#saeran reader-inserts.

V takes another step forward, and now Ray’s shouts have become frenzied begging — “Please, please go away — ” and you feel that this web spans years, threading insects and poisons and nightmares with every silky curve and twirl, and you aren’t sure where to begin to uncover it and how to unravel him from this cocoon. 

He stumbles as V shows him two little cards. Ray drops his arm to grasp the limb, pained, stammering about an angry savior. His voice rises and cracks, and you see it again, the reason why you had decided to stay: there is a gaping, cracking chasm in him, jagged along the edges as if some great devil had slipped their fingers between his chest and pulled him open by the ribs; and with this blackened maw trying to swallow him, he had never once asked you for help — 

— But you have seen your fair share of blackened maws. 

You have seen fissures greater than canyons, than planets, yawning cavities that have devoured entire universes. 

You have your own memories of drowning in ravines, hands reaching up at the night sky, starless. 

You know that sometimes it is a silent plea. 

“I’m so sorry things turned out like this, Saeran,” V whispers. He looks to you then. “But [Name], I came to rescue you. I infiltrated this place after determining that you were in danger.” 

“No —!” Ray grasps his head. “Don’t – don’t believe anything he says, [Name]. I can protect her — I’m protecting her.”

Ray is unsteady on his feet; you touch his shoulders, but he flinches reflexively, and when he sees that it was just your hands, he grasps your wrist. 

“[Name],” V begins. 

“Save him,” you say. “If you’re here for me, then you should be here for him, too.” 

V hesitates. “I... It’s my fault,” he says. “It’s my fault, but...but I can’t — I don’t think I can pull him from her grasp right now...” 

V looks pained, too, when he says that, and then you see that he has the same gasping maw in him, the same jagged lines where caressing fingers had turned cruel. 

Ray’s grip on your wrist tightens. You had stepped in front of him, but he tries to tug you back, fear in his hands. 

“She doesn’t believe you,” Ray snarls half-heartedly, but you see the doubt and the dread — Don’t go — Please don’t — Please don’t leave me. 

“I think you should go, V,” you say. 

V looks like he wants to say more, to try and convince you, to save at least one soul, but there are voices shouting from across the garden, and he hesitates, now stuck against the hourglass. 

“Go,” you tell him kindly. “I’ve dealt with spiders before.” 

“She’s not — ” But the words get caught in his throat. You see old webs in his hair, glistening against the glow of the garden lights. He nods finally and then turns and disappears into the trees. 

Ray is trying to calm his breathing, his hand still gripping firmly around your wrist. You reach back and pry his hold from your skin, and before he can jerk back in fear and self-doubt, you switch the grasp to your hand, showing him how other people should be touched — gently, and with sincerity.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes still darting at the growing darkness around the two of you, at the shadows that shift and slide in the unknown.