Axel from KH with fire

Day 8: Promise

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Implied/Referenced Sex Below

Created as part of the 8 Days of Axel Challenge
Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6Day 7

“Hey, Ax,” Demyx started, bright-eyed and energized from the moment he woke up. It was still kinda weird, seeing his hair unstyled in the mornings, but… Well, whose fault was that? Not like his mullet thing was going to stay overnight anyway, but Axel definitely wasn’t helping matters. “You got hair gel ‘round here?”

“Yeah.” His stretch turned into a point as he sat up, giving up on getting any more rest. “Second drawer in the bathroom,” Axel explained and swung his legs out from the bed as Demyx trotted to the bathroom.

“Gotcha,” the musician chimed, disappearing into the bathroom. How he got up and dressed, even half dressed, so quickly was beyond Axel. Took him a good few minutes to find his pants to put into the hamper, never mind get a new pair.

Then he followed Demyx to the bathroom, leaning in the doorway and crossing his arms to watch the lean, slightly younger man style his hair. There weren’t a ton of Organization members Axel could trust not to kill him overnight, and even fewer in that group who Axel would climb in bed with. More than once.

“You know I’m using you, right?” Piercing green eyes met wide, aqua ones and a beat of silence passed between them.

“Huh?” Such a way with words… Geez. Luckily, he was better with his sitar. Axel sighed, standing up out of his lean and gesturing with one hand in the other man’s direction. He didn’t want to think of him as more than that right now.

“We don’t have hearts, Demyx. Any feeling we get outta this, it’s a memory.” Axel let his mind wander just a little, a chuckle breaking up the heavy thoughts. “A damn good one! But just a memory.”

And right away, there was that sad smile as Demyx took a break to look his way. His face was always so sincere, so expressive, even around Saïx and the rest. How did he do that?

“Not for me.” Demyx sighed, looking back to the mirror and running his fingers through his hair to style it just the way he wanted. “But hey, whatever you say. Doesn’t change a thing for me.”

“You serious?” Had to say it, he was surprised. Axel figured that would be the end of talking, smiling, and… The rest of the stuff he did with Demyx. “I told you, I’m using you.”

“Yeah, I heard you,” he came back with a laugh like Axel told a joke instead of a hard truth. Man, oh, man. Where did this guy come from? Demyx kept it up as he washed the gel off his hands.

“A memory of a feeling becomes a heart, Axel. I’m telling you, we do too have hearts. We just gotta remember,” he explained, and that brat tapped his temple, giving Axel a sunny smile. “And I’m okay being used to help you remember.”

“Demyx, that’s…” He shook his head, laughing drily and trying not to grin. Axel brushed it off with a wave of his hand. “That’s stupid.”

“But awesome!” Demyx beamed, nodding for emphasis and standing tall. More accurately, he at least stood up straight for once. “You’ll get your heart back, Axel. I promise! And if you love me with it, great. If you don’t, I get it.”

He shrugged, eyes shining with a really unfair level of hope. He really was helping Axel to remember what it was like before. Being a person. “What’s to lose?”

“Come here, you idiot,” Axel said, putting his arm out and Demyx did just what he was told. Even with just memories to go on, Axel knew how to kiss with sinful skill– and that was the bare minimum he could do for Demyx after a vow like that.

Sure, they might fail spectacularly. Hell, it was almost guaranteed to backfire one way or another. But it’d been a long time since Axel felt anything but a queasy twist in his stomach or an empty, hollow void that scared him.

Whatever came of this, Axel would pay the price twice to hear Demyx promise him a heart again.

No Matter What: FFVII

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She had no idea how long the three men had kept her and Tseng there. An hour, maybe. They had only just delivered Jenova’s head to a secure location, and already they were captured and tortured to find it.

She stopped for a moment, breathless and exhausted but — she couldn’t stop now. Elena slammed her foot against the rusted hinge of her cell door for the millionth time, getting a shout that wasn’t Tseng’s for a change.

“Would you just shut her up!” It must have been the other skinny one with longer hair, not the one in charge. Yazoo, based on reports.

Taking a few shaky breaths, she yelled back. “Come in here and make me!” She’d broken the chair in there hours ago trying to make a weapon, and it worked.

They wouldn’t expect her to have a sharp chair leg when they came in. Hopefully it was Loz, the big quiet one. A surprise attack was her best bet in taking him down.

Loz hovered by the barred window in the doorway, grunting in acknowledgement. Elena hid the makeshift weapon behind her, unwilling to put it down. She’d need every second.

“What’s the matter?” Her muscles screamed, pain signalling everywhere from her first round of torture. She wasn’t foolish enough to think it was the last. “Scared of an opponent who isn’t restrained?”

Just open the door. A few seconds passed and he stepped back, walking away. “Coward! Get back here!” With each word, she beat against the door again, looking for any weak point.

They would get out of here. She rested her forehead against the cool metal of the door, just catching her breath. Only for a second. Tseng needed her.

They would get out of here. No matter what it took.

BioQuest: First

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Trigger Warning: Gore


Jack bent down and sawed at the corpse’s shoulder, and Elizabeth took careful steps to join him. The floor was somewhat slick with what blood hadn’t dried yet and her heels weren’t forgiving in that respect.

She picked up a leg and pulled open the incinerator chute, tossing it in quickly. Even in the short time that it was open, a wave of heat and burning flesh odor came into the office. She wrinkled her nose, which was better than her reaction when Suchong first made her use this chute.

She stepped back from the chute to gather herself all the same. It was the heat on her face that did her in most of the time, so she would time it well as she went. They finished all four limbs together when Elizabeth put a hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze to get his attention.

“Elizabeth?” He stood, wiping his forehead with his sleeve again. It seemed the heat fluctuating was affecting him too.

“Why don’t we take a break?”

“But the girls–”

“Will be fine.” She would hear them when they came in and warn them before they saw anything. “Diane can keep them in the other room until we’re done here.”

He nodded slowly, searching for a place to put the saw aside. Elizabeth took it from him and rested it on the stained desk. “Why don’t you finish the story?”

“The–” Then it registered and Jack looked away. “Oh.”

She waited with him, his shoulder rising and falling slightly with his breathing. It’s amazing how these moments between them, no matter how heavy they should have been, always felt… Peaceful. Right.

“The puppy, she…” He shook his head, sighing. And he tried again. “I didn’t have her long. A couple weeks, maybe. Enough to love her more than anything. She made me happy in a way I didn’t think was possible.”

He looked at his hands, lost in thought, then buried them in his pockets. “It was all for a test. To make sure the mind control would work. Suchong ordered me to…”

Jack lurched, and Elizabeth leaned forward with him. Must have been worse than she thought– somehow. “The first life I ever took. And it wasn’t even my choice.”


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BioQuest: Prepare

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Trigger Warning: Gore


She folded the battered pamphlet gently, tucking it into her pocket to share with the others later. It was a given that Booker and Tenenbaum would think anything called “the Rapture Family” was a cult, and they could be right, but it was something they should all know about regardless.

Seems the family already knew about them, so they were at a disadvantage.

Elizabeth stood from the bench and rounded the corner towards the clinic. Jack wouldn’t be sitting idle, she reminded herself, and she was concerned after what he’d just heard.

Stepping through the front door, Elizabeth made a mental note to ask Booker for a new camera from Sullivan for the clinic.

“Jack?” She called out, hearing a scraping, cutting noise from the other room – Suchong’s old office. “Jack, are you…”

Elizabeth passed the turret and stopped, seeing Jack standing over most of the splicer’s corpse. She turned to the desk, and the only sign of Suchong was the dark stain that sunk into the wood. They would need to replace that… She heard the incinerator churning and looked back to Jack.

Blood stained his shirt, and he held a bone saw in one hand. “The girls, they shouldn’t see this.” He pointed to the body with the saw. “I mean, the ones still in recovery are staying behind with some of the older girls, I know, but I just figured I should clean this up.”

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He paused, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeves. “But they’re too big for the chute, so…” He lifted the saw to explain.

The splicer was missing both legs and half an arm, his vacant eyes rolled back as his head was angled to where she stood.


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50th BioQuest: Jack vs. Atlas

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Leading Elizabeth out of the Kashmir Restaurant by the hand, Jack wove around couples dancing, people laughing, and spared only the occasional wary glance to the security posted at the party.

As much as he’d wanted to help Booker get Lot 192… He was grateful that Booker convinced him to go to the party instead. The brief time he was there with Elizabeth and simply talking – even about their plans against Suchong and Fontaine – felt normal for a change.

But when music cut to screaming and gunfire, Jack stopped and a chill overtook him as surely as if the walls had shattered around him. He might’ve preferred the ocean rushing over him, to be honest…

“Fontaine,” he muttered. His hand tightened on Elizabeth’s first and he took in a sharp breath. When he glanced back, it was to Elizabeth—the Kashmir behind her—and her again. She studied him, waiting for his decision. “The labs. Go find him.”

And Jack let go of her hand, running back towards the restaurant and the fight he knew he couldn’t avoid. He skidded to a stop beside a dead security guard, lifting the pistol from his cooling corpse.

Fortunately, he hadn’t gotten many shots in before he’d been taken out. Jack checked for spare ammunition, blood spotting on the sleeves of his white suit jacket in the process…

Booker would know how to get blood out of anything. If not him, Tenenbaum.

He looked back up to Elizabeth watching him and for a second, he cringed in embarrassment. “Go! Please, go.”

She examined the restaurant too, taking a steadying breath. The smoke from grenade launchers and gunfire rolled out of the entrance now and the fight wouldn’t be far behind. She pointed to the doorway of the restaurant, shouting, “There’s, it’s a crossbow! Keep yourself hidden, stay safe.”

“No, you—” It was no use, she took off without another word. “Be safe too.” He stopped to pick up the crossbow, pulling it over his head and one shoulder by the strap to drape across his torso. It would be a useful backup if the worst were to happen.

Stooping low, Jack used the smoke as cover to get behind an overturned table and listened for the movements of Fontaine—Atlas—and his men. Sobbing and disoriented groaning replaced the music and between pained cries, someone kept shouting, “Long live Atlas!”

“Be quiet now,” he ordered in a heavy Irish accent. It sounded so real, he really was… the best. Jack gulped and gripped the pistol closer. He was genetically designed by Suchong, who was paid by Fontaine, to make sure he would be a hell of an opponent. Time to make good on that. “I think we’ve got ourselves a guest.”

Jack set one foot forward, heel first, rolling to his toes to minimize noise. One cautious step at a time led him from the overturned table to the bar counter.

“To hell with ‘em!” One of the thugs screamed, shattering a glass and getting a muffled cry from someone else in hiding. “Oh, who’s this?”

“Would ya shut your gob?” He snapped, footsteps carrying Atlas closer to where Jack hid. An easier target at a closer range. “It ain’t her.”

His voice faded away slightly in the second sentence, but kept its distance. Atlas had turned his back on Jack without even knowing it. A smile came too easily and Jack took his position, elbows on the counter and just barely visible behind the staggered counter of the bar. Only enough visibility to aim.

As he settled Fontaine in his sights, Jack shivered and a tremor nestled in with the cold coursing through him. His finger hovered over the trigger but he couldn’t—He’d be so angry with Jack.

Who knew what else Atlas had on him? Were these trusted men of his, or would he hesitate to use trigger phrases around them? Biting his lip, Jack turned his aim to a woman past Atlas, putting her down in one shot.

“Shite,” he growled, sprinting to a battered table for cover in turn. Jack’s bullets strayed or ricocheted off furniture, never quite hitting home. Jack dropped down behind the counter, reloading and Atlas’ throaty laugh cut through him across the room.

“Real cute, that,” he taunted, continuing to talk to let Jack know exactly where he was moving. He knew it would be worse to know what was coming next.

The rebels with him were dragging their weapons against the walls, the floors, tables, anything to add to the mind games. There had to be four of them left including Atlas and yet it felt like an army. “Tell me, did ya come up with that yourself, boyo?”

Underneath it, he could still hear Fontaine just as plain as if he wasn’t trying at all. Or was that in his head? Jack maneuvered away from the bar towards a fallen pillar, pressing his back against that and straining to hear anything that might give Atlas away.

“Or did ya let the pretty lass do the thinkin’?”

The next few words were lost on Jack, staring at the vacant, clouded gaze of a heavily armed security guard gaping at him. A single grenade hung from a belt over his chest and Jack snatched it off him, dropping back against the pillar and pulling the pin. With all their racket, they didn’t even hear the grenade roll across the ground to their cover—

He hunkered down at the blast, a distant ringing stuck in his ears even as it faded. “—just a dirty lit’le maggot,” Atlas raged, storming behind the bar and Jack hurried out of his sight to the cover where is dead men waited. “Hide like a stinking coward, go on ahead! You won’t last pissing time.”

Jack exhaled and knelt by the blasted remains of a person, keeping his eyes on Atlas.

Fontaine.

Who screamed next, Jack or the man at his feet, he didn’t know. Fingers coiled around his ankle and locked here, the splicer howling and pushing himself forward despite his legs ending in crude stumps.

Where’d the gun gone, when did he drop it? Jack pulled the crossbow over his head, beating the man over the head once, twice, again and again and again—

Breathless, he sat by the destroyed body and caught sight of the shoes at the other end leading up to the sneer on a familiar face. “I oughta kneecap you for that, boyo,” he drawled, gesturing with a gun to the dead man between them. “He was a right fighter, but I guess you figured that out.”

Every plan, every time he’d gone over this moment in his head, it was all gone. Jack backed away without even getting up and even the brief darkness of blinking, never mind looking away, had panic twisting his insides.

“Still an’ all, I’ve got one more experiment for you, Jack,” Atlas almost praised him and came down to his level, squaring the gun against his chest. “See you on the other side, boyo.”

The shot rang out and at first, it was just a tight pressure in his chest and a ragged breath ripped from his throat. After came the fire bursting in his chest not too much unlike the doses, the prodding, and his eyes rolled back.

“Don’t bleed out too quick, now,” Atlas taunted. “I’ll need a head start if I’m to get to the chamber before you. Remember,” his voice warped, pulse pounding in Jack’s ears. “God hates a quitter.”


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