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jungkoode · 4 months ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #13 死

† the wound that always bleeds †

"Like a mathematical equation, turns out sleeping next to a warm body has always been the solution, which to Jungkook is ironic. Just how ironic it is to Taehyung, that Jeon keeps pretending he's above everything and everyone."

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6,5k

rating: mature

content: walk of shame (not), sharing secrets, best friend gossip, 8 hours of sleep for jeon (yay), v's sadistic streak shining through, v being a psychotic lil' shit, takama stepping in to save the day, v ruining lives for the fun of it and jimin being too soft for his own good (why do i always do this shit to jimin bro)

☠ author's note ☠

First of all, Kiki Nation on Tumblr is FUCKING UNHINGED. The goal was 200 notes and it took y'all less than 24 hours. I'm flabbergasted. But also it was smut so... understandable. I see you, horny little gremlins. I respect your dedication.

So here's chapter 13! (I had to proofread this while revising tax law so if something doesn't make sense, it's your fault somehow. Don't question my logic.)

AHHHHH I finally got to show off V's more psychotic nature! His little sadistic side coming out to play! He's such a little shit I love him. Writing characters with mental instability is my emotional support activity.

Well well well, things are slowly unveiling, huh? So what the fuck happened?! Who is Sylvia?! WHAT IS GOING ON?!

That's for me to know and you to lose sleep over for now (◕‿◕✿)

You know, sometimes I genuinely forget you don't have access to the absolute chaos that is my brain. Like it's genuinely hard for me to understand this from an outside perspective because I have the whole plot mapped out in excruciating detail, but you're still in the dark and it's like—is it too obvious? Is it too vague? AM I BEING COHERENT?

The eternal struggle of writing mysteries when you already know the answer. It's like trying to play poker while everyone can see your cards except you think they can't but maybe they can a little bit?? This is why I don't sleep.

Anyway, that's it for now! Love you all, you enablers of my questionable coping mechanisms! (ง •̀_•́)ง

EDIT: If you haven’t read the prologue… you must. Otherwise this is going to be hard to understand bahahaha.

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The alarm rips through your dreams like a knife, and god—you've never hated a sound more in your life.

Your eyelids feel like they're made of lead, your body heavy with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from... well. Last night's activities.

The blankets are so warm, and you smell like pine and sex and masculine. Just five more minutes...

Then reality bitch-slaps you awake. You're in Jeon's tent. At dawn. Which is exactly where you're not supposed to be.

His leg is thrown over yours, arm draped across your waist like he's trying to keep you there. It's almost... cute?

No, not cute. Definitely not cute. Just annoying. And inconvenient.

You nudge him with your elbow, trying to wiggle free without fully waking him. The grunt he makes is surprisingly soft.

"Stay still..." His voice is rough with sleep, half-muffled against your shoulder. "Just five more minutes. Let me doze off again before you go."

You huff but stop moving. It's just five minutes, right? Not like anyone's awake yet anyway. And he's so warm, his breath steady against your skin.

It's... nice. In a way that's probably dangerous.

His breathing evens out quickly, dropping back into sleep. The mighty Chief Jeon, passed out and cuddling. If you weren't so tired, you'd probably laugh.

When you finally ease out from under him, his body twitches slightly—this tiny, unconscious movement that's so unexpectedly human.

It's so weird seeing him like this, soft and sleep-warm skin. Almost makes you forget he's the gang's deadliest assassin.

Or one of them, if you consider V.

Better not tell Jeon you thought that, anyway.

You wiggle back into your clothes as quietly as possible, trying not to wake him—leggings, panties, bra, that stupid crewneck that started all this. No need to give the rest of the camp a morning show.

You crawl out of his tent like the trained seductress you are—silent and graceful. Well, as graceful as anyone can be at ass o'clock in the morning.

The camp is dead quiet except for the occasional snore from distant tents.

Your heart doesn't stop hammering until you're safely away from his tent. The morning air hits your skin, fresh and sharp, washing away the lingering scent of pine and sex.

With each step, you build up that sense of normalcy that someone who didn't fuck a chief last night should wear. No walk of shame here—just a perfectly normal morning stroll. Nothing to see.

The portable table catches your eye as you pass—someone's left out water bottles and snacks like offerings to the gods of late-night hookups. You grab a bottle, the plastic cool against your palm. The water helps, but it doesn't quite wash away the taste of him.

Not that you're thinking about that. Nope. Not at all.

You take another sip of water, trying to convince yourself you're totally fine with how things went down.

(You're not.)

Because seriously—what kind of assassin doesn't carry protection? The absolute audacity of Jeon, walking around looking like that, with those hands and that mouth and those fucking bedroom eyes, and not being prepared?

Criminal. Actually criminal.

Not that you're thinking about his hands. Or his mouth. Or the way he'd worked you up so perfectly, taking you apart piece by piece until you were shaking.

You drain half the water bottle in one go, but it doesn't help. Your body's still humming with leftover want, still craving more than just grinding and kisses.

Because fuck—it was good, but you know it could've been better. Could've had him filling you up, stretching you open, making you see stars...

If only he had brought condoms with him.

"Fucking hell," you mutter, slightly crushing bottle. The plastic crackles satisfyingly in your grip.

You can't even properly be mad at him. Not when he'd made sure you came first, not when he'd been so attentive to every little sound and movement.

But still.

The fact that you'd been this close to getting properly railed by Chief Jeon, only to be cockblocked by his own lack of preparation?

Infuriating.

Your core throbs at the memory of his cock pressed against you, at how big he'd felt even through layers of fabric. God, the things he could've done to you if he'd just—

Fucking stupid sniper. The audacity of leaving you wanting more.

And oh, there will be a next time. You're getting that dick properly, even if you have to staple condoms to his fucking forehead.

Because someone who looks like that and kisses like that and uses his hands like that? Yeah. You're not done with him yet.

"Good morning."

JM's soft voice yanks you out of your definitely-not-horny thoughts. He looks adorably rumpled, all oversized sweater and messy salmon hair. His cheeks are pink from the cold morning air, making him look even softer than usual.

"Morning," you manage, grateful that your voice sounds normal.

He takes a sip from his own water bottle and you mirror him, mostly to have something to do with your hands.

"Sleep well?" You ask because it's polite, and also because talking about sleep is way better than thinking about what you were doing instead of sleeping last night.

His smile is warm and genuine. "Yeah, I did. And you?"

"Yeah." You nod, aiming for casual.

Like you didn't spend half the night grinding against Chief fucking Jeon. Like you're not still feeling the ghost of his hands on your skin.

Just a normal morning chat. Nothing to see here.

You give JM a quick wave and head back to your tent, trying not to look suspicious. Like you didn't just spend the night getting railed—well, almost railed by his coworker.

God, that's weird to think about.

When you peek inside, Yunjin's already stirring, one eye cracked open in the dim light.

"Y/N?" Her voice is thick with sleep.

"Yeah, it's me." You whisper back, watching her untangle herself from Eunchae, who's apparently decided Yunjin makes an excellent teddy bear.

It's kind of adorable, actually.

She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes. When she looks at you again, her brow furrows.

"You didn't sleep here?"

You open your mouth, ready to spill everything—about Jeon's hands and his mouth and how fucking good he'd been—but snap it shut. Not exactly tent-appropriate conversation.

"No."

Her eyes go wide, and she leans in close. "Did you sleep outside? In the freezing cold?"

"No, no, I didn't sleep—" You cut yourself off, suddenly very aware of all the sleeping bodies around you.

The tent walls might as well be tissue paper when it comes to privacy. A quick check outside confirms you're clear.

You duck back in, keeping your voice low. "We can't talk about this here."

You can see the exact moment sleep leaves Yunjin's eye, replaced by that familiar spark of gossip-hungry curiosity. Her lips curl into a grin that says she knows something juicy is coming.

"Okay, I'll be ready in 5." She's already reaching for her clothes, suddenly very awake.

You duck out of the tent to give her privacy, leaning against a nearby pine tree. The bark digs into your back through your clothes, but you welcome the discomfort. Keeps you from getting lost in memories of other things that were digging into you last night...

Nope. Not thinking about Jeon's hands. Or his mouth. Or the way he'd—

Fuck.

When Yunjin finally emerges, her pink hair is a mess and she's practically vibrating with curiosity. You tilt your head toward the edge of camp, where the trees grow thicker. Perfect for spilling secrets that definitely shouldn't reach certain ears.

You find a fallen log away from the other tents, tucked between snow-dusted pines. The wood is freezing through your pants, but whatever. Some things are worth a cold ass.

Yunjin plops down next to you, already leaning in close. She smells like campfire smoke and cotton candy.

"So, what's going on? You look like you've been through hell and back."

More like heaven and back, but you're not about to say that out loud.

You take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. The memory of his hands, his mouth, his everything makes your pulse skip.

"Jeon happened."

"Jeon?" Yunjin's eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly disappear into her forehead. "As in, Mr. I'll-Kill-You-With-My-Thumb Jeon? That Jeon? What the hell did he do now?"

There's teasing in her voice but you catch the flash of concern in her eye.

Sweet, but unnecessary.

"He didn't do anything... wrong." God, your face is burning. "We were alone and things got... intense."

"Intense how?" She draws out the words, scoffing. "Did you two fight each other to death—?"

"It's not like that." You cut her off before she can get carried away. "I mean, we did fight at first but then—well—"

You gesture vaguely, like that explains everything.

"We didn't plan it. It just... happened."

"What happened?"

She crosses her arms, looking supremely unconvinced. Then, presses her lips together, biting back a smile.

"So what, you got stuck and stepbro came to your rescue—"

"Yunjin!" You slap a hand over her mouth, mortified.

Your skin's still tingling with phantom touches and she's out here making porn references? You drop your hand with a scowl that's only half-serious.

Looking anywhere but at her knowing grin, you mutter, "it was mutual."

The words come out barely above a whisper, like saying it too loud might summon him. Or worse—his ego.

Yunjin's smirk turns absolutely feral. "Oh my god, I knew there was something brewing between you two since the croissant thing. Come on, spill the dirty details."

You laugh, but your neck's getting hot just thinking about it. Leaning closer, you drop your voice even lower.

"Well, one minute we were fighting, and the next..."

You tell her about his hands, his mouth, the way he'd taken you apart piece by piece. How every touch had felt like lightning under your skin.

"He's like a fucking storm," you try to explain, but words feel inadequate.

How do you describe the tempest that is Jeon?

"And?" She's practically bouncing now, pink hair falling in her face as she leans in.

"And it was... intense. Like our bodies just clicked, you know? The way he touched me, the way he moved..."

"Holy shit." Yunjin lets out a low whistle. "Sounds like Chief Murder-Eyes knows how to fuck. I'm almost jealous."

You can't help but laugh, relief flooding through you at finally being able to talk about it. "I mean, we didn't actually—you know. No condoms. But still, with everything going on... with the gang and the rules..."

"Well, it's just fucking, right?" She cuts in, voice matter-of-fact. "You didn't break any rules."

Her words hit different, reassuring—exactly what you'd said to Jeon last night.

Right. No strings attached. Just two people scratching an itch.

"Yeah." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Just some good ol' fucking."

Yunjin's laugh is warm, understanding. "Well then, there's nothing to worry about. Just be careful. Jeon's not just any guy. From what I've heard, he's got layers, and not all of them are pretty."

You snort, rolling your eyes.

"Pffft, I know." You lean back. "I only have eyes for the pretty. And his dick."

That sets you both off cackling like teenagers sharing secrets behind the bleachers. It feels good to laugh about it, to make light of something that could've been way more complicated.

Yunjin stands, brushing pine needles off her pants. "Well, I gotta head back before they start sending out search parties for us. But we'll talk more about this later, yeah?"

"Yeah, later."

You're grateful she's not making a bigger deal out of this than it is. Just two adults having some mind-blowing- well, almost mind-blowing sex. No feelings, no drama.

She punches your shoulder playfully before heading back to camp, leaving you alone with memories of callouses on your skin and that fucking lip ring against your mouth.

Not that you're thinking about round two.

The early morning light bleeds through the tent, and for the first time—his eyes are not open to perceive it.

Jungkook stirs slowly, consciousness creeping in like the dawn. His hand reaches out, seeking the familiar cold touch of his phone screen.

Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Eight fucking hours without a single nightmare clawing at his mind. No cold sweats, no jolting awake with a scream lodged in his throat.

Just... peace.

His eyes drift to the empty space beside him, still holding a ghost of warmth where you had been. The indent in his pillow, the lingering scent of chai tea mixed with his pine—evidence that last night wasn't just a fevered dream.

Interesting.

The tactician in him can't help but analyze this development.

Eight hours of proper sleep, achieved simply by having another body next to his. The data suggests a correlation worth exploring. It's purely scientific interest, of course —nothing to do with how your quiet breathing had somehow matched his own, creating a rhythm that had lulled him into the deepest sleep he'd had in months.

His lips twitch, almost forming a smile.

Who would have thought that the solution to his insomnia would be so... straightforward?

Just add another warm body to the equation.

Simple.

Efficient.

The gang's best sniper, finally getting proper rest because of a quick hookup.

There's probably irony in there somewhere.

Jungkook stretches, feeling unusually light. His muscles are loose, relaxed in a way that has nothing to do with the previous night's activities.

Well, not entirely due to them.

Eight hours.

He could get used to this.

Jungkook sits up, letting the cool morning air hit his skin. Eight hours of actual sleep has him feeling... different. Not better, exactly. Just less like death warmed over.

He takes his time straightening his tent—a habit drilled into him and not voluntarily.

When he makes it outside, the camp is quiet except for the occasional bird call. His hands find his pockets as he heads toward the mess area, following the siren call of caffeine. The neat row of coffee cans almost makes up for sleeping on the ground.

Almost.

But then he sees V.

And just like that, his rare good mood evaporates.

Evaporates fast.

Jungkook's tongue clicks—automatic. His body already tightens before his mind even catches up. For a second, he considers turning back, caffeine be damned. But no. That'd hand the bastard a win, and Jeon doesn't hand out victories before breakfast.

V's lounging like he owns the clearing. Hair a tousled mess, skin flushed from either a fight or a fuck—Jeon doesn't care which. He just notes the details, stores them. It's habit. Just another target to assess.

The bastard tracks his approach with lazy, half-lidded eyes and that signature smirk—like he already knows he's about to ruin something.

Jungkook grabs a can off the table. Doesn't even look at V yet.

"Had fun last night?" The words come out dry, flat. No bite. Just noise.

V lifts his chin, amused. "Some of us don't need to buy intimacy with imported espresso machines."

Jungkook opens the can with a sharp hiss. Keeps his eyes on the label. "Didn't realize desperation was charming now."

"I call it efficiency." V stretches his arms overhead, exposing fresh marks on his throat. "In and out. Simple. No cleanup. You should try it—might loosen that iron rod you've got jammed up your spine."

Jungkook takes a slow sip of bitter coffee and finally looks at him. "You're bleeding self-worth all over the ground. Try wiping it up before someone slips."

V laughs, delighted. "There he is. I was starting to worry you'd gone full ghost. Thought maybe you finally snapped and joined the meditation club upstairs."

Jungkook doesn't answer. He's already turning away, walking slowly toward the edge of camp—toward the trees. Not far. Just enough distance to mute V's noise.

Of course, V follows. He always does.

"You know what your real problem is?" V's voice floats lazily behind him. "You think control's the same thing as peace."

Jungkook says nothing. Another sip. The coffee's still shit. V's steps crunch through the grass behind him. Closer now.

"But it's not. You're not calm, Jeon. You're just buried."

Jungkook stops. Just briefly. Looks up at the sky like it might offer patience.

V grins, eyes glittering. "Bet it gets lonely. All that quiet. All that nobility. Ever wonder why no one's lining up to warm your bed these days?"

Jungkook doesn't flinch. Just watches a bird take off from the trees. "Didn't realize we were counting bodies now. Thought you preferred keeping score in blood."

"Oh, I do," V murmurs, stepping beside him, too close. "But you—God, you used to have heat, you know that? Used to burn. Now it's all smoke and mirrors. All that rage shoved behind protocol and detachment."

Jungkook doesn't look at him, but his hand tightens around the can.

V keeps pushing, voice sweet as poison. "You used to laugh. Fuck, remember that? You'd stay up past curfew, cheat on drills, get into knife fights for fun. Now look at you—clockwork killer with a loyalty complex."

"You done?" Jungkook's voice is sharp now. Controlled, but edged.

"Not even close." V steps in front of him, cuts off the path. "See, I get it now. You stopped fucking because you can't do casual anymore. Too dangerous, right? Someone breathes near you and you start imagining futures."

Jungkook's jaw tightens.

V leans forward. "What was it RM said? 'Attachment makes you weak'? Or did you have to learn that one the hard way?"

"Careful," Jungkook says, low.

V just smiles. "I'm not touching your secrets, Jeon. Just pointing out the obvious. You're terrified of getting close again. You think if you fuck anyone, they'll catch feelings. Or worse—you will."

Jungkook doesn't blink. Doesn't speak. But the can in his hand dents slightly under his grip.

V notices. Of course he does.

"I mean, maybe that's why no one touches you anymore." He tilts his head, mock-thoughtful. "Not because you're intimidating. Not because you're better. But because they all see it—the grief in your bones. The guilt. Like it might rub off."

"You talk a lot for someone with nothing to say."

V grins, stepping aside, letting him pass. "And you say nothing hoping it makes you mysterious. But guess what, Jeon? I see right through that bullshit."

Jungkook exhales slowly through his nose. The air is cool, the trees just ahead. He keeps walking. He doesn't rise. Not yet.

But V's still behind him.

And he's not done.

Jungkook moves, calm steps through dew-soaked grass. The can in his hand hisses with pressure, dented from his grip, but he doesn't look back.

"You know what your problem is, Jeon?" V's voice cuts through the morning air, sing-song soft. "You're so far up your own ass you can't see what a joke you've become."

Jungkook doesn't bother with a glance. Just takes another sip of his shitty coffee. Tries to drown out the taste of chai from his tongue.

"The perfect soldier," V continues, pacing a few feet behind, voice louder now. "Marching in lockstep behind Commander like a good little ghost. You think if you bleed enough for RM, he'll forgive you for what you let slip through your fingers?"

Still no answer. Just another sip of that bitter, mass-produced garbage. Jungkook focuses on the taste—the chemical bitterness coating his tongue, sharp and synthetic. Easier to focus on that than the ache V's voice digs up.

"Nothing to say?" V's tone lifts, faux-curious. "Come on, where's that famous discipline now? Or did you leave it behind in your tent last night?"

The can pauses mid-sip. Barely a hitch. Just one second too long.

Jungkook lowers it slowly. "Your obsession with where I sleep is weird. Maybe try journaling."

V grins wide behind him, practically skipping to keep up now. "You're right. I should write this all down—'Jeon, once fierce and unfiltered, now drinks piss-coffee and pretends not to feel anything.' Bestseller."

"You done with the poetry?"

"Almost," V chirps. "Just wanted to make sure you knew everyone sees it. The way you're chasing scraps of forgiveness like a dog with its tail between its legs. You used to lead the escapades. Now you just brood and play pretend."

Jungkook stops walking.

V nearly collides with him, amused.

"Touch a nerve?" he murmurs.

Jungkook's head tilts slightly, eyes still forward. "You should work on new material. The old lines are starting to bore me."

V steps around him, circling like a vulture. "That's the thing about ghosts, Jeon. They're repetitive. They just haunt the same places. Same faces."

Jungkook's eyes shift. Cold. Level.

"You sound jealous."

V barks a laugh. It's short, sharp, too loud for the quiet trees.

"Of what? Your sad, monk-ass existence? Nah. I just miss the guy who could take a punch and throw three back."

"He grew up," Jungkook replies coolly. "Maybe you should try it."

"Nah," V says, too quickly. "That guy didn't grow up. He crawled into a cage and slammed the door shut."

Jungkook takes a step forward, chest brushing V's shoulder as he passes. "Or maybe he realized some things aren't worth fighting for anymore."

"Oh?" V pivots, stalking behind again. "Like loyalty? Brotherhood? Control?"

Jungkook doesn't turn. "Like noise."

V's smirk sharpens. "Funny you mention that. Because the silence after you let her die? That was deafening."

That stops him.

One step shy of the treeline.

Jungkook doesn't move, but something in the air shifts. Not loud. Not visible.

Just cold.

Real cold.

He sets the coffee can down on a mossy rock, slow and steady. Wipes his hand once on his thigh.

"You sure you want to go there?" he says, soft as snowfall.

V's smile flickers. Not with fear��he doesn't do fear—but with pleasure.

This is what he came for.

"I'm just saying," V hums, circling again, low and lazy. "You've been pretending for so long. Pretending she didn't matter. Pretending you're fine. Pretending you're not still clawing your way out of that night like it didn't gut you."

Jungkook says nothing.

But his silence means something now.

"I was there, Jeon," V says, inching closer. "You looked at me like I'd ripped out your heart and eaten it."

"You did," Jungkook murmurs. Still not looking at him.

"And yet," V's voice softens to a whisper, "you still didn't pull the trigger."

"Because you weren't worth it."

V snickers. "That's not what your eyes said."

Jungkook turns his head slowly. "No. That's what restraint looks like. Something you wouldn't recognize if it slit your throat."

V's lips curve, crooked and violent. "But you wanted to. You still want to."

Another long pause. Jungkook's jaw flexes once.

"Not as much as I want to forget you ever mattered."

And that—that hits.

V's grin falters. Just for a split second. The moment is small, but Jungkook catches it. He always catches everything.

Then, it changes again. V watches him like a cat watches a cornered bird. Head tilted. Smiling like he knows what's coming, and he's going to savor every second of it.

"You know what's funny," V says, voice maddeningly casual, "I always wondered if that was the problem."

Jungkook doesn't bite. Doesn't blink.

V goes on. "Not the rule-breaking. Not the secrecy. But who you broke the rule for."

Jungkook's gaze sharpens. Just a sliver. Just enough.

V catches it, of course. "Maybe if it had been someone else. Someone... less delicate. Maybe then, I'd have understood."

Jungkook's jaw shifts—tightens, releases.

"You picked soft," V continues. "You always hated soft. But that's what you chose. That's who you let in."

"Don't," Jungkook says quietly.

But V's already grinning, teeth and cruelty.

"God, what was her name again? It's been so long." He taps his chin mockingly. "Right there. Tip of my tongue."

Jungkook turns away. Starts walking.

He needs to get away from that sicko before he does something stupid.

"Don't go yet," V calls behind him, voice lilting like this is a game. "Help me out, will you? Dark hair? Big eyes? Always looked like she was about to break?"

Each step Jungkook takes feels heavier now. Like the gravity around him's been recalibrated.

"Jeon," V sings. "C'mon. Starts with an 'S,' right? S... Ssssss—shit, it's gonna bug me all day if you don't help."

Jungkook stops walking. Doesn't turn.

"V."

One word. Dead calm. A warning that sounds like the moment before a trigger snaps.

But V doesn't stop. He never does.

"Wait—don't tell me—Sarah? No. Sophie?" He's grinning now, wide and unhinged. "No no no, it was something sweeter than that, wasn't it? Something fragile."

Jungkook's whole body goes still. His shoulders square. Not aggressive. Not defensive.

Bracing.

"I won't tell you again."

"Oh, don't be like that." V's voice drops to a near-whisper. "We're just reminiscing."

"You say it," Jungkook murmurs, quiet enough that the wind almost eats it. "And this conversation takes a very different turn."

"Isn't that the fun part?" He replies.

Jungkook turns back to walk away. But before he can do just that, V opens his mouth again.

"No, wait, wait, wait! I remember it now."

V tilts his head, feigning thought, acting like he just got enlightened by the powers above.

Then—

"Sylvia."

The name detonates behind Jungkook's eyes.

He moves before he even registers it—before thought can catch up to instinct. One hand fisting V's collar, the other slamming him into the nearest tree with bone-rattling force.

His voice is low. Controlled. Deadly.

"I told you," he breathes, "to shut the fuck up."

V chokes out a laugh, even as Jeon's forearm presses against his throat. His smile is bloody, triumphant.

This is exactly what he wanted.

"There he is," V wheezes. "Knew you still remembered."

Jungkook tightens his grip.

"You don't get to tarnish her name with your mouth."

"Oh come on," V gasps, grin never faltering. "You're the one who made her matter."

Another inch and V's feet almost leave the ground. Jungkook's pulse is thunder in his ears. Vision tunneled, voice low.

"You don't touch her memory."

V's eyes shine with something unholy. "Why not? You left it out in the open."

Jungkook doesn't say anything. He just breathes—through his nose, slow, controlled—because if he doesn't, he'll crush the bastard's windpipe right here and now.

"You never even cried for her," V says, voice straining now. "Not once. I watched you. All that grief, and nothing came out but silence."

"Shut up."

"She begged for you, Jeon." V's voice slips into a mocking lilt. "Right before I pulled the trigger."

His hands go up, mimicking the movement of guns. Two fingers, cocked and pointed.

"Bang. Bang." V grins. "Guess some lessons need to be learned twice."

Jungkook's fist curls tight, shakes from the effort of not slamming it into V's face.

"She looked at you," V whispers, "and said thank you."

That's it.

Jungkook lets go of his throat—and punches him hard enough to split skin across V's jaw.

Bone cracks under knuckles. Blood spatters across bark. V staggers, but he's laughing—fucking laughing—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fucking finally" he slurs through red teeth. "Welcome back, Kooks."

Jungkook doesn't hesitate.

The second punch lands even harder than the first—knuckles slamming into cheekbone with enough force to whip V's head sideways.

Blood sprays from his mouth this time, a thick crimson arc that spatters across tree bark, across Jeon's hand, across the ground between them.

Still, V laughs.

It's breathless, giddy, delighted.

"Fuck, I missed this," he rasps, tongue darting out to taste the blood slicking his bottom lip. "So you're still human, huh?"

He licks it slow, like he's savoring it.

Like it's dessert.

Jungkook steps back just enough not to kill him.

"You don't get to call me that," he says, voice low and splintered. "Not anymore."

V blinks once, mock-innocent. Then that crooked smile curls back up, jagged and satisfied.

"Oh, right." He taps two fingers against his temple. "Because I'm not Taehyung to you anymore, huh? I'm V." His voice twists around the name like it's something sacred. "Your words, not mine. Or was it mine first? I forget."

Jungkook doesn't answer.

He can't.

Not when his pulse is pounding in his ears, his vision swimming at the edges with a red haze he hasn't let himself feel in months.

V steps closer, shoulders relaxed, body loose with that particular high only someone like him can ride. His lip's still bleeding, and he doesn't wipe it off this time—just lets it drip, red on his teeth, staining the corner of his mouth.

"God, you hit harder than I remember," he says, eyes gleaming. "Must be all that repressed emotion. You're like a soda can in the sun—shaking, sealed tight. One little crack and boom."

Jungkook doesn't say anything back. He's not looking at him anymore. He's looking through him. Past the trees. Somewhere far and unreachable.

But V keeps talking. Of course he does. Because once he has momentum, he's unstoppable.

"I always knew it was still in there," V's finger digs in his chest. "That spark. That fire. You've been playing dead so long I almost believed you were gone. Almost."

Jungkook's hands are fists again.

"You've been sleepwalking, Jeon," V continues, grinning like he's high on the taste of violence. "Dead-eyed. Robotic. Miserable. Just waiting for someone to fucking jolt you back awake."

He leans in close again. Too close.

"I'm just giving you a favor."

"You don't do favors."

V cackles, loud and wild. "Sure I do. You just don't like the way they taste."

Another pause. Jungkook's breathing is steady now, but it's forced. Every inhale pulled through clenched teeth.

"You think this brings me peace?"

"No," V says, licking blood off his thumb now. "I think it brings you clarity."

There's something predatory in the way he steps back, finally, giving Jungkook space—but not out of mercy, no.

It's rather just to admire the way he's held together by muscle memory and sheer willpower.

"You pretend you buried it," V says softly, quirking an eyebrow. "But it's still there. Under the skin. Under the guilt. Under all that self-hatred."

"You're wasting your breath," Jungkook replies.

But V just keeps smiling, lips slick, eyes blown wide with delight.

"You can't kill the part of you that liked it. The rage. The power. The need. You just locked it away in a box and lost the key."

V's voice drops now, low and rich and terrifyingly gentle.

"And I'm the only one who still knows where it's buried."

That's when Takama steps in.

No warning. No sound. Just a hand locking around Jeon's bicep before the next blow can fly.

"Enough," Takama says, firm and calm.

Not a command.

A lifeline.

Jungkook doesn't resist. Not yet. But his chest heaves, and the knuckles on his right hand are starting to swell. V leans lazily against the tree now, licking the blood of his lower lip that won't stop gushing out.

"Aw, don't stop now," he drawls, voice hoarse from the chokehold and the punches. "We were finally getting somewhere."

Takama doesn't even look at him.

His grip stays tight. Not painful. Just steady. Anchoring.

"Let it go," his second in command says under his breath.

Jungkook's eyes stay locked on V's face. Not with hatred. With control.

The kind that takes every ounce of strength to maintain.

"You should've stayed buried," he murmurs.

But V just laughs. Loud, unhinged, manic.

"And miss this reunion?" He wipes blood from his jaw with the back of his hand. "Never."

He steps back, licking the burgundy remnants from his fingers as he turns to walk away.

His voice floats over his shoulder like a final cut.

"Same time tomorrow?"

Jungkook doesn't answer.

He just watches him disappear into the trees, that thorned scent of roses lingering behind like a stain you can't scrub off.

Some poisons don't kill you right away.

They stay in your blood.

Rot you from the inside out.

Blood tastes like copper and victory.

It slicks across his tongue, drips warm from the split in his lip. He doesn't wipe it off. Why would he? It's a mark of success—Jeon's control fractured, broken open just enough for the truth to spill out.

The scream he didn't let out. The grief he still pretends doesn't exist.

Taehyung practically skips through the camp, boots crunching over frost-stiff grass. His knuckles sting from where Jeon deflected that second hit, but the ache feels earned. Like something sacred.

He exhales, slow and sweet, watching the vapor curl into the cold morning air.

That was better than sex.

No, scratch that.

That was sex.

Pushing Jeon to that edge—watching the cold, calculated sniper fucking explode in real time? That's the closest Taehyung ever gets to euphoria.

The high is still rushing through him as his tent comes into view. The buzz behind his teeth. The heat in his skull. He's not even pretending to slow down.

He lifts the flap with a flourish, practically singing, "Honey, I'm home," as he sweeps inside.

Jimin's already there. Cross-legged on the floor like some kind of aesthetic devotional painting. His salmon hair falls messily across his forehead, catching light like spun sugar. He doesn't startle—he never does—but his head tilts just slightly in that way Taehyung always notices.

"You're late," Jimin says, not looking up from whatever he's scribbling into that little black journal. "Let me guess. You pissed off Jeon again."

"Mmhmm," Taehyung hums, swaying into the room. "It was glorious."

He doesn't wait for an invitation. He never does. Two steps and he's folding himself into Jimin's lap like a lithe, bloody jungle cat.

Jimin grunts at the impact, but he doesn't move. Doesn't push him off.

He never does that either.

"You're bleeding," Jimin says quietly, brushing hair back from Taehyung's temple before his eyes drift down. "Lip's split."

"Little love tap," Taehyung breathes against the curve of Jimin's neck.

He nuzzles there a moment, deep inhale. Jimin smells like warmth. Like brown sugar and caramel and fabric softener.

Soft things. Domestic things.

He doesn't know why it makes his teeth itch, want to take a bite.

Jimin finally meets his gaze—and there it is.

That flash of worry in his eyes. That's the part Taehyung likes. Not the sympathy. The fact that it costs Jimin something every time he pretends this isn't poison.

"What did you say to him this time?"

Taehyung grins slow, letting his tongue drag over the blood at the corner of his mouth. "Just reminded him of something he didn't want to remember."

"Don't play stupid. This is getting out of hand." Jimin's hand brushes lightly against his jaw, tilting his face to examine the cut.

The pads of his fingers are warm. Careful. It makes something behind Taehyung's ribs twitch.

"Jeon's going to snap one of these days," Jimin adds, voice low.

"He already did," Taehyung whispers.

And he can't help it—he giggles. It bubbles out of him like champagne and gunfire, bright and wrong. He presses closer to Jimin, legs tangling, arms looping around his waist. The tension bleeds out of him slowly, replaced by that delicious hum of control reclaimed. He can still feel Jeon's rage in the fibers of his hoodie. It clings like perfume.

Jimin doesn't move. But his breathing changes. Shallow now.

"You're high on it again," Jimin murmurs.

Taehyung pretends to consider it. "Maybe."

"It's not healthy."

He shrugs, lashes fluttering as he leans in. "Neither are we."

Jimin sighs through his nose. Doesn't argue.

For a moment, they sit like that. Quiet.

Taehyung lets himself rest his head on Jimin's shoulder, lets the silence expand between them. This kind of stillness is rare. He doesn't know how to hold it without squeezing too tight.

Jimin's voice finally cuts through. "Let J-Hope look at it. That lip's going to get infected."

"For you?" Taehyung draws his thumb along the line of Jimin's jaw, soft and mocking. "Anything, love."

The way Jimin flinches is small. Almost imperceptible. But Taehyung feels it.

That's the thing about Jimin. He's not like the others. He doesn't play back. Doesn't bite or snarl or shoot. He just absorbs it all, like a sponge in a slow leak.

And Taehyung knows it's cruel—knows he's twisting something tender into something sharp—but he does it anyway.

Because this is what's left. This is what he has.

"You don't have to keep doing this," Jimin says, eyes on the floor now. "With him."

"Sure I do," Taehyung murmurs, already curling into his lap again, like a cat that doesn't want to answer. "The show must go on."

Jimin shakes his head once, slow. "You're always like this."

"Good things don't change."

There's no bite in it. No anger.

Just truth.

And then, before Jimin can speak again, Taehyung presses a finger to his lips. It's light. Thoughtless. Charged.

"No more lectures," he says. "Tell me something sweeter."

"Like what?"

Taehyung smiles, eyes gleaming. He leans in, close enough for Jimin to taste the blood on his breath.

"Tell me a secret."

Jimin's lips are warm beneath his finger. Too warm.

Taehyung holds it there a beat longer than necessary, just to feel the resistance—such a pretty little line of defiance, always broken down the same way.

Gently.

Repeatedly.

"Tell me a secret," he whispers again.

Jimin doesn't answer.

He doesn't have to.

Because his eyes do. The way they drop. The way his breath skips. The way his hands twitch against the floor like they're unsure whether to push away or pull Taehyung closer.

It's always like this. Hesitation that tastes like anticipation.

Taehyung leans in. Presses his mouth to Jimin's cheek, just shy of his lips, and breathes him in—caramel warmth, a little bit of sweat, and something almost shy beneath it.

He imagines for a second biting down. Hard. Leaving a mark. Branding softness with something it doesn't deserve.

Instead, he draws back and tugs Jimin forward.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Right into his lap.

Jimin doesn't resist. He never does. Just settles into the space Taehyung makes for him like he's made of silk and apology.

God, it's addicting.

"So obedient," Taehyung murmurs, mouth ghosting along the curve of Jimin's jaw. "You always melt so easily, Jiminie."

He feels Jimin's pulse jump under his hands.

Feels it in the way his thighs tighten just slightly, in the way his spine curves—not in retreat, no.

In submission.

Taehyung smiles. The kind that never touches his eyes.

This is the part that matters.

Not the tenderness. Not the connection. This.

The aftershock. The reward.

The thing that lets him bleed out the rest of Jeon's name from his teeth.

His hands roam lazily—up the curve of Jimin's back, slipping under the hem of his shirt just to feel the skin heat beneath his palms. He doesn't rush. He doesn't need to.

Jimin's already folding.

Taehyung tilts his head and brushes their lips together—barely. Just enough to taste breath.

Then he whispers, soft and cruel against Jimin's mouth, "Let me ruin you for a bit."

Jimin exhales shakily. Doesn't nod. Doesn't speak. Just presses closer.

Perfect.

And Taehyung?

Taehyung finally feels calm.

Not better.

But calm.

The high burns slower this way.

Controlled.

Directed.

And by the time Jimin's head tips back and Taehyung's fingers slide lower, he's already thinking of the next morning—when he'll do it all over again.

Because Jeon's fists can bruise skin.

But Jimin's silence?

It lets him feel powerful.

goal: 400 notes lmao I'm not doing this shit again in 24 HOURS.

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vamplvs · 19 days ago

Text

TOO YOUNG (TO KEEP LOVE FROM GOING WRONG)

INCLUDES -> bob reynolds x ex!reader WARNINGS -> depression, addiction, past drug use, just really bad relationships/significant others all around (only in the past, i promise. they're both working on themselves), panic attacks, angst, hurt/comfort, getting together (again), reader has some undisclosed/implied mental health issues WORD COUNT -> 6.5k SUMMARY -> your history with bob is from a past he'd rather forget, one that haunts him every day, and it all comes crashing back when he runs into you at a coffeeshop.

NOTES -> this fic is my baby, and i've been working on it for nearly a month now. there have been so many revisions and rewrites, but i'm so excited to finally post it! i promise it's not all as sad as it seems, but pls keep the warnings in mind. as always, comments and rbs are much appreciated! also if anyone wants to ask abt my hcs for bob’s scars and such my inbox is VERY open and i have thoughts

every day that bob gets out of bed is a good day, he tells himself. well, that's what yelena and his therapist tell him, so it must be true. it's a good day when he works a brush through his hair, when he makes himself breakfast, and when he does his laundry.

it's a good day when he gets through another chapter of that new book he picked up last week while he was out. he has it marked up with sticky notes, reminders of passages he liked or things that made him think—and, as much as he is loathe to admit it, definitions written in the margins. it's already lovingly worn, and he's only halfway through it. but he can't resist the urge to go back through it sometimes, just looking back at what he took note of and why. it's like his own personal window into his mind. he's sure that dr. fieldstone will have a field day with that if she ever finds out.

it's an even better day when bob finds the energy to go out for the day. he's discovered bookstores, record shops, and even the occasional restaurant he likes. there's a vietnamese place only a few blocks away from the tower that's become a regular take-out spot for the team. a block away from that place is a cat shelter with the sweetest old maine coon named maximus. he belongs to the owner, and bob always takes the time to pet him when he's in the area.

bob's been enjoying running small errands for the team. sort of, anyways. it's not like he likes the errands themselves—there's nothing particularly exciting about picking up groceries, after all—but it's that he gets to do something for the team. it's that he gets an excuse to go out. while they're all off saving the world from this week's supervillain, bob is out getting sugar, eggs, some garlic, and whatever else the kitchen appears to be missing.

today's task, however, is coffee. last night the team arrived worn and ragged after the mission valentina sent them on, and bob's current mission is, hopefully, cheering them up with overly expensive coffee from the place yelena and walker both like down the street. they never seem to go together, but he recognizes their takeout cups with the logo printed on the side. walker would never admit to it, but bob knows he was the one to find it.

the coffeeshop is familiar, even though he's only really been there once or twice with yelena. it's a cozy, hole in the wall kind of spot—just hidden enough that it hasn't been overrun by the hustle and bustle of manhattan. it's got warm lighting and a wall covered in old magazine cutouts and framed pictures that date back decades.

he's got everyone's orders typed haphazardly in his notes—shit, he can't remember if walker wanted his drink iced or not. usually, walker's got a cold drink when bob sees him with one, but the weather's been strangely cold recently, so maybe he's changed his mind. bob certainly would.

just as he's about to step in line and make a last minute decision, a voice pulls him back.

"that you, robert?" and it's a voice he only just recognizes after years of putting it out of his mind.

he turns and sees you. his heart nearly stops. what are the odds that you're in new york? especially now during his "recovery," as dr. fieldstone puts it. you still look like you, but you've grown now, changed in some way that bob can't quite define. you're still just as beautiful as the last time he saw you. by the time his mind catches up to his ears, discomfort is starting to bleed into the air.

"y-yeah! hi," he puts a hand out awkwardly to shake yours. the weight of your hand in his is familiar, almost nostalgic. the thought nearly makes him recoil.

"long time, no see." you say it with a gentle smile, but he recognizes the way your smile dips when you're trying to be polite. he recognizes the way you scan him for signs, the same way you used to. "you look... good, different."

"yeah, um, getting sober does that, i think." he winces at his own words, remembering the fight you had the last night he saw you through the haze of some cocktail-from-hell he had conjured up with some people he certainly shouldn't have been around. it had seemed like a great idea at the time.

—

though the memory is foggy, he remembers you coming home to him tearing apart the kitchen and yelling about spies and malware.

bob was wired. it's like he was dialed up all the way to 100, and man, was it good. until it wasn't. until he was sure that his phone was tapped, and that there was a camera in the apartment watching his every move. every cabinet in the kitchen had been flung open and searched through, a mess of pots, pans, and cutlery decorating the once neat countertops.

"can't stay sober for a day, can you?" your words were harsh and grating, and it only sent bob further into an emotional free fall. that quiet voice in the back of his mind, the one that lingered when he was high no matter how desperately he tried to erase it, hissed that you weren't supposed to see him like this. he was worked up, angry and scared, and there was no going back.

"you don't understand! they're-" he had gestured wildly around the kitchen, as if that proved anything. as if you could see the government's secret eye on the apartment if he just yelled about it loud enough.

"they're not fucking watching you, robbie, you're high!" there were tears in your eyes, he remembers that now. "you said you'd get sober. two nights ago, you promised." and he remembers how defeated you sounded, the way your voice broke.

"you knew i was like this when we started going out." bob remembers the rage he felt and how sick it made him the next morning when he finally sobered up.

"yeah, but- i mean, jesus, robbie, this is going to kill you someday!" you were across the room from him, and he vividly recalls the way you had backed up when he stepped towards you like it's happening in real time all over again.

"maybe i want it to!" he had shouted. he had shouted at you, the last person in the world who deserved it. the person he called the love of his life. it felt so right to say in that moment, and that's what scared him the most. "finally put me out of this misery."

your face had dropped, and it was the only time that night you had taken a single step towards him. "don't say that-"

"why not? it's true." he had laughed in your face, and god, that made him nauseous now.

"don't you dare fucking say that."

you had left that night, telling bob you wanted him out of the apartment within the next day. he found out later that you were holed up in a friend's place bawling your eyes out.

bob doesn't remember if he ever put your kitchen back together, or if he left that to you.

he's not sure where he was in between your apartment and his own, either. there's a week of missing time that bob woke up from dazed and hurting.

—

you simply laugh, and at least this sounds more real than your smile looked. he's not sure how you're laughing, honestly. he was awful- "i'm glad you're doing better."

"me too." silence settles between you two as bob debates the merits of literally shoving a foot in his mouth. it might be better than everything he's said so far.

"saw you were with that new avengers crew on tv, and i couldn't believe my eyes." he laughs, but it's stilted. do you know about the void, too? "i mean, the robbie reynolds bunking with congressman barnes and the, uh, the knock-off captain america?" you gesture vaguely at the mention of walker, like you're trying to remember his name. "it's totally wild."

"y-yeah, i'm- i got lucky."

before he can say anything else, the barista calls your name. you bid him a quick goodbye, and his palms are sweating by the time you walk out.

the rest of his day goes by in a haze of remembering, a walk down memory lane he'd rather not take. he stammers his way through the coffee order, and nearly gets run over by a very angry taxi driver on his walk back to the tower. the drinks get dropped off in the kitchen with a brief text to yelena telling her he's back, and then he's off to his room to read.

because today is a good day, he tells himself.

today is a good day, and he's going to get through another chapter of that book if it's the last thing he does.

his footfalls are loud in the wide hallways of the tower. they echo gratingly back at him, getting louder as his heart rises in his throat. god, it's been how many years now? he remembers that part of his life through highs and lows, through the way his breath still whistles out his nose from a perforated septum, and the track lines left on his elbows and thighs. he still can't wear short sleeves, and-

the collar of his sweater is constricting, he realizes. too tight against the skin of his neck, and he can't breathe.

he can't fucking breathe.

his lungs are tight, held close by ribs he's all-too aware of. and his sweater- it's choking him. the once soft fabric slices at his neck like it's a tourniquet. his hands find the cold wall of the hallway to guide him back to his room. he can hardly see past the black spots that speckle his already tunneling vision.

breathing. air. he needs that.

he takes a shaky lungful and pushes forward, stumbling until he finds the door to his room.

the doorknob is icy in his hand, the only solid thing he feels around him. the floor is starting to slip away from under him, and the walls only get closer and closer until they're pressing in.

it's a miracle he makes it to his bed before he collapses outright.

but he does. and it's still a good day because his book is sitting on his bedside table.

if he can just get his hands to stop shaking, he'll pick it up and flip to the next chapter. if he can just get his breath to stop coming up so fast, or get his vision to focus on something in the room, it can stay a good day.

but he doesn't, and he can't. he's frozen in place, trapped within his own too-tight skin, as he lays on his bed, staring out at the wall in front of him. that look in your eye—the one of terror, concern, and worst of all, love—infiltrates his mind unbidden.

the sound of the door opening is muffled, or far away. bob can't quite tell. it should be right there, but it isn't. and he can't get his head to turn to see who's walked in.

"bob?" comes yelena's voice, still miles away from where he is in the vast expanse of his bed. "you've been here for ages." has he? he only just got back.

he makes a small sound in the back of his throat when he feels a weight at the end of his bed, a hand on his knee. yelena doesn't move for an eternity. she just sits, gently rubbing his knee until he can force air in and out of his lungs again.

"bob, can you talk yet?" she says eventually, and that's the reminder he needs to move again. that she's been sitting for so long he needs to explain something.

"i saw someone i knew when i was-" he cuts himself off with an unsteady breath. when i was still using, goes unspoken but heard all the same. he's cold, so very cold—is that why he's still shaking? yelena's warm hand on his knee is only doing so much.

"who?" her voice is so gentle when she says it, like there's something quiet in the air she doesn't want to break. bob wishes she would.

"my- um, my ex." his whole body tenses when he looks at her, but he finds nothing but care and worry in her eyes. "i was horrible when we-"

"hey," she interrupts before he can keep spiraling, "you've changed. i know you have." her hand is heavier on his knee now, a grounding force. but has he? he still itches for that high every day. he misses it. yelena interrupts his train of thought again. she could be a mindreader, and bob wouldn't be surprised. "did they seem uncomfortable?"

"who wouldn't be?" he mumbles into his pillow, a pitiful little sound.

"did they talk to you, bob?" she presses, pragmatic as always.

"y-yeah, they said hi. said they were glad i was going better." at least his voice is less shaky now. small victories, like dr. fieldstone tells him.

"then they don't hate you," and she says it with such finality that he almost takes her at her word. yet, there's a lingering thought: you'd seen bob at his worst, and you don't know the half of what he's done now. hell, even he doesn't really know.

"but-"

"no one talks like that with someone they hate" yelena pauses like she's still searching for the right words, "or someone they're scared of. i wouldn't." she pats his knee a final time before standing. "walker is making dinner, if you want to join us. or i can bring you something-"

"yeah," he says, without letting her finish her offer. the thought of being in a room with walker and alexei makes his head spin.

yelena hums, and bob knows it's a promise that she'll be back.

—

bob returns to that coffeeshop nearly three weeks later. yelena had urged him to go again, and dr. fieldstone agreed. he likes the coffeeshop, and he shouldn't be afraid of seeing his past there. this time he brings his book with him. he's determined to find the small space safe again. so he sits in the corner with a warm drink and his book propped open on his knee.

it's peaceful. there's quiet music playing throughout the shop, and people head in and out in their own worlds, leaving bob to his own devices. he marks up the pages, using his color-coordinated sticky notes to keep track of where he is.

he's glad he started reading it. it's complicated and makes it brain work overtime, trying to catch up on the words he's lost. dr. fieldstone says having trouble reading and understanding is just one of those things using did to him—and, more importantly, that it's something he can get back. so he picked up a dense fantasy novel, the kind with a million made-up names and places, to start on that.

dr. fieldstone was proud of him for it, and he's proud of himself.

"you're back," he hears you say, and his head shoots up, taking him out of his train of thought abruptly. you're standing across from him with your drink in hand. this time he's sure his heart stops beating. "mind if i sit?"

before he thinks twice about it, he nods, dumbfounded.

"i thought i might've scared you off," you say sheepishly, like it's your fault at all.

"no! no, that was-" he fumbles his way through a halfhearted excuse. the skeptical brow you raise is more than enough proof it doesn't work.

"so... you a fan of this place?" your voice is so gentle, deceptively so.

"my friends are." he neglects to mention that the friends in question are walker and yelena.

"thought you'd just give it a try, then?" you flinch when the words come across more confrontational than you intended. "sorry, i am glad you're back, i don't know why i said that so..." you trail off.

"it's okay," he mumbles back. silence settles like a weight between you again.

"what have you been up to outside of, y'know, the whole super team thing?"

he doesn't tell you he's not really on the team. he can't. if he does, that opens up a conversation about the void, and the thought alone has him sweating. "um, therapy, mostly, and some reading." he points to his book with all it's uneven notes poking out of it and dog-eared pages.

"that's good, man! i'm happy for you."

you're- what? you smile at him with so much honesty it's hard to look at.

"what about you?"

the conversation carries on, and it's easier than he expected. it isn't smooth, not by a long shot, but you're still sitting with him, still inviting more conversation.

small victories, he hears dr. fieldstone say in his head.

he can tell you're still wary around him, your smile flickering just enough any time his past comes up. you dodge any response that might be a reminder of your relationship or those several months you spent together. but you're talking and laughing with him, and it's good. it's really good.

it's so good it scares him. his heart's been pounding since you sat down with him, and he hopes you can't see the sweat that's starting to bead on his brow.

it's been an hour by the time you finally check your phone.

"i'm glad we got to catch up, robert," you say with a smile.

"it's just bob."

"right. bob," you amend, trying the new name out. "i have to go, but... think we could do this again some time?"

—

he finally brings you by the tower after several months of meeting up for coffee—several months filled with what started as carefully navigated conversation, that has now turned into something new. you tell him about your own therapy and the steps you've taken to be better. he eventually tells you about dr. fieldstone and the void. he nearly cried when he did it, but you smiled and nodded like he hadn't told you he was responsible for all of new york reliving their worst memories. you had repeated that same, "i'm happy for you, bob. i'm proud of you for doing all this."

he had been ignoring the growing warmth in his chest every time you spoke to him like he was worth something, too.

you're nearly vibrating with excitement as the tower comes into view. when he brought up learning how to cook, you demanded he show off a little. and if his heart raced when you said you wanted him to cook for you, that's a secret he will forever hold tight to his chest.

"walker's an asshole, but he's sorta nice once you get to know him, and yelena's real sweet. she's just a little scary at first-" he spends the walk from the coffeeshop giving you a run down of the team in case any of them are home when you get there.

"so, yelena, huh?" you ask when he's finished with his spiel.

"yeah, what about her?"

"nothing, just- you're so excited when you talk about her." there's something indecipherable in your voice that almost sounds like jealousy, but bob knows better than that. he knows better than to hope for something that won't happen ever again.

and what's he supposed to say to that? any real reason makes his throat go dry. she helped me through one of the toughest things i've ever been through, and i can't even remember most of it? she's become one of my closest friends and understands me like no one else does? except, maybe, for you.

"she's great, you'll see," is what he settles on, and the way your smile stays stiff tells him that isn't the right response.

the tower is blessedly empty when you get there, which gives you and bob ample time to spread out ingredients around the kitchen. he's settled on a fairly simple pasta dish—comfort food—and you've taken up a seat at the island.

"so, what's it like in the tower?" he can feel your eyes on his back as he sets a pot to boil on the stove. his sleeves are pushed up to his forearms, not daring to go any higher despite the heat from the fire.

"empty, a lot of the time." you hum, and then he adds. "not lonely, though. it's just a big space, y'know? when everyone's back from missions or press or whatever, we all have our spaces. it's kinda nice."

"right, yeah." he hears you stand up, and you're by his side in a flash. he doesn't miss the wary glance you send his arms. "anything i can help with?"

"well, uh, the garlic needs dicing." he pulls out two cutting boards and knives—one set for you to dice the garlic on and another for him to chop up onions.

it's quiet as you both work, and a few weeks ago bob would have been desperately trying to fill up the silence with some kind of conversation—if only to keep from having to suffer through your unresolved history. now, though, it's different. it's almost comfortable.

almost.

he's just too aware of your presence next to him, of the way you glance over occasionally. it has goosebumps dancing across his skin. he pointedly stares down at the onion he's slicing, careful not to cut himself. not that he can really get hurt anymore, he has to remind himself.

"how's that new book you picked up?" you ask abruptly, like you can't stand the quiet anymore.

he does his best to breeze past the thought that maybe it wasn't as comfortable as he thought and launches into an explanation of the world and its characters—explaining why he likes the main character, but the villain is sympathetic, too. he still gets caught up on some of his words, like the word he's searching for is hidden behind some mental block, but you don't seem to care.

you listen to all of it with rapt attention. you ask all the right questions to keep him talking, and nod at the right times.

but there's a part of him that can't quite shake the thought that you're doing this for your benefit somehow, that you don't really care. he thinks about the way you kept looking at him, how your eyes landed on the crook of his elbow.

something cold flares in his chest then.

it's only interrupted by yelena's voice from the door.

"bob! you didn't say you were bringing people over."

"you must be yelena! i'm-" you put a hand out to shake hers, but she brushes past you to get to the fridge. bob notices the way you bristle.

"oh, i know who you are," she says with something akin to a feral grin, picking out a bright can of soda, "bob talks about you often."

"does he?" you raise an eyebrow at him, something unreadable in your gaze.

bob shrugs one shoulder sheepishly. "yelena asks about the coffeeshop a lot." he leaves out the part where yelena asks to check up on him, to make sure that he isn't spiraling about it like he was in the beginning. but he's good now, scarily so.

"it's one of my favorites."

"so you're the reason i ran into him months ago!" the harsh look in your eye fades to kindness with a wide smile to match. "i have to say, i'm pretty glad you showed him that place. you've got good taste."

"so does bob," she replies, giving you a brief once over, and you laugh something awkward and stilted.

bob has never wanted to melt into the floor so badly.

"i'm, uh, making some pasta," he says, before yelena can say anything else stupidly revealing, "if you want some after."

"oh, no," yelena shakes her head in mock deference, "i wouldn't dare disrupt the date. besides, i have a mission tomorrow morning." then, she disappears down the hall.

bob hears you make a quiet, choked off sound by his side, turning quickly to get back to dicing the garlic. his ears burn.

"she's nice." you sound so strained that bob nearly laughs.

"yeah, she's..." he trails off, looking for any decent way of describing her. "yelena," he finishes lamely.

you laugh at that, and something uncomfortable and scalding settles in bob's chest.

"so..." you're leaning against the counter, now, looking at bob, but he can't bring himself to return your gaze. "you talk about me?"

"i mean, yeah, uh, i guess." he very nearly winces at his own fumbling. "yelena knows about... us, and everything. she's curious, i think." and she's determined to meddle with his carefully crafted bubble of sanity he's finally managed with you, apparently. it must be a good sign that he's better, though. he knows yelena, and she wouldn't do that if she still thought he was struggling like he was all those months ago.

"right, of course." he catches your eye for just a moment, and sees that same, frustratingly unreadable expression. "and she's the type to joke about this being a date?"

his ears go hot, and he looks back down to the cutting boards in front of him, making quick work of gathering up the diced garlic and onions and tossing them into a pan with some oil. "i guess so, yeah."

tense silence settles over you, and it makes his skin prickle.

"so, if this were a date-" bob makes a concerted effort not to choke at the thought, "would she still be making jokes?"

"probably. she's like that," he manages, voice thin.

"okay, good to know."

he doesn't know what to do about the softness of your voice, or the racing of his heart, so he focuses his attention back on the stove instead.

—

yelena nearly doesn't come home from the next mission.

there's blood pouring from a wound in her side that the others refuse to tell bob the details of. her steps are uneven, breath too ragged, and bob can't think straight enough to be of use in the med bay. alexei is the one to carry her there, while bob stays frozen in place.

it's one of those missions where valentina makes sure to rub in just how useful bob would be if he was smart, or maybe strong, enough to manage being sentry—and the void. if he had been out there, would she have gotten hurt? could he have stopped a bullet or a knife? why won't anyone else tell him what the hell happened?

"bob," comes bucky's voice from behind him, and a heavy hand presses on his shoulder.

"yeah." his voice is rough, unsteady. it takes effort not to flinch away from bucky's hand.

"this isn't on you." how bucky's able to read him so well, bob will never understand. "she'll be fine."

there's something soothing about the low rumble of bucky's voice that has bob retreating to his room, footfalls heavy on the tiled floor. the image of yelena covered in blood plays through his mind again and again, superimposed over valentina's incessant urging for him to crawl back into the suit.

but he swears, just out of the corner of his eye, that he can see black, wispy tendrils of the void clawing at his skin and the walls.

he sits at the edge of his bed, picking up the thick hardcover on his nightstand. he can't quite read anything on the pages, eyes darting over words that warp and twist in front of him.

dr. fieldstone is only a call away, he knows that. she's on call for a reason, for moments like this where it feels like months of progress slip through his hands like sand. but his phone is already buzzing in his pocket when he pulls it out with numb fingers.

he sees a missed call from you and a series of texts:

we're still on for coffee right?

hello?

it's been an hour where are you

everything ok?

bob can't move. he stays frozen, looking down at the already dimming screen of his phone. shit.

his hands won't cooperate. they won't open his phone, shaking too badly to type in his passcode as nausea climbs up his throat.

shit, shit, shit. he was supposed to meet with you for coffee, like always. before yelena came back with a hole in her side, before his knees locked in the common room, before valentina's whispers of failure wormed their way through his head. before the shadows in the corners of his room had started to grow faces.

he can still make it out to you. it can still be a good day, despite yelena laying in the medical bay or your missed call or bob's rising panic. dr. fieldstone can tell him as much, if his fingers will just dial the number.

but that means months of work with you gone. that means you seeing him like this again, breathing hard and fast, tears burning in his eyes, and the sting of bile in the back of his throat.

—

"robbie?" came your voice from somewhere in the apartment, but bob couldn't lift his head up from the bathroom wall. his body ached. "hey, where are you?"

he let out some kind of garbled sound halfway between a grunt and a sob. you were in the doorway moments later, eyes wide with panic. they softened upon seeing him curled up against the wall, and you were kneeling by his side before he even saw you move.

"hey, you're okay," you muttered, tugging him tight against you. "everything's okay, now."

"n-no, it's- fuck." his hands scrabbled for purchase against your back, like that would keep him from falling further into a spiral. he couldn't speak, couldn't find words or put them in the right order, like they were blended together in a horrible smoothie of vowels and consonants.

it was always like this when he came down. the panic, the incoherence. and you were always patiently waiting for him to start taking deep breaths, to think.

it was two weeks later that you left him in that kitchen.

—

it takes bob a week to respond to you.

he feels guilty, a pit settling in his stomach every time he thinks about it. he didn't mean to ignore you, but with yelena out and valentina's taunts lingering like always, he barely finds his way out of his room at normal hours.

sorry. yelena's hurt

his screen is already dimming when he decides to send another text.

can we still do coffee next week?

you don't text back for hours, not that bob expects you to. you have a life, things to do outside of respond to bob and go to coffee with him. he understands that, even if his chest hurts every time he thinks about you. he knows that your probable anger is justified, and logical, but it doesn't stop the chill at his fingertips that spreads down his spine.

he spends his day frantically doing anything that needs to be done in the tower, buzzing with nerves. he makes quick work of the dishes that have been sitting in the sink and his laundry. he's done laps around the building, exploring nooks he's never seen before—and finds a great empty office with soft chairs, one of them facing the westward window of the room.

his phone goes off somewhere between one task and the next—when he's still buried in the need to do something before he tears his own skin off.

yeah sure

two simple words, and they have his head spinning.

—

street lamps flicker above him as bob walks through manhattan and towards the coffeeshop. it's later than usual for the two of you—at your request. bob's usual exploration of the city typically happens during daylight, when there's an endless hustle of people for him to fade into.

the city at night time is a different sight entirely. the streets aren't quite empty—they never seem to be, here—but they're quieter than the usual bustle of midday. and everything seems to glow. neon signs, street lights, the cozy warmth of indoor lamps in apartment windows. despite it all, it's still loud. there's a group of college students ahead of him laughing with their bags slung over their shoulders, sirens a block over, and the ever-present honking that pervades the city regardless of the hour.

it's nice in a way he can't quite define—certainly nothing like florida, and for that, he's grateful.

he finds you sitting at a table by the window watching people pass by. you've got a warm drink in your hand, and he's not sure you see him approach until you raise an eyebrow at him and gesture to the drink sitting on the other end of the table.

you ordered for him.

"thanks."

"sure." you pause, and bob lets you have it. "what happened last week?" his stomach dips.

"yelena got hurt." he still sees flashes of that dark red staining the floor, the lingering fear that his best friend could have died and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

"yeah, you said."

"she's okay now. it was scary for a few days, though."

"i bet." every response from you is clipped, and it sends him fumbling for more to say.

"yeah, um, it was rough, y'know? i thought i was gonna lose one of my best friends."

"i know the feeling." even you wince at your tone, no doubt remembering the same things that bob is. your eyes scan over his face for a moment, taking in flashes of an expression bob isn't entirely sure he's making. "sorry, i didn't mean-"

"it's okay. i get it."

but that must be the wrong response, because your brow furrows, and you're standing before he can figure out what the right response could be.

"i should go. this was a bad idea."

"no, wait-"

you're out the door before he can finish, but he's already racing after you. he knows he fucked up by ignoring you, that he should've just come clean, but he doesn't want to lose you over it.

"wait, i'm sorry!"

"bob, enough!" you whip around to face him. the glow of a street light illuminates the planes of your face, casting harsh shadows across it. "just, stop, okay? stop apologizing, stop being nice, stop all of this."

"w-what?"

"we can't do this again. i can't do this again." bob's body goes cold. "this was a cute little fantasy while it lasted, but- we won't be good for each other."

"no, you don't-"

"don't tell me i don't understand, or that you're better now. this isn't about you, bob."

but it is. he knows it is.

"jesus, you're doing it again. enough with the self-flagellation. you're terrified when you're around me, and i can't-"

"i'm not!" his outburst is so sudden that it silences you. "i'm not terrified of you."

"you didn't see the look on your face just now."

"listen-" frustration bubbles in his chest something vicious.

"no," you growl, stepping closer to him. "i see the way you are with yelena, and-"

"is that what this is about?"

"no! it's about the fact that i haven't seen you in a t-shirt, and it's the middle of the summer. it's about the fact that we haven't had a single conversation about us without you veering the topic away like it'll kill you just to think about it." the accusatory finger you jab into his chest burns him.

"okay, fine! you scare the shit out of me," he yells over you, and that keeps you both quiet for one long moment. hell, it seems to hush the whole city. "i just don't want to hurt you." his voice is devastatingly quiet.

"i don't want to hurt you, either," you say, voice cracking around every word. silence settles over you like a cloud. it must be an odd sight, the two of you standing, breathing hard, in the middle of a sidewalk in manhattan. "god, i must be crazy for how much i still care about you, huh?" you run a hand over your face, looking away from him like it hurts.

"yeah, probably." he makes a miserable sound that's something like a laugh.

but you join him, and for a brief moment, he dares to think that maybe he can fix this.

"if we do this, it's-" you suck in a sharp breath, "we can't undo history, okay? that's not how this works."

"i- i know, and i'm sorry, i-"

"no, god, bob, i don't need you to apologize. not again. i just-" you look into his eyes and it's horrible and revealing. "we were both shitty, and we can't undo that."

"you didn't-"

"bob, i left you high, panicking, probably on the verge of some crazy, self-mutilating bender in my apartment. you were scared, and i left you there. and you know what's worse? it felt so right. i was so angry, and i said so many terrible things to you when i was like that."

"that's not your fault."

"yes it is." you sigh. "then you disappeared, and the next time i heard about you, it was on the news. i spent years thinking i hurt you, or left you to die, or something."

bob's heart breaks. none of this is your fault, at all, and it never will be.

"i was so scared for you, and i didn't know what to do about it." you pause, like there's more you want to say to him. he doesn't fill the silence, just lets you find the right words. "and then you disappeared again for a week, and i couldn't stop thinking about what happened to you. if- if you were back on some bender, or hurt, and i thought it was because i made that stupid comment about a date."

"i didn't mean to," he says in that same, quiet tone.

"i know."

"i was scared, too." you look at him with eyes so wide his heart hurts. "i was scared for me, too. and you." he whispers it like it's a secret.

"i know, bob, i know." you pull him into a hug so tight he swears he can hear his bones creaking, superpowers be damned. his hands pull you close, grabbing at the material of your shirt. he realizes, now, that his eyes are stinging with unshed tears.

"can we try again? if- if you want you, i mean," he mutters into your neck.

"yeah, i'd like that." you pull away from him, and the hand you put on his cheek is so gentle that it sends his tears over the edge. you don't say a word about them as you wipe them away. "we'll take it slow, yeah?"

—

the sun sets steadily, lighting up bob's room in the warm glow of sunset. he's learned to love slow days at the tower, where there isn't any pressure to do anything but the things he wants. he takes time to read, to catch up on the movies that have come out in recent years, to lay wrapped around you, of all people.

he's still not sure you're entirely real, if he's being honest. historically, he hasn't had the best luck with the way his life unfolds. it's usually one great disaster after the next—even if his ideas seem great at the time. but with you tucked into his side, maybe things can still turn around for him. maybe they already have.

"i'm glad we found each other again." your eyes are impossibly soft when they look at him. "my friends called me crazy when i said you were the love of my life, but look at you now."

bob flushes, and your laugh is light and airy.

"you're beautiful, always have been. but this version of you? yeah, he's even better." your fingers card through his hair and end up on his jaw. "i can't believe i get another shot with you."

you're telling me, he almost says. instead, he just hums, pulling you closer.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds headcanons #marvel x reader #marvel headcanons #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts headcanons #bob reynolds x you #marvel x you #thunderbolts x you #mcu x reader #mcu headcanons #mcu x you

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dracosprettygirl · 2 months ago

Note

we need draco to come and finger us while telling us to read out our study books

۶ৎ revision & recitation

pairing: draco x reader word count: 1.2k words. summary: you were supposed to be studying for your N.E.W.T.s— but draco has other ideas. ever since he caught you reading late at night, he’s been testing just how well you retain information… with his fingers between your legs and your textbook in your lap. warnings: 18+, mdni; sexual tension; suggestive language; flirting; physical touch; profanity; fingering (f!receiving), light d/s tones, study kink, breathy teasing, voice kink, overstimulation, public risk (slytherin dorm), unprotected hand play, praise & filth, oral sex (f!receiving), praise kink, overstimulation, light dominance, possessive!Draco, messy, worshipful energy, lots of filthy talk. draco being a smug menace not proofread, let me know if i missed anything! A/N: i wrote this in the middle of exam szn but completely forgot about it lmao but OMG. THIS. THIS IS THE SOLE THOUGHT THAT GOT ME THROUGH MY LAST COUPLE OF EXAMS I SWEAR TO FUCKING ALL THINGS HOLY.

♫ earned it by the weeknd.

The common room was quiet. Too quiet.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickers of orange across the green velvet furniture and the scattered books. Everyone else was long gone—either asleep or doing Merlin-knows-what in the dorms.

You were curled in your usual corner seat, study book in your lap, ink smudged on your wrist, trying very hard to focus on the chapter about advanced shielding spells.

You didn't even hear him approach.

"Still up?" Draco murmured from behind you, his voice like silk-wrapped sin. "How shockingly responsible of you."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t look up. "Unlike you, some of us actually study."

He hummed. "Oh, I study. I just learn better through... hands-on methods."

You snorted. "You're insufferable."

"Mm, perhaps. But I'm also helpful. Want a break?"

"I need to finish this chapter."

"Then read it to me," he said.

You finally glanced up. He was already lowering himself onto the armrest beside you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, eyes glinting with something wicked. You knew that look. You should’ve said no.

But you didn’t, not even as he slid into the couch behind you, pulling you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

You turned the page, cleared your throat. "‘The Protego Maxima spell is a fortified variant of the standard—’"

"Slower," he said.

You paused. "What?"

"Read it slower."

You frowned, but obliged. "‘The Protego Maxima spell... is a fortified... variant of—’"

You jolted when his fingers brushed your thigh.

"Draco."

"Keep going," he said, voice low, eyes not leaving yours.

"Draco, I'm studying."

"You’re reciting," he corrected. His hand slid higher. "I'm helping you retain information."

"You’re helping me fail my N.E.W.T.s."

"Untrue." His hand slipped beneath your skirt, palm warm against your bare inner thigh. "You're going to remember this chapter forever."

You gasped as his fingers stroked upward—slow, confident—teasing the edge of your underwear.

"Draco—"

"Keep reading."

You swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the page. Your voice trembled. "‘...fortified variant of the standard shielding charm. Unlike Protego, this incantation—’"

He pushed your panties aside and dragged a finger along your already slick pussy.

Your breath caught. He smiled.

"Good girl," he murmured. "I barely touched you."

"I hate you."

"Lie again and I’ll stop."

You whimpered.

"Read," he said.

Your eyes fluttered back to the page. "‘Unlike... unlike Protego, this incantation... casts a more resilient—oh—’"

He slid two fingers inside you.

You bit your lip, hips bucking involuntarily into his touch. His thumb found your clit like he knew exactly where to touch you—which, of course, he did.

"Go on, sweetheart."

Your voice shook. "‘...resilient magical barrier, useful for... defense against... offensive hexes—’"

"You’re dripping," he whispered. "So filthy. Reading about Defense Against The Dark Arts with my fingers buried inside you."

You keened when he curled his fingers, just right, rubbing against that devastating spot inside you.

"Say the next line."

"I—Draco—"

"You can do both. You’re clever, aren’t you?"

You whined, legs shaking.

"Come on, baby. Use that pretty voice. Prove to me how smart you are."

You blinked through the haze, managed: "‘It requires... more concentration... and an—ah—an understanding of spell layering—’"

"Fuck, you're gorgeous like this."

You clenched around him as his fingers moved faster, wetter now, the sound obscene in the silence. His thumb never left your clit, and his mouth was at your ear, murmuring filth between praises.

"Bet you'll come like this, won’t you? Moaning through your revision like a good little thing."

You groaned, tightening around his fingers.

"Tell me what the next paragraph says."

"I can't—"

"You can."

"‘A... a well-cast Protego Maxima—’"

"Good girl."

"‘—can... fuck—can last several minutes—’"

"That’s it. I'm gonna keep you like this," he rasped. "Edge you until you’re dripping down my hand, then make you read it all again."

"Draco—please—"

"You want to come?"

You nodded desperately.

He pressed harder. "Then earn it."

Your voice cracked. "‘...and requires a firm—Draco—command of—’"

"Say it."

"—command of... magical focus."

He growled, low and rough, and kissed the side of your neck. "That's my girl."

And then he sped up, his other hand sneaking up your shirt, fingers toying with your nipple as pushed you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashed through you—sharp and desperate—and you came with a strangled cry against his shoulder, trembling, gasping, hips rocking into his hand.

Draco held you steady, fingers gentle now, mouth at your temple.

"Lesson complete," he whispered as you turned around to face him. "Top marks."

You buried your face in his chest. "I’m never studying again."

He laughed.

"Liar."

You were still trembling in his arms, your breath fogging the curve of Draco’s shoulder. Your thighs felt weak, your mind full of static—shielding spells forever ruined by the feel of his fingers inside you.

He kissed your temple, still cradling you against him.

“Was that too much?” he murmured, lips brushing your hairline.

You shook your head slowly. “No. That was...”

“Devastating?” he offered, smug.

You shot him a half-hearted glare. “You’re so fucking full of yourself.”

“And yet,” he whispered, sliding his hand down your inner thigh, fingertips brushing over your soaked underwear, “you’re still dripping.”

You whimpered at the touch. “Draco—”

He looked at you then, properly—pale hair slightly mussed, his voice velvet-smooth, eyes molten and greedy.

“You think I’m done with you?” he asked, soft and dangerous. “You think I was going to let you just come all over my fingers and go back to revising?”

You blinked. “I—”

He leaned closer, nose brushing yours. “You earned more than that, baby.”

Your pulse jumped.

He kissed you once—hard and deep—then slid down to the floor in front of you, settling between your legs like he belonged there.

“Draco,” you gasped, fingers gripping the edge of the cushion, “what are you doing?”

“Rewarding excellence,” he said with a grin, already dragging your soaked panties down your thighs.

“Someone might come back—”

“Let them.” He pushed your legs apart with deliberate hands, firm and slow. “You want to be quiet, sweetheart, you’ll have to try really hard.”

You didn’t have time to respond—his mouth was already on you.

Warm, firm lips wrapped around your clit as his tongue swept in a slow, devastating stroke. You cried out, one hand flying to his hair, gripping tight.

“Oh my god—Draco—”

He moaned against you, and the vibration made your hips jump.

“Fuck, you taste like sin,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked. “Could spend hours here. Could make you come again and again until you beg me to stop.”

You were panting, trembling, thighs clenching around his shoulders as he buried his face deeper, tongue teasing your entrance, then dragging back up to circle your clit with maddening precision.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured. “Letting me do this to you right here, where anyone could see. You know how pretty you sound when you’re trying not to scream?”

“Draco—please—”

His hands pinned your thighs open as he sucked your clit into his mouth, harder now. Your body jolted with the pressure, another orgasm already building, sharp and desperate.

“I c-can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped, licking into you again, slow and thorough. “Be good for me. Come again.”

You shattered, his words the catalyst.

You bit down a moan into the back of your hand as your entire body clenched around nothing, waves of heat crashing through you. Draco groaned like he could feel it too, never letting up, tongue still moving as you rode it out, hips twitching, chest heaving.

He pulled back only when you gasped his name again, softer this time—worn, needy.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dark and glittering, licking the taste of you off his lips. “So fucking perfect like this.”

You couldn’t even speak.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirked, and leaned forward to kiss your thigh, reverent.

He smiled. “Consider this your extra credit, darling.”

taglist !

@belovedenzo

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy fanfiction #hp fanfic #draco #lil's fics <3

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zorostitties · 4 months ago

Text

Aurora; 11 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 9k

A/N: HELLO WORLD!!! This one came a bit late but here it is!! Honestly this chapter was the trickiest to write bc I didn't know how to still make most of it entertaining. I'm proud of myself for DESTROYING this writer's block with my own hands, though. 😈 With this chapter, we reach the mid point of our story!! Not literally, though, because I don't know how many chapters we still have ahead of us lol BUT we're def in the middle. ANYWAY! Feedback as usual is VERY MUCH appreciated! If you've been reading this fic up until now and never commented, please send me a hi or anything. I'll love to know how you like the story. DON'T BE SHY AROUND ME BABYGIRL 😈 Enjoy <3

⤕ Masterlist ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

Caution was the rule that dominated Olrox’s life.

He had learned from a young age that in order to survive in this world, you have to be cautious about everything. The people you let into your life, your enemies, the alliances you make; before speaking, you should listen. Before forming an opinion, you should take as much information as you could find. Before taking action, you should think about it – plan it, revise it, think about it again and again and again.

Caution was what kept Olrox alive while his city and his people burned. Caution was the reason why Olrox was still alive to this day despite all odds being against him. And caution was what told him he had to leave the Old World soon.

Olrox knew when a war was lost; he had tried to turn the tables in the past, and it led to nothing but pain. He knew better now. Sometimes, retreating is the best course of action.

Erzsebet had retrieved the second half of Sekhmet’s soul. Olrox tried to intervene by giving Alucard an advantage in the run after the mummy; the son of Dracula had failed to take it. There was nothing he could do anymore, not now that Europe became Sekhmet’s territory.

Olrox had to be cautious for the sake of his inner voice – even more than usual. Erzsebet was still no goddess, but she had managed to summon the soul of one back to the land of the living… and that was a clear commandment for him to stay away.

Which is why Olrox was shocked at himself when he left the docks and flew towards Paris.

Every instinct in him was yelling at him to turn back. Her stench was worse than ever; he could feel her power from miles and miles away. It made the tiny hairs in his arms raise, made him feel genuine repulse. He shouldn’t be anywhere near her. That wasn’t fear or cowardice as he knew Mizrak had assumed. That wasn’t even just his caution.

No… that was something that ran deep within Olrox – in his body, his spirit and his soul.

It was a law he shouldn’t break.

Preys shouldn’t sleep around predators. Earth shouldn’t stop spinning. Rain shouldn’t go upwards. Fish shouldn’t be out of the water.

A god shouldn’t be anywhere near another god.

That is why Olrox had been so cautious ever since the night Tenochtitlan burned. He had to take care for something other than his life – his inner voice.

But Olrox was marching towards Paris anyway, and even though he knew the rules better than anyone else, he couldn’t stop himself.

Perhaps because a part of him never got to terms with what happened to his people, all these centuries ago. Perhaps because, although he promised himself to never join any cause that wouldn’t benefit him only, he never got over the fact that he had failed more than once to fight for justice.

Or perhaps because Mizrak’s saddened brown eyes didn’t leave his mind for a second.

And spend a lifetime running from her? No.

This was Mizrak’s response to Olrox’s invite to come to the New World with him. Not because he didn’t want to go; but because he didn’t want to live a life hiding from Erzsebet.

And perhaps that was enough of a reason for Olrox to want to defeat her.

The closer he got to Paris, the more his heart tightened. He felt his limbs get weaker, a strange ill sensation set in his guts. He’d never felt the presence of another god so strongly like that; before, Erzsebet was just feeding off Sekhmet’s power. Now that she had settled another half of the deity’s soul, things got entirely different. Much more complicated.

The greater force overwhelms the weakest. Erzsebet-Sekhmet had claimed territory over the entirety of Paris, even if she did it unknowingly. It made things even harder to navigate.

But Olrox remembered that Mizrak, a simple human being, was somewhere down there fighting, so he shouldn’t make excuses.

Even so – he had to be careful. Facing Erzsebet directly would be unwise.

Then, he decided to focus on Drolta.

He never liked her. She reminded him of the Spanish Christians too much. Her obsession disgusted him. But he had to admit that she was strong – much more now in this horrendous form.

So Olrox wouldn’t be able to face her in his usual form, too.

The transformation was longer than he expected, took too much energy from him; even in this form, he wouldn’t be able to give his all. Sekhmet’s presence overwhelmed him. But Olrox pushed forward anyway until he no longer resembled a man, but a giant, glorious winged snake in the night sky.

He came in time to save Alucard from a certain strike.

Purple lightnings of pure power slashed the sky.

Drolta knew what she was dealing with immediately.

She groaned, wrapping her arm around her own stomach for a moment – the exact spot where the power jolt hit her – before taking flight once again. She narrowed her eyes and took a defensive position.

“Quetzalcoatl,” She hissed in a mix of surprise, anger and pain. “I should’ve known you were just a snake!”

Olrox attacked again.

The sky got brightened up in eerie purple flashes as their battle unraveled above the ceilings of Paris. Drolta was strong – much stronger than a regular night creature, but her previous fight with Alucard had taken a toll on her. Meanwhile, Olrox was fighting with half of his usual strength; being in Sekhmet’s territory weakened him deeply. In fact, transmuting into the Quetzalcoatl form was something he shouldn’t even be doing, but fighting in his normal form against her would be suicide.

The scales were evenly balanced in this fight.

Drolta slashed his body with her sharp nails – so strong that they could pierce even through his usually impenetrable scale armor, making him snarl in pain. Olrox sent more and more lightnings in her direction. She flew in zigzag, trying to avoid being hit, and every time one missed, it destroyed entire chunks of buildings; any time it hit, Drolta yelled in agony.

Olrox understood Alucard’s strategy: by keeping Erzsebet and Drolta apart, they’d have double chances to defeat them. He knew some magicians – including the Belmont boy – were somewhere down there fighting Sekhmet’s vessel. All he had to do was keep her busy while they worked, even though Olrox didn’t know how much longer he could take…

His inner voice was unsettled; he could feel His discomfort, how it tugged at the corners of his consciousness, making him lose focus for a second. Back away, He ordered Olrox; Go away. Take distance. You must not be near them. You must not.

Yes, Olrox knew that; he knew what he was doing was foolish and Olrox didn’t like to be foolish–

Wait.

Near... them?

But Sekhmet was the only deity there–

His eyes passed rapidly by the city’s cathedral, meters and meters away from where he was. There… there was a figure laid in front of its central doors.

And at that moment, the world stopped.

Nothing else mattered. His inner voice. Drolta or Erzsebet or Sekhmet. His caution.

None of that mattered anymore because it was Mizrak and he was bleeding to death.

A desperate snarl erupted from his throat as Olrox flew in his direction, leaving an injured and tired Drolta behind. He crossed the streets at an unnerving pace, way too fast for a creature so big, making humans down there gasp and run, not knowing if this was another enemy.

Olrox didn’t care about any of them. He got close to the ground, his dragon form dissolving in a black cloud until what resurfaced was a desperate man running towards Notre Dame.

As soon as he got a good look at Mizrak, his heart dropped.

The black haired monk bled from the stomach – he had been pierced. He was laying on the floor, his fist tightened against the wound; his breathing was shallow, his lips already had a nauseating blue color. Olrox knelt down by his side and immediately took him in his arms. Mizrak was getting cold.

This can’t be happening. It can’t be.

Mizrak, who was nothing but fair and virtuous and kind; Mizrak, who weeped at the death of unknown people and put his life on the line for them, even if he was just a fragile human. Mizrak, who made Olrox remember the best mankind had to offer.

And he was dying.

Olrox ripped some of Mizrak’s cape and pressed it against the wound to stanch the bleeding; he gently tapped his face, called his name a few times. To his relief, Mizrak opened his eyes – but there wasn’t much strength to him. His olive skin was sickeningly pale.

Mizrak looked confused, as if his sight was out of focus. Then, Olrox saw the moment his pupils dilated almost imperceptibly.

“Ol...rox?” He managed to speak somehow – his voice was but a ragged, painful breath.

“Shhh. Don’t speak.” The vampire shushed him softly before, with the utmost care, helping him to sit. Mizrak groaned in pain. Cold fear crept up Olrox’s body; he had already lost way too much blood. Medicine wouldn’t save him, and as far as Olrox knew, there weren’t any healers powerful enough to help in France…

It was then that Olrox realized that the cold he felt had nothing to do with fear.

His eyes widened.

The air smelled of coal and sulfur.

He looked behind his shoulder in time to see the tall shadow approaching.

Olrox brought Mizrak closer to him protectively. The entity grinned at them, trembling in what could be interpreted as excitement. At that moment, Olrox damned that fucking Abbot for the hundredth time for dragging Mizrak into all this.

“Old Man Coyote,” Olrox hissed. “He’s not for you.”

His inner voice got agitated, which surprised Olrox. He has been in the presence of this demon before, and He didn’t show much of a reaction… what had changed?

The shadow laughed mockingly – it was like multiple voices overlapping – before disappearing once again.

He had to take Mizrak out of there as soon as possible.

His original plan was to just teleport both of them out of there, but fuck – Olrox had exhausted himself with Drolta; the little strength he still had was being suppressed by Sekhmet’s presence. Olrox helped the monk get to his feet, putting Mizrak’s arm over his own shoulders. Olrox didn’t know how damaged his organs were, so he had to be delicate. Slowly, Olrox started to walk out of there.

“We’re not far from a safe place,” Olrox explained. “Hold on a little longer.”

Mizrak whimpered in response. His head was hanging low, he panted with difficulty. It just made Olrox feel even more desperate.

Then, out of nowhere, the monk raised his head.

A new emotion clouded his face.

“Olrox…” he called in a weak voice again. The vampire shushed him.

“Save it. Everything will be okay.” He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Mizrak or himself. The monk, however, got more and more agitated.

“No… Olrox… y-you have to…”

“Don’t exhaust yourself.”

Mizrak groaned again – but this time, it sounded more like frustration.

He looked over his shoulder; his eyes widened.

Using the little strength he still had, Mizrak put the entire weight of his body on Olrox’s side – making him lose his balance and stumble closer to the sidewalk.

“What–?” Olrox tried to say.

He had no time.

Mizrak got away from Olrox’s grip in a surprisingly swift movement and pushed him into an alley on their left.

The vampire fell on the cobblestones, completely confused; why did he do that? Did he not want to be saved? Was he disgusted of him–?

Light.

It came out of nowhere. It was blinding. It brightened up the whole sky.

Olrox watched with widened eyes as the avenue he was standing in a second ago was completely engulfed in light. He thought it was an explosion at first, but no boom or shockwave came. He felt his stomach drop, his fingertips shake.

Mizrak stood under the light with closed eyes.

Then, Olrox started to hear the screams.

They came from all directions, screams of the purest agony. Screams of death.

Things slowly made sense in his mind.

Olrox approached the corner of the alley. Hesitantly, he stretched his arm towards that light. His fingertips burned. He immediately flinched away.

That was sunlight, even though the sun itself was still hidden behind the eclipse.

He retreated and gazed at Mizrak in pure shock.

Mizrak… somehow, he knew that was going to happen. At the last minute, he pushed Olrox into that alley; it was between two tall buildings, reigned by shadows. Sunlight wouldn’t reach it from the position it was coming from.

That fragile human was on the verge of death himself, and even so, he saved Olrox’s life.

His heart tightened.

After no more than two minutes, the light diminished. Olrox didn’t care to learn where that came from, who caused it, and why it made his stomach drop like that. All he cared about was taking Mizrak in his arms again before he could fall. All he cared about was bringing Mizrak closer to him, cradling him, caressing his face.

Weakly, the monk put his gloved hand over Olrox’s.

He was visibly in so much pain. Even so, Mizrak’s half lidded eyes were full of determination and… care.

He took a deep, difficult breath before speaking.

“F-Fight.” Mizrak whispered. “For m-me.”

Olrox’s heart tightened even more.

The vampire never expected he’d find someone like this in the Old World. He never expected that this painful sweetness would take control of his actions again, of his sanity, overwhelming everything else – his usual caution, his selfishness, even his inner voice.

Mizrak represented everything Olrox loved about humanity.

So, if this fragile human asked him to fight – he would.

Olrox brought their faces closer to each other’s. He pressed his lips over Mizrak’s softly; his hand caressed the monk’s face gently. It was a chaste kiss – much different from all the kisses filled with passion and heat and anger they had shared. And yet, that simple press of lips ignited fire through Olrox’s soul much more than anything they’d done to each other before.

He could feel that something was happening not far from there. An explosion of red power that made him feel even more ill. That didn’t matter. Olrox just wanted keep closer to Mizrak for a second more.

Finally, he delicately laid Mizrak on the floor and got up. If he wanted to save the monk, he’d have to act fast; each wasted minute could cost Mizrak’s life.

Olrox was weakened. Olrox’s inner voice kept telling him to run away. He ignored all that and marched towards battle once more.

That day, Mizrak would lose his mortal life. And yet – he got something far more precious, far more powerful in return.

That day, Mizrak gained the heart of a god.

Drolta was tired.

Tired of the incompetence around her. Tired of these humans. Tired of waiting. She had waited for over a thousand years to awaken her goddess; century after century, she had roamed the Earth after a suitable vessel. Her only goal was to bring Sekhmet back. Everything she did was to comply with her duty as a High Priestess.

And she was tired of Erzsebet.

She took care of this woman for almost two centuries; fed her with her goddess’ holy blood, trained her, pampered her. Drolta killed thousands for Erzsebet’s sake. Drolta made a pact with a demon for Erzsebet’s sake.

And now that she had finally retrieved Sekhmet’s Ba after centuries of searching, how did Erzsebet repay her?

By being humiliated by a bunch of humans.

Drolta was tired.

So when she finally bit Erzsebet’s neck and sucked her blood, she felt nothing. There was a time when maybe, maybe, Drolta felt some sort of affection for her. Not anymore. Not now that she had ashamed and failed her.

This power belonged to her, after all. It had always belonged to her.

Drolta felt a wave of pure power penetrate her skin, her bones, her muscles, every centimeter of her body. It hurt like she was being pierced by a million needles, like she was being chewed by the biggest crocodiles of the Nile. An animalistic growl erupted from her throat; red energy revolved her, cloistered her, pierced her, clacking the air. The air got hotter than the midday sun in the Sahara. Her leathery skin smoked.

Pure agony was what her body felt; her mind, however, was enlightened – as if such excruciating pain broke the boundaries of consciousness.

So much power. It was as if she could see and hear everything at the same time, but all made sense; she could feel the weight of a spirit much, much higher than her permeate her mind. A spirit filled with anger and hate and blood thirst.

It almost felt like an inner voice, commanding her to attack.

Sekhmet, the Goddess of War; She Who Mauls.

Maniacal laughter escaped past her lips. The Belmont boy, knelt on the floor whilst holding the woman that carried a whisp of Sekhmet’s soul, looked at her with widened eyes. Yes; feel scared, be frightened, for I have returned. She was tired of him, too. Drolta had faced Belmonts in the past and she hated all of them throughout history. It was time for that clan to end.

But most of all – that girl he was holding had to die. Who did she think she was to get anywhere near Sekhmet’s Akh? How dare she disturb her goddess’ soul like that? She didn’t know what Sekhmet needed, what she represented. She had no right to be anywhere near her.

After these two, she’d go after that snake. Drolta never trusted Olrox enough, but she didn’t think he’d have the guts to actually face her… and most of all – she didn’t know what lied within him. You must destroy them, her inner voice growled in a wrathful female tone that did not belong to her.

The son of Dracula was next in line. She was also sick of him. He had killed her once, and she’d have her revenge. Drolta would not give him another chance to escape.

And lastly…

Ruby.

She had to die.

It was all Erzsebet’s incompetence, Drolta knew; all she had to do was keep that girl locked and away from the world, but she obviously failed. Drolta spent so long breaking into her, making her submissive – and it all went to waste in less than a week. Now, things were out of control. Ruby had obliterated most of her army. Ruby was remembering, and she shouldn’t remember anything.

But Erzsebet was dead and Drolta had retrieved Sekhmet’s power, so there was no use in keeping her alive anymore. It was time to fulfill her part on the pact and finally get freed of it.

Yes. Everything was within reach. Everything. There was nothing she couldn’t do; there was nothing she couldn’t achieve; there was no one powerful enough to stop her. I am Sekhmet, Goddess of War, her inner voice growled. And I want my revenge against the humans who have wronged me.

Drolta would be the harbinger of this revenge.

She raised her right arm, ready to slash the Belmont boy with her sharp nails–

And it was stopped midway.

It couldn’t be. Not him again.

Alucard stood between the couple and her, halting her attack with his long sword. That… that half-breed bastard was putting himself in the way again. She couldn’t stand looking at his face anymore, she’d took her time to kill him and she’d make it as painful as possible–

Drolta felt a shiver run down her spine.

A shiver?!

No. That couldn’t be possible… she was the Goddess of War and Revenge. She was more powerful than anyone on Earth. Nothing should be able to make her shiver.

Alucard let a raspy, angry scream. It was the first time he let any sort of extreme reaction in all the times they fought. The air around him became different. Drolta… Drolta could see things she couldn’t before. There was a red aura growing around him as rapidly as flames on hay.

His sclera got red.

And at that moment, Drolta knew why she felt a shiver.

His power and his aura and his eyes made her body remember the most powerful creature who had walked this Earth, the only man who ever made her feel real fear, the only man who ever made her obey.

Drolta shouldn’t have forgotten – but that was the son of Dracula.

He didn’t get turned into a vampire, he was born as one. The Vampire King’s masterpiece; the perfect alchemical aberration.

And Drolta realized with anger that during all of their fights until that moment, Alucard wasn’t giving his all.

She growled back at him and tried to attack with her left arm. Alucard deflected it and pushed her back with his sword. No. No one should be able to push her back. She was… she was stronger than anyone else, wasn’t she?!

Drolta launched herself towards him again – this time, he wouldn’t escape. Alucard’s face was distorted in a scowl of anger now. He pulled his cape to cover his body and teleported in a beam of yellow light – only to appear behind her.

She had time to turn back and see as Alucard summoned a giant ball of pure fire and lava in her direction.

Drolta stopped it with her bare hands, but that thing kept pushing and pushing and pushing with the force of thousands of tons; she grunted with the effort, felt the ground beneath her crack, the air get so hot that it boiled the skin of her palms. No, she wouldn’t be defeated. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

Drolta yelled when she finally managed to kick that thing away in the Belmont boy’s direction. Unfortunately, he deflected it somehow.

For the first time, she focused her gaze on him again.

The Belmont boy walked towards her, took his whip in his hands; a serious, stone hard expression covered his features. She could see it, too – the blue aura growing around him, invisible to the human eye. He’d never transpired as much power as in that moment. Shouldn’t he be at least tired after fighting against Erzsebet?

The girl behind him, the one that carried a whisp of Sekhmet’s soul…

Mortals work better when they are in their best feelings.

Love is extremely powerful in magical terms.

Drolta found all that pathetic.

Another maniacal laughter erupted from her throat as both men got ready to fight her: Alucard’s sword embedded in red fire, the Belmont boy’s whip embedded in blue. Pathetic is what both of them were. All of them were pathetic – these humans soldiers, the weak vampires that died in battle, Erzsebet, this disgusting city. They all would soon be trembling under her feet; it’s where every living creature deserved to be. Fear is what would unite this world. Fear would be her crown.

They attacked.

Drolta used her hair tentacles to deflect them. Each tentacle had an extremely sharp blade on their tips; they were able to cut through concrete and cobblestones with ease as they whipped around violently. Perhaps Alucard would be able to heal from such injuries, but the human boy wouldn’t – so she focused mostly on him.

Both men immediately understood her tactic.

They fought in synchronicity as if they were connected somehow, attacking while protecting each other. The Belmont snapped his whip around him, twirled mid air to create a field of protection around his body while pushing her tentacles away; whenever one got too dangerously close, Alucard cut them. Drolta was able to regenerate the tentacles fast with her new powers, but it still burned whenever one of them were able to slash her.

That wasn’t going how she wanted it.

Drolta used her nails to try to cut them, her legs to try to kick them, her tentacles to try to strangle them; they always somehow got away. The Belmont summoned fire and ice and lightning against her, somehow piercing through her thick skin; the red flames of Alucard’s sword burned her and his sheer swordsmanship confused her, forced her to be on her toes the entire time. The vampire made sure to tank her heaviest blows so the Belmont could attack with his magic freely.

Alucard jiggled from side to side in the blink of an eye – so fast that even her sharp senses failed to follow. Drolta couldn’t expect where his next attack would come from; his sword twirled in the air creating arches of death, trying to reach for her neck before falling in the hands of its owner again. He was even faster now compared to their previous fights, even more brutal, his precision heightened to two hundred percent.

Excruciating pain.

Drota widened her eyes. Blood spilled from her right shoulder and hair tentacles.

She was so focused on Alucard that she didn’t see when the Belmont sent a sharp ice shuriken wrapped in electricity her way.

Alucard didn’t give her time to recover.

He pushed her up towards the sky – up, up, up, each push more and more violent; his attacks came from all sides, his sword slashing and piercing her leathery skin, each cut deeper than the other. Alucard’s strikes were so fast and so intense and so disorienting and so painful that Drolta couldn’t help but stop for a moment to try to protect her body with her arms and tentacles; he didn’t give her any opening.

Enough!

Drolta screamed in both anger and pain. She whipped all of her tentacles towards him at the same time, finally managing to push him; Alucard fell many meters away back to the ground, creating a crater where he hit.

She smiled. There’s no way he didn’t get slashed by her tentacles this time–

The whip tangled around her neck.

Drolta didn’t have time to prepare for the kick on her face the Belmont struck, propelled by his fire magic. He kicked again, punched her head, kicked again; Drolta growled, feeling rage fill her more and more. That human scum had the audacity to hit her with his bare hands?!

She clasped her hands together and hammered him down to the ground. The boy hit the cobblestones on his back, blood spilled from his lips. Drolta grinned at his immobile figure; she made her nails grow until they were as long as a blade before flapping her wings and flying down on a beeline towards him. Oh, she’d pierce through his chest. She’d take pleasure in ripping his heart out with him still alive.

Her nails were centimeters away from his body…

And then, she couldn’t feel her left hand anymore.

Drolta had forgotten about the ice shuriken he made earlier.

It cut her entire hand off.

She yelled in agonizing pain and stumbled away, holding the severed arm close to her chest. He… he cut her hand off. That fucking human boy cut her hand off.

Anger as red as the sky above her rose from her heart.

Her body got once again wrapped in energy. Crimson electricity clacked around her; her tentacles moved around frenetically like angry snakes. No. That couldn’t be happening. She had achieved the power she sought for over a thousand years. These two couldn’t be offering her enough of a challenge… that didn’t make sense.

Her inner voice growled.

Will you continue playing around with my power like this?

Drolta was tired.

She turned to face them at the exact moment they would attack together.

Time stopped.

Drolta gazed at both men. They were frozen in the air centimeters away from her. They had painful expressions. She could see them struggling to break away from her spell.

The woman laughed and straightened her posture. She lifted her severed arm. After focusing a bit more energy there, it regenerated in the blink of an eye; bone, muscle, veins, flesh and skin rebuilding a new hand in seconds, much faster than Ruby’s healing. Her inner voice was right. She’d already given these two insects enough time to play around. She’d been fighting with what she knew; using her body and strength. But… that was only the surface of what a goddess could do.

Drolta focused on this new power, letting her heightened consciousness travel through it. The larger spirit that now inhabited her body had an infinite reservoir of power. So, so much power; so much energy. The possibilities of what she could do were infinite. They went much beyond just making her skin thicker, her muscles bigger or her tentacles sharper.

It didn’t matter that her opponents were the son of Dracula and this Belmont. Alucard wasn’t Dracula himself, he only had a fraction of his father’s power. And the Belmont… he was just a human magician.

Her newly grown hand got wrapped in pure energy.

She grinned and pointed her hand towards Alucard.

He had to go first. Not only because she despised him, but because he was hindering her attacks the most, confusing her, getting in the way and acting as a shield for the human boy.

Drolta unleashed a wave of red energy his way.

It blew on his face. Alucard groaned in pain as he was sent flying back meters and meters away, hitting a building on his way – destroying half of it – before hitting the floor the same way he did to her earlier at the Notre Dame.

And then – it was just her and the Belmont boy, frozen in time in front of her.

Drolta chuckled with cruelty again. He didn’t have his vampire shield anymore. That wave of energy would tear him to pieces.

Slowly, she aimed her hand at him.

For every suffering, a wisdom is gained, she thought. Maybe if this fight hadn’t happened, Drolta wouldn’t have realized the true extension of her new powers. For that, she was grateful. A goddess shouldn’t fight like a mortal. Now, she knew how to obliterate this city with a flick of fingers. After the Belmont boy was done – and after she beheaded Alucard; she knew that wasn’t enough to kill him – she would have no enemies powerful enough to face her anymore…

Her thoughts got interrupted by a punch.

Drolta got dizzy for a moment.

What?!

The Belmont boy – he broke away from her freezing spell and landed his fiery fist on her face.

Love is extremely powerful in magical terms.

Drolta growled. She hated him. She hated him. She HATED him! He had to die. He was going to die right now. She raised her hand wrapped in power again to annihilate him – there was no way this human boy would survive her next attack–

The next second – all her power was gone.

That girl the Belmont put his life on the line to protect… she was floating in front of Drolta, holding her wrist with her much smaller hand.

And yet, when she squeezed Drolta’s wrist, she yelled in pain and fell to her knees.

Drolta looked deep within that girl’s eyes. They were golden, her irises were vertical like a feline’s. Her grip was hotter than Alucard’s lava ball; her expression was ferocious like a lioness’.

At that moment, Drolta finally understood.

That girl wasn’t stealing her goddess’ power. That girl… somehow she did what not even Erzsebet was able to do.

She became an avatar.

Drolta wasn’t looking at a human girl. Drolta was looking straight into the eyes of Sekhmet.

She shivered.

A part of Drolta wanted to smile, wanted to bow. Finally… after a thousand years, after uncountable nights of prayers, after sweat and blood and tears dropped, she stood in front of her goddess. The one she always fought for. The one who possessed her utmost loyalty and adoration. The one whom Drolta went to the ends of the world for; the one whom Drolta went as far as making a pact with a demon for her sake.

Drolta had fantasized of this moment many times before… the day she’d finally have Sekhmet walk on Earth again; and, if she died trying, the moment her goddess would meet her with open arms at the duat, after Anubis had weighed her heart as righteous and deserving of eternal rest.

But that was not how Sekhmet was looking at her at that moment.

Her golden eyes were clouded by rage and disapproval.

And, for the first time since her mortal days, Drolta felt shame.

“I am Sekhmet!” Her goddess growled as a golden aura grew around her like flames. “Guardian of the Dawn, Child of the Sun, Mistress of Healing!”

Drolta’s entire body shook in pain.

“I did this for you!” Drolta claimed. “All of this! I did it for you!”

“Made yourself into this unclean thing!” Sekhmet vociferated – and, as she spoke, Drolta realized that her inner voice was repeating the same words in unison; she felt as the soul within her and Sekhmet in front of her connected their consciousnesses into a single one. “Filled my temple with atrocities! Fed my soul to a disgusting walking corpse!”

Tears welled up Drolta’s eyes. Her chin trembled.

“So that you could live again!” She tried again; her goddess had to understand, she had to… “I-I thought it was what you wanted! I thought it was what you wanted!”

“It is time to balance the scales!” Sekhmet declared.

At that moment, reality hit Drolta.

Her beloved goddess. The one she had worshiped and served her entire life, from her mortal days to her vampire days to her reborn form…

Sekhmet was disappointed at her.

No. It was more than that.

Sekhmet despised her.

Tears dripped down Drolta’s cheeks.

“I thought it was what you wanted…” she whispered one last time. Pain much stronger than any physical attack slashed through her soul.

In less than a minute, Drolta’s determination was gone.

Her existence was pointless.

She did not fight as Sekhmet started to pull her power – her souls – back from Drolta’s body. She yelled in pain until her throat ached. She yelled for all the years gone to waste. She yelled as she felt her heart breaking into a million pieces.

Drolta weeped for the only real love she ever had as it turned its back on her, forever.

Alucard hadn’t completely healed the wound in his chest when Annette– Sekhmet intervened in the fight.

He almost sighed in relief when she did. He barely made it out alive of Drolta’s last attack; Richter wouldn’t have stood a chance. He stayed knelt on the floor holding his chest. Surprisingly, her attack made a lot of internal damage, but his skin wasn’t pierced – which didn’t mean he didn’t get hurt or wasn’t in pain.

But that pain could wait for now.

Because Richter was trying to reach Annette’s body as Sekhmet pulled her souls back.

Both of them – Annette and Drolta – were involved in a gigantic golden aura, as bright and as hot as the sun. Her power was jarring, he could feel it with every centimeter of his body. Richter made his way towards Annette with difficulty; he covered his arms with a layer of ice to try to lessen the burns before hugging her from behind.

A part of Alucard – the methodical part – was annoyed that this boy was intervening in the process. That was their only chance of putting Sekhmet’s souls where they belonged: out of anyone’s reach.

But Alucard’s mortal heart spoke much, much louder this time.

Because Richter was just a boy. Much stronger than the average human, carrying the heavy Belmont crest on his back with the responsibilities it possessed, one of the few mortals on Earth who could actually be a threat to a goddess.

But he was still just a boy in the end.

And like all Belmonts, he carried a heart too big, too sincere. It was a burden and a blessing at the same time. His heart made him experience the world in more intense ways than any other human Alucard ever met.

Richter was a Belmont. Like Juste, like his grandfather, his great-grandfather… like Simon. Like Trevor.

And on top of that, Richter was in love – and Annette could die at that moment, be consumed by Sekhmet’s power. This boy with a heart too big wouldn’t know what to do if he lost the one he loved the most.

So Alucard had to step in before he’d do something he would regret.

“Richter. My friend.” He called softly, resting his hand on the boy’s back, right over the Belmont crest.

Richter looked at Alucard with round blue eyes – scared blue eyes. I don’t care if we live in eternal fucking darkness, just leave Annette alone!, are the words that had just left Richter’s mouth. Alucard knew Richter didn’t process the true gravity of these statements, but at the heat of the moment, anything could become true.

He needed someone to be the voice of reason.

Alucard looked at him with empathy and quiet sadness.

“You know that’s not what she’d want.”

Richter gulped.

He tightened his eyes for a moment before finally – hesitantly – letting go of Annette.

Both men stepped back.

The golden aura between Annette and Drolta got stronger, more volatile. Tears of blood dripped down Annette’s eyes; Drolta screamed in pain like a hurt animal. The light got so strong that they had to protect their eyes.

Finally, with a last agonizing yell, that volatile aura exploded.

A shockwave hit them. Annette let go of Drolta’s wrist, each falling in a different direction; Richter rushed to catch her body before she could hit the floor.

Sekhmet’s presence was in this world no more.

Alucard would’ve sighed in relief if Annette weren’t in such a critical condition.

Richter was knelt on the floor while holding the girl in his arms. She was unresponsive. Richter called her over and over again, on the verge of tears; the scene made Alucard feel as if a cold hand gripped his heart.

He stood at some distance to give them space. In moments like this, Alucard wished he’d be fit to summon healing – it was one of the rarest forms of magic in existence. Healing someone else takes an absurd amount of energy… and this form of magic is not part of a vampire’s existence.

So there was nothing he could do at that moment but watch.

Richter was so young... he shouldn’t have to experience this type of loss so soon, especially when he didn’t even have the chance to confess his true (obvious) feelings.

You said you’d be here; make her feel it’s true. That she can always come back to you.

These were the words Alucard told him.

So, with a weak, trembling voice, Richter started his whispered confession.

His blue eyes were drowning in tears, but he still tried to sound firm as he described quietly the moment they first met. It even felt wrong for Alucard to witness this moment of fragility; he’d rather not be there at that moment, but he couldn’t walk away when they weren’t sure if their enemies were really gone. So Alucard chose to stand away from his field of view, but still protectively close. Richter held her gently.

“I can’t imagine the world without you, Annette. Any of it,” his voice was but a hopeful whisper. “Not hearing your voice, not seeing you roll your eyes at me, not waking up to know that whatever happens, somewhere, you are there. Please… don’t leave me. Please.”

Alucard tightened his lips. He felt genuine sadness at the boy’s heartfelt words.

...Something changed.

Annette’s body started to shine. Richter widened his eyes, startled.

But that shine was very brief this time. When it disappeared, Annette was herself again; her usual clothes were back, her hair was short again.

Alucard held his breath in anticipation.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. They were no longer soulless, her pupils weren’t vertical anymore… just her usual brown and round eyes.

“...You smell of burning,” she said in a weak, raspy voice.

Richter gasped. Fear immediately left his gaze, being replaced by utmost relief and joy. He chuckled and sighed. “Y-Yeah, that would be you… you’re like holding burning coals.”

Alucard watched with a small, serene smile while they hugged each other and cried.

He knew that feeling very well. Being so deeply in love with someone that your heart aches for them. Caring so much about someone that being apart brings genuine suffering. Sharing their sadness, their happiness, wanting to support them at every moment, knowing them intimately – and receiving this same intensity back.

Alucard had fallen in love countless times during his life… but it’s been a long time since he let himself feel it to the fullest. He decided to shroud his heart after so much pain, so much longing. At the slightest sign that he was beginning to develop feelings for someone, he’d immediately distance himself. He couldn’t bear going through anything like that anymore.

But at that moment, he realized something.

He’d been running away from pain and longing for so long that he had forgotten how love can be… sweet.

Was… was Alucard ready to feel it at its full intensity one more time?

Would his heart be strong enough to bear this again?

Did he even have the right to feel it, especially considering who this involved? What if the other end was too fragile to take him? Would Alucard take the pain of allowing himself to feel something like this again, only to have it ripped away from him like so many times in the past?

Would it be fair for him and for her?

Alucard didn’t know.

And his thoughts came to a halt when an anguished scream slashed the air.

Drolta.

She held her head, her breathing was irregular… for a second, she looked absolutely lost – almost like a child throwing a tantrum.

Drolta gazed at a confused Annette with pure hatred.

Then – Alucard saw the exact second she realized something.

Her eyes widened. Her back stiffened.

Alucard saw everything that unraveled in the next few seconds in slow motion.

Drolta turned her head to the northeast. At first, the vampire thought she wanted to flee – she was obviously weakened now; she had no power source, no army and no chances of winning. Of course, he would never let her go; his hand already gripped the hilt of the sword.

But then, Alucard saw her expression. The aggressiveness. The hurry in her gaze.

Those were not the eyes of someone planning to run away; they didn’t reflect defeat. That was not the gaze of a desperate woman wanting to go down fighting.

That was the gaze of a woman who had a plan.

And when she extended her giant wings and took flight, Alucard realized.

Notre Dame was at northeast.

He unsheathed his sword and flew.

Alucard hadn’t healed his wound completely; his brusque movement sent jolts of pain through his body. But at that moment, that didn’t matter – nothing else mattered, his mind went completely blank. Because even though Erzsebet was dead and Drolta was weakened and most certainly defeated, she still wanted to retrieve Ruby.

He would never let that happen.

They clashed mid air.

Drolta’s reflexes were slower now. Though she already sensed Alucard behind her, she couldn’t defend herself when he threw a heavy blow against her – sending her straight to the ground again not far from where they stood initially. A crater opened where her body hit, rising a cloud of smoke and debris.

She didn’t even have time to recover. Alucard was already upon her.

Both of them were slower, their limbs heavier, their powers weakened – but none of them wanted to lose. Alucard noticed that by Drolta’s fighting style, she was more worried in brushing him away than actually killing him. Her movements showed urgency. In fact, she looked almost desperate. Alucard was in a hurry, too; he didn’t know if Richter could still fight, considering the amount of blows he took, and Annette didn’t look like she could fight at that moment.

What was her plan? Why did she still want to get to Ruby? Sekhmet had completely vanished, the eclipse was still up in the sky – so what use would Ruby have? That couldn’t be just revenge. Drolta might’ve been defeated, but she would never lash out uselessly like this.

These answers would stay unanswered because Alucard needed to kill her.

He was tired of that woman, of the destruction she had caused, of the pain she inflicted. He’d been tracking her for five years – he needed to finish her right then and right there, he needed to end this chapter of his life. If Drolta staying alive meant Ruby would still be in danger, then there were no questions to be asked. She had to go – and she had to go now.

But Drolta was as determined as him.

She elbowed his chin in a blow that left him dazed; she gripped the hilt the sword and grabbed it from his hands. Then, she kicked his chest–

Right where the internal wound still hadn’t healed.

Alucard lost his senses for a second and fell on his back. He felt the taste of his own blood, his vision got blurred, extreme pain radiated from that spot in his chest to the rest of his body. As if she knew that was where the wound was, Drolta pressed her hoof right there to keep him on the ground. Alucard groaned in pain, trying to push her away–

His eyes widened when he looked up and realized what she was about to do.

Alucard had time to put his forearm in front of his body for some protection before Drolta impaled him with his own sword.

He screamed. The blade pierced through his forearm directly into his shoulder – if Alucard hadn’t moved a few centimeters up, she would’ve pierced his heart. With an angry growl, Drolta hammered the hilt of the sword with her fist with such strength that the blade sank into him, piercing the ground below.

Alucard spat blood. The pain was so extreme that he couldn’t think for a moment. Shit, I need to get up. I need to keep fighting. Get up!

His vision was still blurred when he saw Drolta being whipped from behind.

The woman let another yell of anger and pain before stumbling away from Alucard and turning around; Richter was, somehow, still standing. He had rushed to retrieve his whip which was already soaked in blue flames. His flames were visibly weakened now, showing the true state of his physical condition. Richter’s eyes, however, didn’t looked weakened; he sent a fast worried glimpse towards Alucard before gazing at Drolta with determination.

Alucard could hear the sounds of the fight happening beside him, but he didn’t look; he was too focused in trying to get his sword off him. He gripped it with his right hand and started to push it up. Every centimeter it moved send jolts of more pain throught his body. The internal wound and the wound Drolta had just inflicted hurt, his body was weak, his senses were slow – none of that mattered. He had to get up. He had to get up. Richter wouldn’t be able to fight for much longer. Get the fuck up!

With a last groan of pain, Alucard finally managed to take out the sword, holding it by the blade; it was completely soaked with his own blood. He looked towards Richter’s direction and his stomach dropped.

The Belmont boy was about to get hit with no defense.

“Richter!” Alucard managed to scream…

But a new sound completely engulfed his voice.

A purple lightning slashed the air.

Both Richter and Alucard looked above with shocked expressions as a giant winged snake floated near them.

Olrox hit Drolta on the chest with his electric attack; she screamed in agonizing pain, her whole body had spasms. Alucard didn’t expect that Olrox would come back, especially not to save Richter. The Belmont boy himself seemed shocked, though his eyes had anger and resentment in them.

Alucard took these small moments of distraction to stand up and hold the hilt of his sword again. He’d let himself feel pain and tiredness later.

With his last breath of strength, he ignited his sword in red fire once more.

Richter got the message.

As soon as Olrox’s attack ceased, Richter snapped his whip; it entangled around Drolta’s neck. She was too disoriented to resist. Richter pulled the whip, forcing her to bend on her back.

Alucard jumped in the air.

The sword was ready to come down on her neck.

Unexpectedly, Olrox sent another of his attacks – but this time, he aimed the lightning at Alucard’s blade, wrapping it in purple electricity which mixed with Alucard’s red fire.

Time slowed down once more.

Alucard could see everything with clarity: the air clacking with purple sparks around him. Richter’s blue fire burning Drolta’s neck. The reflection of his red fire on her face. Her widened eyes in an expression Alucard knew very well: the gaze of someone realizing they have nowhere else to go. The gaze of someone finally understanding they are about to die.

With the way Richter forced Drolta to bend, the ruby necklace came to rest directly over her neck. It was time to fullfill the promise Alucard made to Ruby and to himself.

The blade came down on Drolta’s neck.

A sanctified silver sword. The purple magic of a god. The red fire of a dhampir.

Nothing could withstand that.

The ruby stone was shattered to pieces.

Drolta’s thick skin offered no resistance.

And then – an explosion.

The three of them were sent flying back. The explosion was red; it had a strange cold feeling, it smelled of sulfur. Alucard had time to see an incredible amount of energy being released from the jewel when he broke it apart. The destruction of the ruby caused the explosion, which made Alucard realize in shock that that was never a regular necklace.

The explosion rumbled the entire city of Paris.

Then… silence.

Alucard got up with difficulty again. Richter too, a few meters away from him. Olrox’s dragon form floated above them. Drolta’s lifeless body stayed in the middle.

The air seemed lighter. The city was eerily quiet.

Alucard looked up.

The shadow that covered the sun… it was slowly disappearing.

It… it was over.

Alucard gripped the wound on his left shoulder. It still bled. Now, his whole body was in pain, but he still stood – because something else could unravel in front of him.

Richter and Olrox stood face to face. A giant winged greature and a Belmont. Richter’s whip was still ignited.

Alucard watched them with anxiety. He knew what had happened to Richter’s mother… and he also knew that neither him or Richter were in condition to fight anymore.

But Richter closed his eyes for a moment.

“...I will kill you, Olrox. One day.” Finally, the blue flames of his whip went out. “But not today.”

He opened his eyes.

They gave each other a last meaningful gaze before Olrox retreated in a shadow of pitch black smoke.

Alucard almost sighed in relief.

The red color of the sky was slowly being replaced by its original blue. The vampire closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself feel relief. He could hear the sounds of the city again… citizens realizing the eclipse was over… people walking on the streets…

Five years of searching for Sekhmet’s mummy, of planning a strategy against them, of finding ways to defeat their troops…

It was finally over.

Alucard opened his eyes once more. Richter was limping his way towards Annette. He saw Juste and Maria, many meters away from where they were, waking up. It’s a miracle that all of them ended up alive…

But he caught something with the corner of his eye – and it immediately made him freeze.

Alucard whipped his head towards Drolta’s body.

She was still laying there. Beheaded. No signs of life at all.

But the shadows below her were moving.

They were getting thicker. The shadows of the entire square seemed to be getting pulled towards Drolta’s body; they twirled under her like a whirpool of pitch black. Alucard gripped his sword. Richter took his whip again. Annette stumbled back. The temperature seemed to drop at least ten degrees.

The air smelled of coal and sulfur.

A black figure rose from within the shadows. It grinned down at Drolta; something that sounded like mocking laughter hovered in the air.

They watched in shock as the shadows engulfed Drolta’s body – and then, both of them were gone.

You were… confused.

You could hear and see. You knew there was something violent happening somewhere in the city; colorful explosions, shockwaves and earthquakes, thunders and the sounds of destruction. You could hear Henri’s and Charle’s nervous chatter somewhere beside you. And yet – it’s like you weren’t really there. As if your mind and body were disconnected somehow. As if… you couldn’t react to anything.

You felt strangely at peace.

You knew that the sky started to get clear at some point. You heard the boys celebrating behind you. But… you couldn’t really move from that spot on the balcony of the north bell tower. You didn’t want to stand up.

A familiar touch on your back.

“Ruby?”

You turned your head to the side slowly. That was… that was Alucard. Yes. Alucard. You knew him. He had knelt on the ground beside you.

“...Hello.” You heard a voice say from a distance… your voice. You said that.

Alucard had a worried expression in his face. His hair was gloriously disheveled, the strong winds at the top of Notre Dame played with it. The fair skin of his face was… dirty. He was all dirty, in fact.

You knew they were talking about you. “I… I think she’s not okay, Mr. Alucard,” Henri said in a hesitant and worried voice. “She’s not reacting to anything. It’s like she’s on some sort of trance,” Charles completed. Alucard placed his hand over your forehead – why was he doing that again? – his frown deepened. Heavens, he was so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Even with the disheveled hair and all the dirt. You coudn’t do anything but look at him; you didn’t bother when Alucard instructed the boys – “You should take care of the wound on your shoulder, son,” he told Henri. “There are nurses out there. Get medical aid. I’ll take care of her.”

You knew the two boys were walking out of the tower towards the stairs. A part of you wanted to stop them to properly say thank you, but your body didn’t want to move. So you just gazed at Alucard instead.

He held your arm softly. “Ruby, are you listening to me?” he asked in a worried voice.

His eyes widened in surprise when you touched his cheek.

“You’re hurt,” you heard your voice say from afar again.

If you were fully conscious, you’d never be brave enough to touch him like that. But it’s like you weren’t even there, so nothing felt real. You brushed some strands of hair away from his face and cupped his cheek delicately.

“You’re tired,” your voice said again. Your eyes dropped below – and for the first time, you noticed a gash in his jacket, right over his right shoulder… “You’re bleeding.”

Alucard rested his hand over yours, which made you look up again. He had a tiny smile on his lips, though his brows were still slightly furrowed. He gazed at you with… affection. It made your body feel warm on the inside. His hand was bigger than yours. Even through the leather glove, you could feel his warmth.

“I’ll heal anyway. Don’t worry about me.” You knew he was just light-heartedly repeating what you already told him over and over again. “Are you hurt?”

You frowned and looked down again.

“No. But I feel strange.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I’m… distant. And I’m tired.” You looked at him again. Alucard didn’t move to take your hand away from his face. His own still rested above yours, his thumb caressing your fingers slowly. “You’re hurt.”

“You already said that.” Alucard chuckled lightly before a bit of seriousness covered his expression once more. Finally, he wrapped his hand around yours and took it away from his face; he didn’t let go of it, however, resting both of them over your lap. He looked hesitant before speaking.

“Ruby… Drolta and Erzsebet are dead.”

You stared at him in silence for long seconds.

“Are… they?” Alucard nodded slowly. “Are you sure?”

Alucard hesitated for a second. You saw a glimpse of something you couldn’t understand cross his gaze.

But he nodded again in the end. “Yes. No mistakes this time.”

You lowered your head and… smiled.

Where did that smile come from? Why were you smiling in the first place? You had no idea.

Erzsebet and Drolta are dead.

The mere mention of their names made you feel… closer to your body, somehow. As if things were starting to get real again.

The sun was shining once more. You should’ve understood what that meant. The eclipse had vanished… and so had the Vampire Messiah.

Erzsebet and Drolta are dead. They are dead.

You didn’t know where the tears came from.

They came spontaneously, unannounced. You covered your mouth, trying to swallow a sob; your body was shaking. What were you crying for? Happiness? Relief? Sadness? Grief? Hatred? Pain? You had no idea. But you couldn’t stop, you didn’t know how. When was the last time you let yourself cry freely like that, without trying to be silent, without muffling any sob?

Drolta didn’t like the sound of you crying… so probably never.

But she was dead now.

Maybe if you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t have wrapped your arms around Alucard’s neck, embracing him in a tight hug. Maybe you wouldn’t have hid your face in his shoulder. No, you wouldn’t have the courage. But nothing felt much real at that moment, so you didn’t really care.

Alucard hugged you back immediately, offering no resistance, no hesitance. He kept you close, kept you tight. Tighter than your previous hug. Maybe if you were in your right mind, you would’ve shivered when he hid his face on your neck, too. Maybe your legs would’ve lost all of their strength when you felt his hot breath there, the touch of his soft cheek on your skin. All you could do was cry in a way you never did before.

At some point, you heard your voice stuttering a strangled thank you.

Alucard sighed deeply.

The morning sun kissed you both. The city down there was still in chaos – too many losses, too much damage, too many questions to be answered. You and him were still in he eye of the hurricane. But at that moment, nothing felt too real, so you didn’t care.

Nothing but him felt real. Him, and the fact that those who hurt you were gone from this world definitely. Him, his embrace and the way he warmed you up.

The voice of that unknown woman whispered in your ears once more – and, for some reason, it brought even more tears to your eyes.

...Love doesn’t burn.

Love warms up.

It was over.

#alucard x reader #adrian tepes x reader #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #alucard castlevania #alucard #castlevania netflix #adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard x you #castlevania x reader

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moonyswolfie · 5 months ago

Text

Study Session

A/N: So I just finished a torturously long exam session and this fic is a result of all the stress and mental breakdowns I've accumulated like Pokemons during this time. I actually wrote this piece between two of my biggest and most difficult exams, hence the N.E.W.T.s coming in to play. I hope you enjoy and if you relate, I'm so sorry! Remember that you are strong and no amount of academic stress can bring you down!

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Potter!reader

Masterlist

The table you were sat at in the Library was so crowded with textbooks and parchments that you could not see the wood any longer. Notes and cheat sheets, explanatory scrolls of parchments, quills and bottles of ink covered the entire surface. Hell, Lily even brought a dictionary. Merlin knew what use would a muggle dictionary have when it came to magical terms, but you learned a long time ago to never question her genius.

It was N.E.W.T.s season and to say that all 5 of you were stressed would be an understatement. James thought that once you passed your O.W.L.s, the N.E.W.T.s would not be as scary as everyone made them out to be. It was an exam session, a very long and tiresome and perhaps crucial exam session, but it wasn't Voldemort, right?

Wrong. The stress was growing by the hour and despite having two more weeks at your disposal to revise and memorise all you needed to, it didn't feel like enough.

But then again, was it ever enough?

You've been preparing for the N.E.W.T.s since the beginning of the school year, forcing yourself to attend every class and take a ginormous amount of notes that you knew would probably end up useless or lost somewhere at the bottom of your book bag. Still, you couldn't bring yourself to pause. Failure was not an option.

So far you tackled Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, all of them easy and rather entertaining subjects, if you were to say so yourself. Right now however, you were stuck on the same Potions chapter for the past four hours and were just about ready to scream, cry, Avada Kedavra yourself or better yet, all of the above.

"Hey, Sirius?"

He hums and looks up, noticing your twitching eye and the exasperation rolling off you in waves.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

The concern was palpable and it caught the attention of your boyfriend in an instant, yet Remus knew better than to pester you with questions right now. He was adamant about rest and health being your first priority, but considering his own overcrowded study schedule, he would be a hypocrite to point it out at the moment. He did, however, push a goblet of water in your direction, which you eagerly accepted and gulped down in seconds. You weren't exactly allowed food or beverages in the Library, but what Pince didn't know would not hurt her.

You thanked Remus and handed the goblet back, before turning to Sirius and taking a deep breath to regain your composure.

"I have been rereading this chapter for the majority of our time here and I still don't understand the origins or the side effects of Amortentia when used for a longer period of time. No one really bothered to detail on them in any of our textbooks and I am not sure anyone ever subjected themselves to testing it out and then writing a memoir about it. However, Slughorn oh so graciously announced us that it might be included in the advanced exam topics. Do you happen to have anything on this? I know he mentioned some in class, but I didn't catch all of them."

"I think I do..."

He shuffles some parchments and knocks down some books, thus earning himself a stern look from Madame Pince, but ultimately finds the notes and hands them over.

"There you go, love."

You smile and thank him, humming while you scan the information. For such a chaotic human being, he had the neatest handwriting you've ever seen.

It doesn't take long for you to find the part about side effects, however there was nothing you didn't already write down yourself. Thankfully though, Sirius was the type of person to absently write down everything he heard so you found other helpful pieces of information. This was why you asked him for the notes in the first place, instead of Remus or James. Remus, much like yourself, only wrote the parts he was less certain of, whereas James didn't write anything at all. And Lily, Merlin bless her, she was a growing disaster when it came to writing information down. There was, contrary to her claims, no method to her madness.

You rolled up the parchment once you were done writing, yet kept it close, just in case you needed it again later. Sirius was studying for Transfiguration, so he wouldn't miss the notes anytime soon. Lily turned to you, ready to ask a question regarding a Charms lesson she was too sick to attend, but stopped and frowned, browsing the page spread out on the table in front of you.

"Y/N, why are your notes bilingual?"

You turned and followed her gaze to the margins, specifically to the terminology you borrowed from Sirius...

You unscrolled his notes again and placed them next to yours, looking from one to the other with a bemused smile. Next to the name of the potion, you drew a little arrow and wrote amour et obsession, which would have been inconspicuous, had you not added une potion délicate and l'amour impossible devient possible.

There were a few more next to the ingredients list and some corrections made regarding the mode of preparation. As you scanned the two sets of notes, you noticed that his were entirely in French, while you half translated, half copied your added bits.

You didn't know what was funnier, that you mindlessly wrote the information in Frenchglish, or that you didn't notice it was in another language to begin with.

English was your mother tongue, yet like every other pureblooded offspring, you were forced to attend a variety of language lessons to determine which ones you would be more skilled in. Romantic languages proved to be your forte, so you stuck with French, Italian and Latin. It wasn't easy in the beginning, seeing as they are all mere variations of the latter, therefore making them ridiculously easy to mix up and combine in the oddest of sentences, but you persevered and were now fluent in all four.

Regardless, slip ups like the one you were tiredly staring at now were not unheard of. You were certain it was a testament to how tired you truly were. Perhaps Remus was right, you should rest more.

But then again, this was not a simple exam session. It was the one that would determine your entire future. You could sleep when you're dead.

"You write your notes in French?"

Sirius' head shot up immediatey, confusion written all over his face.

"Yes?"

By now everyone's attention was on your exchange, which deepened his frown. James looked like he missed everything until that very moment, Remus was watching his best friend with a raised brow and Lily was silently shaking her head, smiling. She didn't know how she ended up with the lot of you, but she knew she loved you dearly.

"French is my first language" Sirius added, as if that was all the explanation you needed.

Sadly, it did nothing to clear up the confusion. When neither of you said anything, he added "doesn't everyone take notes in their first language?"

Despite Remus being the only other person in your group who wasn't a native English speaker, therefore making him the best candidate to answer his friend, you all shook your heads, your faces betraying different levels of amusement and fondness. It was a rather endearing situation.

"I don't take notes in Welsh, if that's what you're asking. I don't think I can even translate half the things correctly. Besides, the spells are in Latin, so imagine how that would look on a piece of parchment."

You chuckled at the mental image of magical notes looking more like pages taken from that muggle author's book, Tolkien. Lily followed and you both received a glare and a pointed "shhh" from Madame Pince. Honestly, it was a wonder she wasn't kicking you out at this point.

"Wait a second" James turned towards his best friend "ALL of your notes are in French?"

Sirius nods. Poor baby looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"But don't you..." you frown, unsure how to formulate your question "I see you writing constantly. If the Professor speaks, you write. How..." you groan, burying your face in your hands and shaking your head "my brain hurts. You look as if you write down everything that is said in class, so I assumed that you do?”

You peek an eye up only to be met with Sirius chuckling silently.

“I do write mostly everything that is said in class, but first I summarize it and I guess it’s easier to summarize it in French. I find it easier if I reformulate the information because it shows I understood the concept, but to avoid learning something mechanically and forgetting it when I flip the page, I use my own words. The only issue is that sometimes I forget the word I need in English or there isn’t even a word in English for said thing to begin with. Thus French. And no one really asked me for my notes before you so I didn’t see any reason to put any effort in translating them. And you didn’t seem to have a problem with it anyway.” he adds with an amused smirk, remembering Lily’s previous comment about your notes

You mask your chuckle with a cough and glance at your notes again.

“That is actually a great idea, Pads, I might have to start doing it myself.”

“NO!”

The lot of you was startled by James’ whisper-shout. You gave him a bewildered look, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Are you alright, big brother?”

“Don’t you dare. I know you and your disturbingly brilliant mind. If you start implementing this method, you’re going to write your notes in Latin” he squints, an accusatory look in his eyes “and where am I going to get my last minute notes from then?”

That was it, you couldn’t hold it in any longer if you tried. You burst out laughing, prompting an exaggerated “SHHH” to be directed your way.

“This is your last warning, if you cannot keep quiet, I suggest you move your little study session to your Common Room.”

Madame Pince was stern, yet you couldn’t fault her this time. You were loud and you certainly disturbed a few of your peers seated at nearby tables.

“Sorry” you whisper with a sheepish look.

You returned your attention to the table just in time to catch Lily placing a sweet kiss on James’ cheek, mumbling “don’t worry, my love, I won’t leave you noteless” which seemed to lift his spirits immediately. As grossed out as you were by their affection sometimes (what are sisters for after all?), you couldn’t help but smile at the scene. You were really happy he found his better half, even if it happened to be one of your best friends.

But after all, you did return the favour, did you not?

Remus’ hand found yours under the table and he squeezed it affectionately. You squeezed right back and smiled up at him, mouthing “I love you” and delighting in the beautiful smile that took over his face for the rest of the day.

#harry potter #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #marauders #fantasy #fiction #my writing #writers #potter!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x potter!reader #james potter x lily evans #james potter x sister!reader #sirius black x potter!reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #N.E.W.T.s

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kyeomniscient · 10 months ago

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seventeen ao3 fic recs (pt. 2)

creating a new post for the mid-length fics bc the original post was getting too long - enjoy!

pt. 1 (completed fics, >50k words)

pt. 3 (completed shorter fics, <10k words)

pt. 4 (incomplete fics)

in order of descending word count, last updated 13/12/2024

Cherry Tree Inn (jicheol, 45k, completed)

obsessed with the plot twist in this one! the damsel in distress!hoon x hero!cheol dynamic never fails

The Times We Fell (minwon, 46k, completed)

this one definitely did things to my heart :"") loved the visuals of hockeyplayer!mingyu x figureskater!wonwoo, the development of their enemies(?)-to-friends-to-lovers arc, how their relationship remained strong and steady throughout despite being met with various obstacles and external pressures along the way, how Mingyu rekindled Wonwoo's love for skating not once but twice, just them being a healthy and supportive couple - a beautiful read!

Access Granted (jicheol, 45k, completed)

the jicheol banter was golden in this one

divine pain, pain divine (gyucheol, 44k, completed)

the enemies-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers pipeline i never knew i needed

cut to the feeling (soonwoo, 44k, completed)

this was a character study on emotional self-torture and every chapter was an absolute sucker punch to the gut - loved the sadness and pining for the drama but i also felt like plot-wise the events didn't really justify the intensity of it all as much as the author's other piece :"/ writing was still amazing though!!

gold fever (seokgyu, 43k words, completed)

archer!seokmin x weightlifter!mingyu in a college au - really liked the vibes and writing in this fic :) seokgyu fics are rare and i feel like it's bc their dynamics on-camera mostly revolve around teasing/bickering it's hard to picture anything else, but the slow-burn element brought smth fresh and new to their dynamics and it was such an enjoyable read!

I'm not afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens (jicheol, 40k words, completed)

after reading this i think it's safe to say we all need a cheol during an apocalypse

In The Eye of the Beholder (verkwan, 34k words, completed)

half-demon!vernon x blind!seungkwan - verkwan is the softest ship and no one can say otherwise

Get busy living, or get busy dying. (cheolhoon, 31k words, completed)

absolutely living for the dialogue and banter between these two during the counseling sessions - such a unique setting, a v good fic!

secondhand smoke (gyucheol, 30k words, completed)

this was the start of my spiral down the gyucheol rabbit hole: collegiate sport aus will always be superior

just let me know (i'll be on the floor) (verkwan, 30k words, completed)

soft and sweet friends-to-lovers fic that made my heart so warm!! really loved how their relationship unfolded over time, how they took care of each other as roommates, with seungkwan's obliviousness and denial and vernon being so patient with him throughout - 'twas a lovely slice-of-life read that brought comfort and joy :)

A (Revised Guide to Lab Safety) (soonwoo, 25k words, completed)

askjfsds this was an amazing mix of soonwoo peer dynamics in a college au + science!! their lab partners-to-friends-to-lovers arc was really too cute so i'd highly recommend this to soonwoo enthusiasts

tu me manques (minwon, 26k words, completed)

this really captured the feeling of watching 90s & early 2000s romcoms (think before sunrise, chasing liberty, serendipity etc) and was written so beautifully i might cry :"") really loved the travelling aspect of it, the scenic descriptions of each city made the fic so immersive, like i was there along w them sigh

also wonwoo has slight manic pixie dream boy vibes and mingyu is just there lolol

here kitty kitty (minwon, 26k words, completed)

the ultimate cosy fall read - this fic felt like a sip of warm tea by the fire on a chilly autumn evening :)

snowflake, i'll catch you tonight (minwon, 25k words, completed)

this was really cute!! just soft and fluffy vibes in general and characterisation was super on point bc wonwoo is literally winter personified lmao

i thought that space was mine (jeongcheol, 25k words, completed)

jealous jeonghan sad fics are everything

a mix of sun and clouds (soonwoo, 24k words, completed)

lovelovelove aus with interesting professions, and this time they're both working at a weather station! soonyoung being a weather nerd is such a delight to read, and wonwoo's emotional constipation + little acts of service never gets old hehe geguri is amazing

Paradise Lost (minwon, 24k, completed)

sad fics have a chokehold on me and this one definitely takes the cake... was left in tears and i would risk it all to experience it for the first time again

despite this being a post-apocalyptic au, the development of the romance arc was treated softly and gently, that the moments of tenderness between the mcs shone through the violence and ruin that surrounded them. it was a really refreshing take on domesticity, one that took me by surprise, and it's a pity that the author only has 2 works!! i need MORE

Bend (and Break) (seoksoon, 23k words, completed)

fwb-to-friends-to-lovers seoksoon?? another wholesome fic and i loved the build up in this fic, where the mcs are basically doing all but admitting their feelings for each other UGH so cute

175°C for 60 minutes (seokgyu, 23k words, completed)

vv cute baking rivals au!! love how little clues were sprinkled throughout the story and came together at the end to tie things up nicely hehe

Lie Again (gyuhan, 22k words, completed)

the best gyuhan fic (that i've read so far) !! aka the chronicles of one (1) emotionally-unavailable yoon jeonghan where he learns to embrace the notion of Having Feelings ™ ft some of my other fave ships seoksoo and soonwoo

Jack of all trades... (jicheol, 21k words, completed)

absolutely went down a jicheol rabbit hole after this... their dynamics are one of a kind and i love it so much

stillness and motion (seokhao, 21k words, completed)

give me a fic about emotionally-repressed characters that yearn and do everything but communicate and i'll eat it up!! the tension built up between (former) teammates in sport aus are a different breed and i'm absolutely here for it

For Want of Glory (woncheol, 21k words, completed)

secret agent au! loved woncheol's dynamics here, and it's really endearing to read from coups' pov because i love the way he just PINES

you make me feel good (i like it) (soonwoo, 18k words, completed)

no spoilers but this was an absolute beast of a fic that DESTROYED me the best way possible :"") each chapter was succinct yet packed a punch, loveloveloved how the element of time travel was weaved into the storyline!! op you are a genius for conceiving and writing this

Storm Warning (wonhui, 18k words, completed)

jun as a manic pixie dream type here is everything!! ww's feelings are so valid bc if jun was my neighbour, i too, would fall in love right away HAHA

Cold Hands, Warm Heart (jicheol, 17k words, completed)

apocalypse aus always hit so hard and this fic was no exception - i was expecting a much darker arc based on the blurb, but the author managed to transform such a dire situation into one full of love, warmth and hope :") definitely check this one out!! there's also a (slightly) heart-wrenching (tiny) minwon arc on the side

now i'm covered in you (soonwoo, 16k words, completed)

it's the art of dealing with grief and moving on in a sweet and tender fic - highly recommend!

say you want me (cause I need it, all of the time) (soonwoo, 15k words, completed)

this is wonwoo as everyone's dream high school boyfriend lol

choosing the right place to put it (woncheol, 15k words, completed)

15k words of pure domestic fluff :") wonwoo and cheol are so soft with each other in this fic and cheol being so oblivious throughout really takes the cake HAHA

burning the wick at both ends (jeongcheol, 14k words, completed)

getting back with an ex is never a good idea... unless it's jeongcheol

in the dream where I am an island (jeongcheol, 14k words, completed)

rare jeongcheol fic from cheol's pov

full ten (minwon, 14k words, completed)

super adorable strangers-to-roommates-to-lovers fic!! i really loved that they each had their own lives (preferences, habits, jobs and interests) before they met each other, and coming to live together only made their lives better - there's just something about the intimacy of co-existing in the same space with someone, bonding over simple weeknight dinners, developing a shared routine over time :"")

favorite (minwon, 14k, completed)

this was a v lovely friends-to-lovers fic - really loved the timelapse of small moments between them from both perspectives!

helios (minwon, 13k, completed)

a literal masterpiece - great execution of a cool concept, and wonwoo's persona as an artist was really well-crafted!!

runaway (verkwan, 13k, completed)

this fic highlights an inseparable quality about verkwan, that there'll always be invisible string tugging at both of them, keeping them by side by side - amazing!

day ones all i keep around me (minwon, 12k words, completed)

established (secret) relationship where minwon tries to soft-launch their marriage but their fans are too dense to realise LMAO this was really cute, and i loved the dynamics between streamer!wonwoo x soccerplayer!mingyu hehe

Flowers In My Path, My Love (seokwoo, 12k words, completed)

this was the cutest college meet-cute aka hotpoetryclassguy!wonwoo x cutepoetryclassguy!dk - it really captured the moments of fumbling, awkward shyness when interacting with crushes so well and bonus points for describing dk as sunshine bc he really is the brightest boy!!

put me on a feeling i never had (woncheol, 10k words, completed)

on the inherent romance in tending to the wounds of a lover

i want us both to eat well (gyucheol, 10k words, completed)

light the way home (and i'll follow) (minwon, 10k words, completed)

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treacheryinblue · 2 months ago

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「 ON DISPLAY 」 noah sebastian ⨯ f!reader

▷ chapter six

noah is your neighbor and your new favorite view thanks to his lack of curtains. you're pretty sure he prefers it this way. but the man you've created in your imagination is nothing like reality and you soon find yourself falling prey to a past lifestyle you had been desperately on the run from. trigger warnings : language, smut, violence, mention/flashbacks of abuse, alcohol and drug use, sexual harassment/assault (nongraphic). word count : 9k

masterlist

a/n : sorry for the super mega delay :') extra sorry for the barely there proof reading/revisions of the last half :')))

NOAH POV

“I'm only going to ask this one more time,” he breathed out with irritation, a hammer filthy with blood dangling at his side. “Where. The. Fuck. IS SHE?!”

The man tied to the chair flinched and cried out in fear, his words gurgled and incoherent from the pool of blood constantly filling within his mouth. Noah had made sure of that happening when he pried a couple of his teeth free, yet he still received no answers despite his more grizzly methods. This guy was good, but Noah would break him eventually. They always broke.

Unless he broke first.

When no answer was given, he swung the hammer down-no hesitation-until it smashed the bones of the man's right hand with an astounding amount of ease. It was the third wack he had taken, his attempts to make sure the guy never even held a pencil again quite thorough. All of this gore could stop if only he gave him the answers he so desperately needed. A truth he had told the guy multiple times, though his kindness was only met with a hardened stare and silence - other than the howls of pain.

The scent of blood - metallic and copper-like - filled the air, and Noah wasn't one of those sickos who enjoyed the smell of death. It was all part of the job, though. A small price to pay to keep things running smoothly.

Muddled senses aside, his mind was on one thing and one thing only right then: you had been taken. How had this happened when he had been so cautious? Guards, cameras (something you were not knowledgeable of), a persistent fucking need to hear your voice every half hour or so. Where had he messed up? Maybe he had been too lacking with the guards when it came to allowing them to watch you from their cars. He should've demanded they remain by your side always no matter what sort of threats you gritted out to them.

Something had flown under the radar. Or rather someone. And now you were gone. Noah could feel his chest tightening as he turned away from the ragged man to begin pacing before him again. His head was pounding and his heart rate had yet to cease from beating wildly within his chest. This felt like the few times he had done those powdery white lines and regretted it each time. Noah knew he was too high strung for it but had that stopped him? No. Just as knowing better about you hadn't stopped him from making a dire mistake either.

Noah groaned as his phone vibrated within his pocket. He snatched the device and immediately brought it to his ear after connecting the call.

“What?” He hissed, his anger and annoyance radiating in waves.

“No hits from the tracker on her phone. The last location was her apartment, as we already knew.”

It had been pointless to even ask for your phone to be tracked because these guys weren't amateurs. They were going to cover their bases when kidnapping someone like you.

“Fuck!” Noah loudly erupted, the hammer he held dropping to the floor, forgotten.

“I'm trying to check all the security cameras in the area but the roads were fucking packed. I keep losing them.” The guy explained, his voice wavering. He was obviously scared of Noah’s outburst, even from over the phone.

“What kind of car?”

“Black SUV. Looks like an Expedition, maybe an Escalade. These city cameras are fucking shit so it’s hard to tell.”

Noah nodded to himself as he stored that information away. “I need you to find any and all information you can on her dad. All his properties. Businesses, houses, fucking bicycles. All of it. If his name is on it, then I need it sent to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Noah ended the call and tossed his phone aside. He then took in a deep breath before turning back to the man bound to the chair. He was who had tried to stop Jackson from going into the apartment building once all hell broke loose. Jackson was good but often underestimated because he was young and looked even younger, so the man had made a mistake by thinking Jackson wouldn't be able to take him down. A big mistake judging by the bullet holes in his shoulder and thigh that were dripping blood onto the floor still.

“Tell me something useful and all of this can end.”

The man chuckled before spitting a mouthful of blood to the floor to join the ever growing puddle. “By way of death, yeah?”

“Depends on what sort of information you give me.” Noah shrugged, the gun he had tucked into the back of his pants now held firm in his hand. “Tell me a location and maybe you'll walk free.” His gaze then fell to the wound on his leg and he grimaced, head tilting to the side. “Well…maybe not walk.”

“There's no point when you're already too late. She's probably back in his hands as we speak and if she doesn't agree to what he wants, she's dead.” he slurred.

“What does he want?” Noah’s brows furrowed, though he was pleased to be getting something out of the guy.

“What do you mean?” The guy groaned as he shifted in the seat, his mangled hand attempting to move as well but the ropes were too tight and continued to bite into his flesh. “He wants her! That's all he's ever been after!”

Noah stared at the guy for a long moment, remaining silent as he did, jaw tense. He was thinking, trying to formulate a plan to get you back once he had even an inkling of a location. As much as he wanted to just go in guns blazing, he knew that would be the stupidest idea.

“Tell me where he's keeping her,” he again demanded. “I'm beginning to grow bored.”

That meant he would kill the guy shortly if he didn't prove himself to be useful. Maybe he would extend his life a little longer, though it wouldn't be much of an existence when tied to a chair and bleeding out.

“You're going to kill me either way,” the guy again spit blood out, red drops dribbling down his chin. “So I think I'd rather know you're struggling to find her once I die than help you.”

Noah growled as he quickly rushed the last few steps to the guy. He had the gun pressed to the side of his head, the safety off but not yet cocked. “There are things that I can do to you that are worse than death,” he reminded the man.

When the guy didn't say anything, Noah angled the gun down and fired into his uninjured thigh without a second thought. The man cried out in pain, his body tensing and writhing against his restraints in a vain attempt to free himself. It was useless. They both knew he would bleed out in minutes now.

“Where is her father keeping her?!” Noah grabbed the man by the back of his hair and jerked his head back at a sharp angle. The gun was pressed under his chin, promising a hasty execution.

The guy laughed between his sharp gasps of pain. “They said you guys were in the dark over here but I didn't think it was true. Not with the reputation Karlsson and King has,” He took in a sharp breath before continuing. “You're really a let down when compared to how they talk of you.”

Something inside Noah snapped. He forcefully pushed the man back after shoving into his chest so he hit the ground with a thud, and then before another word could be said, he fired a single shot into the guy’s head.

READER POV

The air was damp and stale as you took in a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Anything to halt the nausea creeping up. That, plus the slight rocking that was contributing to your sickness, instantly told you that you were on a boat. You had always been the type to get sea sickness since you were a child, so much that it had angered your father during vacations.

You weren't sure how much time had passed since you woke up the first time. That was when your panic had been in full force. You had yelled and screamed, tried to pry the handcuff off your wrist so many times that lacerations now bleed around the tender skin of your hand. All of your attempts had gone unnoticed, or whoever was lingering around didn't care enough to come check on you.

Slowly your eyes fluttered open again as the sickness worked its way higher in your esophagus. Fuck, you were going to throw up. But then you'd be stuck with the stench of it and that would only make this whole situation a million times worse. Nope. You had to swallow it down.

You groaned as you turned on the twin sized bed, the handcuffs connected to the headboard keeping your arm at an odd angle for so long that your shoulders were sore. It just went along with the rest of your body that was also in pain thanks to the brawl with Hawk. At least you could no longer taste blood but the sharp pain every time you moved your mouth told you that your lip was split. Wonderful.

“Good mornin’, sleeping beauty.”

Another groan escaped you, but this one of pure annoyance. You would know that voice anywhere. Hell, you were well acquainted with the majority of Vane and your father’s men. You could probably pick their elbows out of a lineup.

“Dante,” you heavily sighed. “Can't say I'm happy to see you.”

“As feisty as ever. That's no way to speak to me, though, princess. We go way back.”

You shot a glare at Dante, your face otherwise expressionless. He was completely deranged if he thought you were even minimally happy to see him.

“Can we just get this over with? Tell me what you want, why I'm here, yada yada.”

Dante took a couple of steps further into the room until he was standing at your bedside. You resisted the urge to shrink away from his looming presence because you didn't want to show any weaknesses. No vulnerabilities. Nothing he could feast on.

His eyes trailed your body and your stomach instantly churned again. Gross. Why were the men employed around you always such creeps?

“I don't know. I think I enjoy seeing you like this more.” He reached out to brush your tangled hair back and your skin burned beneath his touch. It was nothing like when Noah touched you. There were no butterflies or lingering excitement. All you felt was disgust.

Dante smirked before his fingers gripped your hair and your head was forced back. You winced as the pain splintered through your scalp, your jaw clenching so hard you thought you would shatter your teeth.

“Boss isn't here yet so he would have no idea we played a bit,” he lowered his voice. “Doesn't that sound nice, princess?”

“Fuck off!” You kicked out a leg but your foot only brushed his thigh before he stepped out of the line of impact. “Touch me and I'll fucking kill you.”

Dante laughed from deep within his gut. He pushed your head away when he released your hair, his laughter fading to amused silence. “I was going to offer you some breakfast but I think I'll let you starve down here a bit longer.”

Stomping away, he slammed the door behind himself, leaving you alone with your nausea.

When the door opened again you knew at least three hours had passed because of the minutes you had counted. Your bladder was ready to burst and your mouth was so dry that drinking the ocean water sounded pleasant right then.

“Are you going to be nicer this time?” Dante grinned down at you but he was already leaning over to unlock your wrist from the cuff without your response.

“Bathroom break. I don't want to have to clean up your piss if you go on yourself.”

You rubbed your raw wrists as you sat up, completely ignoring his statement. Dante then grabbed your arm and forced you off the small bed, a shove to your back placing you in front of him.

“Walk.”

“Okay, asshole. Find some goddamn patience.”

Dante chuckled. “I really hope he knocks that smart mouth of yours right off.”

The journey to the bathroom didn't take too long, but your lack of sea legs had definitely extended it by thirty seconds. You occasionally stumbled into a wall when the boat rocked one way, then went straight for the opposite wall when it righted itself. You really fucking hated boats, even nice ones like this.

“You have three minutes.” Dante pushed you into the bathroom and promptly pulled the door closed before you could protest. Lucky for him you really needed to pee.

After finishing your business, you hesitantly approached the bathroom counter. You didn't want to see your reflection. You knew you looked horrible. You didn't need a mirror verifying that for you. So, you kept your eyes down as you washed your hands and continued to try to concoct a plan.

Could you use anything in the bathroom to defend yourself? No, it didn't look like it. You doubted a toilet paper roll would cause any damage. Your eyes frantically flitted around the bathroom in search of something, anything that could help you. You refused to believe that you were helpless to these men. Never again would you let that happen.

“One minute!” Dante yelled, a bang on the door accompanying his countdown.

Maybe all you needed was the element of surprise.

You quickly stepped back into the small room that housed the toilet and climbed up onto it. You crouched, preparing yourself to attack when the moment arrived. You knew you only had seconds now before your time was up and Dante would storm in to drag you out.

And that's exactly what happened.

“Come on!” Dante again yelled, but when you didn't emerge, he didn't hesitate to invade the space. Since the area was small, he would find you. You weren't trying to hide necessarily, you just wanted to best him, even if only a little bit.

As soon as his large form appeared in the doorway, you lunged at him. Your foot roughly pistoned into his chest to force him back and then you jumped down, kneeing right between his legs. Dante groaned in both pain and anger as he doubled over to grab his shriveled balls. This was it. Your chance to run.

You bolted for the door, ignoring Dante’s demands for you to get back to him. Like hell were you going to do anything that he said.

As fast you could you ran down the hallway, up the stairs, and onto the main level of the…yacht? Right, you knew you had recognized this boat. It was the exact one you had spent your childhood on with your family, back when you were too young to be sold to Vane and you were none the wiser to the horrible things your father was in control of.

It had been quite some time since you were on the yacht last, but you still remembered bits of it. For example, you knew this door you were heading for would take you through the galley, then out into the dining room. As you pulled the door open, you were hit with a sweltering heat from the ovens and stoves being on in preparation for a meal.

“Jesus,” you murmured to yourself. Just as you were about to exit the galley from the opposite door, you paused. Sitting there, as if waiting for you, was a long chef's knife.

“Don't mind if I do.” Grinning to yourself, you snagged the sharp knife and then exited the galley. Your breathing was uneven and heavy as you tip toed through the formal dining room, your gaze shifting all around in case someone decided to jump out at you. But oddly enough, the yacht was mostly empty. You hadn't even seen a singular employee, which was unusual.

There was then an intense shove on your back that sent you stumbling forward into the living area and down to your knees. The knife that had been in your hand was knocked away, a boot coming down to apply pressure to your wrist. You were too shocked to even realize what had happened until you looked up to see Hawk standing there, sporting a few injuries of his own.

“Glad to see our last encounter had some lingering marks,” you laughed. Deep wounds were still present on his face from where you had shoved the bits of glass into. It may have hurt your hand like a bitch, but you knew it caused him more pain than yourself.

“I'm really going to enjoy making you bleed,” Hawk threatened as his boot twisted down onto your wrist, forcing a cry of pain from you.

“Hawk! No!” Dante came stumbling in a few seconds later, still nursing his bruised balls. “You heard what boss said. He doesn't want any more marks on her.”

With Hawk temporarily distracted by Dante, you were able to reach over his leg with your free hand and snag the chef’s knife. You didn't even think as you sunk the blade into his calf, immediately causing him to stagger back and yell. Blood gushed from the wound, staining the previously pristine white carpet you were lying atop.

“You fucking bitch!” Hawk erupted while applying pressure to the deep wound. “I'm going to fucking kill you!”

Dante was suddenly yanking you up and wrestling the knife from your grasp. You grunted and fisted your free hand, aiming it right for his jaw. The hit landed, but not as hard as you would've preferred. It barely even fazed him. Dante bent your wrist to the side and you gasped from the pain shooting up your arm, the knife falling to the floor once more. He huffed in annoyance before pushing you back onto the couch, somewhere you couldn't cause anymore damage.

“Quit your fucking hollering,” he spat at Hawk while pushing his sweat dampened hair out of his face.

“Let her stab you in the leg and let's see how much you yell!”

Dante ignored Hawk, his sights instead set on you. “Hawk wasn't lying when he said you were quite the fighter now.” He deviously smirked. “I like this grown up version of you, princess.”

“Yeah? Well, I still hate you.”

The insult only caused Dante’s smirk to grow. He was just as sick as the rest of them.

“Come on.” Dante reached forward and grabbed a handful of your hair to yank you up from the couch, now dragging you back down to the underbelly of the yacht where you had been before.

“Let go of me!” You yelled while trying to retrieve your hair from his fist but his grip was relentless. “I can't wait until Noah finds me and kicks your ass. And he will find me, you know. Just you fucking wait. You're going to be so sorry.”

The words continued to spill from you, though you weren't even sure how true they were. It's what you wanted to believe. Noah would come after you, right? He would continue to protect you. He would pull you close and tell you everything would be okay, that he would never leave your side again.

…right?

Dante laughed before dropping you down onto the twin bed. You tried to kick him away, but he easily overpowered you. Both of his hands held your wrists down, his face mere inches from your own. There was a fire in his eyes and you weren't ready to find out what that would lead to.

“You think your precious King is going to come for you? I thought you were smarter than that, princess.” He smirked, his breath warm and unsettling as it crossed your skin. “You don't really know who he is, do you? The sort of things he gets into?”

As his grip loosened on your wrists, you thought you were going to be released, but all it did was give his hands the ability to trail down your arms in a way that made your stomach turn.

“I hope he does come,” Dante murmured after tucking his face into the crook of your neck and deeply inhaling your scent. You grimaced as you tried to turn your head as far to the opposite direction as you possibly could. “Then I'd get to see your face when you realize that he's also one of the bad guys.”

Click. The cuff had been secured around your wrist again, keeping you from leaving the bed.

With that, Dante forcefully shoved himself away from you and stomped out of the room, slamming the door on his way.

X X X

You weren't sure how much time had passed this time. Even counting down the minutes had lost its appeal since that's all you had to do. No other form of entertainment was provided to you. Meals had been brought to you twice, both of them left mostly untouched at the end of the bed. And when Dante came for your bathroom breaks, or sent one of his little lackeys, they were now going into the bathroom with you. At least they turned their backs, unlike Dante who held intense eye contact with you throughout the duration.

The longer you were captured, the more you began to lose hope. Perhaps Noah wasn't coming for you after all. Maybe he figured you being taken was a blessing because it was one less headache for him to have to deal with. You sucked in a sharp breath as the thought burrowed its way into your mind, immediately causing you to feel the effects both emotionally and physically.

Your stomach turned, your hands shaking. Tears burned behind your eyelids but you didn't want to let them fall. Unfortunately, you were only but so strong. A couple managed to slip down your cheeks, though you quickly wiped them away before they could saturate the flat pillow.

What the hell was the hold up, anyway? How much longer would you be kept beneath the boat, just waiting to find out what the fuck was going on?

The sound of murmuring voices outside the door caused your eyes to spring open. There had only been one person coming in and out at a time, never two. You strained to hear what was being said, but you couldn't make anything out. The voices grew louder and more urgent until fading off as they walked away, or so you assumed.

You were just about to close your eyes again when you heard the door unlock and open slowly. You squinted through the dim light in an attempt to see who it was because the movements didn't sound anything like Hawk or Dante. They were much more heavy handed and footed compared to this new visitor.

“Nick?” You squeaked out when you finally were able to make sense of the familiar face in the doorway.

Nicholas stood there unmoving and expressionless, though his bright eyes were locked on you. Sitting up, you tried to pull your wrist from the cuff again, your panic once more settling in. Was he here to help you? Or had he been working for your dad all along?

“Nick!” You whisper-yelled, your tone pleading. “Please let me out. Please.” Your voice cracked and the insufferable tears began pooling again, your vision becoming blurry from the amount of them.

He still had yet to say a word. He merely stared at you, blinked rapidly a few times as if he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing, and then slowly backed out of the doorway.

“Nick! Don't leave me here! Please!” Your begging was useless, though. He had quietly closed the door, leaving you alone again, but now with just your sobs to keep you company.

NOAH POV

Too much time had passed. You could've been taken anywhere at this point, but that didn't mean he was going to give up.

There were men all around the city checking up on leads, scoping out your father’s properties, and reporting back on anything that was even slightly interesting. He refused to let this end in tragedy.

Noah’s jaw tightened as he watched the footage of you being taken again and again. You were limp as you were tossed into the backseat of the large SUV without a second thought, like you were nothing more than a tedious basket of laundry. He recognized the man in the grainy footage because he was one of the three who had come to Jolly’s office that day in search of you. He wasn't the one who spoke, but instead the large one to the left that Noah had easily pinpointed as the muscle of the group.

This was his fault. He should've done more to keep you safe. He should've kept you closer, but he had been scared. Allowing you in would've meant dropping his walls and barriers, subsequently revealing the true means behind Nocturnal. That would've only put you into even more danger.

Shaking his head, Noah promptly exited the screen that held the footage. His elbows then propped up on the desk, his hands scrubbing over his face in both exhaustion and annoyance. He had barely slept a couple of hours since you were taken and it was really starting to catch up to him. Jolly had demanded he sleep but it was no use. As soon as his eyes would close, he’d be haunted by images of your face. Of how scared you must've been. Of how alone you probably were now. And that's only if you were still alive.

No. He wouldn't allow himself to think like that.

The irritating sound of his phone ringing brought him back down to reality. He heavily sighed, but ultimately snatched his phone up and brought it to his ear to answer.

“What?”

“Her dad owns a few yachts,” the guy opened the conversation with.

“And?”

“And a couple have been docked at the marina for about a week now.”

Noah sat up a little straighter, his brows knitting together as he thought. That was definitely interesting since you were from the other side of the country. Why would your father’s yachts be here?

A banging at the door caused Noah's eyes to flick upwards, but he made no move to answer it yet. Only Jolly knew the code to get inside, so he already knew it wasn't him demanding his presence.

“Send me what you have on the yachts and the marina.”

Ending the call, he crossed his office to the door that was again being pounded on. Noah slid his phone into his pocket, the same hand clutching the top of his gun that was tucked into the back of his pants, just as he swung the door open. Standing beyond the threshold was not a face he was expecting to see.

“Ruffilo,” he breathed out with disdain.

Nick smirked, his own expression full of amusement. “That was a shitty greeting.”

“Well, I'm in a shitty mood.”

“Girl troubles?”

Noah's eyes narrowed in on him, both of them falling silent as they stared the other down. He knew something. But what sort of information could he possibly have?

“What do you want? How did you even get up here?”

Nicholas shrugged, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other twisting around the Zippo lighter in his palm. He never went anywhere without that damned thing. “The door was open so I just walked in.”

“You walked in?”

“As one does when a door is unlocked, yes.”

Noah heaved a breath of pure annoyance before turning away from the door, silently telling Nicholas that he could come in.

“What do you want?” He repeated, his voice more stern this time. He was in no mood to play games, especially not with Nicholas. He always had an affinity for mind games and that was the last thing he needed right then.

“I think I could have some intel you'd find…appealing.” Nicholas grinned as he closed the door and then wasted no time in making himself comfortable on the couch. He leaned back into the cushions, one arm extended over the top.

“But, I want something in return for it.”

“Of course you do. What makes you think I want anything you have?”

Noah was bluffing. He probably would've given Nick anything right then if what he knew pertained to you. Although, he couldn't let on how desperate he was.

The smile Nicholas wore only extended until it took up the majority of his face. There was always something so sinister about this particular expression and it made Noah’s skin crawl. Fucking psycho, that's what Nick was.

“I'm going to be straight forward because I don't have time to linger.” Nick sighed, as if he was upset his little game had been disturbed. “I know where she is and who's keeping her. I'll tell you everything if you help me with one simple task.”

Noah raised his brows, awaiting whatever it was Nicholas could possibly want. He wasn't in the mood for these dramatic pauses of his.

“Help me kill Red.”

Well, that wasn't something he had seen coming.

“You want to kill your own grandfather?”

Nicholas shrugged in a nonchalant manner, his lighter opening and closing a couple of times. “He's in my way. And you know how much of an asshole he is.”

Oh, Noah definitely knew. He also knew that Red had been his top target for years now, ever since his parents had died. He could've killed him many times but none of those moments had been right. They easily would've landed him in prison or dead as well, and he didn't want either of those things to be the outcome.

Taking in a deep breath, Noah nodded. “Fine.”

Appearing visibly taken back, Nicholas opened his mouth to speak but then promptly closed it to further contemplate. He spoke only after a few long seconds had passed.

“That's it? You'll help me?”

“Yes.”

“You're not even going to ask me why or question me more to see if my intentions are true?”

“No, because I don't care. All I want is the information you promised me.”

Noah eyed his former best friend, waiting rather impatiently for him to come forth with whatever he knew. When Nick didn't yet speak, Noah again let his aggravation be known.

“You're telling me what you know before I help you with Red,” he exclaimed. “I'm already wasting time that I don't have.”

Nicholas appeared as if he wanted to argue but he bit back his retort. Good. This meant he knew what was good for him.

“Park Cove Marina,” Nicholas sighed, eyes rolling. “The yacht she's on is called The Genevieve. Poetic, huh?”

If he had been in a better mood, Noah probably would have chuckled at that. Did this mean your choice of alter ego at Nocturnal was done with a purpose? He made a mental note to question you on it later once you were safe and in his arms.

“There's about five men on board, all with instructions to keep her locked away in a room beneath the boat. They've been told not to harm her, but…”

“But?” Noah could feel the heat within himself rising. He was going to kill anyone who laid a finger on you. If you had suffered even a mere paper cut, someone would pay.

“But we both know how headstrong she can be. All injuries are superficial, though.”

You weren't dead. That's the main thing Noah chose to take from Nick’s reveal. But just because you were currently unharmed, didn't mean it would stay that way. He had to move fast, with or without backup.

“Weapons?”

Nicholas shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “Your usual handguns and knives. Nothing automatic from what I saw.”

“What's their objective?”

“Why the fuck are you talking like a military asshole?” Nick looked his childhood friend up and down with a grimace before he finally continued. “They're waiting for their boss to get there. I don't know what's taking him so long but I'd say you have…maybe until tonight to get her out.”

“Her father is here?” Noah previously assumed the man had sent his little worker bees to get the job done.

A smirk ticked up Nick’s lips and he adjusted his position on the couch, one hand tugging at his suit jacket to try to make himself seem more casual. All of his motions were robotic; learned from studying people to make himself appear more normal. Noah saw right through it. He always had.

“No, not her father. He has his hand in this, sure, but he's not the one calling the shots.”

X X X

It hadn't taken Noah long to put everything together. With a little more prying of information out of Nicholas, the big picture was slowly coming along. He had placed a new target on your father’s head, one he would get to eventually, but there were a couple more in front of him that needed tending to since he wasn't an immediate threat.

His top goal was to get you out safely, though. After that, he would go on the much needed rampage to prevent this from ever happening again. No longer would you have to run and hide behind a fake identity. You could live the life of freedom you rightfully deserved. Noah was going to make sure of it, even if he had to die trying.

And he truly meant that.

Hidden beneath the cover of the deepening night, Noah peered up at the yacht from across the marina. He knew this wouldn't be difficult once on the boat, if what Nick said was true about there only being five or so men, but not being seen ahead of time was the true test. He didn't want to give these assholes any time to call in backup.

“Are we set?” Jackson questioned as he exited the car to stand by Noah’s side. It was just the two of them. Jolly had opted not to join, claiming he needed to tend to things at Nocturnal. Noah wanted to argue with him but he knew Jolly was serious about keeping their main operation going. Jolly wouldn't let anyone get in the way of it, not even his closest friend and partner.

“Just waiting for the ‘okay’ from Nick.”

Nicholas had skirted around telling Noah what he was even doing on the yacht to begin with. He would only smirk and change the subject, but something was telling Noah that Red had something to do with this. You couldn't have one egotistical asshole with an agenda without another there to impede.

Against better judgement, Noah had stopped questioning him on it. For now. He would get the answers he was searching for, even if it meant having to use force to get them. Nick was tough to crack, though. Psychopaths didn't react to threats or pain the same way a normal, law abiding citizen would. But until it came to that, Noah was going to have to trust Nicholas. After all, your life depended on it.

Just as the realization dawned on him, his phone vibrated in his hand. A message came through from Nicholas, exclaiming to him that the coast was clear. Nick was to be their lookout until they made it onto the yacht. After that, he would have to continue to play the part so as to not draw suspicions onto himself.

Didn't bother Noah one bit as long as Nicholas stayed out of his way.

“Let's go,” he murmured to Jackson, nodding his head in the direction of The Genevieve.

The pair stuck to the shadows, the sound of the boats rocking atop the water helping to shield the sound of their footsteps the closer they drew to their destination. It was a quiet night other than that, with only the faint sound of music drifting down the long dock. In the distance Noah could see lights from another yacht, one that was more than likely hosting some sort of party, or whatever it was rich pricks did to show off their wealth. This party was also of no concern to him. Maybe it would assist in their cover in the long run.

With his hand clutching his gun, Noah’s sights remained set on your father’s yacht. His anticipation was rising the closer he got to the boat because that meant he was closer to retrieving you, so he had to take deep breaths to keep his heart rate at a normal level. He needed to leave his adrenaline for when the inevitable fight would begin.

Circling around to the back of the yacht, he remained on the edge of the dock with Jackson right behind him. They would separate once on the boat. He lifted a hand to signal to Jackson to halt so he could listen for any sounds of people around. When he figured it was clear, Noah carefully stepped onto the rear of the yacht, and headed for the narrow staircase to take him to the main level.

Dim lights were on, but that was the least of Noah's concerns. He was more focused on the pool of blood on the white carpet in the living room area. His jaw tensed but he quickly averted his gaze back up to what was in front of him. He couldn't dwell on the possibility of that being your blood. He needed to focus on the mission and worry about your potential injuries later.

“Take the right stairs and go up,” he commanded of Jackson. “I’m going to go down and find her.”

Jackson gave a swift nod and then disappeared to the right side of the yacht, his position crouched, gun extended out in front of him at the ready. Only when he could no longer see him did Noah continue his way to the left, down the long hallway-like cut that would bring him to the stairs to head down. Just as Nicholas had explained.

He had just turned towards the top of the staircase when a voice sounded through. It was a faint murmur, but it was getting louder as if they were climbing the stairs. Noah pivoted to the side and pressed himself flat against the wall. As soon as the man was in view, Noah jutted his elbow out, the collision impacting the man’s nose and sending a rush of blood out immediately. He didn't give the man time to figure out what was happening, though. Noah had tucked his gun away and had the man in a headlock before he could even call out for help. He tightly squeezed around the man's neck, cutting off all air flow. The man slapped against his forearm, but every hit became less impactful until he fell still in his arms.

Killing didn't used to come naturally to him; his first time taking a life still haunted him periodically. But when he was trying to protect someone he cared about, he would take on the task without a second thought.

After slowly lowering the man to the floor to prevent any sounds from calling attention to himself, Noah continued his trek down to the underbelly of the yacht. This would need to be faster than planned because he didn't want to risk anyone stumbling across the dead body above. His heart was pounding within his chest, his eyes frantically searching for the door Nicholas had described. He said it wouldn't be locked because you were handcuffed to the bed and there was no threat of you escaping. Idiots. They should always lock the door from the outside when holding someone captive. Thankfully their stupidity would benefit him.

READER POV

If this told you anything, it was that you'd never last in prison. Solitary confinement? What a joke. You'd be ripping your hair out before the door was even locked. You didn't mind being alone when it was in a comfortable space such as your apartment or even Noah’s, but you were the exact opposite of comfortable right then. You were terrified. Annoyed. Confused. In pain. You had tried prying your hands free from the cuffs again after seeing Nicholas and obviously that hadn't worked out in your favor since you were still trapped.

Dried blood now stained your wrists, the wounds you had created throbbing and stinging with every move you made. So, you tried to lay as still as you could. Your senses were already beginning to dull from all the other pain you felt within your body. Your shoulders, hips, face. Your fucking dignity. How weak did you have to be to not even be able to take a couple of days of being trapped?

Sleep came and went, or maybe you were passing out from lack of water and food, but you were trying your best to stay alert. The last time you let it overtake you, you had woken up to one of Dante’s henchmen stroking your face and ogling your chest like a starved man. That was just great. Now you couldn't even go to sleep to pass the time because there was no telling what these Neanderthal-like creatures would do to you.

“He's not coming,” you whispered to yourself. Your eyes squeezed shut and you angled your head to bury it into the single pillow you had been given. There was a tingle in your throat as you tried to hold back your tears, your jaw clenched tight enough to cause an ache in the muscle. “No one's coming.”

Fuck. You needed to snap out of it. This wasn't you. You weren't the type to wallow in your pain and give up. You were better than that. Stronger. You may have been broken in the past by these men, but you sure as shit weren't going to let it happen again.

Taking in a deep breath, you winced as you sat up the best you could, your arms slowly shifting to a downwards angle to help ease your tight shoulders into the position. Okay, problem number one: you needed to get the handcuffs off. But how? The bed frame wasn't the newest but it wasn't like this was some rundown boat. It was still in good condition, no weak spots, so you wouldn't be able to break it without enough leverage. And that wasn't something you were going to get in this position.

Honestly, you had even contemplated somehow breaking your hands so you could squeeze them through the wrist openings, but that plan was quickly shot to hell. Not only would you need your hands to further escape, but you also didn't have the means to break your hands like this. Or the guts.

Unfortunately, your brainstorming could only go so far because it was interrupted by the door abruptly swinging open. It crashed against the wall, the sudden sound causing you to jump and turn, eyes wide. Two bodies tangled together, grunting, throwing punches and desperately trying to pull free a weapon. It took you a moment to comprehend what was happening, but once you did, there was a flutter in your chest and a grin spread across your lips.

Noah.

He had actually come for you. He was fighting Hawk, though. This couldn't be good. Not when he had a good eighty pounds on Noah, if not more. You yanked at your restraints in another vain attempt at freeing yourself. There was no way you were going to let Hawk take Noah down right in front of you. Fuck that.

Noah slammed Hawk to the floor as the thought crossed your mind, his fist connecting with his nose hard enough to send blood flowing from it. The bone made a deafening crunch sound that was vulgar enough to even make you wince. Hawk’s eyes drooped as he struggled with Noah, trying his best to land hits of his own but Noah somehow managed to block every single one. He was fast and smart, easily anticipating every move Hawk was about to make.

Wild eyes glanced your way before dropping to the pillow bunched at your side. “Toss me that,” he breathlessly requested, nodding to the pillow.

You shook your hands to show that you weren't able to really do that, but you then groaned and shifted around uncomfortably until you could kick the pillow just enough to send it falling to the floor within Noah’s reach. He immediately grabbed it with one hand, the other retrieving his gun before he simultaneously layered the two on Hawk’s face. Pillow first, his fist pressing down into it, then he fired the gun straight into the fluff to muffle the sound. It was still loud enough to make you yelp with shock because everything was happening so fast and you hadn't really registered what the hell was going on.

But…at least Hawk had grown completely still.

Your eyes were still wide, breathing heavy as you stared at the pool of blood growing beneath where Hawk remained.

“You just…he’s…” you stammered over your words, heavily swallowing. Fuck, you were actually going to be sick this time.

“Yeah,” Noah shrugged after pulling himself to his feet and rushing over to you. He didn't say anything else before he grabbed your jaw and pulled your face to his, your lips connecting in a forceful kiss. You ignored the sharp pain from your busted lip because just having Noah there made everything feel so much better. What pain? All you felt was warmth.

The kiss didn't last long, but it was just enough to give you the taste of him you had been craving. Noah pulled back to gaze down at you, his eyes softening when he took in the bruises and cuts on your face. The look was fleeting, quickly covered with a blazing anger.

“We need to get out of here,” he murmured. Noah released your face and glanced at the cuffs securing your wrists. He cursed under his breath in ever growing annoyance.

“Do you know where the keys are?”

“Um…” you tried to rack your brain and then slowly dropped your eyes to where Hawk’s body rested. “Try his pockets.”

Noah didn't hesitate to step back over to Hawk’s lifeless body, immediately digging through his pockets. He was moving quickly as he emptied both front pockets with no luck. Then, he shoved Hawk over on his side like it was no big deal, just a dead body, so he could search his back pockets.

“Got ‘em,” he breathed in relief.

The moment your wrists were free, you threw your arms around Noah and practically jumped into his body. His own arms circled around you, holding you as close as possible. Burying your face into the crook of his neck, you fought back your tears the best you could. You were just so damn happy to see him. It was impossible to even put it into words.

How he had become so important to you in such a short time, you would never know.

Noah's hands tightly clasped your lower back, then secured at your hips before running up your back, like he just had to touch you wherever he could. You could feel his fingers trembling and while you weren't entirely sure why, something told you it was the anger he was experiencing. Not because of you, but for you.

“I'm okay,” you repeated into his neck again and again, reassuring him as much as you could of the statement. “It'll take more than a few cuts and bruises to keep me down.”

“I'm so fucking sorry,” Noah breathed into your hair just before planting a kiss to the top of your head.

You shook your head, refusing to let his apologies settle. “Let's just get out of here, okay? We need to go before my dad shows up.”

There was a depth to Noah's eyes as he blinked at you then gave a shake of his own head. You could tell there was something he wanted to say, but for whatever reason he was holding back. You weren't sure if it was something you needed to question right then, not when survival should've been your top priority.

“We can talk about it later but you should know now that it's not your da–”

Noah was cut off by a body filling the doorway, a gun pointed in your direction. You jumped and immediately backed into Noah who grabbed your waist, your breath catching in your throat. Even Noah was tense against you, until you both settled upon realizing it was Jackson standing there. He released a sigh of relief, though you were very aware of the blood that coated his black jacket and stained his jeans. Shit.

“How many?” Noah asked as he began to take inventory of his ammo. He casually passed a knife your way without a word, your fingers shaking as they secured around the hilt.

“Two,” Jackson responded between his labored breathing.

Noah gave a single nod. “Same. That means there's hopefully only one more wandering around.”

Their voices sounded miles away because you were staring down at the knife, silently wondering to yourself if you'd be able to kill someone if it came down to it. Just because you had previously stabbed Hawk in the leg didn't mean you had the guts to bury the blade somewhere more lethal.

“We should work on getting off the yacht instead of searching for him,” Noah continued, to which Jackson gave a nod of agreement. “Let him live to send that asshole our warning.”

Hands were then smoothing over your shoulders, fingers digging into the sore muscles hard enough that you nearly moaned from the sensation. Noah’s body crowded your own, his hands slowly working their way up your neck until he was cradling your jaw again. His touch was soft, much softer than it had ever been.

“Are you okay?”

You took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, shrugging simultaneously. “Ask me that once we're somewhere safe.” That wasn't necessarily an easy question to answer. Physically? Yes, you were fine, just sore. Mentally? Eh…

Noah mimicked your deep breath with one of his own, the worry evident in his eyes. You were thankful that he opted not to press the topic for now. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed your forehead, the scent of him encompassing you.

“You're to stay between me and Jackson, okay? Move quickly but quietly. Once we're off the yacht, I want you to bolt east. You'll see my car. Don't look back, just run. Can you do that for me?”

“You think I know which way east is?”

Noah tried to fight his smile but it peeked through enough to cause a smile of your own to form. He shook his head as he ran a hand over your hair, lightly brushing the messy strands back behind your ear.

“You never fail to amaze me,” he teased, and you both softly chuckled.

Jackson bounced impatiently in the doorway. “We gotta go.”

With a final look Noah guided you forward with a gentle press to your lower back. Jackson took the lead, his stance something from an action movie. You were impressed but you also felt very under prepared. Maybe even a little useless. What the fuck were you supposed to do if something happened? Get all stabby? You tried to ignore the 'brought a knife to a gunfight’ line that was hindering your thoughts. You kept telling yourself that you'd be fine. Jackson was obviously heavily trained and Noah wouldn't let anything happen to you. Unfortunately, you were more concerned about something happening to them.

“Breathe,” Noah whispered from behind you, leading you to realize that you had been holding your breath as the three of you took to the stairs. “Can't have you passing out.”

Jackson paused at the top of the steps, a hand held back to signal for you to stop as well. He looked back and forth before motioning for you to continue, so you did. One foot in front of the other. The knife held close at your side, ready to defend yourself.

Thankfully you made it through the yacht without incident, though there was something eerie about the silence. It didn't feel right. You felt as if you were being watched, and not just by Noah behind you. Was it really this easy? You refused to believe it because things were never this easy for you. Not when it came to your father.

A shock rippled through you as you jumped from the yacht and onto the dock. Noah had told you to run but you couldn't seem to get your legs to obey. It felt wrong to leave them behind. That's not how you wanted to be remembered–as someone who ran. You kept a brisk pace, Noah still trailing close behind. Just as you were about to glance back at him, a shot rang through the silence, followed by a sudden groan of pain.

No!

Noah bumped into you, nearly sending both of you toppling to the damp dock. Your first instinct was to immediately turn and reach for him, and what you saw was a pained expression written all over his features. He was grabbing at his side with one hand as the other aimed his gun upwards, a few rounds firing out towards the yacht. You were too focused on helping him stand, along with the help of Jackson, to even think about looking up to see who remained.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Jackson took most of Noah’s weight that he couldn’t support himself, but what was given to you was far more than what your overly exhausted and dehydrated body could properly manage. You winced from the heaviness draped over your shoulders, though you refused to give up. If it had been you, Noah would've slung you over his shoulder and carried you to safety without a thought. You could at least manage to be his crutch.

“How far is the car?!” You whisper-yelled at Jackson. More shots sounded around you but none must've hit, thank fucking god.

“It's not far. You're going to get into the back and stop the bleeding. I'll get us out of here. Okay?”

The bleeding.

You glanced down to see your own shirt stained from where Noah’s injured side was pressed against you. Your eyes widen with fear, a sob threatening to break free. No, no, no. You couldn't lose him. You refused to. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. Noah didn't deserve this. None of the people helping you did.

“He’s going to be okay,” Jackson continued when he caught sight of your face and the tears welling in your eyes.

“I've had worse,” Noah then groaned between a sharp gasp, his brows knitting together.

Once the three of you had finally made it to the car, Jackson helped you haul Noah into the back, where you also took up space. Then, he was off, flooring it through the marina to get you all to safety.

“I don't know what I'm supposed to do!” You loudly announced as Noah began helping you lift his shirt. There in his right side was a bullet hole weeping blood, the crimson staining your hands from your attempts to press against it to halt the bleeding.

“Just find something to help stop the bleeding,” Jackson exclaimed in a tone that was far too calm for this situation. Fuck, he was good under pressure. Not something you could say about yourself.

Doing a quick glance around, you didn't see anything of use. Noah's car was insanely clean, unlike how yours used to be filled with clothes and forgotten water bottles. Your eyes fell to your shirt and it was suddenly ripped off your body, the fabric pressed firm to Noah’s injury.

“I need you to tell me if there's an exit wound.”

“What?” You had no idea what Jackson had just said. The sound of your own blood was rushing through your ears, fingers sticky with blood still trembling while pushing the fabric of your shirt firm into Noah’s wound. He was pale, his eyelashes fluttering across the top of his cheeks when he didn't even have enough strength to keep his eyes open anymore.

“An exit wound!” Jackson repeated louder, needing to be heard over your near hyperventilating-level panting. “Did the bullet come out?”

Your eyes frantically searched Noah’s body and you shrugged, the question being too much with everything else overworking your brain. “I don't know! Fuck! I don't think so.”

Jackson didn't say anything else, but you did believe you felt the car lurch forward slightly to indicate him pressing harder onto the accelerator.

“Where are we going?” You questioned through your sniffles and tears that you hadn't even realized had started falling.

Jackson took in a deep breath before he responded. “Nocturnal.”

“He needs a hospital!”

Why the fuck would you guys need to go to the club? You knew going to the hospital with a gunshot wound wasn't the most ideal, but you were willing to risk everything to make sure Noah made it through this. Police interrogation be damned.

“Everything he can get at a hospital, he can also get at Nocturnal. Trust me.”

Well, it wasn't like you had much of a choice.

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buckets-and-trees · 4 months ago

Note

I love that Steve and her mom got to connect and build a better understanding. And loving the development of the marriage. ❤️🤍💙

I'm so glad you enjoyed that! It was a chapter that was a uniquely fun part of the story for me to explore with them - as much about our reader as it was about Steve and her mom.

This chapter has many more married moments...

Red, White & True: Pittsburgh & Harrisburg [13/17]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 9.1k Summary: With only two weeks until Election Day, the truth behind photo-gate finally breaks on national news, potentially changing the game for all the campaigns. Steve changes the energy for his own campaign when he addresses his largest crowd yet, and afterwards, the two of you get to spend a few quiet moments together before hitting the next campaign stop.

Content/Warnings: political policy discussion, marriage of political convenience, slow burn, really the slowest burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Author Notes: It's been a long time since the last update, and that's what I'm blaming on delivering such a long chapter with the muse! I really almost split this one in half, and I did cut a couple of scenes (that I hope to include later), but I had to keep the rest here as it is.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[OCTOBER 20 - LATE MORNING - PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA]

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve said.

“Like what?” you countered.

He turned his head squarely to look at you, arching an eyebrow. “I can feel the disapproval in your gaze.”

“I’m not…” you huff, “I’m not disapproving, I’m just not convinced you’re getting enough sleep at all.”

Outside, the autumn landscape blazes in a riot of crimson and gold, the trees lining the highway creating a fiery corridor that seems to mirror the intensity of the campaign trail. You've been on the road for what feels like an eternity, crisscrossing the country in a blur of rallies, town halls, and fundraisers.

Steve looks down at the speech notes spread across the small tray table over his lap, the papers covered in handwritten revisions and highlighted passages. The light of the late morning highlights the fatigue etched into his features - subtle shadows beneath his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders, the way he keeps blinking a little too deliberately as if fighting to keep his eyes open.

"I'll sleep after the election," he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that half-smile that usually makes your heart flutter. Today, it only deepens your concern.

Across the aisle, Bucky scoffs silently, his metal arm whirring as he flips through a stack of polling data. The sound is barely audible, but the judgmental raise of his eyebrows speaks volumes. You catch his eye and share a moment of mutual exasperation.

"Election Day is still two weeks away," you remind Steve, your voice gentle but firm.

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair, making it stand up in endearing tufts. "I'm fine. The serum—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," you interrupt, narrowing your eyes. "Super soldier or not, you're still human."

Bucky snorts, not bothering to hide his amusement this time. "She's got you there, pal."

Steve shoots him a betrayed look. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side that doesn't want to see you faceplant in the middle of your speech at the rally this afternoon," Bucky retorts, setting down his tablet.

Steve scrubs a hand over his beard. "I just need to finish these revisions. This speech is crucial – Pennsylvania could make or break us."

You reach across the table, gently taking the pen from his fingers. "And that's exactly why you need to rest. You can't win Pennsylvania if you're running on fumes."

His shoulders slump slightly, a rare moment of vulnerability that makes your chest ache. "I can't afford to waste time sleeping when there's so much at stake."

"It's not wasting time," you say softly. "It's making sure you're at your best."

"Fine. I'll rest," he concedes, though his eyes drift back to the speech notes in front of him.

“This is why you have an impeccable speech writing team,” you remind him, gently tugging the notes from his hands, which he allows, though with a deep frown.

Bucky stands, you hand the notes to him, and he heads to the back of the bus where said speech writes are clumped together.

As Bucky disappears, Steve's eyes follow him briefly before returning to you. The campaign bus sways gently as it rounds a curve, sending a shaft of sunlight through the window. It catches in Steve's hair, turning the blond strands to burnished gold, and for a moment, he looks almost like the propaganda posters from the 1940s—Captain America, illuminated and larger than life.

But then he blinks, and he's just Steve again. Tired, stubborn Steve, with worry lines creasing his forehead and that particular set to his jaw that tells you he's still mentally revising that speech.

"Elspeth's been with you since your announcement to run. She knows your voice better than anyone."

"Elspeth's going to think I'm micromanaging," Steve mutters, but there's less conviction in his voice now.

"She will, but Elspeth's used to it," you counter with a gentle smile. "And she always anticipates your edits."

"I know," Steve admits, his voice softening. "Elspeth's brilliant. It's just..." He trails off, his eyes drifting to the window where Pennsylvania's rolling hills pass by in a blur of autumn splendor.

You understand what he can't quite articulate—the weight of responsibility he carries, how deeply personal this campaign has become. Not just another mission, but perhaps his most important one yet.

"Each face out there," Steve continues, "they're looking for something real. Something true." He turns back to you, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch. "I can't give them polished words that don’t hold their weight.”

“Steve, you’ve meant every word you’ve said on this campaign - probably every word you’ve said in your whole life - and you’ll continue to say the right thing whether it’s what’s been written or something you know should be said in the moment.”

His eyes burn more intensely at your words, and your chest swells. That fire is one of the things that has drawn you so much to him these past months.

Once you catch your breath again, you say, “But only if you’re well-rested.”

Steve shakes his head and chuckles softly. “I see you refuse to relinquish your point.”

“Part of my wifely duties,” you tease.

He looks down at your hand on his arm and covers it with his own.

"You know," Steve says after a moment, his thumb tracing absent patterns on the back of your hand, "if I'm not working on this speech, I'd rather spend the time with you than just sleeping."

The tenderness in his voice makes your heart skip. Will he always have this effect on you?

"We've barely had a moment to ourselves since Cincinnati," he continues, his eyes softening as they meet yours. "Three rallies, two fundraisers…”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” you interject. “Fifteen minutes of shut eye. That’s what? The equivalent of three hours of super soldier sleep?” You put even more sarcastic teasing into your tone.

“You know what, Mrs. Rogers?” His voice is stern, but his grin matches yours.

"What I know is that you need to—"

Your retort is cut short by an eruption of noise from the back of the bus. Raised voices cascade forward like a wave, punctuated by gasps and exclamations.

Steve's posture changes instantly, fatigue forgotten as his body coils with alertness. His hand squeezes yours once before releasing it, already half-rising from his seat.

"Everyone shut up!" Jake's voice booms over the commotion. "Just shut up for a second so I can—"

The campaign manager’s fingers fly over the remote control for the bus's sophisticated video system, the multiple screens embedded up and down the large vehicle flashing to life as Jake gets the system to tune into CNN.

"—breaking news just coming into CNN," Wolf Blitzer's voice fills the campaign bus, commanding everyone's attention. "We're following a major development regarding those controversial photographs that surfaced last week."

The entire bus falls silent. Your blood runs cold as Wolf's face fills the screens, his expression serious. Steve's hand finds yours again, gripping it tightly, and you’re grateful for something to hold onto.

"For those just joining us," Wolf explains, "on October 12, Fox News aired what they claimed were exclusive photographs showing the wife of presidential candidate Steve Rogers entering a Planned Parenthood clinic. The images appeared to show her in what Fox commentators described as a 'visibly pregnant' condition."

Your stomach twists into knots. Those fabricated images had been a nightmare—more than a crude photoshop job showing your face pasted onto someone else's body, they were crafted so well that you would have believed them yourself if not for knowing that you’d never been pregnant.

“Mrs. Rogers responded almost immediately claiming the photos were fake and then turning her comments to focus on the services Planned Parenthood provides; the need for better healthcare, access, and education for women’s health in America; and then later the same day, the way women are targeted for political points.”

You held your breath, waiting for what he would say next.

“While the Rogers-Young campaign focused on their platforms and messaging, the debate over these photos died down, but it still hasn’t gone away. We have new sources, however, that have confirmed that the photos were given to Fox News by the Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today - or CSFAT, that the photos were created with extremely sophisticated artificial intelligence, and that CSFAT obtained them from former Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross.”

The bus erupts in chaos again—a mixture of outrage, relief, and vindication washing over the campaign team. This is exactly what Bucky had managed to uncover the week before. Jake is already on his phone, barking orders, while Elspeth starts frantically typing on her tablet next to communications director Lisa, no doubt drafting potential statements. Bucky's face has darkened dangerously, his metal hand clenching into a fist. He and Steve exchange another look, and Bucky shakes his head.

Steve had no doubt been asking if Bucky had leaked the information.

Wolf Blitzer continues, "CNN has obtained exclusive emails between Ross and CSFAT leadership dating back three months, discussing what they called 'strategic image deployment' ahead of the battleground state swing. Ross has not responded to our requests for comment, but his former chief of staff confirmed the rumors that Ross and Rogers always had a terse relationship that was never repaired, even after the reversal of the Sokovia Accords. The Justice Department has just announced they are opening an investigation into potential election interference."

The screen splits to show a panel of commentators, one of whom immediately jumps in. "This is unprecedented, Wolf. Using AI to create false images of a candidate's spouse to suggest she terminated a pregnancy—clearly targeting conservative voters who might otherwise support Rogers and dissuade them from moving away from the Republican—it crosses a dangerous ethical line in political campaigning."

"What's more disturbing," another panelist adds, "is that Ross has up to this point vocally claimed that he wasn’t supporting any campaign. This appears to be a personal vendetta that he’s latched onto the Republican Party to wage against Rogers."

Steve's jaw tightens as he watches, the muscle in his cheek twitching. His hand remains firmly clasped around yours, his thumb now moving in slow, grounding circles against your skin.

"I knew it," Sophia hisses from behind you. "I knew it was Ross."

Jake raises his hand, silencing the growing murmurs. "Everyone, listen up. This is our true October surprise. This changes our strategy for Pittsburgh. We need to be ready to answer questions simply, directly, and then pivot directly to our core messaging. Strong but dignified. No gloating, no goading.”

Steve's eyes haven't left the screen, where the news ticker rolls beneath the panel discussion: "BREAKING: ROSS IMPLICATED IN FAKE PREGNANCY PHOTOS."

"Good advice," Steve says to Jake, his voice steady despite the storm you can feel brewing beneath his calm exterior. "But I'll be addressing this head-on."

Jake's expression tightens. "Steve, we need to be careful about—"

"Not to score political points," Steve interrupts, his gaze finally breaking from the screen to survey the bus. The entire campaign team has gone quiet, watching the exchange. "But this isn't just about me or the campaign anymore. 54This is about deliberately using technology to deceive the American people."

You squeeze his hand, understanding exactly where his mind is going. Steve has always been wary of how easily information can be manipulated in the digital age—something he's witnessed evolve from wartime propaganda posters to the sophisticated disinformation campaigns of the modern era.

"My wife was deliberately targeted, and everyone should be concerned about this kind of deception," Steve continues, his voice taking on that resonant quality that makes people stop and listen. "They can do this to anyone."

"We’ll reframe the Convention Center speech," Elspeth says, through a moment of silence that had formed after Steve’s declaration.

Steve nods at her. "This is our chance to talk about truth, integrity, and the future of information in American democracy."

Jake paces the narrow aisle, phone still clutched in his hand. "The press is already blowing up. Everyone wants a statement."

"Let them wait," Steve says firmly. "We do this right, not rushed."

[OCTOBER 20 - EARLY AFTERNOON - PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA]

Ninety minutes later, the David L. Lawrence Convention Center thrums with an energy that feels almost tangible, like electricity crackling just beneath the surface of the air. Twenty thousand people fill the enormous space, their collective presence turning the cavernous hall into something intimate and alive. The steel beams arching overhead—a nod to Pittsburgh's industrial heritage—gleam under the red, white, and blue lights that bathe the crowd in a cool glow.

You stand in the wings, watching as Mayor Ed Gainey approaches the microphone. The buzz of the crowd ebbs slightly as he raises his hands, though the anticipation remains palpable, a living thing that breathes and pulses throughout the hall.

Steve stands beside you, his shoulders squared, his focus absolute. The fatigue that lined his face on the bus has ebbed away for now. “Ready?” he asks.

You reach out to brush your fingers against his, and he tangles them together. You look up at him and nod. “Let’s do this.”

Mayor Gainey's voice reverberates through the convention center, his words riding on waves of anticipation. "Pittsburgh has always been a city that knows the value of truth!" His declaration brings a surge of applause. "When the steel mills closed, we faced hard truths and rebuilt. When our rivers were polluted, we faced those truths and cleaned them. When our economy needed to evolve, we embraced new truths and transformed!"

The crowd responds with thunderous approval, a sea of signs bobbing like buoys in an ocean of supporters. From your vantage point, you can see the handmade offerings: ROGERS FOR AMERICA and TRUTH, JUSTICE & THE AMERICAN WAY alongside cleverly repurposed vintage Captain America propaganda posters updated with campaign slogans.

"And today," Mayor Gainey continues, his voice swelling with pride, "we stand together as Pittsburghers, as Pennsylvanians, as Americans, to welcome a man who has fought for truth his entire life. But first—" he pauses, a warm smile spreading across his face, "I have the distinct honor of welcoming to the stage someone who has become a powerful voice in her own right during this campaign."

The crowd's energy shifts, a ripple of recognition moving through the packed convention center.

"Someone who has shown grace under fire, who has turned personal attacks into opportunities to speak about issues that matter to all Americans." Mayor Gainey's voice rises above the growing applause. "Please welcome the woman who has stood shoulder to shoulder with Captain Rogers through every step of his campaign—not just as his wife, but as a champion for healthcare, for education, and for the future we all deserve—ladies and gentlemen, the next First Lady of the United States!"

The roar that sweeps through the convention center hits you like a physical force.

You blink and then look up at Steve who looks just as humbled as you feel. You figured the mayor would say positive things, but neither you nor Steve had any idea the mayor would give tantamount to an endorsement.

Mayor Gainey steps back from the podium, applauding enthusiastically as you feel Steve's hand at the small of your back, a gentle pressure urging you forward.

"You've got this," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

You climb the steps up to the stage, stepping out from the wings, blinking against the sudden intensity of the stage lights. The crowd's reaction surges again, a wave of sound that crashes over you as you cross to center stage.

Mayor Gainey embraces you briefly before stepping aside, leaving you alone at the podium facing the sea of faces. For a heartbeat, the enormity of the moment washes over you—twenty thousand people, all waiting for your words. The lights are blinding, the noise deafening, but as you adjust the microphone, a strange calm settles over you.

These people, many of whom have traveled hours to be here, aren't just cheering for you; they're cheering for what you have been working to represent, for the vision of America that Steve and his running mate have been fighting to articulate.

"Thank you, Pittsburgh," you say, your voice steady despite the frenzied fire of nerves in your chest. The crowd quiets, though the energy remains electric. "Thank you for that incredible welcome. And thank you, Mayor Gainey, for those kind words."

You take a deep breath and look out across the sea of expectant faces.

"I wasn't scheduled to do more than introduce my husband today," you continue, a small smile playing at your lips. "But I think we've all learned that sometimes plans change. And I won't take much more of your time, except to say this: the truth matters. It has always mattered."

A knowing murmur ripples through the crowd, and you can feel them with you, present in a way that transcends the physical space between podium and audience.

"I'm not here to dwell on deceptions, or to point fingers. I’m here today to bring to the stage a man committed to honesty, to people, to hard work. A man who has faced impossible odds before, and who will face them again, because that's who he is." Your voice strengthens, finding its rhythm. "A man who believes—who knows—that this country deserves leaders who will look you in the eye and tell you the truth, whether it's easy or hard. Whether it wins votes or costs them."

A swell of applause rises and falls quickly as people are eager for your next words.

"And I promise you this, he’s worth your vote. He will carry your votes with him every single day of your his presidency if you put him into the Oval Office. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my husband, Steve Rogers!"

The applause erupts into something seismic as Steve strides onto the stage, his presence immediately filling the vast space. His smile is warm as he embraces you, holding you just a moment longer than protocol might dictate. His lips brush against your ear.

"That wasn't in the script," he whispers, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

"Not everything that needs to be said is," you whisper back.

As you step away, the crowd's roar intensifies. Steve approaches the podium with that particular gait of his—purposeful, measured, shoulders squared—the stance of a man who has carried the weight of responsibility for so long it's become part of his physical bearing.

You move off to the side of the stage, watching as he raises his hands, waiting for the cheers to subside. It takes nearly a full minute before the crowd lets him speak.

"Thank you, Pittsburgh," Steve begins, his voice cutting through the remaining applause like a warm current. "And thank you to my wife for that introduction."

He pauses, his eyes finding yours across the stage, a brief moment of connection before he turns back to the crowd.

"As some of you may have seen on the news today, there's been a development regarding the photographs of my wife that circulated last week." His tone shifts, becoming more measured, more deliberate. "It's been confirmed that they were fabricated—created using artificial intelligence and distributed as part of a coordinated effort to mislead voters - to mislead you."

A ripple of murmurs and scattered boos crosses the audience.

"I could stand here and talk about who was behind it or why they did it," Steve continues, his hands resting on either side of the podium. "I could spend my time expressing outrage over having my wife's image manipulated for political gain. But that's not why I'm here with you today."

His voice drops slightly, taking on a resonance that makes the massive convention center feel suddenly intimate, as if he's speaking directly to each person in the room.

"I'm here to talk about something more fundamental. Something that matters to every single American, regardless of who they plan to vote for in two weeks." Steve pauses, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "I'm here to talk about truth. About reality. About the fact that these campaigns aren’t games to be won.”

A hush falls over the audience, the kind of attentive silence that comes when twenty thousand people collectively lean forward to listen.

"I was born in 1918. When I woke up in this century, one of the first things that amazed me was the access to information. When I was a kid, you might get news once a day from the radio or newspaper. Now, it's constant, immediate—a miracle of technology." His expression turns solemn. "But with that miracle comes responsibility. And today, we're facing a crisis of truth unlike anything in our history."

Steve's voice resonates through the convention center, commanding the space with a quiet authority that has nothing to do with volume and everything to do with conviction.

"I've seen propaganda before," he continues, "posters of me selling war bonds, films edited to shape public opinion. But what we're facing now is different. When technology can create images, videos, and voices indistinguishable from reality—when what we see can no longer be trusted—the very foundation of our democracy is at risk."

You watch from your spot backstage, feeling a surge of pride mixed with something deeper—the recognition that this is Steve at his most authentic, speaking not as a candidate but as a man who has witnessed a century of change.

"Some will say I'm old-fashioned," Steve says, "that I don't understand modern politics. Maybe they're right about the first part." A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd. "But I understand something fundamental about democracy: it depends on informed citizens. And you can't be informed if you're being deliberately misled."

The crowd stirs, murmurs of agreement rising and falling like waves.

"I'm not here to tell you who to believe or what sources to trust," Steve continues, his voice growing more passionate. "I'm here to ask you to question. To verify. To seek out primary sources and diverse perspectives. To remember that convenience should never trump accuracy."

He pauses, his eyes scanning the crowd with that piercing intensity that makes each person feel seen.

"I'm running for president because I believe we can do better," Steve says, his voice gaining momentum like a wave building strength. "Not just in how we govern, but in how we communicate. In how we disagree. In how we find our way back to a shared understanding of reality."

Steve's hands grip the podium more firmly, his knuckles whitening slightly. You recognize this gesture—it's what he does when he's restraining stronger emotion, channeling it into focused energy.

"I've spent my life fighting for this country," he continues, his voice dropping to a deeper baritone that carries to every corner of the convention center. "Not for a flag or a piece of land, but for an idea. The radical notion that people should govern themselves, that we can come together across our differences to build something greater than any one of us could achieve alone."

The crowd hangs on his every word. The usual campaign energy has transformed into something more reverent, more attentive.

"That idea—that experiment in democracy—it only works when we share a basic understanding of facts. When we can disagree about interpretations and solutions, but not about the fundamental reality we're all facing." Steve's voice grows stronger, more resolute. "The fabricated images of my wife weren't just an attack on her or on me. They were an attack on your right to make informed decisions based on truth."

The convention center is utterly silent, twenty thousand people captivated.

"I've been asked why I don't fight dirtier in this campaign," Steve continues, a wry smile briefly crossing his face. "Why I don't hit back harder when I'm attacked. The answer is simple: because that's exactly what's tearing us apart.

"The constant escalation, the dehumanization of our opponents, the willingness to say or do anything to win." Steve's voice rises, filling the convention center with a passion that resonates in your chest even from where you stand backstage. "I refuse to contribute to that cycle. Not because I'm naive, but because it’s not a future I want to be a part of. It’s not the future I want for our country.”

You watch as Steve straightens, his shoulders squaring as he blazes forward with this crowd hanging onto his every word.

"Now let me yell you what I do want for our country,” he says, and then Steve pivots seamlessly into the stump speech of policy points he had planned to give all along, pointed highlights about healthcare, climate change, housing, immigration, and the economy.

You take a deep breath, realizing you’d been holding your breath, just as captivated by Steve’s words as everyone else in the convention center.

Jake steps up next to you and hands you a bottle of water.

You smile and take it wordlessly.

“That’s why I signed onto this campaign,” he says.

Your smile grows.

“Don’t get me wrong, the paycheck is nothing to sneer at,” Jake adds, “but I can negotiate a nice fee from any campaign. But it’s candidates like Steve that made me want to be a political consultant and run campaigns in the first place.”

“There’s no other candidate like Steve though,” you respond.

"That's absolutely true," Jake acknowledges, his gaze still fixed on Steve as the crowd erupts into applause. "In twenty years of doing this, I've never seen anyone who can speak from the heart like him and still hit every policy point without sounding rehearsed."

You nod, watching as Steve gestures emphatically, his conviction radiating across the convention center. The crowd responds with another wave of cheers, signs bobbing like a multicolored tide.

"He believes every word," you say softly.

"That's why he's exhausted," Jake replies, a hint of concern threading through his professional demeanor. "So many candidates turn it on for the cameras and speeches, then collapse into cynicism or retreat behind closed doors. Steve's the same person in private as he is up there."

On stage, Steve has reached the crescendo of his speech, his voice rising not in volume but in intensity, his words binding the audience together in a shared vision.

"He's always been that way," Bucky interjects, stepping up next to both of you. "The weight of the world on his shoulders and the determination to carry it."

"After Pittsburgh, we have a three-hour drive to the hotel in Harrisburg," Jake says, checking his watch. "You two make sure he actually sleeps. We need him at full strength for the final push."

You nod, your eyes never leaving Steve as he reaches the conclusion of his speech.

"I'm not asking you to vote for me because I was Captain America," he says, his hands gripping the podium. "I'm asking you to vote for me because I believe in an America where we face our challenges together. Where we don't hide from hard truths or difficult conversations. Where we remember that our neighbors aren't our enemies, even when we disagree.

"Two weeks from today, you'll make your choice," Steve continues. "Whatever that choice is, I ask only this: make it based on truth. Make it based on substance. Make it based on the future you want to build—not just for yourself, but for generations to come in this, our United States of America!"

The crowd erupts into a thunderous standing ovation, the sound rolling through the convention center like a physical force. Steve stands tall at the podium, allowing the moment to crest before raising his hands in a gesture of gratitude. The campaign's playlist begins to blast through the speakers as red, white, and blue confetti rains down from the ceiling, catching the stage lights and transforming the air into a shimmering curtain.

"Thank you, Pittsburgh!" Steve's voice rings out over the roar.

You watch as Steve moves away from the podium, waving to the crowd, his smile genuine despite the exhaustion you can still see lurking behind his eyes. Mayor Gainey returns to the stage along with several local officials, all eager for that crucial photograph with the man dangerously close to leading in the Pennsylvania polls.

"He nailed it," Bucky murmurs beside you, his eyes tracking Steve as he navigates the crowd of dignitaries with practiced ease. "That part about propaganda—he's been wanting to say that for weeks."

The backstage area has transformed into organized chaos—staffers darting between equipment cases, security personnel murmuring into earpieces, journalists hovering at the edges hoping for a quick comment. Through it all, Steve moves with that particular grace of his, giving each person his full attention despite the crush of bodies and demands.

"We need to get him moving toward the exit," Lisa says, appearing at your side with her ever-present tablet. "The press line outside is getting restless, and we're already going to take heat from them for not fielding any questions on the way in.”

Steve walks toward the edge of the stage where you're waiting, and his eyes find yours immediately. The public persona slips just slightly—enough for you to see the exhaustion he keeps ignoring creeping back in around the edges. He reaches for your hand as he descends the steps, his fingers lacing with yours immediately.

You reach your other hand up, curling it around the side of his neck, and pull him in for an enthusiastic kiss. Steve's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. When you finally break apart, his eyes are bright despite the fatigue.

"You were magnificent up there," you tell him, your voice low enough that only he can hear.

His expression softens, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face with gentle fingers. "I meant every word."

"I know you did.”

"We need to move," Lisa urges from behind you, her voice slightly tense with the pressure of maintaining the schedule.

“You heard her,” Bucky intervenes, backing her up, “move it along, love birds.”

You bite your lip to suppress a giggle, your happiness at a peak in this moment. The energy from the enthusiastic and enormous crowd, Steve’s powerful speech, nailing your own impromptu changes for his introduction, but mostly from still being pressed close to Steve, the warmth of the spontaneous kiss lingering on your lips.

Steve's hand finds the small of your back as you both begin moving toward the exit, navigating through the backstage labyrinth. Security personnel form a discreet barrier around you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

"Two minutes with the local press, then straight to the bus," Jake instructs, falling into step beside Steve. "We touch on the Ross revelation only if directly asked. Otherwise, it's healthcare and manufacturing for Pennsylvania."

Once you’re back on the campaign bus and rolling to Harrisburg, you are able to easily coax Steve to “rest” in the back of the bus.

The door to the private quarters has barely clicked shut when Steve's hands are at your waist, spinning you around, backing you against the wall with an urgency that makes your breath catch. His mouth finds yours, hungry and insistent, the restraint he shows in public nowhere to be found.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer as if the inch of space between you is too much to bear. "Just today?" you tease, gasping as his lips trace a path down your neck.

"Every day," he corrects, his hands framing your hips, rubbing circles with his thumbs over the smooth fabric of your blouse. "Every minute."

"Steve," you breathe, your body responding eagerly even as your mind reminds you of his need for rest in this rare break in the schedule. His lips are tracing a path along your jaw that makes coherent thought increasingly difficult. The gentle sway of the campaign bus adds a dreamlike quality to the moment.

Your hands move to his chest, not quite pushing him away but creating just enough space to look up into his eyes. The blue of his irises has darkened with desire, but you can still see the shadows beneath them, the slight redness that speaks of too many late nights and early mornings.

"As much as I'd love to continue this," you say softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, "you're supposed to be resting."

A flash of stubbornness crosses his features, and you can't help a small laugh tumbling out.

Steve makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm fine," he insists, but the way he leans into you betrays a hint of the exhaustion you’ve been worrying over all day.

"You're running on fumes," you counter softly, tracing one finger over the delicate skin beneath his eye where the shadows have deepened over the past week. "We have a three-hour drive to Harrisburg. That's three precious hours you can sleep."

"I'd rather spend them with you," he murmurs, his lips finding a sensitive spot just below your ear that makes you shiver. "Awake."

You close your eyes, momentarily lost in the sensation of his touch. The campaign bus hums beneath you, the rhythm of the highway creating a gentle, rocking motion that feels oddly intimate in the confines of the private quarters.

"What if we compromise? You sleep," you suggest, your fingers now working at his tie, loosening the knot. "And I'll be right here beside you."

His hands cover yours, stilling your movements. "That's not much of a compromise," he points out, a hint of amusement in his voice despite the fatigue etched into his features. "I agreed to rest. Not necessarily to sleep."

"Alright," you continue, slipping the tie from around his neck and draping it over the hook on the back of the door. "We can rest together. Just lie down. Talk. Be still for a while."

Steve studies your face, his expression softening. "Just talk?"

"Just talk," you confirm as you edge past him to the tiny bunks. It will be a cozy fit for the two of you, but you know neither of you will mind. You scoot in and get situated with Steve climbing right in behind you. He goes in for a kiss, and another laugh bubbles up from your chest, even as you melt slightly against him. "You're impossible."

"And you're wonderful," he counters, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. "Especially when you're watching out for me."

Your expression softens. "Someone has to."

Steve's playfulness fades slightly, replaced by something more vulnerable. "I know I push too hard sometimes."

"You always push too hard," you correct gently. "I’ve only known you for five months, and I know it's who you are."

He sighs, resting his forehead against yours again. "The stakes feel so high."

"They are high," you acknowledge, one your hands coming to rest on his chest as he settles on his back and you curl up to his side. “But that crowd we just came from was incredible. And you connected so well with them. I can feel a shift.”

"You really think so?" Steve asks, his voice lower now, a hint of uncertainty threading through the words that most never get to hear from him. You certainly didn’t for your first months together.

You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him properly, taking in the fine lines around his eyes, the slight furrow between his brows that never fully smooths away these days. "I do. The way they responded to you... it wasn't just political enthusiasm. It was something deeper."

Steve's hand finds yours, his thumb tracing absent patterns across your knuckles. "Pennsylvania is the key. If we can flip it..."

"We can," you assure him, settling back down against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is comforting, a metronome counting out the moments of this rare peaceful interlude. "But not if you collapse from exhaustion first."

Steve chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your ear.

"And it wasn't just the content of the speech," you say, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest through his shirt. "It was you. The way you speak—it's like you're having a conversation with each person in that room individually."

"That's how my mother taught me to talk to people. 'Look them in the eye, Steven, and speak from your heart.'"

"Sarah Rogers sounds like she was quite a woman."

"She would have loved you," Steve says.

You feel his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek, his breathing beginning to deepen despite his resistance to sleep.

"What would she think of all this?" you ask softly. "Her son running for president?"

Steve is quiet for so long you nearly wonder if he's already drifted off, but then his voice comes, quieter now. "She'd probably say I was being stubborn again, taking on more than I should." You laugh softly together. "But then she'd roll up her sleeves and ask how she could help."

You smile against his shirt. "Like mother, like son."

Steve tips your chin up, and kisses you again, softly.

The kiss lingers, soft and unhurried, a gentle contrast to the frenetic pace that has defined your lives these past months. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache, and you find yourself melting into him, the campaign, the polls, the speeches, the turmoil all forgotten in this moment of connection.

When you finally break apart, Steve's eyes remain closed for a moment longer, his lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks in the dim afternoon light.

"Tell me something," you murmur, settling back against his chest, your head tucked perfectly beneath his chin.

"Hmm?" His voice vibrates through his chest against your ear.

"Something I don't know yet. Something from before."

Steve's arm tightens around you, pulling you closer as the campaign bus rumbles beneath you.

"Before," he repeats, his voice taking on that distant quality it sometimes gets when he reaches back across the decades. "You know, when I first woke up in this century, I kept a list."

"A list?"

"Things people told me I needed to catch up on. Thai food. Star Wars. Disco." A gentle laugh rumbles through his chest. "I was so focused on what I'd missed that I barely thought about what I remembered."

You trace idle patterns on his shirt, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath your fingertips. "And what do you remember most clearly?"

Steve is quiet for a long moment, his breathing deep and even. When he speaks again, his voice is softer.

"The smell of apples cooking down with cinnamon in my mother's kitchen," Steve says, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "The way sunlight looked filtering through the clotheslines strung between tenements. The sound of kids playing stickball in the street."

You close your eyes, trying to picture it—Brooklyn before the war, before skyscrapers and smartphones, before Steve became Captain America.

"We didn't have much," he continues, his fingers absently stroking your hair. "But there was a richness to life then that's hard to explain. People looked out for each other because they had to. Mrs. Calabrese from the third floor would watch me when my mother worked late shifts at the TB ward. Mr. Goldstein at the corner store would save bruised fruit for us at half price."

"It sounds wonderful," you murmur.

"Parts of it were," Steve says, his voice soft with memory. "And parts were harder than anything you can imagine. The winters when we couldn't afford enough coal. The Great Depression was more than the physical lack. There was a constant worry about having enough."

You listen intently, feeling privileged to hear these pieces of himself that he rarely shares with others.

"But there was something real about it all," he continues. "When you have so little, you appreciate everything more intensely. A warm meal. A new pencil. The first sunny day after weeks of rain."

"That's why this matters so much to you, isn't it?" you ask, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

Steve's eyes meet yours, clear and focused. "I've seen what happens when people lose hope. We lost so much hope after the Snap, and some things are better since we brought everyone back, but the new chaos and unrest has cast its own shadows." His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. "The Depression, the War—they taught me that systems matter, that leadership matters. That the decisions made in far-off offices change lives on streets like the one I grew up on. I wanted things to work out without me because I’m just an Avenger, but Pepper persuaded me we needed to try for a president who isn’t a politician."

You settle back against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath. “She’s masterfully persuasive. She convinced me to marry a stranger.”

He laughs and his arm tightens around you. “Well, that seems to be a pretty good call so far, so maybe this other thing will work out, too.”

You smile against his chest, and you’re both quiet for a moment.

"Tell me more about Brooklyn," you prompt gently. "About your home."

You continue talking softly together until you both fall asleep, though you’re not sure if it is you or him who drops off first.

[OCTOBER 20 - EVENING - HARRISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA]

You are alone when you wake up.

You sit up quickly, slightly disoriented. The light in private quarters of the campaign bus are dim, but you can see through the window that night has fallen. The bus is no longer moving.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bunk and gather the shoes you had discarded earlier, slipping them back on your feet. You move to the tiny bathroom, and grimace slightly when you take in your appearance. It’s not bad, but it’s definitely nap-rumpled.

Someone must have heard you bustling around, because there’s a soft knock on the door that you recognize.

“Come in,” you call out, and you see Sophia open the door over your shoulder in the reflection of the mirror.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she says. "We're in Harrisburg."

"How long since we arrived?"

"Maybe an hour,” she answers. “There were press interviews before the event tonight, so the rest of the campaign went on ahead, and we’ll catch up. Steve insisted we let you rest.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Of course he did. Did he at least sleep for more than five minutes?”

“He said to report to you that he promises he slept for at least an hour,” Sam says, appearing behind Sophia.

You repress a Cheshire grin as you deduce that Sam elected to stay back to wait on you with Sophia. But you only just manage it.

"And did he?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Did he what?" Sam asks, a smile playing at his lips.

"Sleep for an hour," you clarify, reaching for a brush to tame your hair.

Sam and Sophia exchange a knowing look. "Let's just say Bucky confirmed he was out for at least ninety minutes, which might be a campaign record," Sophia says.

You nod, satisfied, and start to brush out your hair, assessing what needs to be done to make yourself presentable again. Surprisingly your blouse isn’t hopelessly wrinkled from being slept in, but your blazer hasn't fared well. Why didn’t you think to take that off before slipping onto the cot?

Probably because slipping one thing off might have been too tempting for both of you to slip off more clothing…

"Here, let me help," Sophia says, noticing your predicament. She rummages in one of the cupboards built into the wall of the bus, pushing aside emergency supplies and campaign materials. "Aha!" she exclaims, pulling out the travel steamer.

"Always a lifesaver," you tell her, gratefully shrugging out of your blazer and handing it over.

As Sophia gets to work on your blazer, you quickly freshen up your makeup and fix your hair. There's a comfortable rhythm to it, a routine that's become familiar over these past months on the trail. The three of you move around the confined space with practiced ease, Sam stepping out to take a call while you and Sophia discuss the evening ahead.

You’re Future-First-Lady presentable in next to no time, and then you, Sophia, and Sam get off the boss and hop into a waiting SUV.

Once you’re buckled in, Sam hands you a sandwich and a bag of chips. “Saved you something to eat. You slept through dinner."

Your stomach growls on cue, and you laugh. "I guess I did."

Sophia passes you a bottle of water and a bib as well. You don’t question it, learning early on you can only safely eat slowly or with a bib on the campaign trail, otherwise it’s almost guaranteed there will be some kind of spill. Better safe than sorry.

You take a grateful bite of the sandwich, realizing just how hungry you are. The SUV glides through the darkened streets of Harrisburg, the city lights sliding across the windows as you make your way toward the venue for tonight's town hall. There are Secret Service SUVs escorting both in front and behind your vehicle.

"How far is the venue?" you ask between bites.

"About fifteen minutes," Sophia replies, her eyes fixed on her tablet as she scrolls through the latest updates. "Traffic's light."

The driver has the radio on, and one of the familiar voices of NPR's news coverage fills the car: "—continuing coverage of the breaking news regarding the fabricated photographs of Steve Rogers' wife. CNN reported earlier today that former Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross has been implicated in creating and distributing AI-generated images purporting to show Mrs. Rogers at a Planned Parenthood facility for an abortion procedure. Ross evidently financed the operation and gave the photos to CSFAT, who then gave them to Fox News last week.”

You frown, and you know you’re not the only one, but no one seems inclined to change the station either, everyone too interested in hearing what they’ll say next.

“In a speech he gave at a rally in Pittsburg earlier today, Steve Rogers called for Americans to seek out truth, committing to always deal in truth, even when truths are difficult to share. Meanwhile, this afternoon, the message coming out of the Democratic camp has been increasingly strident. At a press conference in Detroit, Senator Jason Monroe, the Democratic nominee, made his own statement.”

The audio cuts directly to a clip of Monroe.

"This kind of technological deception represents a new low in American politics," Monroe declares. "I call on my Republican opponent to immediately and unequivocally denounce Thaddeus Ross and the Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today. Their creation and distribution of AI-generated photographs is not merely dirty politics—it's an attack on our electoral process itself."

You grimace as the radio continues broadcasting Monroe's remarks, but continue to listen with Sophia, Sam, and your driver as you eat your sandwich.

You know Peterson can’t denounce CSFAT without hemoraging “family values” voters, even if they don’t lean as extreme as CSFAT does.

"The American people deserve to know whether the Republican Party condones these tactics," Monroe continues, his voice sharp with practiced outrage. "And whether Governor Peterson was aware of or involved in this deception. Until we have clear answers, I believe this casts a shadow over the entire Republican campaign."

You exchange glances with Sam and Sophia. Monroe is doing exactly what Jake and the rest of your campaign team had expected - trying to turn this revelation into a broader attack on Steve's running mate and the Republican Party as a whole.

"That's rich," Sam mutters, shaking his head. "Like Monroe's Super PACs haven't been running misleading ads for months."

Monroe's voice continues from the radio. "I'm calling for a joint statement from all candidates condemning the use of deepfakes and AI manipulation in political campaigns. This isn't about politics anymore. It's about preserving the integrity of our democracy."

Sophia scoffs. “Of course, he wants to call for a joint statement. If he can organize it, it looks like a win for him.”

“Peterson won’t do it, he’ll say Monroe’s just trying to score points of his own for proposing and organizing the statement,” Sam says.

“And all Steve has to do is say a joint statement isn’t needed when that’s what Americans should expect from any presidential candidate,” you add.

“Exactly,” Sophia pumps her fist in the air.

The NPR host returns: "We should note that there is currently no evidence suggesting Governor Peterson or the official Republican campaign had any knowledge of or involvement in the creation of these images. The Justice Department has opened an investigation, and Ross has not yet commented publicly on the allegations."

"Can we turn it off for now?” you ask the driver.

“Absolutely, Mrs. Rogers,” he responds, switching the radio off.

You turn to Sophia. “I know we’re concerned about the seven major swing states that can go red or blue a the tip of a hat, but with this fighting for the sake of capitalizing on a political fight, can we expand to states that were in that sixty-percent majority range?”

“Snag the people who might be ready to be independents but have kept with their party because there’s only been the two major parties for so long,” Sophia concurs. “I think Jake will still want to keep Steve in the seven swing as much as possible, but he’d see the wisdom in moving you into more of that next circle and be up for adjusting the schedule.”

Your heart aches for a moment. Early in the campaign, you and Steve frequently campaigned together and separately, but more and more since September, you’ve stuck together, and you’ve wanted to. When you were congenial members of a campaign team who happened to be married for the political positioning, it hadn’t mattered.

But now the idea of campaigning separately from Steve, even for a few days, twists something in your chest. Your feelings for him have evolved with startling speed from reluctant respect to genuine affection to something much deeper—something you're still getting used to naming, even in your own mind.

"I think that's a great strategy," you say, pushing past the flutter of emotion. "Especially if we target suburban areas where voters might be feeling torn between party loyalty and policy preferences."

Sam gives you a knowing look that you choose to ignore, focusing instead on finishing your sandwich as the lights of downtown Harrisburg grow brighter through the windows. The SUV slows as it approaches the historic Forum Auditorium, its classical columns illuminated against the night sky.

"How many people tonight?" you ask.

"About fifteen hundred," Sophia answers, checking her tablet. "Town hall format. Prescreened questions until the end, Charlie and Zoey Young are already there, and you and Zoey will join Steve and Charlie on stage with the candidates fielding the questions.”

"Town halls are his strongest format," Sam adds with a smile. "People connect with him even more when he's answering their questions directly."

You nod, brushing crumbs from your lap and carefully removing the bib. There's something comforting about the routine of it all, the seamless transition from one event to the next, each with its own rhythm and demands.

"And what's the mood?" you ask, knowing Sophia will have already checked in with the advance team.

"Energized but not rowdy," she replies. "Local issues are dominating—healthcare access in rural areas, the opioid crisis, infrastructure. The Ross story is buzzing, but it's not overshadowing everything."

"Good," you say with a nod. "That's what we want."

The SUV pulls up to the rear entrance of the auditorium, where security personnel immediately surround the vehicle. The familiar choreography unfolds—doors opening, earpieces murmuring, a path clearing through the hustle and bustle.

The backstage area of the Forum buzzes with the controlled chaos that defines campaign events—staffers with headsets, local officials waiting for their moment, journalists hovering at the edges of secured areas. You spot Jake immediately, his tall figure bent over a tablet as he confers with Lisa and Elspeth.

And then you see Steve.

He's standing at the edge of the stage, peering out through the curtain at the gathering crowd, his back to you.

Even from this distance, you can read the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way he holds himself with that perfect posture that never quite relaxes. He's wearing the navy suit you picked out together a few weeks ago, the one that brings out the blue in his eyes.

Bucky stands beside him, saying something that makes Steve laugh—a genuine laugh that transforms his face, erasing the campaign weariness for just a moment. The sight makes your heart skip, and you find yourself smiling automatically.

Steve turns, sensing your presence with that uncanny awareness he always seems to have. His eyes find yours across the busy backstage area, and his face softens, lighting up with a warmth that still catches you off guard sometimes. You make your way toward him swiftly, navigating through the crowd with practiced grace.

"You're here," he says when you reach him, his voice warm.

"Exactly where I'm supposed to be," you reply, reaching up to straighten his already-perfect tie, just for the excuse to touch him.

Steve's hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in that gentle way that has become so familiar. And even though you’ll have the rest of the evening together, you’re already missing him, certain that you’ll be getting off to separate cities tomorrow.

Lurking in the darkest corners of your mind is an even bigger concern that you’ve been ignoring as much as you possibly can…

Steve has been gaining momentum - it’s been compounding since day one - but he’s still an independent presidential candidate in a system that’s been voting between two parties for over two hundred years. Everyone on your team, thousands of volunteers and supporters across the country, you’re all fighting tooth and nail and working towards victory.

But what happens if the very realistic possibility is realized and he doesn’t win?

next part: Boston & New York

I apologize for another long wait for this one. (haha, don't worry, I KNOW anyone who made it to here isn't going to hate me for the length!)

...and even though it was long, the only pieces I could have taken out were their married moments, and I just genuinely didn't want to, so I hoped all of you enjoyed getting to just spend some soft time with them. I could've cut down what we saw of Steve's speech, too, but I didn't want that, either. 🥹 I love potentially-President Steve. Therapeutic for me, and I love getting to let him show his leadership and desire to do good in a different way than his superhero work.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #slow burn #political au #steve rogers x you #red white & true #aspen wrote something #female reader

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alexisaflop · 4 months ago

Text

Wait on your song - Steve Harrington x Henderson reader

Stranger things rewrite with reader as Dustin's older sibling and Nancy's best friend. When I say slow burn I mean slow burn - sort of enemies to lovers.

Title based on Rock n Roll Suicide by David Bowie

Limited gendered language towards reader

Wider context: character is a nerd first and foremost. An art lover, they work in the Hawkins Record shop, and write their own songs sometimes. They're best friends with Nancy and Barb but know Jonathan from a shared interest in art and music.

Other things to know: I have wrangled the reader to have moved from England when they started middle school because I will probably use Britishisms and i guess this makes it more natural? Also it's a fanfic so why not?

Content warnings: universe app violence/gore, swearing. Use of Y/N.

MASTERLIST

Chapter below the cut - actually finished this time!

Chapter One: The Vanishing of Will Byers

It was unusually still for an early November night as you locked up Breaking Records. Another slow shift finished. You tightened your jacket around you, before pedalling off to the Wheelers.

Dustin had been talking about Mike's campaign all week, so you knew that was exactly where he'd be. That was fine with you, it would be good to check in with Nancy. This week was choc full of tests, and you, Nancy, and Barb had made a pact to hold each other accountable for studying.

Nancy especially has been worrying about her GPA for college applications. But since she'd starting going out on-and-off with Steve, you were concerned she was getting distracted. You knew Nancy would never forgive herself if she dropped her grades for some boy. Especially one like Steve.

The Wheeler's house always felt so inviting. Knowing better than to interrupt Ted's television time whilst Karen put Holly to bed, you let yourself in. After quickly poking your head in to say hello to Ted, you headed up to Nancy's room.

It was weird how much Nancy's room was like yours at home despite being in a much nicer house. Her walls were plastered with film posters (yours with music posters and record sleeves) and pictures of the two of you and Barb or her with Mike. She was criminally neat though, her bookshelf stacked carefully and her bed carefully made.

Nancy herself, however, looked considerably less put together. Her hair was falling out of what had become a pretty scrappy ponytail and her eyes looked strained and tired.

'Nance, you really shouldn't do much more tonight. You need to have enough energy to sit the tests not sleep through them,' you said as she hugged you hello.

She sighed, 'I know, but they're all I can think about right now.'

'Me too, but there's only so much you can do,' you said, secretly a bit jealous that Nancy didn't have to work, and had all this time to use on studying. But also, at least you got paid to work at Breaking Records, and on slow days you managed to sneak in some revision too.

'Mike! Mike!' you heard Mrs Wheeler calling.

'I'm jealous of the boys,' Nancy said, moving the subject, 'they have been down there All. Day.'

You hear some muffled shouting from Mike followed by, 'You mean the end? Fifteen after!'

'I should probably go help your mum,' you say, 'as much as I love you Nance, I'm really here to get Dustin.'

The four boys were in disarray as you came down the stairs.

'Damn guys what did you do? The battles in these games are still fictional right?'

Mike gave you an unimpressed look whilst Lucas and Will whispered something about dice in the corner.

'Come on Dustin we've used up enough of these good people's time,' you said, gesturing upstairs.

Dustin offered around cold pizza before disappearing upstairs. You helped the boys clean up whilst they run you through the campaign so far.

You find Mrs Wheeler upstairs and thank her for having Dustin basically all weekend, and letting him and the boys 'stink up her basement'.

She smiled and said, 'It's nice to see them still being kids. Now Nancy feels all grown up, it makes me appreciate how they won't be this young forever. But I do wish sometimes they wouldn't make such a mess!'

You thank her once again, before heading outside to hear, 'sister is such a jerk.'

You frown at him and he says, 'oh no not you, Nancy, she's got a stick up her butt.'

You shake your head, 'I don't see how insulting my friend instead of me is meant to get me to forgive you, little brother.'

'Yeah she's been like this ever since she started going out with that Steve Harrington,' Lucas says, whilst Mike protests that she's always been a jerk.

'Steve might be a jerk, but that doesn't make Nancy one,' you say, trying not to think of all the lunchtimes she'd skipped on you and Barb for to go and hang out with Steve.

Something must have been showing on your face, because all Lucas has to do is pointedly raise his eyebrows at you.

'Whatever Sinclair, let's go. I'm shattered from work, and I've got like a million tests to sit this week.'

As you head back Dustin and Will agree on a race for the price of a comic. Will races off as Dustin swears.

'I didn't say go yet!' Dustin yells after him, 'I'm gonna kill you!'

All Will has to say to that is, 'I'll take your X-Men 134!'

You watch Will cycle away and wonder, as you do most times, if you should go home with him. But every time you think he'd be embarrassed to have to be escorted home in a way that none of the other boys do. Either way that night you don't sleep easy.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

The next morning you wake up to your alarm squawking even though it was still dark outside. You stumble out of bed, get dressed and ready to go before hammering on Dustin's door, his room suspiciously quiet.

'Come on Dustin, you're going to be late!'

You hear some expletives through the door and roll your eyes before heading out and pedalling to school.

You find Nancy by the lockers with Barb.

'We just made out a couple times,' Nancy protests.

You and Barb share a look before saying together in airy voices, 'we just made out a couple times.'

Nancy gives us a death stare, which immediately softens as Barb says, 'just please don't start hanging out with Tommy H and Carol all the time.'

You can feel Barb's concern, it feels like the two of you are being left behind.

'I would never,' Nancy says, at least having the decency to make a face.

You smile to show there are no hard feelings, before saying, 'Barb even if she does go for those guys, I would never, ever leave you for them - yuck. Am I not enough for you Barb, without Nancy is our friendship worth nothing,' you mock getting down onto your knees, 'Am I not also worthy of your love?'

Barb cracks a smile at you being so overdramatic and Nancy just raises an eyebrow, slightly shaking her head.

'See how she already turns against us!' you gesture dramatically, 'You have broken my heart Nancy, and more importantly you have broken Barb's.'

'Hey babe, hey Nancy's weird friends,' you hear a voice behind you say.

Steve.

He's looking at you like you're crazy, has he never had a bit of banter before? No, never had to break the tension?

Or at least turn up at a better time?

'They are not weird,' Nancy reprimands him, which you appreciate.

'Seriously?' Steve looks at you and then back to Nancy, 'so did you get my note?'

Knowing you've missed something, you glanced at Barb.

'Ooh the bathroom, how romantic,' you say without thinking, trailing off as you see Nancy flush slightly and Steve glare at you.

'Well you let me know when you have someone to leave notes in a locker for, and I'll give you some tips,' Steve quips.

Fair enough, 'and I'll give you some ideas of how to not get girls to think you're gross' you reply.

He and Nancy are walking away as he says, 'all I heard was, ideas of how to not get girls'.

You're not sure whether you were supposed to hear him or not.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After school you headed to band practice. You played the flute and had started learning piccolo for fun. At home you played guitar and you were teaching yourself a bit of piano for fun, but for the sake of school band you were on the flute.

You have your dad to thank for learning all the instruments. He loved music and had his own band. He'd always joked that you could start a family band, well family duo. And as you'd got older and you started writing your own stuff he said that he'd always be your Roadie.

You liked Band, it reminded you that music is expression, another way of communicating with people.Unfortunately, as far as you knew it did not allow for communication beyond the grave.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When you got home, Dustin was concerned, rushing about getting 'supplies'. When he finally told you 'supplies for finding Will' your stomach drops.

The bit of hope you had had, is snuffed out. Dustin runs through how the police are involved but the Party don't want to just sit and wait to be found.

'But that's what they told you to do?' you ask.

Dustin nods.

'Then you should stay here, I want you safe.'

'Do you really think they'll find him?'

'Wait here,' you say, 'I'm serious, I'll be right back.'

You return, Walkie in hand, 'channel 6, yeah? I want updates every hour of where you are. I'll have it all night, call me if anything happens.'

Dustin shrugs, but agrees.

'I mean it Dusty! Anything happens I want to hear about it.'

Then the phone rings.

It's Nancy, she's cancelling on you. Thinking it's because she's heard about the boys ridiculous plan to find Will alone, in the dark, and cold, you're about to offer to help.

'Steve just really wanted to see me tonight.'

You roll your eyes. You're happy for her as her friend, exploring new things, going out with someone actually popular and getting that American high school experience.

But Steve's name every time you spoke to Nancy was getting to you. When you first moved here, he'd given you so much crap about your accent whilst his friends made jabs about your self-made clothes and lack of nice hair and makeup or living with your single mum. And now Nancy is into him.

You phone Barb after Nancy gets you to cover for her if her mom calls.

Barb feels similar to you. She thinks the two of you are getting left behind.

'What if we never find someone like Steve?'

'We die happy I guess, I'm holding myself to a higher standard than bullies.'

'Come on, Y/N, you know what I mean. Someone we can be with. Someone who wants us around all the time. Someone who we can go out with and show off to the world, y'know?'

Everything you could think of to say felt cheap. Having moved here halfway through a school year, you'd become pretty confident in just taking things at your own pace. Not like Barb, who had always been able to fit into the background.

'We'll be okay.'

After some quiet, you make up an excuse that you want to keep an eye on Dustin tonight what with everything going on.

So you say goodnight to Barb and head over to the Byers' to check in on them. You triple check you have your Walkie and that it's on before heading off.

You and Jonathan aren't especially close, although you have often bonded over his music taste and photography hobby whilst picking up your brothers from various places.

Jonathan's house ends up to be a muster point for Will's search party.

So they still haven't found him.

It's getting dark as you join Jonathan in the throngs of people.

'You saw him last night?' Jonathan's voice is dry and scratchy.

'Yeah, I went home with all of them from the Wheeler's. I should have taken him all the way home from mine, I'm so sorry Jonathan,' you say.

He shakes his head, 'I should have been home. My mom thought I'd be home, Will probably thought I would be too. But I picked up a stupid extra shift. I let him down.'

You sigh, 'this is not your fault Jonathan. He's a smart kid, I know he'll be okay.'

He looks at you and you know he doesn't believe you. So instead you pull him into a hug, he smells like autumn leaves and vanilla.

You realise you've never hugged Jonathan before, generally opting for a more awkward wave or even more fist bump, so you're not sure what to expect. He reacts slowly, before gripping your jacket tightly, his fingers embedded on the patches you sewed on. His head falls on your shoulder and you think he's crying. Unsure of what else to do, you just don't let go.

You think of Will, and how he will probably cling to his brother like this if we find him. When. When we find him, you reprimand yourself.

Eventually he pulls away, awkwardly apologises, which you wave off. He walks away so you can't see his tears.

The sun has long set now. The trees have a low fog between them and a chill is settling into your bones. You pull your jacket tighter around you, knowing it's going to be a long night.

'He's a good student.. Will he's a good student. A great one. Scott Clarke I don't think we've met. Biology. Middle school.' Mr Clarke is talking to Hopper. You'd always liked Mr Clarke.

'Never liked science.'

'Maybe you just had a bad teacher,' Mr Clarke said. You smiled, he had always put the most effort into his lessons.

'Miss Radcliffe was a piece of work,' Hopper comments.

'Oh yeah she's still kicking around believe it or not'

'Oh yeah I believe it. Eternities. Sarah my daughter understood galaxies and hnivcerked and what not. I always thought there was enough going on down here to worry about'

'What grade is she? Maybe I'll get her in my class.'

'She's with her mom in the city... Thanks for coming out teach.'

And with that Hopper's gone into the mist.

'She died a few years back,' says someone you don't know.

'Who?' asks Mr Clarke

'His kid.'

You feel the guilt again. Will's just a kid. You hope he reappears from the mist.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After hours in the mist and the damp air sticking your clothes to your skin the search was called off for the night.

You walked Jonathan home in silence. When you got to his house you offered to stay and help with anything but he declined. And it was clear that he and his mum needed some time together.

About halfway home on your bike the rain becomes thunderous. You can barely see as the rain comes in sheets and plasters your hair across your face.

Which is of course when Dustin chooses to start shouting over the radio.

'Y/N, Y/N, why aren't you answering? Where are you? I need your help! Code red!'

Maybe they've found Will? But he sounded so concerned.

Maybe another one of the Party is missing?

You swerve to the side of the road and attempt to seek some shelter under a tree.

'This better be important Dustin it is horrible out here.'

'Just come to Mike's. Please. I don't know who might be listening.'

He refused to answer anything else.

Having only moved in with Dustin and your mum (or mom? You never felt sure) only a few years ago, there were some things with Dustin that you still weren't sure about. Like how to tell if he's being overdramatic.

When you first met Dustin he had only been about 5, you were visiting from the UK. Your dad had had a work thing in Chicago and dropped you off to stay for a week. Dustin had looked up to you straight away, doing a silly English accent and making you read him the Sherlock Holmes books you'd been reading to him.

Going into that week you hadn't been sure what to expect. There had been an ugly fight at the end of it. They were divorced already at that point, and it just sort of happened.

You didn't really care, not as much as you had cared about Dustin anyway. He had gone off to his room to hide the fact he was crying. When you spoke to him he had only said

'We never got to finish our book.'

You had indulged the lie and carried on reading it to him. When it was time to leave, you left him with the book. He still had your copy, you had to borrow it from the library when you got home to find out the ending.

When your dad died and you had to move here permanently, Dustin had done everything to welcome you. And admittedly you had kind of shunned him, he really wanted to spend time with you and you had wanted to hide from the world.

But what surprised you most was when you were finished being angry and having shouting matches with your mum that turned into tears, you apologised to him and he accepted it. He was still excited to get to know you again.

Since then you'd helped him make costumes for campaigns and save up for science kits. You'd done homework with him and even played in the Party when they needed an extra character. It was because of Dustin that you had met Nancy and actually have more than one friend at all.

Now you didn't know what to think, other than he was in trouble and you better pedal faster.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When you got the Wheeler's Dustin grabbed you before you could use the front door and took you straight to the back door to the basement.

Once he'd finally stopped dragging you, you took him by the shoulders and gave him a proper look over.

'You seem fine, just drenched...' you say, mostly to yourself.

'I *am* fine,' insisted Dustin, 'I don't need your help, but she does. We were looking for Will and we found her. We didn't know what to do but bring her somewhere safe and I said I'd call you.'

#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #writing #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #wait on your song #strange things rewrite

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shattered-eagle · 28 days ago

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INTERLUDE UPDATE

Total Word Count: 591,189 (509,331 w/o code) Average Playthrough Length: 133,102

Hi all, this is another mid-chapter update, one which concerns itself with filling in some new content, revising and burnishing older content, and fixing numerous balancing issues, typos, and bugs arisen since the launch of the new chapter a few weeks ago. I would like to thank the many insightful reports and posts I’ve gotten on the Forum and Discord for helping to further enrich the story as always. Please notify me if there are any errors or mistakes with this smaller update. With this release, I'm now full steam on writing Chapter VII!

All of the relevant updates are listed below. I advise you to clear your browser cache before opening the update on COG Demos due to startup edits.

Update Changelog

Balancing issues and routing errors in the Chapter VI Battle for Kyro have been fixed.

Losing the duel to Julia in Chapter V results in an injury.

Chapter I alliance selection now emphasizes the potential of an alliance with the populists within the Senate faction.

A point-of-view choice has been implemented in Chapter I, allowing you to read each seamlessly or be prompted to decide whether to skip a point-of-view or not when one appears in the story.

New point-of-views featuring Augusta and Victoria have been implemented in Chapter VI.

A pious Prefect can now attempt to reject the boon and later gift of the Goddess out of humility in Chapter VI.

The opening conversation in Chapter I between the Consul and the Legate now better reflects the Consul's tendencies towards republicanism and the Legate distaste for elections.

A Prefect allied with Darius now can inform him they rejected a boon from the Goddess in Chapter VI.

There are now more indications in Chapter II, Chapter III, and Chapter IV that a Prefect who has been polite to Titus is getting through to him.

The Chapter II Day of Revelation scene has been expanded significantly with more inner monologue relating to the Prefect's chosen religiosity.

The Chapter VI funeral scene has been significantly expanded to account for inner monologue from the Prefect's reactions.

Location descriptions have been added or enhanced for the Imperial Palace, the Castra, the Grand Cathedral, and the Senate.

The Prefect can now publicly break down when Julia's urn is interred in Chapter VI.

The Prefect can have a friendlier response to Ceto should they find themselves in her den in Chapter II.

Placing Ceto upon the council, either in Chapter II or at the start of her romance, is now required to advance her romance in both Chapter IV and Chapter VI.

A Treasurer Prefect can now successfully bribe the auxiliary assassins in Chapter IV, saving Tristitia without the use of bloodshed.

Augusta is now openly more bitter and resentful of a Prefect who withheld that they were her biological parent until Chapter VI.

Numerous other typos and bugs stamped out.

#choice of games #cyoa game #if wip #wip game #shattered eagle #interactive novel #interactive fiction #hosted games #shattered eagle: fall of an empire #choicescript

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not-ishmael · 1 month ago

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A Revised (not so) Brief Study Into The Nature Of Deltarune

Disclaimer: This is a revised version of a theory I came up with back in 2022, having played just the first two chapters. Now I'll take into account chapters 1 to 4.

TL;DR:

For some time I've been quite intrigued by the appearance of some very particular leitmotifs that Undertale's and Deltarune's OSTs have in common. This took me down a rabbit hole that brought me to the realization that it's quite possible that DR Sans and UT Sans are one in the same, and the Reset Theory on Deltarune is probably right.

This forces me to believe that Deltarune is a prequel from the perspective of the characters, and a spiritual sequel from the perspective of the Soul/Player.

The Pre-Sequel Theory

First and foremost, pardon my English. It's not my first language and sometimes I mess up.

Secondly, this is a LONG post. There's a lot –a LOT– of text and no images at all to ease the reading. I advice jumping into it only if you don't have anything better to do for a bit. The PDF I first wrote this on is 6 and a half pages long.

Index:

Motivations.

Clues in Undertale.

Clues in Deltarune.

The Delta Rune.

Blood.

Conclusions.

Problems with the theory.

1 Motivations:

I've always been fascinated by soundtracks and ever since Undertale came up, its soundtrack wasn't an exception.

More recently I've been a bit more focused on the leitmotifs that Toby Fox uses in both Undertale and Deltarune. As many people noticed, they share a lot of common themes. For many of them it's easy to understand why (for instance, for common character's themes, like Sans', or the theme for Justice) but for some others it's not that simple.

Assuming that this commonality in themes was proof of a direct relationship between the games, I tried to study its nature and what elements outside the soundtrack can be used as evidence of this connection. This brought me to Sans ,because of course it did.

Trying to validate these assumptions took me down the rabbit hole that theory crafting around Sans has always been, and the musical side of my reasoning ended up being but as small part of the whole proofing. Regardless, I'm quite happy with the result, albeit it's not free of problems that I'll address and discuss at the end of the post.

With that out of the way, let's begin by talking about small details that Undertale gives us, and how it hints us that its past is somehow connected to Deltarune:

2 Clues in Undertale:

There’s a lot of non-music related hints that point towards a possible connection between both games in Undertale. Here's a summary of all the hints found within this game:

To begin with, there's what we know about Sans' backstory:

Both him and Papyrus appeared one day in Snowdin, seemenly out of nowhere.

In Sans’ lab there’s a broken machine and a poorly drawn picture of 3 people we don’t recognize, with the words ”don’t forget” written on it.

Sans insists a lot about about how he gave up trying to go back (somewhere, sometime, or both).

On the other hand, there’s the famous Gaster’s Entry 17, that could imply some knowledge of the Dark Fountains by the former Royal Scientist. Another Gaster related piece of evidence is goner Clam Girl. Soon before the release of Deltarune Chapter 1, in the Switch version of the game, Clam Girl would turn into a goner and say that the time to meet this Suzy ”... is fast approaching”, before disappearing with the sound Mystery Man makes when disappearing himself. Although Suzy is not written the same way as Susie, there’s no reason to believe that Clam Girl is not talking about Deltarune’s Susie. This not only hints to Undertale and Deltarune being connected, but to Gaster being behind the whole connection, since she turns into a goner sprite and disappears the same way Mystery Man does. I know Mystery Man is not confirmed to be Gaster, but it’s definitely related to him in someway.

There must be something going on with Papyrus as well, since he’s Sans’ brother and comes to Snowdin with him, but in Undertale he doesn’t seem to be as knowledgable as Sans. Since Papyrus doesn't bleed, as does Sans, maybe they're different in some way, and don't share as big a past as previously thought.

2.1 Sans’ lines during combat:

During the fight against Sans, nearing the end of the Genocide Route, we get some snippets of his backstory within his lines of dialogue. He begins, after the Player’s first attack, by saying:

our reports showed a massive anomaly in the timespace continuum. timelines jumping left and right, stopping and starting...until suddenly, everything ends. heh heh heh... that's your fault, isn't it?

We don’t know who is he working with, but it seems they know very well about the power to control the timeline, since they were monitoring it.

Sans continues with:

knowing that one day, without any warning... it's all going to be reset.

look. i gave up trying to go back a long time ago. and getting to the surface doesn't really appeal anymore, either. cause even if we do...we'll just end up right back here, without any memory of it, right?

to be blunt...it makes it kind of hard to give it my all.

In these lines we get a bit more information. Sans is –understandably– depressed about the whole reset situation, but mentions ”going back” to somewhere. We know it’s not somewhen because he doesn’t remember earlier timelines –besides the occasional déjà vu– and it’s not the Surface, since he mentions it right after that line. So, where else would Sans be trying to go back to? It can’t be anywhere in Undertale's universe, since he can move freely through the Underground –even through teleportation– and he specifically states that it’s not the Surface. Thus, it can only mean somewhere outside this universe.

A bit after that he continues with:

all i know is... seeing what comes next... i can't afford not to care anymore.

What does he mean by ”seeing what comes next”? He doesn’t know the future, nor what the Player did in other timelines. So, what is he talking about? Back in 2022 I had no clue what he could be referring to. Now I'm inclined to think of the Roaring, or the End of the Prophecy.

2.2 Sans’ secret lab:

After Sans gives the Silver Key –which happens to be a reference to a book about timetravel by H.P. Lovecraft– to the Player we can access his Secret Lab, hidden underneath his house. Inside of it we find:

A covered up broken machine.

Blueprints for a machine written in un- readable symbols.

A badge.

A photo album with:

A picture of Sans, happy, with other people the Player doesn’t recognize.

If the Player already fought Asriel: A second picture appears, showing Sans, Frisk and their friends.

After the v1.001 patch of the game, if the Player has talked to Clam Girl and knows of Suzy, from the back of the photo album sticks out a poorly drawn picture of three smiling people with the words ”Don’t Forget” written on it.

The first three items, although interesting, don’t give us much to work with. The machine is covered up and the blueprints are unreadable. The badge could become another huge hint in the future, if during Deltarune’s festival Sans happens to win a badge for winning at something. But this is purely speculation so I won’t be taking it into account –for now–.

The pictures and the drawing, on the contrary, give us much more information. Let's discuss them a bit more in depth:

2.2.1 The photo album:

By the time the Player gets the Silver Key, possibly after the battle with Asriel, they (and Frisk) have met every main character in Undertale’s story. Thus, the people in the first picture, who neither the Player nor Frisk recognize, can’t be anyone we know. They could be random people from other places in the Underground Frisk hasn’t met –although, from a storytelling perspective, this doesn’t make much sense– or they could be from Deltarune's universe -which makes a lot more sense storywise-.

Furthermore, there’s the poorly drawn picture. Since this picture only appears after talking to goner Clam Girl, a character heavily tied to Deltarune -specifically, to one Deltarune Character-, and it has the words ”Don’t forget” –words that don't mean anything special in Undertale, but are extremely important an present in Deltarune from the very beginning– written on it, it’s safe to assume that the three poorly drawn characters are a trio from Deltarune. Due to Frisk not recognizing them, they have to be characters that only appear on Deltarune. What trio of characters do we know from Deltarune that fit these characteristics? I’m fairly sure Kris and Susie are two of the three, but the third is a bit more complicated. My first suspect was that it was Ralsei but, since he’s a darkner and he can't go into the lightworld, it can't be him. My other candidate are either Noelle or Dess, since Berdly dies in the Snowgrave route of Chapter 2 –and Toby Fox likes to keep all possible endings as canon– and we don’t know of any other important lightners that don't appear in Undertale as well.

2.3 Darker, yet darker:

Gaster's Entry 17 states:

ENTRY NUMBER 17, DARK, DARKER, YET DARKER, THE DARKNESS KEEPS GROWING, THE SHADOWS CUTTING DEEPER, PHOTON READINGS… NEGATIVE THIS NEXT EXPERIMENT, SEEMS VERY, VERY INTERESTING… WHAT DO YOU TWO THINK?

At the beginning of Chapter 3, Ralsei explains to Susie that the Dark World is what happens to reality in the total abstence of light. When it's darker than dark. Darker, yet darker. So dark you could take away the light that wasn't there: photon readings... negative.

It's now that we can say, with absolute certainty, that Entry 17 talks about opening a Dark Fountain within Undertale's Universe. And Gaster, to whom we talk to outside the Deltarune chapters, is responsible for it.

I don't really like to get into Gaster while theory crafting. Sans is enough of a controversial rabbit hole for me. But after Ralsei's exposition in Chapter 3, I can't look the other way.

The connections between WD Gaster and Sans run deep. Not only are they 2 out of the 3 characters whose speech is characterised by the font that names them, but UT Sans' infamous attack is called "Gaster Blaster". Furthermore, it's known that Sans and Alphys shared a past, and Gaster could be this missing link between the two of them. Could it be that Gaster is referring to them at the end of Entry 17? Hard to say, and we can only speculate. But it would make sense that Sans, if he had come from Deltarune's Universe, would try to study Dark Fountains with the Royal Scientist and his pupil, as well as the passage of time, as evidenced by his comments during the fight against him at the end of Undertale's Genocide Route. It would also explain what he meant by "i gave up trying to go back a long time ago". He gave up researching the Dark Fountains after Gaster was consumed by the experiment and scattered through time and space.

3 Clues in Deltarune:

Back in 2022 I had only played Chapters 1 and 2, a quarter of the game. Even though this wasn't much content to work with, the leitmotifs Toby Fox used gave us a lot of information.

3.1 A brief introduction to leitmotifs:

*This part is skippable if you know what a leitmotif is*

For those who don’t know, a leitmotif is a small piece of melody that appears many times in a composition, and is associated to a character, a place, or an idea. Examples of this are the main themes of characters: a simple, recognizable melody that is associated to a specific character. For instance, the main melody in Nyeh Heh Heh!, which would be Papyrus’ leitmotif, or the common themes in Spear of Justice and Hammer of Justice, which would be Justice's leitmotif.

Soundtracks are rigged with leitmotifs, and neither Undertale’s nor Deltarune’s soundtracks are an exception. Since each one is associated to a specific character, place or idea, the use of the same ones in both games is something to keep in mind.

3.2 Leitmotifs that appear in both games:

The first song that plays inside Deltarune's , in Chapter 1, is Beginning, which has 2 leitmotifs in it: Once upon a time –from Undertale–, and Don’t Forget, –from Deltarune–. This second leitmotif appears in several other songs in all chapters.

The song that plays in the menu after you finish Chapter 1 is called Before the Story, which has the exact same melody as in Once upon a time. This leitmotif is one of the most –if not he most– used in Undertale’s soundtrack. For me, it’s kind of the ”Undertale theme”, for how much it appears in the game –same as Don't Forget would be Deltarune's theme–.

There are some other Undertale leitmotifs in Deltarune’s OST that I won’t be taking into consideration. These are the character’s leitmotifs, like Sans’, and other that represent important emotions like Determination, Justice, Despair and Hope –These leitmotifs are a bit difficult to recognize if you’re not deep into the music side of the games. Determination can be heard, among others, in Undertale’s Determination and Deltarune’s Rude Buster; Despair corresponds to the melody in Undertale’s Burn in Despair, and appears in Your Best Nightmare, Vs. Susie, at Queen’s basement, right before the Spamton NEO fight, and again in Chapter 3's Bit Roots; Justice is heard in Undertale's Spear of Justice and in Deltarune's Hammer of Justice, and Hope is sometimes called ”Snowdin’s theme”, which is used in Undertale’s Snowdin Town and Hopes and Dreams (thus why I prefer to call it Hope’s leitmotif) and in Deltarune’s A Town Called Hometown–. These leitmotifs being in both games is to be expected, since they either represent common characters or common emotions to both games, and Toby likes to reuse leitmotifs from old projects, so they're not really relevant to the theory.

Going back to the theory, the use of the words ”Don’t Forget” as a title for the most present leitmotif in Deltarune is a bit on the nose, taking into account the poorly drawn picture in Sans’ Secret Lab. The soundtrack acts as a constant reminder to not forget –pun intended– that drawing. But this isn’t the only insinuation Toby left in the game’s music. There’s another, much obscurer, clue: the name of the song Before the Story. Since it plays at the menu only after you play Chapter 1, it can’t be referring to ”before the story” of Deltarune, since that story has already begun. So, what if the Story is Undertale’s? If so, since it uses the most important leitmotif of Undertale in a song called ”Before the Story”, this would imply that Deltarune’s story happens before Undertale's.

Back in 2022 this was enough proof for me to be convinced of this theory. And yet, in 2025, it rained.

3.2.1 It's Raining Somewhere Else.

What is there to say about this. What is there to add. In 2015 Toby told us that It was Raining Somewhere Else. Ten years later he showed us where.

In Undertale this song is directly related to UT Sans' relationship with UT Toriel, and how this friendship is the reason he helps us throught the Underworld. In Deltarune, however, this songs plays after we leave the Church at the end of Chapter 4, on the way home. Nevertheless, it's back home that we learn of the friendship DR and DR Toriel have.

Not only the titles, not only the melodies –althought in Deltarune it sounds distant, almost like an old memory brought back by the smell of the rain–, but the context of these two songs connects them between games. Moreover, a slowed down version of the song can be heard at UT Sans' Secret Lab, as if the "Don't Forget" message inside it wasn't enough of a giveaway.

3.3 Non-musical clues:

How the Player interacts with the world seems to also imply a connection between games. Specially those lines that point to the Player knowing characters –or things about characters– that Kris doesn't know yet. For example, the first time we meet DT Sans there's the option to tell him that we're happy to see him again, something that makes sense for a Player that has already played Undertale, but doesn't for two characters who just met, as Sans points out.

This in and of itself is not enough to prove that the games are both a direct sequel and prequel of each other but, in combination with everything else, it heavily add to that idea.

Besides these interactions, which could be taken just as silly easter eggs, like the annoying dog appearances, there's another non-musical clue which brings us back to UT Sans: the Warp Doors, which look just like UT Sans' bedroom door, fire animation and all. What's more, Mystery Man's door in Undertale uses the same sprite as well.

I'm certain that Undertale's Underworld is not a Dark World, since there are no Dark Fountain to be found, nor darkners, the style of the menu is the same as in Deltarune's Light World, and to break The Barrier you need 7 souls, not just one. This complicates things, for the Warp Doors only appear inside Dark Worlds in Deltarune. But then again, in Deltarune, monsters seem to only possess magic powers inside Dark Worlds, while in Undertale all of them have this gift.

4 The Delta Rune:

Both the appearance of the Delta Rune in the two games and its name are big indicators of the connection between games. Even though in Undertale it’s not well known what its original meaning was, there’s a prophecy that sounds remarkably alike to that of the Delta Rune Legend from Deltarune. In Undertale there are two interpretations: either the Angel will murder all monsters, or free them all from the Underground. Additionally, in Deltarune, the Legend Ralsei tells us says that the Angel is to be defeated by three heroes: two lightners -a human and a monster- and a darkner.

Since the Delta Rune is older than written history in Undertale and it’s original meaning was lost to time, that one of the 2 interpretations for this symbol is so close to the Legend Ralsei gives us, with an evil Angel instead of a benevolent one, could mean that, originally, both Runes had the same meaning behind.

5 Blood & Magic:

Back in 2022 this part of the post began with:

TL;DR: As always, blood seems to be the biggest issue around Sans’ theories. To summarize, unless we get undeniable proof that DR monsters do bleed in some way before turning into dust, UT Sans bleeding could be a huge weak point for this theory.

Welp. We got it. Susie bled.

It’s fair to say that UT Sans does bleed in Undertale's Genocide Route, before turning into dust outside the screen. And he’s the only Undertale monster that does. We know he bleeds because he does it from the mouth, as well as the ribs, far from where the Player cuts him, which would only happen with regular bleeding around a digestive system rather than with ketchup stored within his rib cage.

Three years ago this was a huge nuisance, but now, knowing that a Deltarune monster can and does bleed, it' becomes another huge piece of evidence for this theory.

However, there's an issue. At the end of Chapter 1 a monster –not The Monster Kid– asks Kris if it hurts to be made out of blood, implying that other monsters don't bleed. This looks to be in direct contradiction to what we see Susie say (i.e. "Everybody bleeds") and do. As of now, I've no idea how to explain this line of dialogue.

5.1 Magic:

Deltarune monsters having magic powers is a highly debated topic. Nevertheless, Sans does teleport in Chapter 4, appearing both at his shop and at the Cattenheimer's home. Furthermore, it's implied that Catti holds some magical powers, which makes it all the more interesting that Sans teleports to her front yard.

6 Conclusions:

With all this in mind, I’m quite sure that, at the end of Deltarune, Sans will end up being stuck in the Undertale universe, possibly using the machine he keeps covered up in his lab. Since Papyrus doesn’t seem to be much different to any other monster in the Underground I don’t think he comes from Deltarune’s universe, so I fear a tragic end for that Papyrus, specially after his dissappearance after Chapter 3.

This ending would make sense of the whole ”Your choices don’t matter” thing. The Weird Route seemed to contradict this statement but, if just Sans is going to Undertale, whatever you do on Deltarune’s Universe won’t matter to Sans’ end. Undertale’s story is already written and the end we got will remain untouched, as Toby said. It also implies that our actions don't matter to Deltarune's end either.

We now know that the End of the Prophecy is a tragic one, as evidenced by Ralsei being terrified of what's to come, and Susie being enraged and in denial. A tragic end would also align with Sans' depression in Undertale, and him being the only one to come from Deltarnue's universe.

But, if Deltarune is a prequel, how is it that the Player recognizes the characters that both games have in common, and it’s advised that the game is played after Undertale? I believe that Deltarune is a prequel from Sans’ perspective, and a spiritual sequel from the Player’s. The Player, being the meta-being that it is in both games, doesn’t need to abide by the same temporal rules the characters are forced to follow. Thus, there's no contradiction in Deltarune being a prequel to Undertale. A Pre-Sequel.

7 Problems with this theory:

UT Papyrus seems to not know anything about his brother’s possible past in another universe, and acts as if they had been together since forever. They both appeared one day in Snowdin and his past seems as mysterious as Sans’, but they can’t be directly related since Papyrus doesn’t bleed.

There's a contradiction between Susie bleeding and the monster kid asking Krist if it hurts to be made out of blood.

I don’t know how will Sans get to Undertale’s world (my guess is Gaster, but he’s a bit of an easy-way-out in theory crafting).

Grillby’s. Sans’ convenience store, ’Sans, appears to have the same façade as Grillby’s in Undertale, with the name of Grillby rubbed off. This small detail is a possible proof against the sequel thesis, albeit it could just mean that Hometown had a Grillby’s before Sans’ convenience store and it closed down for some unknown reason.

Although some problems still remain, the list of issues with this theory has been greatly reduced after playing chapters 3 and 4. Furthermore, we now have great new pieces of evidence that point directly towards a connection between games.

#Undertale #Undertale Theory #Deltarune #Deltarune Theory #Sans #Papyrus #Susie #Ralsei #noelle holiday #kris dreemurr #Toby Fox #This took me a lot longer than it should have #I might have a slight problem with these games #deltarune chapter 1 #deltarune chapter 2 #delta rune #gaster #Deltarune chapter 3 #Deltarune Chapter 4

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mikeyhyy · 11 months ago

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After 30 years... (Ford × Male reader)part 1

This is Ford × Male Reader, this story takes place in the year the series takes place. The reader and Ford had a relationship, but it ended because of Bill (I can write a story explaining this part if you want). The reader is 50 years old, he was 20 when he met Ford.

I don't write for female readers so don't even try to ask if it's for a female reader.

ATTENTION: Chapter not revised

______________________________________________

How long has it been since you last seen Ford? 30 years? He just disappeared after the breakup and you don't know where he was, when you broke up it was a very strange breakup because Ford had a different voice and different colored eyes when he simply said he wanted to break up with you, but then they called you a few days ago and who had a female voice that sounded extremely excited and she said that Ford wanted to see you, but it sounded like a voice that was too young to be his wife or something. Now you are in front of the door of the 'Mystery Shack' is that the new name they gave it? Do you remember that Ford never commercialized his discoveries because that was not what he wanted.

You are currently in your fifties and you really are in the best state because you were only twenty when you dated Ford, you were young and naive and he scientist who lived in the isolated cabin in the forest. You actually found the whole mystery very attractive and he found you very attractive too so it came to that.

You only heard from Ford after the break up when you saw a newspaper headline showing him practically drunk in a bar, you realized he was with those same different eyes and decided to stop caring. But that didn't happen and you've been trying to hear from him for the last 30 years.

You squeeze the fabric of his jeans tightly and it feels like a lump has formed in your throat until you wait for a moment until you get the courage, you take a deep breath before finally opening the front door of the store and you enter the store.

Your eyes analyze the store for a moment, you see the absurd prices of strange things that if you have at least two neurons you realize are fake and it doesn't take long so that you heard an excited voice. "Are you the (name)?!" The girl with long brown hair halfway down her back, dressed in a skirt that was a little long to her knees and a very striking sweater, she had a smile on her face which showed her appearance. "Wow, Great uncle Ford was right when he said you're very handsome." The girl speaks again looking very excited, but the boy next to her stares at you even more curiously and he looked like a male version of her, but quieter and he had shorter hair, wore an orange t-shirt, dark blue vest, shorts up to the knee and a cap with a blue brim and blue sides with a blue pine tree.

"Yes, I'm (name)…" You say and put your hands in your pants pockets so as not to show that you're a little nervous, the girl asks you a billion questions and then you see the snack machine moving out of place and being pushed as if it were a door. The one who leaves there is the man who, even though he broke up with you years ago, never left your heart because he was your first love and you were the first love of his life and this is obvious because he drops whatever was in his heart. his hand the moment he sees you.

He looks at you from top to bottom, you've aged very well from his perspective, in fact from a general perspective, you still have a well-built body and your skin hasn't lost much collagen as it is normal for your age and you look so good.

But you can't help but look passionately at Ford, he doesn't look bad either and the gray hair makes him even more attractive in your opinion and he seemed to be in great condition physical. He has become even more handsome, it seems that time has only been good for him.

"(Name)…" Ford's voice sounds almost inaudible, he is so surprised, he runs his hand through his own gray hair with a slightly trembling hand and he can’t seem to believe you’re standing right in front of him after so many years. You look great, his heart beats fast when he looks at you and he can see in your eyes the man he has loved for years even if he has tried his best to forget you in the last few years in which he has passed through different dimensions.

Silence goes on for a few minutes before finally being cut off by the girl in the sweater. "So, it looks like you guys have a lot to talk about and the best way to talk alone is maybe to go out there or whatever older people do when they want a moment alone." She says and looks more thoughtful at the end as she scratches her own chin with a thoughtful expression.

Ford's cheeks get a little red and he motions for you to follow him to the basement because it's no secret to you what's there Inside, you follow him and when you enter he closes the 'door' and you go down the stairs to the bottom. As you go down you see those same screens, buttons and machines so you know that Ford is still the same Ford that you met years ago and won your heart.

(Continues in part 2…)

______________________________________________

I hope you liked it, my creativity ran out at the end and I decided to post a part two for their conversation.

#gravity falls #ford pines #x male reader #stanford pines #ford pines x reader

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denv2 · 9 months ago

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felix collection🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛

This week I only drew Felix!!!

While drawing Felix as a college student, I had a major case of "did they have hoods in this era?" but decided to let it go lol.

I like his zany moment.... I'm going to draw more pictures about this... His unwillingness to go back to zany touched my heart so much.

Below are the stories behind each of the pictures! (long)

First, a trio of smiling faces!

As you can see, it's an early Bendy costume, and I chose it on purpose.

I actually drew Bendy and Boris' faces first, and it's not like Bendy at this point in time, it's a little bit younger, and I like how they both have this really innocent, bright smile on their faces, so it's kind of like the first two kids before they get more serious as the story progresses. Felix... I think it's the same way I've always drawn him, but I think he looks a little bit fuller, lol.

Second, osix.

I actually just drew this.

The trio above was also drawn today, but this one was drawn right before I went to bed.

I just... I wanted to do one more painting and I was thinking about what to do, and I wanted to do Felix and Oswald, and then I realized that they're leaning against something, and then I put Oswald to bed.

Actually, I wanted to draw 'Felix is reading to the Bunny Kids and Oswald is watching' < I wanted to draw this one too, but I was drawn to something simple right now. I think I'll do this one later.

Third, college students Felix and Professor Wilson.

I love the feel of this drawing! I've been thinking about Felix's past lately, and it reminded me a bit of this time, so I really wanted to draw the two of them.

I love the relationship between a teacher and a pupil, and Professor Wilson is kind of like a mentor to Felix. They go to archaeological sites together and share research and expeditions, and it's nice to think about that...

I looked at Wilson's outfit at that time, and it was mentioned that he wore a tie, so I gave him a tie, and I added some eye wrinkles to his face to give him a more 'professor' look, and I think he looks like a kind professor. I think it's okay.

Felix. I wanted to make him look like a college student, so I put a hoodie on him, but when I was done, I realized that the hoodie... I realized it was when the hood didn't come out... but I had already drawn it. And I like the feeling of Felix in a hoodie, so it's a classic error, but please overlook it lol.

Fourth, zany-related Felix.

Actually, this was the first thing I drew. I've been drawing Felix all week, and this was the first thing I did.

This is a drawing of a scene from Chapter 172! I love the description of Felix after he uses his gag ability... I love it. It really stuck in my head...

The description of the shadow holding his stomach and laughing reminded me of one of Felix's trademark poses, where he grabs his stomach, leans back, and laughs. I couldn't resist drawing this.

I love the way he's wary of going back to zany... I think I'll be doing more zany-related Felix drawings for a while.

Actually, there's a story behind this one, I drew it without the hat, and then two days later I realized I needed to add the hat, so I revised it lol. I really, really like that hat on Felix, but it's so annoying when I try to draw it and I forget about it 🤣 It's hard to draw.

Finally, Felix and Alex.

Yeah... I really like the feel of this one. I kept staring at it after I finished it...

I love drawing Felix being angry, but he's not just angry. I feel like that image of him being angry and hateful with very complicated feelings is embedded in my head, and I like the feeling of Alex provoking him like that.

Personally, I think it's their facial expressions and the attitude of Alex's hands.

Let me start with Alex, his eyes... I really like how they came out, I just like the feel of them, and I like the mouth! It's a little bit more smirky than the last Alex, but I think it's more in line with how he's portrayed, and he's zany, so I wanted to give him a zany crazy moment. I love the way he's being pushed around by Felix and he's just laughing and relaxed and holding up his hands with his fingertips outstretched. I keep drawing Alex with his eyelids down. I feel like it's more fitting for him.

As for Felix... I think the way he's hunched over and the way he's frowning and glaring at Alex who's smiling is a nice balance. His mouth is a sharper curve instead of just a straight line. His expression towards Alex last time was definitely disdainful, but this time it's angry and more... It's more complex, and I like that.

Lastly, I want to talk about the side view, because I'm not good at side views... But this time, I tried to draw a side view, and luckily, I found the right proportions, so I think I managed to draw it somehow lol. I drew the tip of their eyes to stick out a little bit, but I drew this part while thinking about the original Felix side view and the depiction of the side sticking out, and then I remembered that Sonic fan art also drew this eye part to stick out a little bit. So I think I'll keep that for Felix's side view. The next thing was the ears, and I liked the way the two characters' ears were pointing towards each other lol.

At this point, Alex and Felix are drawn to have some differences in appearance. Felix's fur is more coarse, so it's longer, sharper, and hanging down, unlike Alex's, which is more groomed. Alex is well groomed and has a nicely trimmed back end that sits smoothly on top! You can get a better idea of this by comparing Felix's star picture. I deliberately made the back of Star Felix's hair a little shorter and higher up than it was before, so that it would be similar to Alex's hairstyle now (although Alex actually copied Felix's hairstyle back then).

It's funny... I've been drawing really hard this week lol. I don't know how long I'll keep this up. For those of you who have made it this far, I hope you enjoyed the chat. I always talk like this because... Because I'm bored, but mostly because I'm going to read it again later... Where else can I read about IM Felix... 🥺

#quest felix #felix the cat #alex the cat #quest bendy #quest boris #quest oswald #osix #babitim #the inky mystery #inky mystery #bendy and boris in the inky mystery #babtqftim

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aanoia · 8 months ago

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Orphic (pt.2)

pairing; Ao'nung x Sully!reader Orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding words; 4,727 warnings; injury, mentions of death Pt. 1; Pt. 3 I'd like to quickly explain why the Metkayina kids call Lo'ak and Kiri "four-fingered" freaks instead of "five-fingered" freaks, because I was confused about it for a while. The gist of it is that the Na'vi don't consider the thumb a finger, so techincally the pure Na'vi have three fingers and a thumb, and those with human blood have four fingers and a thumb :) (maybe I'm just stupid but yeah in case anyone shared the same confusion) Personally, I think this chapter is better quality. Eventually, I'll go back and heavily revise chapter one :) If you have any contstructive criticism PLEASE dm me, I'd love love love to hear from others on how I can improve my writing. It's always been a silly little dream of mine to publish my own novel, and I'll accept any help I can get.

The sea clans are a world unto themselves.

The salty, warm air tickles her nose as she breathes deeply. The sea and the magnificent creatures it houses are truly beautiful. Her father had once explained the concept of a vacation to the girl, a getaway to escape life for a short amount of time. For the time being, the girl has decided to push aside the grief of leaving behind her home, and she'll simply view their absence as a vacation.

Thousands of islands. An known territory into which we could just vanish without a trace.

“Are we there yet?” Tuk breaks the silence, her voice laced with sleep.

Y/n's lips curve upwards, “Look.” She points to the approaching island, thick with foliage and beaches around the edges. Tuk’s face lights up, and upon passing the reef, the water below lightens significantly. The Metkayina people holler and whoop at the sight of newcomers, both out of fear and wonder. The differences between these people and the ones in air are stark and noticeable. A Na'vi blows air through a large conch shell, which emits a horn sound to alert the village of the family approaching.

The beauty of the village and its intricately woven maruis entrance Y/n, and she gazes at it in wonder. Her father yips, and the Sully family finally lands on a patch of sand. The ikrans squawk loudly, their wings finally finding rest. the family dismounts, and the foreign feeling of sand beneath Y/n's toes makes her smile. Her leg has healed enough to no longer need crutches, much to her father's dismay, she's able to limp forward without any assistance.

“Hey, leave it.” Her father gently instructs his mate. “On me.” She glares at Jake for a second, before reluctantly leaving her father's bow on her ikran.

“Who are they?” Tuk asks her mother softly.

Neytiri's eyes scan the crowd with a scrutinizing gaze, “Be nice.” She responds.

As a sign of peace, Jake holds his hands up in an attempt to prove he means no harm. He's the head of the family, and Y/n stands next in front of Kiri and her brothers, almost in a protective way. The crowd parts, and a large boy walks through, his held high. A smaller boy with kind eyes follows him dutifully. The first boy intrigues Y/n, and she keeps eyes on him. Her brothers quietly sign ‘I See You’ to the two, but neither reciprocate.

“Easy, just be cool.” Jake leads his family. The tall boy stalks behind Y/n and her siblings, and studies their tails with a weird look.

“What is that?” The smaller boy asks, pointing at Neteyam’s tail.

“Is that supposed to be a tail?” This time it was the taller boy that spoke. The crowd murmurs, a few laughing, and Y/n hisses softly at him, which earned her a stern look from her father. She sighs and instead looks at the sand. A beautiful girl emerges girl emerges from the sea, and Y/n can hear Lo'ak’s breath catch. She exchanges a knowing look with Neteyam, a small grin on their faces.

“It’s too small. How are they supposed to swim?” The small one questions.

The girl slaps the boy's hand, “Enough, Rotxo, Ao’nung.” She scolds quietly and turns to the foreign family with a gentle face.

“Hey.” Lo’ak says smoothly, and Y/n glances at him weirdly as the girl laughs shyly. Y/n’s attention shifts to yelping, and a man mounted on a large flying fish lands in the water. He dismounts gracefully, and his status as Olo’eyktan is apparent by his dressings.

Tonowari was the chief of the Metkayina, the Reef People.

“Olo’eyktan. I See you, Tonowari.” Jake touches his hand to his forehead and extends it to the man.

Tonowari does the same, “Jakesully.” His voice is rough, but has a kind undertone to it.

I knew he was a tough leader. But it wasn’t Tonowari I was worried about.

An intimidating woman, makes her way through the crowd, staring at the family with caution in her large eyes. Y/n knows she is Ronal, the Tsahik of the Metkayina.

“I See you, Ronal. Tsahik of the Metkayina.” Her mother and father extend the same greeting.

“Why do you come to us, Jakesully?” Tonowari asks, glancing at the faces in his group.

“We seek uturu.”

“Uturu?” Ronal asks incredulously.

Jake nods, “Yes, a sanctuary for my family.” Ronal steps forward as Tonowari speaks.

“We are Reef People. You are Forest People. Your skills will mean nothing here.” Y/n bows her head as Ronal passes her. She silently greets her with her fingers to her forehead. Ronal narrows her eyes at her leg, but moves past her without a word.

“But we will learn your ways. Am I right?” He asks his mate, who gives a curt nod.

“Yes.” Ronal grabs Neytiri’s tail, inspecting it. She drops it and takes Tuk’s arm.

“Their arms are thin. Their tails are weak.” Kiri yelps as Ronal takes hold of her tail. “You will be slow in the water.” She grabs Kiri’s wrist, and looks at her hands. Y/n has to refrain from showing any irritation. “These children are not even true Na’vi!”

The crowd gasps as Kiri tugs her hands away, “Yes, we are!”

Ronal moves to Lo’ak’s hand instead, “They have demon blood!” The crowd exclaims, and a few people take defensive stances, growling and hissing at the group as Lo’ak stares at the sand.

“Look.” Jake holds his hand up to show five fingers. “Look. Look, I was born of the Sky People and now I am Na’vi. All right? You can adapt. We will adapt.”

“My husband was Toruk Makto.” Neytiri adds, her eyes narrowed at Ronal. She steps forward. “He led the clans to victory against the Sky People.”

“This you call victory? Hiding among strangers?” She glances at Jake. “It seems Eywa has turned her back on you, Chosen One.” Neytiri snarles and hisses at Ronal angrily, and the pregnant woman returns the favor, her eyes widened.

Jake steps between the two slightly, “I apologize for my mate. She’s…”

“Do not dare apologize for me-”

“Flown a long way and she’s exhausted.”

“Jake.”

Tonowari jumps in, “Toruk Makto is a great war leader. All Na’vi people know his story. But we Metkayina people are not at war. We cannot let you bring your war here.” Jake carefully picks Tuk up upon her request.

“I’m done with war. Okay? I just want to keep my family safe.” Tonowari and Ronal share a look.

“Uturu has been asked.” Neytiri finalizes, and Y/n holds her breath. The leaders of the Metkayina people share a silent conversation with their eyes.

Tonowari takes a deep breath before turning to face his people, “Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us. Treat them as our brothers and sisters. They do not know the sea, so they will be like babies. Taking their first breath. Teach them our ways so they do not suffer the shame of being useless.

Jake nods, looking down at Tuk, “Okay, what do we say?”

“Thank you.” Tuk smiles widely at Tonowari. The rest of the family thank the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik as well. Y/n can feel eyes on her, but she ignores it, assuming it's the judgemental eyes of the crowd.

“My son, Ao’nung, and our daughter, Tsireya, will show your children what to do.”

The boy steps forward defiantly, “Father, why do-”

“It is decided.”

The girl, Tsireya, steps forward with an easy smile, “Come, I will show you our village.”

Y/n smiles softly at Tuk as the small girl giggles at all the new things. She takes a special liking to a creature the Metkayina ride. Kiri urges her forward, and she bounces to her side. Tsireya leads the family into a large marui, and Y/n looks around the beautifully crafted homes.

“This is for you.” Tsireya says softly. “You’re new home.”

Jake smiles, “Yeah, this will work.” He takes a few steps inside, looking around. “This is great. It’s nice, right?” He asks his wife, who simply drops her mat distastefully.

A few hours later, Y/n is sitting at the edge of their morai, her dangling feet just barely touching the water as she watches some clan members fish. Her brothers pass by her, but Neteyam lingers by her side, wanting to join his twin.

“Sully’s, fall in.” Their father commands.

Neteyam sighs and offers his hand, “Come on, sis.”

She tears her eyes away from the Fishman, and nods simply, allowing him to help her. The two go inside the morai and kneel down with their family.

“Come on. Take a knee. Let’s go.” Jake urges, looking around at his family.

“Kiri!” Neytiri quietly scolds, shooting the girl a pointed look.

“What?” Kiri mutters as she reluctantly kneels.

“Okay. I need you kids on your best behavior. I mean it. Learn fast. Pull your weight.” He looks directly at Lo’ak. “Don’t cause trouble, all right?”

Lo’ak nods, “Yes, sir.”

“I want to go home.” Tuk cries, shoulders slumped in defeat. She wipes her eyes with a small sob.

“Oh, Tuk.” Neytiri coos softly, her face scrunching with the pain of seeing her youngest child cry.

“Tuk, this is our home now. Now, we’re gonna get through this. We’re gonna get through this if we have each other’s backs. All right?”

“What does your father always say?” Neytiri asks her children.

“Sully's stick together.” The eldest three mumble together.

“Yeah, that’s right. Sully's stick together.” He pats Kiri's knee gently. “Now this time with some feeling.”

“Sully’s stick together.” They all repeat, louder and more proudly.

Tsireya, Ao’nung, and Rotxo dive gracefully into the water as the Sully kids watch. Y/n steps forward, looking at the water curiously.

“Come on.” Neteyam nudges Y/n as him and Lo’ak run past her. A laugh escapes her lips as she runs after them, pushing through the dull ache in her leg as she jumps. The water feels nice around her skin, cooling it down significantly. Kiri and Tuk jump in after the three, and together the five of them awe at the completely different world that hides beneath the surface.

Y/n smiles at the fish swimming around, and she carefully swims forward, going in the direction of the other three. She’s rather slow in the water, but she doesn’t mind. It gives her time to marvel at the creatures swimming around her head. They slowly follow their guides, but eventually the Sully kids have to swim up for air. Their heads pop out of the water and they gasp to fill their lungs.

Y/n laughs softly. “It’s beautiful down there.” She says with a grin, and Lo’ak raises a brow. “You saying that about the fish or fish lips?” He teases and Y/n rolls her eyes, splashing him with water.

“You’re a hypocrite, you know?”

“Both of you are very annoying.” Neteyam sighs. The group stick their heads back into the water, and Tsireya uses her hands to speak to them, but they just stare blankly. She smiles in amusement and instead decides to motion them along. The siblings take another deep breath and swim after them. It doesn’t take long for the kids to need air again and the Metkayina kids swim up to the surface after them.

“Are you all right?” Tsireya asks kindly, her face showing worry.

“You’re too fast!” Tuk whines. “Wait for us!”

“Just breathe.” Tsireya instructs calmly as her brother pops his head out of the water, a look of disdain on his features.

“You are not good divers.” He says matter of factly, and Y/n rolls her eyes. “Maybe good at swinging through trees, but…” Rotxo laughs as Tsireya hits his head.

“Come on, bro. We don’t speak this finger talk.” Neteyam complains, irritated at Ao'nung's comments.

“Yeah, we don’t know what you’re saying.” Lo’ak agrees with a subtle nod, looking at Tsireya.

“I will teach you.” She promises gently.

“Where is Kiri?” Rotxo asks, looking around.

“Who?” Ao’nung asks.

“Kiri. Where is Kiri?”

“She’s alright.” Y/n finally speaks and Ao’nung looks at her. “She swam off at the beginning. Let her be.”

Y/n watches curiously as Ao’nung calls to the creatures, clicking and whooping. He’s rude, for sure, and finds joy in making fun of her siblings. But a small part of her can’t deny the fact that he is beautiful.

“These are ilu.” He informs the children. “If you want to live here, you have to ride.”

“Hi,” Y/n smiles softly at an ilu and gently pets the top of it’s head.

“Your leg.” A voice startles her, and she turns to see Ao’nung. “What happened to it?”

She responds cautiously, “It was hurt.”

He deadpans, “Obviously. But how?”

“A gun.”

“A what?”

She sighs softly, “Like a bow and arrow, just worse. Far worse.”

He nods, stepping towards the ilu. He gently pets its neck, “Will you be able to ride an ilu?”

Y/n looks at the creature with a small smile, “I rode all the way here on my ikran. It’s not much different in that sense.”

He hums, “All right.” He glances behind him, at Tsireya and Lo’ak. Lo’ak is taking off on his ilu, holding on tightly. The two watch as Lo’ak is flown off of his ilu, and Ao’nung bursts into laughter. Y/n can’t help but laugh as well.

“Breathe in, skxawng.” Ao’nung instructs, gently hitting Y/n’s stomach.

She glares at him, her abs tensing, “I am breathing in, dipshit.”

“Calm your heartbeat.” He answers, his hand gently resting on her chest. It's soft and cool. “It’s too fast.”

Y/n takes a slow, deep breath, shutting her eyes, “I can’t help it.”

“Are you scared of me?” He grins.

She scoffs, peaking an eye open, “You don’t scare me.”

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?” If he had eyebrows, he’d be raising them at that moment.

She huffs and shrugs, “Because you’re kind of cute.” She stands, stalking over to the rest of the group. She takes a seat next to Kiri, glancing at Lo’ak and Tsireya with a small grin.

“Try to focus.” She encourages.

Lo’ak nods, “Okay.”

“Breathe in…” Neteyam and Rotxo grin at each other, snickering quietly.

Throughout the next few weeks, the Sully family quickly learn the way of the water, and how to adapt to their new surroundings. With the need of breathing every minute gone, the Sully kids are able to race on their ilu. It reminded them of home, racing on their ikrans. Their interactions with the sea have become deeper and resonate more. They sign the language with slight difficulty, but it’s understandable.

Y/n’s love for the ocean has grown, and her disdain for the future Olo’eyktan follows suit. He bullies her siblings whenever he’s around, and despite his face, and his body, and his voice- he’s a terrible person. His mere presence makes her shiver in annoyance. His sister, however, is becoming one of her favorite people. She’s kind and welcoming, allowing Y/n’s family to make mistakes and then fix them. Y/n doesn’t think she has a single bad bone in her body. The current Olo’eyktan, Tonowari, has taught Y/n how to fish. She wasn’t very good, but she was getting better as time went on. Tonowari and Tsireya are very alike, in Y/n’s opinion, like father like daughter. And finally, Ronal. It took a few days for the woman to even look her family's way, but one evening, while Y/n was searching for small shells to add to her father’s necklace, the woman showed her where to find the perfect ones. She’ll forever be grateful for it.

The waves crash softly against the shore as Y/n leans against a palm tree, doing the finishing touches on her father’s necklace. Kiri lay face down in the shallow water ahead of her, simply gazing at the sand and the small creatures within it. Y/n doesn’t notice the posse of boys walking up to her sister until she hears that voice.

“What is she doing?” Ao’nung sneers, and the boys laugh. Y/n looks up from her project, and frowns deeply. “She’s looking at sand.”

“Huh? What’d you say?” Kiri asks, lifting her head out of the water. Y/n stands, dusting the sand off her legs.

“Are you some kind of… freak?” Ao’nung asks bitterly, and Kiri sighs, averting her eyes and walking past him.

“No.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you’re not even real Na’vi. Look at these hands.” He takes her hand, and she rips it away. He grabs onto it again. “I mean, look at them!”

“Hey!” Lo’ak calls, walking over. “Back off, fishlips.”

“Oh, another four-fingered freak.”

“Oh, baby tail!” Another boy teases, grabbing onto Lo’ak’s tail.

“Leave us alone!” Kiri tries, but to no avail.

Y/n finally rushes over, pushing Ao’nung to the side. She points her finger at him. “You heard what she said. Leave them alone.”

“Awww, big sister com-” A boy tries, but Ao’nung pushes him back, silencing him.

“Back off.” Y/n pushes him back with her finger. “Now.” There’s a tense moment of silence, before Ao’nung lifts his hands in surrender. “Smart choice. And from now on, I need you to respect my sister.” A boy hisses, but once again Ao’nung stops him. She turns to her siblings. “Let’s go.”

The three begin to walk off as Ao’nung speaks up again, “Bah bye!” He teases, before loudly “whispering” to his friends. “Look at them, they’re all freaks. The whole family.” Lo’ak sighs deeply, before turning around.

“Lo’ak.” Y/n warns.

He holds his hand up, “I got this sis.” He walks up to Ao’nung, displaying his hand. “I know this hand is funny. Look, I’m a freak. An alien.” Ao’nung smirks. “But it can do something really cool. Watch. First, I ball it up real tight, like this. Okay? Then-” He cuts himself off by delivering a hard punch to Ao’nung’s cheek, followed by two more, until the taller boy falls onto the sand. “It’s called a punch, bitch. Don’t ever touch my sister again.”

Y/n sighs as the boys hiss at Lo’ak. Ao’nung pounces on him, and Lo’ak lands another punch before being pulled off by his tail. Y/n scrunches her face as a boy hits Lo’ak with his tail. The boys continue to wrestle, and eventually end up just pulling each other’s tails and ears. Kiri and Y/n laugh quietly to themselves as they yelp and moan.

“What was the one thing I asked? The one thing!” Jake scolds, Lo’ak stares at the ground in shame, and Y/n sighs.

“Stay out of trouble.” Lo’ak repeats quietly.

“Stay out of trouble- right!” “Look, it was my fault.” Y/n tries to intervene. She understands how difficult her father is on Lo’ak, and she’ll do anything she can to help ease the anger on the boy.

“I don’t think so. You gotta stop takin’ the heat for this knucklehead. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Look, dad, Ao’nung was picking on Kiri. He called her a freak.”

Jake sighs, “Go apologize to Ao’nung.”

“What?”

“He’s the chief's son, do you understand? I don’t care how you do it. Just go make peace. Just go.” Lo’ak leaves the tent, shaking his head. Jake looks back at Y/n. “You should’ve stopped him.”

Y/n sighs, “I didn’t know he was going to punch Ao’nung.”

“Have you met your brother?” Jake runs a hand over his face. “You’re the eldest. It’s your job to take care of your siblings. You need to start acting like it.”

“Dad- I can’t control them. They don’t listen to me-”

“Then try harder. This is a family, we all have roles. You need to start fulfilling yours.”

Y/n shakes her head, “Yeah, fine.” She walks past her father to leave.

“Y/n?” She turns to look at her father in question. “What’d the other guys look like?”

“Worse.”

Jake nods, “Good. You’re dismissed.”

She nods, leaving silently.

Y/n sits quietly with Neteyam, they quietly share memories from the forest and their clan. Y/n knew how much her brother missed their home. A presence interrupts them, and Y/n glares.

“What do you want, Ao’nung?” She stands, crossing her arms.

He looks down, not able to make eye contact. “It’s Lo’ak.”

“What did he do?” Neteyam asks.

“We led him out to hunt… beyond the reef. And we left him. It was supposed to be a joke- but he hasn’t come back.”

Y/n takes a moment to take in what he just confessed, before anger crosses her face. “Are you fucking serious? What is wrong with you?”

“I’m… sorry.” He whispers.

Neteyam gently pushes past Y/n and roughly grabs onto Ao’nung’s arm, dragging him towards their father and Kiri. Jake looks back questioningly, his brow raised.

“What is it?”

Neteyam glares at Ao’nung, “Go on. Tell him what you just told us.”

Y/n stands next to Tsireya as a villager brings Lo’ak onto a small dock. The moment Lo’ak sees Ao’nung, he’s ready to pounce on him, but Jake intervenes quickly, stepping in front of his son.

“Hey, hey. Let’s have a look at you, okay?” He quickly looks over Lo’ak. “He’s fine. He’s fine. Just a few scratches.”

“Lo’ak.” Neytiri gasps softly, jumping down onto the dock. Once she realizes he is not injured, she sneers. “I pray for the strength that I will not pluck the eyeballs out of my youngest son!” She snarls, hissing.

“No.” Tonowari announces. “My son knows better than to take him outside the reef.” He forces Ao’nung to kneel. “The blame is his.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Jake says, motioning for his son to follow.

“No.” Lo’ak speaks up, and Y/n looks at him weirdly. “This is not Ao’nung’s fault. This was my idea. Ao’nung tried to talk me out of it. Really. I’m sorry.”

“Come on.” Jake urges and Y/n joins the group.

As they walk away, Lo’ak tries to defend himself. “Dad, you told me to make friends with these kids. I was only trying to-”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Dad-”

“You brought shame to this family.”

“Dad.” Y/n intervenes, but her dad just gives her a warning look.

Lo’ak looks defeated, “Can I go now?”

“You cause more trouble, I jerk a knot in your tail.” Jake threatens, and the boy nods. “You read me?”

“Yes, sir. Lima Charlie.”

Jake studies him for a moment, “Go on.”

Neytiri looks at Y/n and Neteyam, “Where were you?”

Jake glances at them, “Yeah, what happened to “keeping an eye on your brother”?” He looks at Y/n. “Taking care of your siblings, pulling your weight. Sound familiar?”

“Sorry, sir.” Neteyam responds, but Y/n scoffs softly.

“Seriously? I was too busy being scolded for not parenting my siblings to stop him.” Y/n regrets the words the second they leave her mouth.

“What did you say, girl?” Jake bears his teeth, angrily looking at her.

“Doesn’t matter.” She turns to walk away.

“Don’t you walk away from me. I am tired of your disrespect, Y/n.” Jake grabs her shoulder, turning her back to face him. “Everyday it’s something new with you. You are the oldest, you need to star-”

“Start acting like it, yeah, I know.” She scoffs, her eyes filling with frustrated tears. She’s not good at confrontation. “I’m the eldest sibling- but I’m not even your daughter! And you aren’t my father.” Jake’s eyes flash with hurt, and he bites his tongue. “I’m tired of you suffocating me.” Her eyes glisten in the dim lighting.. “I only try to be perfect for you, but what’s even the point? All I do is disappoint you.”

“Y/n…” Neytiri tries, but Y/n shakes her head.

“Sometimes I wish it was you that was dead, instead of my real father.” She knows she didn't mean that. But she turns and walks off like she did anyway. She said what she knew would hurt him, because she wanted him to see the way he hurts her.

She wipes her eyes as she leaves, her throat closing up as she tries to hold in her sobs. The closer she gets to breaking, the faster she moves away from her family, her father. It’s only when she makes it to a secluded spot on the beach does she finally allow herself to quietly cry. She buries her head in her knees, shaking as the gentle waves kissed her feet.

She doesn’t hear the quiet footsteps behind her, hesitating to comfort her. Ao’nung decides to sit next to her either way, looking out over the horizon. He puts his hand on her knee, and she looks up at him, immediately wiping her eyes.

“What do you want?” She asks quietly, her voice cracking quietly. She doesn’t have the energy to hate him.

He swallows thickly, thinking carefully on what to say. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to speak to but… I’m here.” He murmurs softly, his eyes soft. “You can talk to me, or not, but… I am here.”

Y/n stares at him for a moment, dumbfounded, before nodding. “Thank you.” She whispers, allowing herself tonight to accept his comfort. She’ll go back to hating him tomorrow. Or so she hopes.

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