, your breath grating against your throat. You were so, so close…

“There you are,”

Fear washed over you like a tidal wave. The Alpha musk surrounded you like a fog, and your body willingly responded, a small whine releasing from your throat. You wanted to run more, or to try and fight. You were however no match against in Alpha while you were in heat, and this was your first time being in the presence of one in the midst of it.

He was right behind you, and you refused to turn to face him. Your slick had thoroughly drenched your pants and your core pulsed with need.

“What’s an Omega doin’ out here, all alone?” he asked. His voice called to you, your mind roiling with a myriad of emotions.

“N-none of your business,” you hissed out, fighting to keep your voice even.

“Nah, ‘spose it ain’t,” he rumbled, stepping closer to you. You kept absolutely still, every nerve sparking with electricity. You watched as he came into your field of view. “Unless you’re up to somethin’.”

You kept your eyes away from his, but his frame took up the rest of your vision. He was tall and broad. His scent filled your nostrils and gripped your mind. You noticed something in his hand; a light piece of fabric which was your chemise.

You didn’t answer him, forcing yourself to turn your head away.

“Seems awful improper for a lady to run ‘round without this on,” he continued, coming even closer to you. “Then I found this.”

The glint of glass caught your eye, and you glanced to see it was your tonic. Your eyes widened, reaching out automatically to swipe it. He held his arm up out of your reach, and you got a good look of his face for the first time.

Arthur Morgan. Those wanted posters hadn’t done him justice. He was easily one of the most handsome men you’ve ever come across.

“Ah ah,” he said as if scolding a child. “Lilith’s Blessing. Don’t see that too often.”

“It’s mine!” you hissed, jumping up to try and grab it from his hand. Your fingers had brushed against the bare skin of his forearm for the briefest of a second, but it was enough to send electricity through your entire being, gathering deep within your center.

Arthur too seemed to be affected by your short contact. His bright eyes flashed and his throat rumbled with a growl. A growl that nearly brought you to your knees. It was becoming even harder to not succumb to your heat, the pulsation radiating below was nearly unbearable.

“P-please…” you whined, wincing at your own words. You hated to sound this desperate.

He hummed in response, the beast reflecting dangerously in his eyes. “You ain’t out here by coincidence, are ya?” he continued, stepping to just inches from you. Despite your heat wanting you to touch, you forced yourself to back up, only for your body to hit a tree. “Tell me, I’ll give ya this back.”

“I-I told you, it’s none of your b-business,” you said, unable to keep yourself from trembling.

Arthur stared at you for a long moment. “You’re a terrible liar,” he murmured, leaning forward to place his arm against the tree, trapping you one way. “I’ve heard about ya, the Omega bounty hunter. Shoulda known when I scented ya so far from any civilization.”

Your eyes widened. How in the world would he have figured that out so quickly? With his body so close and his musk wrapping around you like silk, your fear was quickly dissolving into a carnal desire.

“Were you plannin’ on capturin’ me?” he continued, his stare hot. “Turnin’ me in to the Pinkertons?”

Your only answer was to elicit a high pitched whine. His entire body stiffened and he ducked his head for a split second. He drew in a heavy breath, no doubt swimming in your thick scent. You heard him utter a dark swear underneath his breath.

“The more you stay silent, the less likely you’ll get away,” He growled.

Another wave of slick was brought upon you, ignited by his voice. You shut your eyes and shook your head, swallowing a gulp of air to keep yourself sane. It was a mistake, bringing a fresh wave of his aroma through your senses. It was becoming impossible to resist. You released another whine, your hips slightly bucking toward him.

Arthur growled again, so deep and animalistic that you felt it rumble through yourself. You could hear his fingers scratching against the bark of the tree. He too was losing composure. You opened your eyes to see his free hand twitch toward you, brushing against your thigh before yanking it back, placing it on the other side of you. Even through the fabric of your clothes, it was enough. You were losing all of your prior thoughts, succumbing quickly to your heat.

“Answer me, damnit!” he roared, leaning in closer to you. His breath ghosted across your face and his broad chest brushed against yours, and it were as if a switch had been flipped.

Your legs opened automatically, exposing even more of your aroma to him. The desire was too strong, too intense. You wanted him, needed him. He immediately found your waist, gripping you hard as he pressed himself against you. The hard line beneath his jeans were welcoming, and you ground against him without thought. He hissed into your ear, the sinful expletive curling around you like a snake.

“Woman…you’re testin’ me,”

Your mind could not formulate an answer, your mouth only giving out a soft, desperate moan while your hips pushed into him. He growled deeply, a notion that his own tether has slipped. His hands yanked at your pants, pulling them down to expose your hot skin to the cool air. Rough fingers explored your folds briefly, sliding along the copious amount of slick residing between your legs.

“Shit…” he muttered, his touch leaving you to quickly remove his gun belt and unbutton his pants. Even in the dim light, you could see how thick he was. The head of his cock moved between your folds, drawing a shudder from you as you whined for him. He found your entrance with ease, bucking himself in to the hilt with a deep groan.

Like a lock and key, it was a perfect fit. The pleasure that encompassed you was like no other. Your legs wrapped around him immediately. He thrusted hard and fast, gripping your legs tightly for added leverage. You moaned loudly, your hands grasping at his neck while he used your body to his liking.

“God damn,” he grunted, pounding into you hard. “You feel amazin’…”

You could only moan again in response, the pleasure overtaking every aspect of your mind. His broad frame bent over you, growling into your ear. A shudder passed through your system.

“Fuuuuuuccccck,” you whined, dragging the swear out that kept in tune with your ecstasy. “I need more!”

Arthur groaned at your words, shoving himself harder within you. His grip tightened to the point where you’d have bruises. His ragged breath hot against the crook of your neck, lips latching on and sucking forcefully. The pleasure was nearly dizzying, filling every corner of your mind. This is what you needed all along, and you had missed out on it. You felt whole.

He continued to utter curses against your skin, voice rough and gravelly. You weren’t sure if he was angry or just deeply rooted within his own ecstasy, or both. Your peak was quick on the rise, a climb too fast and forceful for you to fully comprehend. Your limbs clung to him tightly while it came crashing over you with such intensity that you cried out into the air. Your body shuddered while he fucked the rest of your orgasm out.

His strong arms peeled you off him just as the last waves of your climax had dissipated through your body. You were hovering for a second, only to be turned around so quickly you hadn’t fully realized it. You were facing the tree now, and your body naturally arched for him as he slid himself back in, the knot of his dick slightly bigger than before. With no time to recover, he slammed into you, fucking you with abandon while his hands tore off your top in one smooth motion. You were completely exposed now.

Your moans and whines were carnal, animalistic, pure instinct of nature itself taking the both of you over. His own growls reminded you of a wolf, and it sent a powerful shiver down your spine. He raked his nails down your back, the sweet sting heightening your pleasure fivefold. You were sooner on your second rise than you’d expected, only unleashing a high cry as it exploded from your core, more intense than your first.

His mouth was on your neck, his hot tongue licking at your skin. In your post orgasm bliss you’d nearly missed it until you felt his teeth graze over your flesh. You flinched away, a bubble of coherent thought breaking through the haze. “D-don’t mark me!” you pleaded. “Please!”

His mouth left your skin instantly, which you felt surprised that he listened. He instead wrapped his arms around you, his touch roving up the front of your torso and to your breasts. Your sensitive nipples hardened eagerly between his calloused fingertips.

“You feel so nice, girl,” he hissed, gripping your breasts hard in his palms. “Fuck, I’m close.”

Upon hearing these words, you wanted nothing more in life than to have his seed within you. You pushed your hips back, ass flush against his hips. He ripped out a deep snarl, yanking his hands away from your breasts to once again take place on your hips. His thrusts were even stronger now, the sound of skin slapping skin for every creature within a mile to hear.

You begged him for his release, your own voice sounding foreign to your ears to even such a thing. Finally, he pressed himself deeply within you and stilled. He released a loud groan as he emptied himself into you. His knot swelled immediately after, locking the two of you into place.

The melody of your voices had died with the movement, degrading to short breaths. His touch left your now bruised skin, and his body leaning back sent a jolt of sharp pain at your joined skin. You yelped out loud while your tired legs trembled beneath you.

He stopped shifting immediately, his hands returning to your waist. “Here,” he grunted. “Easy, now.”

His touch was surprisingly gentle as he helped you stand straight. You silently let him guide you, taking care to match his steps to prevent any unnecessary pain. You moved together, walking backwards until he rested against a boulder, easily pulling you into his lap as you slid down to the soft forest floor below. Once you’d been seated comfortably, he removed his hands and leaned back against the rock.

“We’re gonna be stuck like this for a while.” He quietly rumbled.

You knew that, even if it were your first time, you knew the knot would remain for a little while. The last of your high had faded away now, along with the longing need to mate. Now you were total strangers again.

You hadn’t answered him, stewing in your own personal thoughts, memories, and your own self-pity. You mentally cursed your own body for presenting Omega, your parents for even creating you, the world for allowing the existence of this society. Your one mistake led you to this moment. A bounty hunter and her prey, sitting naked on his lap in the middle of the woods. It seemed surreal at this point, that just moments ago this infamous outlaw just fucked you. Fucked you in your most vulnerable state that you’d tried so hard to avoid.

You closed your eyes, feeling tears well behind your lids. You pursed your lips and swallowed hard, forcing them back. The last thing you wanted to do was appear even weaker in front of him. You released a shuddering breath, louder than you intended.

“You alright?”

His voice was soft in such contrast how dominant he sounded earlier.

You bit your lip, unwilling to answer him. However, there was no telling how long you two would be stuck together like this. Speaking to one another could have been avoided until his knot returned to normal and the two of you could go your separate ways.

But Arthur was attempting to make conversation. For what reason?

You ignored him, still remaining silent and hoping he’d stop.

“Hey, I’m askin’ ya somethin’,” He reminded you. “Ain’t hard to answer.”

He was persistent. Of course, you’d gathered that from before, demanding answers despite your hesitation to speak the truth. Would he still try to force the answer out of you now, after everything? If you tried to pursue him again, he’d find out anyway.

Yet he’d probably not fall for the same trap twice.

“I was trying to hunt you,” you finally spoke.

“Huh?”

“When you asked what I was doing out here earlier. There’s your answer: I was trying to hunt you down and turn you in,” you reiterated.

His response was immediate. “’Course you were, you made it damn obvious.”

You turned-or tried to turn- to scowl at him. “Then why did you try to force me to answer?”

He met your gaze evenly, no trace of anger on his face. “Tried to make it an even trade. An answer for your tonic,” he explained.

“If you’d given it back in the first place, we wouldn’t be like this,” you grumbled, automatically shifting a little and whined from the pain that followed after.

His hands found your waist again, a steady but gentle grip to keep you from moving. Though he gave a small grunt, it was his turn to fall silent. You knew he knew you were right, and he was probably beating himself up over it.

“With my rut… Couldn’t resist…” He murmured, so quiet that you had to strain to hear him.

Hell, neither could you.

You also knew that despite all higher and more intelligent thought, nature would have even the strongest of beings to fall to their simple, God-intended ways. In reality, neither of you were at fault. A cruel twist of fate it seemed to bring you and him together on this night.

You remembered how he heeded your plea to not bite you. A bite in which would leave a mark for mating, to bound you to him for life. Horror stories of Omegas unwillingly bound to Alphas whispered in the late hours in saloons and alleyways used to frighten you when you were younger. He struck you as someone who would force a poor Omega to be bound to him. “You didn’t mark me,” you stated. “Why?”

“I ain’t about that. Forcin’ to be mated is disgustin’,” he answered. “Weren’t gonna do it anyway. If I wanted a mate, I’d rather have an Omega who was willin’.”

His answer shocked you to silence once again.

“That surprise ya?”

“O-of course!” you spluttered. “You’re a dangerous man, a killer!”

“I ain’t a good man, I know. But I have morals. No one would wanna be with me anyway.” He spoke calmly, yet you detected a hint of emotion in his voice. Sadness? He gave a soft sigh, his breath just barely tickling your naked skin. “I’m sorry…”

He apologized. Your heart unnecessarily skipped a beat. Even with the current circumstances, this man continued to surprise you. Beforehand, you’d only known him as an infamous criminal who robbed and murdered for years. His wanted poster had been forever burned in your mind.

Yet he was human. Human just like you. Someone with thoughts and feelings. You couldn’t justify his actions, but you had to admit after tonight, your opinion on him would soften just a smidge. Your actions had brought him to this point.

“I’m sorry too,” You murmured to him. “I… I went after you because your bounty would be enough to secure me a decent living, at least for a while.” You inwardly braced yourself, expecting for him to react negatively.

Instead, you felt his body rumble underneath you with a small chuckle. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. I know it ain’t easy bein’ an Omega in this world.”

“It’s awful,” you huffed. “Reason I started bounty hunting is so I can afford Lilith’s Blessing. I can’t stand my heats, couldn’t stand being carted away like some crazed fool every month to keep myself safe from any eager Alphas-” you stopped yourself, realizing too late that you’d spilled a little too much to him.

He hummed in response. His torso shifted as he sat up closer to you, though still keeping space between you two. The heat radiating from his body was welcoming as the cool air began to nip at your exposed skin. His scent wafted around you, though not nearly as potent as before. It was…comforting.

“What’s your name?” he suddenly asked. It wasn’t a demand, but a simple question. His voice was soft and kind.

And in some way, you were completely at ease with answering.

When you whispered your name to him, he took a deep breath. “I’ve heard about ya on more than one occasion. You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Guess I shoulda known you’d come after me eventually, or at least someone else from my gang.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” you sighed. “Have to be a fool for just me to go up against your whole gang. Hell, it was even foolish of me to even try to go for you alone. ”

“A fool’s right. Gotta admit, it’s a pretty good trap. Ya might’ve even caught me if it worked in your favor.”

The praise caught you off guard, and your cheeks flushed with a rush of heat. Your lips twitched with a small smile, though you hid it. You had to wonder how things would be different had they gone accordingly. Arthur was large and strong compared to how small you were. He could outmuscle you, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t take him down one way or another. Perhaps you could be riding back to Strawberry with his unconscious body draped over the back of your horse.

That possibility seems like eons ago now.

You sighed heavily. What option was there now? The deed was done, and you could go and never have to speak to one another again after tonight. A rational and reasonable decision that another part of your mind seemed to be arguing with. Was it the last dregs of your heat influencing you?

After a few minutes of unspoken silence, the soft sounds of nature surrounding you, Arthur had shifted. You’d flinched in expectance of pain, yet found none. His knot had shrunken, which allowed him to slide out of you with ease.

You were to yourself again, and it felt…strange.

He helped you to your feet, a daunting task as your entire body weighed with fatigue. He stepped away, and you shivered involuntarily. Without his warmth, the cold hit you like a train.

He seemed to notice as he grabbed your clothes off the ground, handing them back to you. Taking them gratefully, you quickly got redressed, though the damp fabric of your pants did not help matters. He himself was still fully dressed, though he tucked himself back into his jeans and replaced his gun belt. Once you were completely dressed, the two of you stood just a few feet from one another.

He spoke first. “What will ya do now?” he asked.

You weren’t sure. You knew life wouldn’t return to normal now after this. “Can’t really say.” You answered lowly.

Arthur stared at you, his lip twitching as if in thought. A long moment passed when he said. “Come with me.”

You blinked, staring right back at him. “Excuse me?”

“Come with me, Y/N,” he repeated, stepping closer to you. “To my gang.”

Were you hearing him right? “Now why would I join a gang of outlaws when I hunt them for a living?”

“But that’s just it, you won’t ever have to do that again. Not unless ya want to. Life in our gang is different. We help people too, we ain’t just murderers and thieves.”

You didn’t answer, a small frown on your face as you began to consider his words. As difficult as it was to believe, Arthur had been pretty open and truthful with you thus far.

“I know it don’t sound like your kinda life, but you wouldn’t be alone. We can all protect you-”

“A bunch of Alphas, protecting me, during my heat?” you interjected.

“We ain’t all Alphas,” he assured. “Betas n’ Omegas too. We always make a plan for an Omega’s heat.”

“It ain’t being carted off, is it?” you asked warily.

“’Course not. Sometimes they get that tonic, other times they…relieve themselves,” he gave a small, awkward shrug.

“And me?”

“…Whatever you think is best for ya,” He muttered, though tucking his head down and rubbing the back of his neck. “Ain’t gonna judge what ya pick.”

The more he spoke, the more the offer seemed tempting. You were still apprehensive, but you had to admit sometimes that being with people was better than being alone, especially if it meant being around those who understood your heat and dealt with it in creative matters.

It was a huge decision, but one that wouldn’t sound difficult to make. You technically didn’t have a home; you would move to different hotels and saloons while you searched bounties. Hell if anything, you slept more out in the woods than in a building since leaving your parents. Homesickness wouldn’t be a factor.

“I ain’t forcin’ ya, Y/N. Thought I’d jus’ offer n’ give ya a better life. Least I can do after…all this.” He uttered, opening his arms slightly as if to gesture to you and him.

God, why did he have to be so soft?

“Fine,” you said with a huge exhale of breath. “You’ve convinced me.”

He lifted his head up to meet your gaze. Even in the darkness, you could see a genuine smile cross his face.

Soon you found yourself on the back of his horse, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso while galloping through Big Valley. Your own horse was following close behind, but the fatigue hit you harder than expected. Arthur’s large frame felt warm and relaxing to your cold and tired muscles. The unknown was ahead and you were about to tackle it head-on.

For the first time in years, you were truly content.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x reader smut #abo dynamics #a/b/o dynamics

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