#rage awakened [ lingering will ]

[thedanliest]

this came to me in a fever dream

[suolainensilakka]

(COUGHING UP BLOOD) WAIT IM NOT DONE YET do you guys ever think abt how the kh 2.5 hd remix of rage awakened has vocals in it. Like. Its (to my knowledge) the only "official"/in-game version of the track that uses vocals and theyre SO subtle they almost blend in with the rest of the instrumentation and ambience of the music but theyre There. What if you had a set of haunted hollowed out armor animated by a shattered fragment of its original owner's memories, a silent and lifeless and empty shell of metal and cloth, a weapon left behind by its wielder, trapped in a dead and abandoned world, stripped of anything organic like a heart or a Voice. And what if you gave it a song. And what if you gave that song the most human instrument there is

[aethergate]

ONE LIKE TO SMACK THE BACK OF ANY AND ALL XEHANORTS HEAD WITH MY KEYBLADE. YOU AGREE. REBLOG

[ghostabocky]

thinking about kh3/khux/khdr and wondering if there’s any iconography or characters who have the potential for the same sort of intrigue as lingering will/the mysterious figures/the kh2 secret ending

[lokisgoodgirl]

A Quiet Storm [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A stormy morning and a sleepy Loki in your bed. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki x Female Reader. Established relationship. Mild somnophilia. Light, fluffy smut. (w/c 1.2k)

Wind batters against the windows. It buffets the eighty-seventh story with the strength of a god’s fury, rattling the glass.

Rain sounds like hailstones. It has done for the past twelve hours. And it's beautiful, in a primal sort of way. It lulled you to sleep, alone. But as you try to snuggle deeper into the duvet, you realise that most of it is missing.

Turning, you find a familiar wall of pale muscle. You smile softly. No wonder you felt so safe in the storm. He came in at some point during the night, careful not to wake you. But despite his good intentions, Loki is a chronic bedsheet thief. Always has been.

Dull light makes a faint line across his body, from his neck and over the thick of his back. Loki’s hair spreads against his pillow like ink on fresh towels, curling and winding its tendrils into every available space. Your nose traces the sharp line of one shoulder-blade, inhaling the warmth that lingers on his skin.

He showered. Steve said it might be a messy one last night.

The god is facing away from you, one leg draped over the other, bedsheets trapped between his thighs. The room is cold, and the more you awaken, the more you notice the ripple of goose-bumps bristling up your calves.

Loki is fast asleep, that’s plain enough. The portion of his torso visible above the sheets is rising and falling steadily. Peacefully.

Rain slaps against the glass, another gust of winter gale howling around the panes. Without looking, you know that one arm will be tucked under his pillow, the other bent at a way that makes his triceps bulge in that effortlessly sensual way. You place a sleepy kiss between his shoulders, no more than an angels touch. And with all the care you can muster, you try to tug the sheets in your direction.

Loki stirs, groaning with unintelligible annoyance. You snuggle closer, squashing your cheek against the hard expanse of his back. Fingers creep tentatively over the ridges of his abdomen, pausing to ghost the solid dent of his obliques. His breaths rise and fall in undisturbed slumber.

The hand comes to rest in the centre of his chest. You can feel his heartbeat, the same as your own. One leg rises and slips beneath the sheet he hoards, your thigh finding its home against his hipbone. Loki’s perfect ass presses against your lower belly, the increasing heat from your exposed sex millimetres from his skin. One calf lies flush against his, bent at an angle. Tangled over him. “Mornhnigk.” he grumbles sweetly, voice thick with sleep.

He’s not awake, not really. You smile against his neck, closing your eyes.

Nuzzling into his hair, you appreciate that this is the god you see. This is the Loki you see. The one who feels safe in your bed. The one who feels safe in your love.

Another kiss finds its way pressed against his hair. You nose rogue strands aside, capturing the edge of his delicate earlobe between your lips with a gentle sigh. He smells so good, like fresh cotton and your shower-gel.

He came straight here, you think, heart skipping as you imagine him striding from the Quinjet in darkness and making a beeline for your apartment. Stripping off in your bathroom, not his own. His leathers a tangled heap on your hallway floor, no doubt. He came straight home.

Irresistible. That's what he is. Even if you wanted to leave him be, not touch him, adore him, you don't think you could. The quiet storm of love you have for him rages inside you with all the ferocity of the one outside. Unstoppable. Undeniable.

Loki’s back arches slightly as he works his face deeper into the pillow. It presses his muscular ass into your crotch. Your fingers slip down his stomach, pads catching on the silken trail of fine hairs leading towards his groin. Heat increases as you move closer to his centre, radiating from his skin. Suddenly aware of how cold your hands must be, you flinch as the head of his cock brushes your pinky. The tip is slightly wet.

He’s usually horny as hell when he comes back from missions. It must have taken all his willpower not to wake you. Or at least resist the urge to hold you, burying his erection between the curve of your cheeks. The thought of his gentlemanly resistance makes your stomach flip with desire.

A small sigh escapes him as you trail a solitary digit up his velvet cock, tall and strong against his stomach. You’ll never get used to how soft the skin is. Chalk and cheese to the way he can make you cum as he rails you masterfully with the force of a wild tempest. The finger catches on the thick vein that runs to the root, and you play with it, grazing up and down its route with a ghost-like touch. Loki sighs again, shoulder-blades twitching.

Needy fingers wrap around his girth, squeezing gently.

Loki purrs. A low, rumbling sound which chimes with the patter of raindrops against glass. His cock twitches in your hold, eager for his mistress’s adoration as you trace your delicate grip to the tip. The god’s hips thrust lightly into your hold, rocking himself deeper into the tantalisingly pleasure his sleeping form finds itself. His foreskin gathers beneath your fingers as you massage gently, before sliding it back down.

Loki gasps. The mattress shifts as your lover’s waking body turns with care, shoulder muscles clenching as he pushes up against the bed and lays on his back. One of his hands stretches up and slides behind his head while your own continues its slow pump of his swollen cock beneath the covers. So slowly, back and forth.

He blinks several times, watching the work of your hand before his sultry stare finds your own. His eyes flash, still hooded from dreams. “Did you miss me?” he asks groggily, knowing the answer. Loki leans forward, kissing you deep. His warm tongue searches your own, strands of his wild hair sticking to your lips. You can feel his lower body clench and jolt as your strokes grow firmer, his left hand itching against the sheets as he clenches and unclenches a fist.

A particularly ferocious wave of wind slaps against the window, making you flinch. Your hand grips his cock even tighter, making him hiss with pleasure.

As you loosen, Loki’s brow furrows in feigned pity. “Are you scared, little one?” he purrs. It’s tipped with loving condescension in that filthy way that only he could muster. “Do you need a big, strong god to to protect you as the realm’s elements rage?” You bite your lip to stifle a smile, nodding. “So scared,” you confirm in a girlish whisper. Loki sniffs, raising his chin. He looks down from half-lidded eyes, un-styled locks of curl falling around his jaw. “Come then,” he utters, moving the hand behind his head to pat your pillow. “We must ensure you are thoroughly...protected.” You squirrel down in to the blankets, facing away from him while he draws you near. His throbbing cock pulses against your ass, against your thighs, searching kisses working a trail up the curve of your neck.

“I will always protect you,” he mutters earnestly as you feel a hand slip between your bodies.

The crown of his manhood slides against your entrance, slipping against wetness. He hums contentedly, nudging the tip as you clench around air. Loki's body melts against yours like a finger dipped in wax. His abdominal muscle pulses against your back as he tries to steady his breaths.

In moments, a dark moan floods your ear as he squeezes inside. The feeling of peace is immediate. Loki stills, breathing softly against your skin.

“Always,” he groans quietly as he bottoms out.

He only withdraws an inch with every careful thrust, rocking you gently as you move against him. With him. You’re vaguely aware of his dexterous fingers toying with a nipple, the suck of his kiss on your neck, the happy sounds of your own moans as he fucks you in rippling waves.

All the world dissolves. All you hear is the white noise of his loving praise. His delicate pleasures. Safety.

All there is, is him. And outside, the storm rages on.

Tags (contd in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Seeing as how my last au idea, where reincarnated Merlin finds Camelot again, got a ton of support, here's a continuation of that au! You can find part one of this au here.

EDIT: You can find part three of this au here!

Note: Translations for the Old English are at the end!

As a recap, in this au, Merlin died at Camlann and his magic made everyone in Camelot immortal, but they all eventually fall into a comatose state until Merlin returns. Merlin's reincarnated without his magic or memories and winds up as an archeologist working at the site of the ruins of Camelot. While exploring with his colleagues, Merlin accidentally awakens Arthur, whom he thinks is some sort of undead creature, and Merlin is captured by Arthur and the knights along with his colleagues. Arthur and everyone else speak in Old English, so Merlin's got no clue what's going on and assumes that these undead creatures are going to kill him, while Arthur and the knights assume that Merlin has just returned from Avalon and still has all of his memories and magic.

So, without further ado, on to the new stuff! I figured that it would be better to see the next part from Arthur's POV!

For Arthur, waking up had always been a struggle. The morning sun had always been his enemy, mockingly telling him that his time being warm and comfy in his bed was over. But if he had looked forwards to seeing a certainly lanky frame throw his curtains open and wake him up with whatever cheery, inane greeting he had come up with that morning, then that was Arthur's business and Arthur's business alone.

However, when had Arthur sat down in his seat at the round table, barely able to keep his eyes open and knowing that this was the last time he would be conscious for hundreds of years, he was thoroughly looking forward to waking up again. Because when he awoke, his centuries-long wait would be over! His love would be back where he belonged, by his side, and they would have all the time in the world to grow close once more!

And when that glorious day finally came, when Arthur's mind awoke and his eyes opened again, it was to the best sight Arthur could have imagined. Merlin, here in front of him, whole and healthy! Oh, Arthur had dreamed of this day for centuries before his long slumber! Those long centuries without Merlin were grim, with a phantom pain of Merlin's absence lingering within his heart and his life, and the pain was only slightly lessened with the assurance of Merlin's eventual return.

But now Merlin was right here, within his grasp, and they could be together once more! Arthur slowly got his arm, stiffened by centuries of disuse, to move, trying to reach out and touch Merlin, to prove to himself that Merlin was truly here and was not some desperate illusion conjured by his mind. Looking into Merlin's wonderfully familiar eyes though, Arthur knew deep down that this was real.

Before Arthur could get his arm to cooperate, however, four oddly-dressed strangers ran up to Merlin. Merlin yelled in surprise, probably at seeing the strangers running at him, and tried to dodge them, but wound up clumsily falling to the ground instead. Arthur would have laughed at his lover's antics if he heart wasn't pounding with rage at the sight of those intruders grabbing ahold of Merlin and dragging him away!

Arthur finally got his legs to work as the intruders dragged Merlin out of the council room, and shouted as soon as his jaw would allow it, "Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin!"

The others at the round table were startled awake at his shouting, and looked around the room confused. As joyous as Arthur was at seeing his brothers in arms and his lovely wife again, Merlin's abduction was a far more pressing matter. Their long-anticipated and happy reunions would have to wait until after Merlin was rescued from those strangely dressed invaders.

Despite the awful situation, Arthur had the urge to smile at Merlin's situation. It was just like Merlin to get himself into trouble only mere seconds after reuniting with Arthur. Arthur had been so afraid that Merlin would be different when he returned, but it seemed as though that wasn't the case! He was still the same old Merlin that Arthur was so devastatingly fond of, finding trouble anywhere he went!

Still, regardless of Arthur's nostalgia, Merlin was in danger and needed to be saved! After a few seconds, Guinevere and the knights had all woken up properly and had registered what Arthur had shouted, sharing in his panic. However, these intruders were in Arthur's castle, where he had the advantage.

"Hwæt, Guinevere, far to þæm wæpnedhuse and find hwæt wæpnedu sindon gód in þæm stæde. Leon, far and wec þa oþre cnihtas. Hæbbe hí ceorfan of þæm unrihtwisan fleon. Oðer ealdras, fylgað me!"

After shouting out his orders, Arthur pulled Excalibur from its sheath and took off in the direction of the intruders who had stolen Merlin, moving as quickly as his stiff legs would allow. He could hear Percival, Elyan, and Gwaine behind them, their weapons at the ready.

It didn't take long to find the intruders, as they were clearly not familiar with the layout of the castle and had no sense of stealth whatsoever. If they were spies or thieves of some sort, whoever hired them deserved their money back. Arthur just had to follow the sounds of their rapid footsteps echoing off the ancient stone of the hallways.

As Arthur came around the corner to a long corridor, he caught sight of his prey, about halfway down the corridor from him. As they turned back to look at him, he could see the fear etched onto their faces.

Good, Arthur thought, they deserved to be afraid of him after what they had just tried to do. The group of thieves made it only a couple more steps before Leon burst into the hallway from the other side, flanked by about a dozen more knights and cutting off the intruders' escape. The knights made quick work of apprehending the inept thieves and freeing Merlin from their clutches.

Anger welled up savagely in Arthur's chest as he looked at Merlin, who looked rather frightened by this failed kidnapping. He might still be in pain from his injuries at Camlann, and these fools would have no doubt injured him further while they dragged him along with them, sprinting through the castle!

Arthur grit his teeth as fury rolled over him in waves. If he lost Merlin a second time due to these intruders, then there would be hell to pay.

"Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis!"

It felt nice to release even the slightest bit of his rage onto these thieves, but Arthur had to keep his priorities straight. Punishing these fools could wait until after he knows more about Merlin's current condition.

Arthur turns his gaze to Merlin once more. Oh, how he had missed his dear Merlin! If only his Merlin's face wasn't marred by fear, but that would change after his would-be kidnappers were safely locked away.

"Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð."

As hard as it was to part from Merlin's side now that he had just gotten him back, there were still other matters that Arthur had to attend to before he could truly give Merlin the attention he deserved. Still, he knew that Merlin would be in good hands with Gaius and Gwaine, and Arthur would rest easier knowing that Merlin was whole and healthy.

After ensuring that the intruders were securely locked away in the dungeons and awaiting punishment (which would solely depend on how uninjured Merlin turned out to be), Arthur retreated to his study. Now that the whole castle was waking up, he needed to sent out scouts to see how the land around Camelot had hanged, to coordinate with the council to arrange a full head-count of who was awake and see if it matched the last census before everyone fell asleep, to meet with the cook and arrange for their emergency food supplies (which were thankfully also preserved by the same magic that kept them immortal) to be distributed and hopefully keep everyone from going hungry until the next harvest, and to draft a speech to address everyone and get everyone on the same page. The last thing that they needed right now was for chaos to break out, so hopefully keeping everyone well-informed of the situation would allow them to keep everyone's fears at bay.

During his paperwork, one of the guards reported to him that the prisoners were shouting loudly, but in a language that none of them could understand, and they didn't seem to understand anything that the guards told them. Arthur told him to gag them with some cloth for an hour if they got too loud, but otherwise don't bother with it. They could work out some way to get information, like who they worked for and why they had dared to target Merlin, from the prisoners later.

Near the end of the day, had received a report from Gaius that Merlin was completely healthy and unhurt, which abated most of Arthur's fears. However, Gaius also included in his report that Merlin seemed to not be speaking, which Gaius theorized would have most likely been caused by the lasting trauma of his death. A deep pit opened in Arthur's stomach as he read that. He had been so focused on having Merlin back and physically healthy, but he hadn't considered if Merlin would be mentally healthy upon his return. Arthur steeled his resolve that, no matter what condition Merlin was in, he would support his dear Merlin and help him heal from whatever lasting scars his death had left. Merlin had died for him, it was his solemn duty to see that Merlin would recover from it.

As if on cue, Gwaine burst into his chambers, without knocking of course, and gently set Merlin down on the ground. With a teasing wink and a genuine smile, Gwaine closed the door, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone together. Merlin flinched at the sound of the door closing, and Arthur wondered how deep the scars on his mind must be if Merlin looked so frightened even here, in Arthur's chambers, which should be the safest place in the world for him.

Arthur stepped closer to Merlin's shivering form, concerned by the way Merlin pulled back from him. Still, Merlin obviously needed comfort, so Arthur pressed forward and pulled Merlin into a hug, the warm, sappy kind that Merlin had always tried to coax out of Arthur.

Arthur couldn't help the words that spilled out from his mouth next. "Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon?"

Arthur could feel Merlin stiffen in his arms at his words and immediately knew that he had just messed up. Merlin had, of course, been in Avalon before his return, and if Arthur knew Merlin at all, Merlin had probably spent all of his time in Avalon trying to escape, to get back to Camelot and return to Arthur's side. Arthur should have known that Merlin wouldn't like to be reminded of his time being dead!

Quickly, Arthur released a tense and still wordless Merlin from his hold and guided him towards the table, lightly manhandling Merlin into the seat next to Arthur's. Dinner had already been sent up by the kitchen, but Arthur hadn't had the chance to eat any of it yet, so there was plenty of smoked ham and vegetables for Arthur to pile onto Merlin's plate. It was doubtful if there was food in Avalon for the dead, so Merlin's probably starving!

"Ēat, Myrddin, and þæt is ān bebod! Þū eart ǣac þinra þonne ic þē lǣstan gesēah! Þū scealt nū hungor hæbban, swā þū ne eart fēor þæt þū þæt disc fullfremed hæbbe!"

Merlin simply blinked at Arthur and looked at him with painfully blank eyes. Worse yet, his fear was still present on his face. Why was he still afraid? Was Merlin even mentally present, aware of where he was? Or was he stuck in some sort of nightmare conjured by his own mind?

Concerned, Arthur stepped closer to Merlin. However, Merlin still didn't even look at the food on his plate, his eyes stuck to Arthur's face. Arthur tried to move slowly, like he was guiding a particularly skittish horse, and took hold of Merlin's hand to guide it to the fork on the table. Luckily, Merlin seemed to be aware enough to know what to do, as his fingers grasped at the fork and picked it up.

Arthur gave Merlin a smile, hoping to coax him further back into reality. He then guided Merlin's hand, now holding the fork, back towards Merlin's plate, where he led Merlin's hand to stab a nice-sized piece of ham, and then guided his hand to Merlin's mouth.

Merlin seemed to get the hang of it from there, taking the piece into his mouth, chewing, and swallowing. After a quick glance at Arthur, Merlin started eating through the food on his plate of his own accord, which Arthur counted as a victory. Merlin was already showing so much progress!

By the time Merlin had finished the plate, the fire in the hearth was burning low, and Arthur knew that it was time for him to go to bed.

As Arthur stood to walk over to his changing screen though, he heard Merlin speak, which sent his heart jumping up his his throat his surprise and joy.

"Please, what do you want from me? I don't understand."

Arthur whipped around at the sound of Merlin's voice, a sound that time had cruelly eroded from his memories, and he couldn't contain his excitement.

"Hwæt wæs þæt?! Myrddin, hwæt sægst þu? Ic bidde þe secge me!"

Merlin flinched back at his outburst though, stopping Arthur dead in his tracks. Speaking slowly and gently, Arthur tried again.

"Myrddin, hwæt sægdest þū? Mihtest þū āgēan sprecan for mē, þancie?"

Merlin blinked at him again, his eyes filling with tears. Oh no, what happened? Arthur hadn't meant to upset Merlin, he had only wanted to hear him speak again! Before Arthur could try to comfort his distraught lover, to his amazement, Merlin spoke once more.

"I don't know what we did, but please let us go! We'll never come back here again, I swear! Just please let us go!"

Arthur blinked as he tried to make sense of what Merlin was saying. He didn't recognize any of those words. Had Merlin come back from Avalon speaking another language?

Well, Arthur knew that languages changed over time, perhaps Avalon sent Merlin back speaking the language of whatever century they were in now? That would make the most sense after all.

Wait... a minute, if Merlin couldn't speak their language... then that meant...

Arthur frantically set his hand on the table, just a few inches away from Merlin's arm, and spoke as clearly as he could.

"Hwæt, Myrddin, gif þu me understandan mæg, þonne set þin hand on min."

Arthur's heart pounded in his chest as he waited for Merlin to move his hand. He waited and waited, but Merlin just kept looking at him with those painfully blank eyes.

Eventually, Arthur lost his tenuous grip on his grief and rage, and he grabbed a goblet and hurled into the wall with a shout. Why?! Why had Avalon done this?! How could the fates be so cruel as to return his love to him, but place this barrier between them?!

Arthur took a few deep breaths to get himself under control again. He looked over at Merlin, where his lover as practically shaking in his seat. Poor Merlin must have been so confused! To return home only to find that he could not understand anyone! It was no wonder he was so frightened, he had no idea what was going on!

Then, an idea struck Arthur. If Merlin couldn't understand his words, then he would surely understand his actions! Arthur was a man more suited for actions rather than mere words anyways.

Keeping a keen eye on Merlin, Arthur made his way across the room towards a locked chest, one that had not been opened for centuries even before everyone fell asleep. Arthur could not bear to look upon its contents, but he needed to keep them for Merlin's eventual return.

Arthur carefully unlocked the chest and opened the lid, revealing Merlin's few material possessions at the time of his death. It had saddened Arthur deeply, even in the fog of despair that had surrounded him in those days following Merlin's death, to realize that all of Merlin's possessions could barely fill a chest halfway. Even when he was the beloved consort of the wealthiest king in Albion, Merlin lived as though he was still in the poverty that he had grown up in.

Inside the chest sat a few articles of clothing, a couple books of magic, a carved wooden dragon, a few bags, some letters from Hunith and Lancelot, and two gifts from Arthur. Arthur had only been able to give Merlin one of those gifts during his lover's lifetime, but he kept the second gift safe in the chest, ready for Merlin's return.

Carefully, Arthur pulled out his mother's sigil and a delicate silver crown from the chest and made his way back to Merlin.

Merlin was looking at him confused again, so Arthur held up the sigil and, keeping is movements very clear, pressed the sigil into Merlin's hands. To his dismay, Merlin looked at the sigil like he'd never seen it before in his life.

Oh god, were his memories warped as well?! What did he remember?

A thin, hurt voice whispered treacherous questions in his ears. Did he remember Arthur at all? Did he remember the love they had shared, or did he only see a strangers face when he looked upon Arthur's?

At this point, tears were silently streaming down Arthur's face as he swallowed back wailing sobs. He had just gotten Merlin back, and yet he still remains lost to Arthur!

Arthur let out a gasping breath and, desperately hoping for some sort of response, he placed the silver crown on Merlin's head, as he should have done centuries ago. Still, Merlin only looked at him with confusion, and no recognition was sparked in his eyes.

Unable to bear it any longer, Arthur lurched forwards towards Merlin. If absolutely nothing else worked, if this was the only thing Merlin knew of Arthur, then by god let it be how much Arthur loved him.

Closing his eyes, Arthur softly pressed his lips onto Merlin's. Merlin, unsurprisingly, did not respond, likely too shocked at the stranger kissing him. After a couple seconds, Arthur pulled back, not waiting Merlin to get too uncomfortable, and dared to look at Merlin's eyes once more, hunting for any sort of recognition, but only one thing caught his attention.

Merlin's eyes were gold. They definitely weren't golden before.

Arthur stood, frozen, as Merlin seemed to go through some journey within his own mind, his face changing expressions every few seconds. Slowly, though, the golden light began to dim from his eyes.

As his eyes returned to their usual lovely blue, Merlin let out a loud gasp, and looked around Arthur's chambers as if he was only just now becoming aware of where exactly he was. Ever so slowly, his eyes drifted back to Arthur, and Merlin, through the tears that had now gathered in his eyes, let out a gasping laugh.

"Þū ne miht gān ymbe cyssende folc butan gewarnunge swā, þū dolop heafod! Þū ēac næarwe mē ġefēngest þæt mīn heorte ġeswenced wæs! Būton þām, hwæt wōd þīn lufiende gemǣra, þā hērde þone cyning cyssende folc on ætǣlum!"

Then it was Arthur's turn to laugh, to excited and relieved to do anything else but kiss Merlin again, with his love back where he belonged.

SOME TIME LATER:

Arthur yelped as Merlin punched his arm as they were both laying in bed, his lover giving him a somewhat scathing look, the same one he wore when Arthur ordered him to mucked out the stables.

"Hwæt wæs þæt for?"

Merlin huffed at him indignantly, but his eyes held the barest hint of mirth in them.

"Þæt wæs for þrowing mīn ġeweorċiend in þā ġeolu! Hīe wǣron ġeþēodende tō ālȳsene mē, and þæt is hū þū þancast hīe? Nā mā cossas for þē oþ þū lǣte hīe faran!"

Arthur rolled his eyes but complied with his lover's wishes, getting out of bed and calling over a guard and telling him to release the prisoners. Really, how was he supposed to know that the intruders were just Merlin's coworkers? They had looked like kidnappers from Arthur's perspective!

Huffing with amusement, Arthur made his way back over to the bed, softly kissing Merlin as he climbed back in, ready to sleep for the night. Before he closed his eyes though, he called out to Merlin.

"Beheald þū mē þæt þū beōn hēr þonne ic āwacige?"

Merlin smiled gently at Arthur and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Ic behēte."

TRANSLATIONS:

Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin! = Catch them! They're trying to take Merlin!

Hwæt, Guinevere, far to þæm wæpnedhuse and find hwæt wæpnedu sindon gód in þæm stæde. Leon, far and wec þa oþre cnihtas. Hæbbe hí ceorfan of þæm unrihtwisan fleon. Oðer ealdras, fylgað me! = Guinevere, please go to the armory and find whatever weapons are still in decent condition. Leon, go wake up and gather the other knights. Have them cut off the intruders' escape. The rest of you, follow me!

Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis! = How dare you try to take him from me! I have waited over a thousand years for this moment, and you've attempted to steal him from me! You must pay for this!

Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð. = Take the intruders to the dungeon cells, we can deal with them later. Gwaine, take Merlin to his chambers and have Gaius look over him. And be gentle, he must have just come back from Avalon and could still be in pain from his wounds! Report back to me with Gaius's findings when he's done.

Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon = Oh Merlin, where have you been?

Ēat, Merlin, and þæt is ān bebod! Þū eart ǣac þinra þonne ic þē lǣstan gesēah! Þū scealt nū hungor hæbban, swā þū ne eart fēor þæt þū þæt disc fullfremed hæbbe! = Eat, Merlin, and that's an order! You're even skinnier than the last time I saw you! You must be hungry now, so you're not leaving until I see that you've finished that plate!

Hwæt wæs þæt?! Myrddin, hwæt sægst þu? Ic bidde þe secge me! = What was that?! Merlin, what did you say? Please tell me!

Myrddin, hwæt sægdest þū? Mihtest þū āgēan sprecan for mē, þancie? = Merlin, what did you say? Could you try to speak again for me, please?

Hwæt, Myrddin, gif þu me understandan mæg, þonne set þin hand on min. = Merlin, if you can understand me at all, then put your hand in mine.

Þū ne miht gān ymbe cyssende folc butan gewarnunge swā, þū dolop heafod! Þū ēac næarwe mē ġefēngest þæt mīn heorte ġeswenced wæs! Būton þām, hwæt wōd þīn lufiende gemǣra, þā hērde þone cyning cyssende folc on ætǣlum! = You can't just go around kissing people without warning like that, you dollop head! You almost gave me a heart attack! Besides, what would your loving consort think, hearing about the king kissing people at random!

Hwæt wæs þæt for? = What was that for?

Þæt wæs for þrowing mīn ġeweorċiend in þā ġeolu! Hīe wǣron ġeþēodende tō ālȳsene mē, and þæt is hū þū þancast hīe? Nā mā cossas for þē oþ þū lǣte hīe faran! = That was for throwing my coworkers in the dungeons! They were trying to save me, and that's how you thank them? No more kisses for you until you let them go!

Beheald þū mē þæt þū beōn hēr þonne ic āwacige? = Promise me that you'll be here when I wake up?

Ic behēte. = I promise.

And that's a wrap! Man, this thing quickly spiraled out of control. What was supposed to be a short and sweet prompt evolved into this beast of a post. Well, I hoped you liked this au!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

Also, here's everyone who asked for this continuation (and if I forgot to tag someone, I am so sorry, there were a lot of you who asked for a part 2 and I couldn't really keep track of them all 😭): @valiantkittenwitch @gaiussleechtank @laundryandtaxesworld @ath99 @dont-know-how-this-works @young-skam @authenticblob @regulusrules @linotheghost @olidun @championrevali @lil-gremlin-things @hopeaha @mitoconniedria @candlemouse @starlightdreams-blog @todolist-nothing07 @princess-of-morkva @mortalmab @livewondrousss @araevenn @shesthewindandsea @that-ghost-bitch @myself-being @queencutl @hakka84 @asagijing @izzymizzyofficial @thedollopheadofcamelot @lostinthe--stars @larluce ( <- also I'm a big fan of your au's so thank you so much!!) @allisnotfairinloveandbooks @arthursbubblebutt @rain-dragons @ofqueensandwitches @ramadiiiisme @righteous-scamp @cwilbah @merthurogies @merlinrepost @once-upon-the-earth @fluffy-loves-chocolate @lightoftheemeraldstar @tansruduri @avixenk

Also, a shoutout to @theanishimori, who inspired the "true love's kiss" element of the ending!

I'll see you all again soon with a new au idea!

[devildomwriter]

All Spells & Magic

7-20

Solomon: “…Denizens of the darkness, awaken! You who are born of shadow, hear me! I am the one called Solomon. I call upon you now to lend your power to Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust!”

8-13

MC: “…Hear me, denizens of the darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it. Hear me and do as I command! …Denizens of the darkness, awaken! You who are born of shadow, hear me! I call upon you now to lend your power to Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust!”

11-12

Group: “Elohim Essaim Frugativi et appelavi… Come to us…we beseech you… Hear our words…head our summons… Show yourself…appear before us…”

13-14

Barbatos: “Hear my voice and heed my command. These words are sound…the sound, melody. And through it I bind thee, and rob thee of they freedom.”

29-12

Satan: “Forces of calamity, disaster, and misfortune! Rain down upon the one who stands before me…”

Mammon: “D’ah! Stop! What kind curse are you puttin’ on me, anyway?!”

Satan: “Bidibriupyon fath parthu…”

MC: “Bidibriupyon fath parthu…”

29-12

Satan: “May the vestiges of the curse that linger within the person before me be eliminated. I am the one they call Satan…Hear my command!””

30-13

Satan: “May our bodies be drawn together and bound together, by a force none can resist and none can escape…”

30-13

MC: “…Calm the unease that gnaws at this demons, and bring peace to his heart!”

35-2

Solomon: “…Spirit of wind, the magician Solomon commands thee! Shield the ears of those who stand before me! Rid them of their lust for water, and silence the siren’s voice!”

35-9

Solomon: “I am the magician Solomon… Heed my words! Open the way forward, and create a path where there was none!”

36-16

Solomon: “May this vile curse return to the one who conjured it. Turn back the hands of time and unwind the wrong-doing that triggered it. I am the magician Solomon… Hear my command! Let none oppose it, and none escape it!”

37-1

MC: “Spirit of earth, cover the mouth of the one who lies before me, and silence his cries forever…”

37-1

MC: “May the vestiges of pain that linger within the demon before me be eliminated!”

44-1

MC: “Spirit of water…Suppress this torrent…”

44-1

MC: “May the vestiges of pain that linger within the demon before me be eliminated… I am the one they call MC… Hear my command!”

45-7

Solomon: “…I call upon the earth itself to shackle the one who stands before me. Leave them bound and helpless. I am the sorcerer Solomon…Answer my call!”

46-1

Mammon: ”Spirit of wind, I command you! Arise, Pierce the darkness, and bring that tiny demon to me! I am Mammon, Avatar of Greed! Hear and obey me!””

46-1

MC: “…Beelzebub, your master MC commands you… Cast aside this wicked creature so he may bother us no more!”

46-10

MC: “…Denizens if darkness, awaken! Hear me, you who are born of shadow! I am MC, the master who commands Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony. I call upon you now to lend your power to this demon!”

46-10

Solomon: “Spirit of wind, calm yourself. Spirit of earth, sleep.”

53-4

Solomon: “Grant those who stand before me temporary forms, so that they appear as animals. Solomon the sorcerer wills it. Hear me, and let it be done!”

56-3

MC: “O winds of protection, shield him.”

56-3

MC: ”O fires of judgment…”

58-2

MC: “Hear me, O light born of shadow! Come forth and repel this evil spirit!”

58-12

Beelzebub: “Evil spirit, sinister and foul! In the name of Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony…be gone!”

58-15

Satan: “Evil spirit, sinister and foul! Return to the darkness from whence you came!Witness my rage and behold your doom, from ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

58-18

Lucifer: “Evil spirit, sinister and foul! Return to the darkness from whence you came! Witness my power and behold your doom, from ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

58-19

MC: “…May the vestiges of fear that linger within the angel before me be eliminated. I am the one they call MC…hear my command.”

59-1

Mammon: “Wh-What just happened?! That blast of wind that hit me…was that magic?!”

Lucifer: “Ah, so you conjured that gust of wind, and sent Mammon flying onto the couch before he could step on the vacuum…Well done, MC.” *no spell is said aloud, as using magic without incantation is a sign of more poweeerful magic, and MC can now summon wind without using any words*

60-3

*It’s implied MC can use levitation magic to grab items far away*

61-1

MC: “…In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you. Create a path where there is none…And lead me where I wish to go.”

61-14

MC: “Hear me, O spirit of wind! Awaken the demon who slumbers before me! In the name of the Sorcerer MC, I command you!”

62-11

MC: “…Hear me! Spirit of water, rain down upon the demon before me. In the name of the sorcerer, MC, make it so…”

62-11

MC: “…Spirit of wind, bring your force to bear on the demon before me!”

62-14

MC: “Spirit of water, rain down!”

62-14

MC: “Spirit of water, send forth a cataclysmic deluge!”

64-17

MC: “…In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you! Create a path where there is none! And lead us where we wish to go.”

65-11

MC: “Spirit of wind, protect him!”

66-4

MC: “Spirit of fire, send forth your flames…

66-4

MC: “Spirit of water, rain down upon him…”

66-4

MC: “Spirit of wind, send forth a gale…”

66-4

MC: “Create a path where there is none!”

66-4

MC: “Spirit of earth, cover his mouth and silence him!”

66-4

MC: “I bind thee, and rob thee of thy freedom!”

Solomon: “Looks like you’re shortening the incantation like a pro! Just what I’d expect from my talented apprentice!”

66-19

MC: “I bind thee…And rob thee of thy freedom!”

68-7

MC: “May the illusion clouding my mind be dispelled! I am the one they call MC. Hear my command.”

68-11

MC: “…Hear me…Spirit of wind, calm yourself. Spirit of earth, sleep! In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you…”

68-19

MC: “The sorcerer MC commands you…Come forth, feline…”

70-15

MC: “The sorcerer MC commands you! Come forth, super-rare book…”

70-17

MC: “In the name of the sorcerer MC, I draw upon my pact with the ring of light……Come forth, Lucifer!”

74-17

MC: “Hear me, and heed my call. In the name of the sorcerer MC, I draw upon my pact with the ring of light. Come forth, Lucifer…”

76-11

MC: “Hear me, spirit of wind. I call for your protection! In the name of the sorcerer MC, I call upon you…”

78-16

Solomon: “Are you ready? In order to remove a magic item from inside a solid object here’s what you do. First, condense as much of your own magic energy as possible, creating a ball of magical light. This ball of concentrated magic needs to be at least as powerful as the item you want to remove. Okay, I think this should be enough. Then you thrust your condensed magic orb into the tree, forcing the magic item inside out. Once the item has been removed, the tree will return to normal.”

79-14

MC: “…In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you…Create a path where there is none…And lead us to those who require our help…”

80-16 H

MC: “Hear me, denizens of the darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it. Hear me and do as I command! I, MC, call upon you to send forth one of your number! I summon the avatar of envy, Leviathan…”

[solitary-traveler]

Ascent to Oblivion part 2 - echoes of regret

He wanted you to awaken, yet he’s not sure why. Maybe he wanted answers. A reasonable explanation for your absurd actions.

Notes: Ahhhhh, I'm finally free again! I'm so sorry for not posting for a while, I was busy. Anyways, thank you so much for being patient with me. Part 2 is finally outttt. Also, tried a new writing style? I decided to go for less editing on this one, I want to see if it's better in terms of writing emotions. Thank you for 100 followers btw. You guys are the best <33

Warning: reader is not traveler btw, scara's pov after the battle, slight angst?

Peace was a luxury that Scaramouche could never afford.

How could he, when the treachery was etched in the steps of his past ?

Yet the solitude that submerged the city of Sumeru leaves a bitter taste resting on his tongue. He settled beside a statue of the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, overlooking the city she once presided over. The region he was supposed to subjugate and bend to his will. 

For once, he’ll be the one exercising control, toying with the strings of his very own marionette play. He’ll devote himself to the role of the puppeteer, finding delight in engineering the people to act according to his words and his words alone. To constrain them to kneel and beg for mercy, manipulating their resolve for his own amusement. 

But alas, it was not meant to be. For he had been defeated by a pesky Traveler and their idiotic companions. 

Scaramouche’s face soured. 

What a disgrace.

His sharp eyes remained its scornful glare at the city. He can not stand staring at the tranquility he yearned to have. The gentle winds that rushed his way seemed to mock him further . It left a lingering caress on his cheek, offering a taste of what he’d been missing for 500 years. He scowls, the hatred evident in his features. A flurry of fallen leaves soon crashed in his direction, dancing away as it avoided him to catch up with the gust of air. One such leaf had landed on your face though, as you lay asleep beside him. He had almost forgotten he brought you here on a whim, despite the Lesser Lord Kusanali’s warnings. 

Their conversation was still fresh in his mind. Having visited you a few times everyday, the Dendro Archon’s attention was caught. She harbored a small smile on her tiny face, her voice warm as usual.

“You don’t have to come here everyday you know?”

He recalls sighing in reply, “I know.”

“But I have to”

Have to, huh?

His answer never really made sense, even to him. He doesn't know why he possessed such a strong obligation to see you. Maybe it had something to do with the turmoil of emotions he was experiencing, raging in his non-existent heart and influencing his thoughts. He wanted you to awaken, yet he’s not sure why.

Maybe he wanted answers. A reasonable explanation for your absurd actions.

Scara still remembers that day. Every single detail. He can’t forget how your body pressed against his, the metallic red a cool contrast to his overheating skin. The way your arms encompassed around him, squeezing him tightly like you were terrified he’d vanish without a trace. He recounts the smash of the debris falling on you, a consequence you suffered for attempting to shield him from danger. 

A stupid move, really. 

He was a puppet, a mere rubble like that was not a threat to his utility. Yet you , with all your mortal characteristics, decided to play hero and shelter him from it. Now look where that got you.

Asleep . 

For two whole weeks. 

Why even bother doing something like that? He wasn’t someone you’d want to save. He had hurt you prior to his fall, yet with no hesitation, you jumped to catch him. 

…You dumbass.

What’s so special about him anyways?

He was nothing more than a discarded puppet, a vessel that was tossed away. A broken doll who's shattered pieces had crumbled to dust, leaving behind a shell of who he once was. 

What part of him was worthy of your adoration? To the point where you disregard your safety just to come to his rescue?

He was insignificant.  A failure . A worthless scrap of metal.

The despairing sobs he vocalized that day served as a reminder that his existence was a mistake. He plummeted to a time in the past when a shed tear sealed his fate to be discarded. He expected you to do the same. 

Yet you didn't .

You didn't abdicate him. You didn't push him away. You simply emboldened your hold and refused to let go. Your touch brought such fervor ardor he had never felt before, a fleeting emotion that loiters within his senses despite the passage of time. Your touch provided him the solace he'd been searching for. But did he even deserve that comfort? 

He eyes your complexion, and his chest burns. What a cruel play by fate, charming the wires of affection out of his grasp and awarding it to you like a trophy.

If only you didn't catch him, then he wouldn't be this troubled.

If only you let him fall.

If only you never cared.

The burn starts to grow, the searing sting tormenting the foundation of his being. His stomach lurches, oh how badly he wants to throw up. Maybe he'll end up vomiting all these useless feelings too.

He wills to change the past, for a preferable outcome in the future. If he never existed, this dilemma would cease to exist. He wouldn’t have to suffer, and you would go on your merry way. Like a parallel line, your paths would never be bound to meet. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be asleep in the first place. Maybe you’d be out there somewhere, roaming Teyvat with the Traveler without the hindrance of his presence.

His existence bordered between pain and fury anyway, and he knew more than anyone how it was certainly a life not worth prevailing. 

With a sigh, Scara narrowed those eyes of his in your direction. How dare you look so peaceful when he's over here, drenched in a scorching passion of self-hatred? The audacity to just remain there, with your pretty eyes closed, and not bother doing anything about it. He huffs, ready to hurl more insults at you. Maybe you’ll wake up from it, returning his jabs as you shoot him a dirty look. And yet… 

“Sorry…”

Something entirely different tumbled out of his mouth. He blinks, barely registering the phrases ripped from his throat. Did he just-

“...I’m sorry”

Why was he apologizing? What was there to apologize for? He wanted to slander you for your interference in his life, not to beg for forgiveness.

A drop of water descends onto your cheek. Huh?

Was it starting to rain?

“...You idiot”

He stops. Has he always sounded like that? Strained… and distressed? 

And why was his vision blurring?

“Please…”

The pang of discomfort bites him without a warning, and it hurts. It hurts so bad. His trembling hands reach out to you. He wants to nuzzle against your arms again, to have you drown out his sorrows in an act of intimacy he’s been longing for.

“Please wake up already”

Taglist: @featuredtofu, @slaylatus, @feikyuu, @yourfavoritefreakyhan, @materialgrowll,

@lxkeeeee, @l4r1n3, @cicil-nema, @alaynac101-blog, @beomtorii2,

@strawbeewie,

@gravy-kfc, @kaeeelie, @pocketdroll, @ladyvelvette, @mmeatt,

@itzshizuyaxd, @swivi

Taglist for (possible) part 3??

[ficnation]

Chapter 7: Jos Metodai

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,4k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings A/n: I didn't even read it over ;-; sorry (unedited)

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

You awaken with a scream tearing from your throat, the echoes of the vivid images still lingering in your mind like tendrils of smoke. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, the echo of your scream reverberating in the stillness of the night as you gasp for air.

Will’s eyes snap open, his body tensing instinctively at the sound of your screams piercing the silence of the night. Confusion clouds his features for a moment, before recognition dawns and he bolts upright, his gaze scanning the dimly lit room in search of the source of your distress.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice laced with concern as he reaches out a hand to steady you, his touch a reassuring anchor amidst the tumult of emotions swirling within you.

Breathless and trembling, you struggle to find the words to articulate the remnants of the nightmare that still cling to your mind like cobwebs, weaving a tangled web of fear and uncertainty. Yet, even as you attempt to convey the depths of your distress, a part of you hesitates, reluctant to burden him with the weight of your troubled thoughts.

With a soft sigh, Will pulls you close, enfolding you in a comforting embrace that soothes the frayed edges of your nerves and calms the storm raging within. In his arms, you find solace, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the night, as you cling to the fragile thread of connection that binds you together in this moment of vulnerability.

“Will,” you mumble his name like a lifeline, summoning the courage to articulate what you’ve just witnessed. “I saw...something. It felt so real, but also…unreal.”

“It was just a nightmare, darling,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead, soothing your fears with his gentle words.

You nod, but you don’t believe his words wholeheartedly. You’re not sure it was just a dream.

Gradually, the lingering tendrils of fear begin to loosen their grip on your mind, replaced by the warmth of Will’s presence and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. In that moment, you allow yourself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, the nightmare was nothing more than a figment of your imagination, a fleeting shadow in the night soon to be banished by the light of dawn.

“How did we get home?”

“We left shortly after the chess match,” Will explains, his voice calm and reassuring. “You fell asleep on the way back. You’ve been restless since we got home.”

You voice your concern, the worry evident in your tone. “Why is everything so fuzzy?”

Will pauses for a moment, his facial expression darkening with concern as he stares at you in silence, deliberating on how best to respond. “You should rest. You’re exhausted,” he says softly, brushing the back of his hand gently across your forehead, a comforting gesture that also serves as a discreet check for your temperature.

“No, no, no... Something’s wrong,” you mumble, tears gathering in your eyes. 

“Shhh,” Will whispers tenderly, his hands tightening around you, his body enclosing you completely. “It’s just a nightmare. I’m here, and nothing can harm you,” he adds, his voice tender and soothing as he attempts to calm down your nervous system and ease the flood of emotions that threaten to overcome you.

You lie in bed for what seems like an eternity, your throat burning and your heart aching as you try to digest the overwhelming feeling of dread you felt in the dream. You can’t stop trembling, even the touch of the sheets makes you feel uneasy.

Will moves next to you, his presence providing some comfort as he wraps his arm around you even tighter. You lean into him, desperate to feel his warmth and seek shelter from the outside world. His touch makes you feel safe, and you begin to relax a little, taking a deep breath as the intensity of your emotions eases.

The faint glow of the moon highlights the contours of his face, accentuating the intensity in his eyes as he watches over you with a silent vigilance. Despite the ethereal quality of his presence, his touch is grounding, a tangible reassurance amidst the nebulousness of the night.

It takes hours before you fall asleep again, and even then, your slumber remains shallow. Each movement from the man beside you jolts you awake with a start.

Will envelops you in a tight embrace each time, his body forming a protective shield against the outside world. His warmth steals your breath away, and you yearn to draw him closer, as if by melding with him, you could become one and leave your fears behind. But the memory of the encounter with the enigmatic figure, the haunting visage of Hannibal, lingers like a stain upon your psyche, refusing to be dismissed with the dawn of a new day.

This was undeniably the worst night of your life. Never before had you experienced nightmares of such intensity. Not even after your father’s death, when you were forced to leave Will and travel far away, had you endured such torment in your sleep.

You’ve slept poorly and you feel exhausted and sore from the nightmare. Will is up before you, busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

He notices the fatigue etched on your face and promptly brings the cooked food to your side of the bed, offering a tender smile as he sets down a steaming mug of coffee on the nightstand next to you. Then, he settles beside you, placing a reassuring hand on your arm, leaning in close so that his warmth and calming presence envelop you.

“Not feeling any better, are we?” 

“Not really, no. I’m tired, and my head hurts,” you mumble, clutching the blanket tightly. Your fingers keep tracing through the fibers, seeking some form of comfort as exhaustion creeps over you. Will offers you a reassuring smile and plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I’ve never seen you have a nightmare like that before. Not even on the most difficult days.”

“Well, that is new,” you mumble, leaning back against him. You’re too exhausted to resist the overwhelming urge to surrender to the fatigue.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. It felt so real,” you add, turning to him and attempting to describe it despite the exhaustion and the headache that’s growing at an alarming speed.

Will pauses for a moment, absorbing your words and trying to comprehend the depth of your distress. He draws you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace, as if to shield you from the haunting echoes of the nightmare. Tenderly, he presses a kiss to the top of your head and squeezes you gently, his silent gesture conveying his earnest desire to protect.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers into your hair.

“I can’t stop seeing it...” you murmur, your voice shaky and fearful as you attempt to articulate the haunting imagery that continues to replay in your mind, the vividness of the dream lingering despite your lack of sleep. “It felt so real, as if it actually happened,” you continue, your breathing uneven causing your voice to crack as you struggle to convey the entirety of the experience. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you grapple with the unsettling feeling that refuses to dissipate.

Will remains silent, recognizing the rawness of your emotions, knowing that no words could easily soothe your distress. Yet, he persists in holding you tightly, refusing to let you confront your fears alone. Pressing his face against your neck, he seeks to offer solace through his touch, silently conveying his unwavering support even when words fail him.

“Will... “ You mumble, your voice barely audible. “Could it happen? This...this thing that I saw… I had no control over it,” you add, your breaths growing shallower as the images threaten to overwhelm you once more. You can’t bear to keep your eyes open any longer—the headache has made you sensitive to the light, and the haunting images continue to replay in your mind, tormenting you anew.

Will’s silence speaks volumes, his eyes locked firmly on you, watching, waiting. Your breaths grow shallow and frantic, and the pain in your head intensifies, driving you into a spiral of despair. 

“I don’t know anymore,” your voice emerges quietly, the lingering images refusing to dissolve. Those pitch-black eyes and antlers continue to haunt you, flashing before your eyes every time you close them, so you try to keep them open. 

“Shhh,” Will gently presses his lips to your forehead, caressing the skin with a gentle touch. His hand traces a pattern across your body, leaving a trail of gentle warmth in its wake as he draws your attention back to the present. “It’s just a nightmare, darling. Nothing more.”

“It’s not,” you mumble, barely able to fight off sleep. “It’s not just a nightmare.”

Will’s eyes narrow as he observes you slipping back into restfulness, knowing that despite his efforts, your mind still clings to the vivid imagery of that nightmare. Nevertheless, he remains steadfast, cradling you in his arms and offering his warmth and reassuring touch, determined to bring your body to a state of complete relaxation to ensure that your sleep remains undisturbed this time.

You eventually succumb to exhaustion, your head resting against his chest as your body melts into a state of serene calmness. Will continues to caress you gently, keeping you safe from the outside world. The untouched food on the bedside table serves as a testament to the intensity of your troubled night.

Your second encounter with Hannibal Lecter is a shock—both physically and mentally. You never thought that this moment would come so soon, and you aren’t prepared for it in the slightest. Not after the week you just spent slouched on the carpet in Jack Crawford’s office over piles of open folders and files. You’re exhausted, famished, and dehydrated. You don’t even have a clue what day it is. 

There’s a knock on the door, and before you have the chance to yell back “Crawford’s not here!” the man enters the office without even waiting for an invitation. Your heart skips a beat as you recognize the distinct figure of Hannibal.

His sudden appearance only adds to the disarray of your thoughts and emotions, leaving you feeling utterly unprepared for whatever twist of fate has brought him back into your life. Quickly regaining your composure, you rise to your feet, bracing yourself for whatever conversation or scheme he has in store.

Hannibal Lecter is a tall, elegant man—all sharp angular features, perfectly parted hair, and eyes that seem devoid of color. He wears a suit that looks as if it was made specially for him, immaculately tailored and pressed. He exudes a sense of style and sophistication that belies his true nature, his demeanor a stark contrast to the unsettling aura that surrounds him.

His gaze sends a shiver down your spine, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel him scrutinize you from head to toe.

“Good morning, Agent Avant,” Hannibal Lecter greets you with a tone that seems to pierce through all your barriers, causing your heartbeat to accelerate like a car on the highway with no speed limit. Despite the unsettling effect he has on you, he remains composed and polite, exuding an air of kindness and understanding that belies the darker nature lurking beneath the surface.

You sense him taking in your appearance—the tousled hair on your head, the loose sweater that probably belongs to Will, the gray sweatpants, and the scattered open folders strewn across the carpet and glass coffee table. You feel like a stark contrast to his impeccably groomed appearance.

“It’s not a good time, Doctor Lecter,” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling a pang of embarrassment at your disheveled state.

Hannibal’s face softens instantly—whether out of guilt, surprise, curiosity, or something entirely different, it’s impossible to discern. He takes a step towards you, and you feel as though you’re under his spell. The way his eyes scan over your body is hypnotic, and when he speaks, his tone is the most friendly it could possibly be.

“Forgive the intrusion, Agent Avant,” Hannibal says, his voice smooth as silk, each word carrying a subtle charm. “I merely wished to extend my greetings and offer any assistance you might require. I understand that you’ve been through quite a challenging time recently.”

You find yourself momentarily captivated by his demeanor, his words soothing some of the tension that had been building within you. However, a lingering sense of unease tugs at the edges of your consciousness, a reminder of the dangers that lurk beneath his polished facade. Despite this, you can’t help but feel a strange allure to his presence, a magnetism that both draws you in and fills you with apprehension.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion as you try to decipher the meaning behind his words and gaze. Despite causing quite a commotion with your sudden reappearance at the BAU, you consider yourself to be no one special.

After a few beats of silence that seem to stretch into eternity, Hannibal shifts his attention, casting his gaze around the office. His tone takes on a professional demeanor.

“Can you take a seat, please?” he asks, gesturing towards a chair positioned in front of Crawford’s desk.

You’re accustomed to occupying that seat, whether it’s to present your latest theories to your boss or to feign attention during his lectures, so you comply without questioning it. As soon as you’re seated, your hands instinctively grip the armrests for support, and you feel your heart rate begin to accelerate as the terrifying creature from your nightmares flashes behind his person. Here he is—the monster who took your sister’s life and nearly destroyed Will’s.

Hannibal reclines in Crawford’s chair, his gaze fixed intently on you, making you feel like a bug under a microscope. You attempt to acclimate to his unwavering attention, but it proves to be no easy feat. His gaze feels like a pair of hands delicately exploring every inch of you, and as your heart rate increases, you sense him delving deeper, searching for something within you.

After a prolonged moment, he finally speaks, his words leaving you breathless. “I’ve heard a lot about you recently.”

“From Will?” you inquire, your voice tinged with curiosity.

“No, not from Will,” Hannibal responds, the corner of his mouth raising almost imperceptibly.

The man watches you patiently, his words and tone exerting a magnetic pull that freezes you in place. Your mind goes blank—you’re at a loss for what to say in response, uncertain how to decipher his intentions. While you’re accustomed to Will’s penetrating stares and silence, Hannibal exudes a different kind of power—a captivating yet intimidating presence that both intrigues and unnerves you. It’s a dynamic that commands both fear and respect simultaneously.

“I must admit, I’ve heard about you too, Doctor Lecter,” you manage to say, forcing your body to relax, your shoulders dropping as you exhale the breath trapped in your lungs.

Hannibal nods slowly, his gaze unwavering as he processes your words. “Jack has spoken a lot about you and your special methods…” he acknowledges, his tone carrying a hint of intrigue.

His eyes continue to shift over you, as if he is calculating something, and you find yourself unable to look away, meeting his gaze head-on. The subtle curve of your lips seems to particularly pique his interest.

“Special and unconventional,” he goes on, his voice measured and deliberate, causing you to shift slightly in your chair under his scrutiny. “A bit reckless at times…” Hannibal adds, as if he were attempting to gauge your reaction or perhaps provoke a response from you.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You were aware that your methods might have appeared reckless to observers, but they had never failed you, not even once. You possessed a knack for working your charm on anyone, and if that didn’t suffice, getting a rise out of somebody was even easier. Crawford relished allowing you to do your thing, reveling in the satisfaction of achieving the desired results.

“And successful,” you assert confidently, emphasizing the undeniable effectiveness of your approach. “Very successful.”

“I know you work outside the box, barely on the edge between what’s moral and what’s not,” Hannibal says, as if this were some kind of revelation. “And I’m curious to find out more.” He leans back in his chair, his body relaxed enough for his suit to fold around him, exuding an air of intrigue and anticipation.

“Then tell me, what unconventional methods of mine have you heard about?” You cross one leg over the other and raise your eyebrow, a subtle challenge in your demeanor. You need to ascertain whether he’s genuinely aware of your methods or simply baiting you to reveal them yourself.

Hannibal stares for a long minute at your leg, then at your arms, your face. The way his eyes keep circling and circling you makes you hold your breath—his gaze is sharp and penetrating, with a touch of curiosity that you almost feel like covering up in some way. His scrutiny feels almost invasive, as if he’s peeling back layers of your facade to uncover the truth beneath.

“I’ve heard that you’re not afraid to provoke the suspect into revealing their motives,” he says slowly, each word carefully measured. “That you use empathy to understand their thoughts and fears, and that you can even convince them to help you.” He pauses, as if assessing each new word before he says it, while you listen intently, fingers tapping on the cushioned armrest.

“You believe that the human mind is like... a puzzle,” Hannibal continues, his tone thoughtful. “And once you find the right pieces to put together, the answers are within your reach.”

You notice that he doesn’t mention your other technique—either he has no idea about it or he’s choosing to omit it from his speech. Fascinating.

“What brings you here, then?” you inquire, shifting the focus back onto him, curious about his intentions for seeking you out.

Hannibal smiles as a knock sounds on the door. Crawford sticks his head inside, appearing almost like a visitor in his own office. His timing is unnervingly perfect—in a bad kind of way.

“Agent Avant,” the chief says, his voice soft as he takes in your appearance. You look even worse than two hours ago, a fact he didn’t think was possible. “I don’t want to interrupt, but we have to go.”

“It’s my day off,” you respond, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice at the interruption. So close. Crawford only quirks an eyebrow not saying anything more. “Not in this industry,” you concede with a resigned sigh, acknowledging the relentless demands of your profession.

“It’s urgent,” Crawford insists, his tone leaving no room for argument as he emphasizes the gravity of the situation.

It’s all you have to hear to shut everything else off. You jump to your feet and frantically search the room for your coat, your exhausted mind struggling to locate it even though your gaze skips over it twice.

“Give me two minutes,” you sigh, rubbing your temples in an attempt to coax your brain into action.

“I can drive you,” Hannibal offers suddenly, his eagerness to see you in action apparent. Without hesitation, he rises from his seat just as quickly as you did, crossing the room to retrieve your coat from the rack. It’s almost as if he knew which one was yours from the start. Before you can even say a word, he throws it over your shoulders.

“Thank you, Hannibal, but we already have someone waiting for us,” Jack declines, saving you from having to make that choice.

You put your arms through the sleeves of your coat and extend your hand toward Doctor Lecter. “It’s been a pleasure. I’m sure we will meet again in no time.” The way your tone of voice mimics his politeness makes his eyes glint with something indescribable.

“Surely, Mrs. Graham,” Hannibal responds, shaking your hand. “We’ll talk again very soon.”

You can almost feel him analyzing you again, reading the expression on your face from the curve of your lips to the slight movement of your nose. His gaze remains as sharp as ever, but the look on his face is almost affectionate when he looks down at you.

And then you realize he’s not looking at you—he’s looking past you.

You turn to find Will leaning against the doorway, his eyes fixed on you and Hannibal. He barely moves as he stands there, the light of the room falling on his face and illuminating him like a golden statue.

Will’s expression remains blank, as if he’s trying to process the entire situation from an outsider’s perspective. His eyes don’t leave you for a second, yet you get the sense that they aren’t even focused on you. He watches as you shake Hannibal’s hand, his gaze unwavering as your fingers brush Hannibal’s forearm. He seems so absorbed in observing the two of you that he appears oblivious to his surroundings, almost like someone whose mind is trapped in a memory.

Hannibal’s gaze shifts slowly from you to Will’s face. Sensing the tension, you discreetly pull your hand away. Meanwhile, you notice that Crawford has stepped out into the hallway, clearly unwilling to find himself caught in the brewing storm.

“Will,” you acknowledge him with a smile, attempting to quietly reassure him that everything’s alright.

Will snaps out of his trance as he hears your voice. His face softens, and he stares at you for a second before he moves towards you, intertwining his fingers with yours. You notice, again, that his expression is empty, but there’s a hint of relief in his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he says, gently pulling you with him, and you can’t help but notice how carefully he holds your hand. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of hurting you, the way he keeps his movements so gentle.

You’re in the back seat of the car when you notice the silence. You turn to look at Will’s profile, his face turned away from you, his eyes focused on the road as you head toward the crime scene.

He’s been unusually quiet lately—no comments, no observations, no idle chatter. It’s as if he’s trying to protect you from any unnecessary stress or fatigue. You wonder if he’s feeling frustrated because you refused to discuss what happens in your nightmares that repeat day after day.

Will’s silence fills you with unease, making you wonder whether his mind is filled with questions you should already have answered.

You try to distract yourself by studying the passing scenery, but your eyes keep gravitating back to his profile. Every time you look at him, his gaze is trained on the road ahead, almost as if he’s avoiding your eyes. You can’t help but sense that he’s keeping something to himself, like he’s holding back some valuable insight or observation that he thinks you’d prefer not to hear.

Jack, who is occupying the passenger’s seat, must have noticed your darting gaze. “What’s wrong with you two lately?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of concern.

You freeze, feeling as if you’ve been caught in the act of doing something wrong. Will seems to tense up, his brows creasing in mild irritation. You open your mouth to offer some explanation or excuse, but Jack has already started talking again before you can even get a word in.

“Avant, you spend your whole days in my office; I’m starting to consider you a permanent resident,” Jack remarks, injecting a touch of humor into the situation to alleviate the tension.

Will glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his features appearing neutral despite the tense situation between you two. You can’t help but notice how his gaze lingers on your face for a few beats longer than necessary, as if he’s waiting for you to reply to Jack’s comments.

Feeling the weight of his gaze, you muster a faint smile and respond, “Well, Jack, your office does have a certain charm to it.”

“You don’t want your own?” Jack asks, his tone light but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

“I hate being alone,” you admit, your voice carrying a note of vulnerability.

Jack glances between the two of you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processes your response. “Can’t stand being alone with your own thoughts, eh?” he asks, his tone suggesting a hint of understanding mixed with a touch of skepticism.

“Yeah, you could say so,” you reply, keeping your response brief but acknowledging Jack’s observation.

“I didn’t take you for the type who needed company all the time.”

“Oh come on, Jack. You’ve known me long enough to know that,” you respond, injecting a touch of humor into your reply.

Jack’s lips curl into an amused smirk before he lets out a chuckle, his features returning to a more neutral expression. “That’s true,” he says agreeably, his attention shifting back to the road ahead.

Your attention is drawn back to Will’s profile. His gaze remains fixed on the road, his expression stoic and unreadable. You get the distinct impression that he’s listening in on your conversation with Jack, although he seems unbothered by it.

“We will talk about it,” you mumble to yourself, hoping that somehow Will hears your words, even in the midst of the steady hum of the engine.

Just as you finish your sentence, Will breaks your pondering, his gaze briefly returning to you and catching yours for a split second. You can tell from his expression that he heard your murmur, although you’re not sure if he caught the words.

There’s a subtle shift in his demeanor, a flicker of understanding passing between you, before he returns his focus to the road ahead, leaving you to ponder the unspoken communication exchanged in that fleeting moment.

You hold onto that moment, a glimmer of hope that perhaps Will is open to discussing whatever has been weighing on your mind. Despite the lingering tension between you, there’s a sense of reassurance in the silent understanding that passes between you.

As the car continues down the road, you find yourself lost in your thoughts, contemplating the complexities of your relationship with Will and the challenges you both face. You silently vow to find a way to bridge the gap that has formed between you, determined to address the issues that have been left unspoken for too long.

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[the-heartlines]

age gap rhaenicent feat. older jealous rhaenyra with her new young queen and stepmother

“Just because you are my father’s new wife, does not mean you’ll ever be my queen!” Rhaenyra cried, sounding young, insipid, jealous, tears pooling in her eyes. “Or my mother, Lady Hightower!”

The young girl, Lady Hightower, remained calm, staring at Rhaenyra with her big brown eyes, saying nothing.

She was too polite, too proper to speak to a princess as her new stepdaughter was speaking to the newest queen. 

It made Rhaenyra shudder with anger, with sheer sadness that her father had chosen someone more than a decade younger than her. 

Almost young enough to be her own daughter.

But Alicent Hightower was far more level headed than Rhaenyra, being her own father’s puppet on a string; one that the hand of the king successfully replaced with her dead mother, when her mother’s blood still stained the place where Alicent slept.

The thought made her skin prickle with rage, the dragoness awakening.

“I will never accept you as more than my father’s whore.” Rhaenyra spat, growling low in her throat, thinking about this pretty, pious girl spreading her legs for a man twice her age. 

Alicent’s pink lips parted as if she was going to speak, but then she closed them, flaring her nostrils instead.

Rhaenyra’s heart and veins were pulsating, roaring with a river of blood.

Good, let her be angry with me. I want her to know how much I despise her.

“What is it, stepmother? Do you have nothing to say to me? Spit it out.” Rhaenyra looked at the young girl’s plump lips again, wondering if her father made her cry, scream when he fucked her the first time, tearing through and taking her maidenhead for himself. 

She also wondered if those cries, the screams of pain, were now ones of pleasure. If her father’s new queen, her perfect  and pristine stepmother moaned like a wanton whore whenever he fucked her.

Rhaenyra pictured Alicent in the throws of passion, lust, pleasure, her lovely figure writhing on the bed. 

She would be so small, vulnerable, even below me.

The thought blinds Rhaenyra with want, desire and before she knows it she’s striding towards her new stepmother, crashing her lips to hers in a passionate kiss. 

Alicent finally utters a noise, a shocked gasp, one of delight, before she’s moaning into her stepdaughter’s mouth, already drunk after one taste.

Rhaenyra’s lips are brutal and demanding, her kiss frenzied as she wraps her arms around Alicent, pulling her small chest close to her heavy breasts. 

Rhaenyra has never kissed anyone so delicate, so soft, like this; with teeth and tongue, saliva and salty tears—pouring all her hurt, her grief, her suffering into the young queen’s mouth, letting her intense emotions empty down her throat. 

“Princess,” a sweet voice moans. low and so so prettily, but it snaps Rhaenyra back to reality, pulling away from her suddenly, and Alicent tries to follow, fall back upon her lips, back into her stepdaughter’s arms, but Rhaenyra keeps her once again at arm’s length, angry with herself.  

Angry with how she let this girl burrow her way into the very flesh, flesh that’s feverish and needy, wanton and desperate for affection, for touch.

She grips her fists around Alicent’s arms, pressing her now swollen, bitten lips together in a harsh line. Lips that mirror her stepmother’s that are even plusher, pinker, now that Rhaenyra has tasted them, tasted her.

“Princess?” The queen questions, worry outlining her wide eyes, blown almost obsidian brown.

Rhaenyra takes a deep breath in and out through her nose, because she can smell her cunt. 

How wet and ripe and sweet—earthy and woodsy, full of spice.

Alicent’s presence is all consuming, her scent too much for Rhaenyra to bear, so she loosens her grip around her stepmother and flees from her, running away, leaves her with her finger marks lingering, bruised into her young flesh.

Princess echoes behind her, louder, more hoarse this time, but Rhaenyra’s feet take her far from the hurt in Alicent’s voice, not  ready to face the feelings that threaten to open like a gaping wound. The emotions that pour from her like blood, because the Lady Hightower is like a dagger, digging into Rhaenyra’s flesh, slicing her soul open, to be naked, vulnerable. 

And around her new mother, her new queen, Rhaenyra feels the most vulnerable, the most naked. And most of all she longs to feel that way, craves it from the girl she so despises, who has stolen everything from her. 

The girl who she cannot hate, because Rhaenyra sees too much of herself in her, reflected in her pretty brown eyes.

[sayafics]

Dragon of Dorne - Chapter III

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A tense silence had shrouded the hall shortly after, a thick presence that coiled around them all. Daemon watched his niece with a leering gaze. Try as he might, he could not withhold the infatuation that budded within him.

Despite Rhaenyra's persistent petting, the exasperated glances Jacaerys shared with his betrothed, and Lucerys' hidden smirks of horrified amusement, Daemon found his gaze could not be pulled away from the girl.

Daemon could not look away if he tried, even when she turned towards Aegon to share fretful smiles and indulge him with conversation so he may leave their nephews be.

Daemon leaned closer towards the table when Alaynha turned to Aemond, sharing hushed whispers and fruitive glances towards a quiet Lucerys.

Daemon's eyes softened when she laughed alongside Helaena, the two sisters conversed sweetly over insects and paintings, and he could not help but notice how the girl would preen at Alicent's every word, would smile shyly at Otto's nods of approval and would grin unabashedly at her father's acknowledgement.

Here was a girl who was surrounded by love from a family which was not wholly hers. Here was a girl bathing in affection - Daemon should have been jealous, his blood should have curdled with envy at the sight of someone receiving such outpouring, unconditional love.

Instead, his heart grew heavier with such great need he almost lost his breath. Daemon was not sure what he needed, just that there was an ache and an emptiness that lingered fresh beneath the scars and nightmares of his battles hard-won.

There was a part of Daemon that had awakened at the sight, to see such goodness able to exist within the walls of King's Landing.

There was a part of Daemon, dark and cruel, that wished to corrupt it and nurture it to feed the hole in his heart so he could feel anew.

Daemon didn't know what he wanted, but he would do anything to try and make the sinking feeling tearing at his soul stop.

It did not take long for the tense silence to simmer into an agonising echo of rage - with Alaynha far too distracted talking to Aemond, Aegon had grown bored quite easily.

His taunting words grated at Jacaerys' patient countenance. And when Aegon had stood between him and his betrothed and laid an offer, quiet and bare, with pride tinging him words, anger roiled within Jace's heart as he leapt from his seat.

The loud thud of his fists against the wooden table caused the room to hush, eyes fixed upon the seething brunette boy as he hunched over the table. Aegon did not even look ashamed when he returned to his seat, sharing an amused glance with his brother, who had taken Jacaerys' impulsive actions as a threat against Aegon and stood to his defence.

Alaynha watched on with cautious eyes, the hand holding her cutlery knife twisted it in her grasp as she tensed within her seat, eyes hardening as she prepared to move to defend her kin if she must - her gaze flickered between her nephew and brother, the grip on her knife tightening as she pursed her lips in an attempt to stay composed.

But with her twitching fingers, her trembling body and her raging eyes, Daemon knew. The girl looked like she was out for blood, the calming waves of naivety and shyness she had previously radiated were drowned out by the shrieking fire that begged to make itself known.

Daemon found himself enamoured at the sight of her restrained anger, wondering what potential hid beneath the walls she caged herself in. Wondered what her anger was like, what her violence held, what her touch felt like when the dragon in her blood burned all that came across its path.

He could understand the girl's vigilance. The last time one of her brothers had held their own against Daemon's children, and Rhaenyra's, Aemond had lost an eye. She would not allow her brothers to lose to them again.

Jacaerys spoke, his words strained as he toasted to his uncles, and then to his newfound aunt - pretending Aegon's words had only been in jest, all to keep his mother happy and his grandsire at peace. Jacaerys' eyes glimmered as he regarded her, only looking away when Aegon turned to him with a fierce glare.

No one spoke for a few moments, all silently staring into the depths of their empty plates and drowning cups before another voice spoke - a toast to Alicent, she said.

Rhaenyra's voice was thick with emotions, and a glance towards Alicent would show her eyes were full of unshed tears as she regarded the words of her oldest friend with the highest esteem.

The Targaryens - half-blooded and whole - sat in an amicable air of content despite the tense toasts shared in honour of Aegon and Aemond, and in rejoice for the cordial toast from Rhaenyra to Alicent.

There were tentative smiles shared between the women as food was passed around the table, but Alaynha did not fail to notice how her eldest half-sister avoided her with every laugh and every whisper.

She could not help the despair that settled in her heart, she had hoped she would gain another kin tonight but she was sure Rhaenyra would prefer to see her as an enemy. Perhaps as nothing, if she could help it.

Alaynha pushed around the food on her plate, much too anxious to try and sate her cramping stomach from hours of starvation as she traversed the skies upon dragonback.

There was a bark of laughter from across the table, Alaynha did not have to lift her head to know that it was her father's. A gentle smile pulled across her face as she peered up to watch him - at least he had found some peace in such a reunion. And truly, that was all which mattered.

Instead of her father's wilting gaze, her eyes caught the blazing fire that burned beneath the violet hues of Daemon Targaryen.

It was only then, seeing how concentrated he was, how his eyes singed her skin and his smirk sped up her heart, that she realised his eyes were not the only ones upon her.

A glance to her left showed the guarded eyes of Aemond, the stare growing more manic as he also realised the prey laying under Daemon's predatory gaze was none other than his sister.

Still, he kept mum - he did not want to ruin this for his mother, not when she was glowing in a way he had thought was diminished and extinguished, never to spark to life again. But it has - in this moment now, Alicent was set alight, talking with the woman who had everything she had ever wanted - choice.

Alaynha's gaze flitted back to her plate, cheeks flushed under Daemon's heated gaze, and she was not sure whether she wanted him to stop.

A flicker of guilt welled up in her throat, disgust curdling inside her gut - this was her half-sister's husband. This was her uncle. Although Rhaenyra may not acknowledge her, Alaynha was not half as cruel. She would not take what is not hers.

Daemon liked to think he could have taken his eyes off of his niece should he wish, but there was something tempting about her. There was a streak of Targaryen hidden behind her half-blooded soul that called to his whole one - where like searched for like.

She was quiet and meek, pretty and dainty. A doe in the wild, a lamb ready for slaughter. But when she spoke of her dragon, the High Valyrian slipping off her tongue with ease, there was a likeness which shone through.

There was something wild about her - something grim and feral that hid beneath layers of manners, polite greetings and shy smiles.

She was a gentle flame, a flickering candle yearning to be guided and fed to cause a roaring blaze.

Daemon's gaze eased off the girl as he followed Jacaerys' rounding figure towards Helaena - she sat next to her grandsire, lost in her world of dreams and insects. That is until a hand presents itself to her, and an offer for a dance is made.

Helaena reaches for Jacaerys' hand with glee, and although her brother's watch with irritated stares and suspicious eyes, Alaynha watched with an indulging smile that Helaena returns tenfold as she grips Jacaerys' hand tighter, allowing him to lead her.

Alaynha watched the pair in quiet admiration. She knew that Rhaenyra had previously proposed Jacaerys wed Helaena - her mother thought it mad. But seeing her sister's grinning face and hearing her joyous laughs, Alaynha feels she would have been much happier with Rhaenyra's child than stuck in a loveless marriage with her brother, both bound by a duty they do not want.

She remained stuck in her thoughts, smiling unconsciously at the sight of Jacaerys spinning Helaena around in buoyant moves. It was the touch of something rough and calloused against her back of her hand which snapped her out her reverie.

Her hand was resting against the back of her chair as she had twisted in her seat to admire Helaena's dancing with Jacaerys, and it twitched at the unfamiliar sensation. There was a sharp intake of breath, had that been her?

Her eyes darted towards what had caused the sensation, she thought it to be Aegon since Aemond sat on her other side - but her eldest brother's hands were soft and pliant, the hands that brushed against her own were worn, like that of a warrior.

Her eyes found fingers calloused by the use of heavy weaponry, scarred by light scratches and gashes, brushing against the back of her hand.

A soft caress that called to her.

She followed the hand up, up, up.

Oh.

Her gaze wavered for a moment, her vision wobbling as she looked up towards the man who thought himself brave enough, worthy enough to call to her. To ask for her. It was then she realised the room had plummeted into true silence, the guards much too hesitant to shift from their positions in fear the sound of their scraping armour would send the room into utter chaos.

Those around her watched as she regarded the man in front of her with a curious gaze.

Daemon Targaryen.

There was a part of her that felt she should not be surprised by his audaciousness, but she was sure her mouth had parted in surprise as she gazed into his eyes with a wide and curious stare.

Daemon did not dare to glance around the table, so sure he would be met with the sight of Rhaenyra stiff with wrath, his brother frothing at the mouth with indignation, and the suspicious gazes of her brothers and Alicent.

Instead he smirked softly, the feeling foreign upon his face, as he lifted his hand, palm facing up. Another offering - a chance to dance.

Alaynha reached up easily, as though she was reaching out based on simple instinct. But the stifling sense of hostility, which drowned the room, seemed to make her hesitate. Her eyes flickering between her brothers, as though she was almost asking their permission.

Daemon and his niece had not spoken again after their introductions, and even now he regarded her in silence. He knew he wanted to hear her voice again, to hear the High Valyrian slip off her tongue in rolling waves. There was a fascination that had seeded within him, one which slowly began to blossom and bloom.

He simply wanted to see where this sweltering feeling of temptation would go.

Daemon had a feeling he already knew, but a distant glance towards Rhaenyra's seething form had him feign ignorance to his own scheming desires.

Daemon did not wait for Aegon and Aemon to grant her permission, nor did he wait for her to accept his hand. He reached for her hand, holding it firmly in his grasp, "would you do me the honour, dear niece? I believe it is only right to offer a dance to the niece I have not known of in so many years."

His words were light, and he did mean every one. But he also held back on what his mind begged him to spill and confess. It seemed Daemon's words were enough to convince an aching Viserys, his voice strained as he prompted his daughter - "yes. Yes, dance with your uncle, dear. It would make me most happy to see my kin get along."

Perhaps Viserys should have known better than to encourage, but Alaynha had already been rejected by a sour Rhaenyra - perhaps Daemon's persistent acknowledgement of the girl would force Rhaenyra to accept her one day.

Alaynha relaxed at her father's words, assured she would not upset anyone as she stood and nodded in agreement.

Daemon led her close to where Jacaerys and Helaena still spun in graceful circles.

The sound of music faded into a melody that was new and bold. The violins were a layered chant of whispers and echoes that rung through the hall and enchanted the ears of its audience.

Daemon loosened his grasp on Alaynha's hand, letting it fall to her side as she simply watched him. A smile twitched upon his face, a brow raising in question - "well?"

Alaynha coughed, his words pulling her from her musings as she took a step back.

She glanced beside them, where Jacaerys and Helaena danced with child-like glee - holding each others arms like they were infants playing a simple game and not a man and a woman living in the ghost of their past.

Alaynha looked back at Daemon, her breath catching as she took in his fierce stare - she felt as though she was drowning in the vision of him.

The gentle tune reverberated across the hall, and Alaynha lifted a hand between her and Daemon. The tips of her fingers were so close to brushing against his jaw that they almost trembled - her palm faced him. Waiting.

His eyes glimmered with intrigue, his shoulders rising as he straightened his posture. He lifted a hand of his own, his left meeting her right.

In dances such as these, etiquette was key. That was what Alicent and her Septa had taught her, it was of modicum to stray from touching.

So when Daemon's hand brushed against her own, she had to suppress a flinch and fight off the shiver that crawled down her spine. His palm felt warm against the cold-bitten flesh of her own. Her hand dwarfed against his, and she could feel every mark he had suffered to earn his titles throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

The Rogue Prince.

Commander of the City Watch.

King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea.

He had rejected all titles but one, and the Rogue Prince stood in front of her today - a tall and lumbering figure who bore the expression of a man starved.

She nodded at him, and they began to dance.

The tip-toed around each other with graceful steps, when they would let go of each other's hands during one step they would immediately find it again in the next.

"Why would you ask me to dance, Uncle?"

Her question sounded innocent, and though he had given Viserys a reason he deemed acceptable, it did not mean Alaynha found it believable.

She may be the youngest child of Viserys, but she had grown up with the boy who did not want to be a king, a soldier burdened by the sacrifices of his past and a dragon dreamer who did not know how to escape the fates she had forseen. She was young, yes. But not naive.

"Is it truly so hard to believe I simply wanted a dance to learn more of my niece?"

"When you have tried so hard to not associate yourself with my brothers and sister, you should understand why I do - find it so hard, that is."

He pursed his lips, and when they spun around each other before switching hands, he took a step closer. Daemon took a deep breath, the scent of citrus and berries coating his tongue as the warmth of Alaynha being stood so close burned him through his clothes.

"They are not the same as you."

"Because they carry the blood of Hightowers? Well, it would do you well to understand I am no different to them, Uncle. For it was a Hightower who raised me with love and affection, when all the 'true' Targaryens - as I'm sure you refer to yourselves - fled the Seven Kingdoms and left my father to rot on his deathbed."

Her words were tainted with venom, anger that was hidden deep and caged away had been sparked to life. Daemon found the sight amusing, but if he let that be known he was sure the girl would walk away from him now.

"My apologies," he whispered softly, "I believe I have some reparations to make then, if I am to get your approval."

"And why is it that you crave such a thing, Uncle?"

"There are many things I crave that I cannot explain away," he glanced towards her lips, relishing in how she flushed darkly at the action, "but I would be more than happy to show you instead."

His eyes now bore into hers, pupils dilated as his heart beat wildly in his chest. They had merely danced in simple circles, and yet he found himself losing his breath the longer he breathed in her scent. The longer he held her hand - the flesh was supple and soft, felt soothing against the calloused gashes of his own.

She parted her lips, tongue rolling as she got ready to answer. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder briefly as they spun around each other once more, and when she came to face him again, her expression was blank, and her lips held tight.

Daemon did not need to turn to know who had caused such a thing.

Still, he could not blame the girl for her reaction and instead gave her a nod of reassurance as his hands twitched in an attempt to intertwine his fingers with her own.

They continued like that, spinning around each other in slow circles as the melody began to fade and stretch with dramatic pulls and frantic strums played in a frenzy.

There was then a silence, an opportunity to breathe as they stood still for a moment. They were much closer than when they had started, and their dance had caught the attention of all those in the hall who watched with raptured attention.

Even Jacaerys began to stumble in his steps as he tried to watch one aunt at the same time he danced with the other.

Daemon drew closer in anticipation. His hand that was pressed firmly against the palm of hers began to drag down her wrist, and the sensation of his fingers brushing against her hand, and then her wirst and arm caused goose-flesh to rise. He bit his lip in quiet amusement. His hand in question had reached for her opposite shoulder, where he brushed back strands of pale hair before winding his arm around her waist.

He tugged her closer, a reassuring warmth funnelled through him. Her eyes darted between his earnest gaze and the raging form of her half-sister, but a soft jerk pulled her back to him, and a kind smile eased her racing heart.

A moment to breathe.

It was then the music came crashing back, what must have been seconds felt like hours but Daemon had been prepared.

He pulled Alaynha flush against his front, his skin growing heated as he felt her form press against his own. He kept his sneaking desires to himself, taking to spin around the hall with calculated steps as Alaynha wrapped her arms around him with wide-eyed surprise.

Daemon glided them across the floor, spinning and turning. They never missed a step, and Alaynha found herself lost in the vertigo of their endless dance. Their feet moved in synchrony as their breaths melded into one, and Alaynha had simply lost herself to this moment now.

A breathless laugh escaped her. The sound was an addictive melody that Daemon found he would drown himself him if he had the choice. He smiled, a grin so broad and free that it felt foreign upon his face.

A glance over his shoulder would show a simmering Rhaenyra, and it was the only thing that stopped him from joining Alaynha in her joy.

She clutched him tightly as she tried to move in step with him, her hands winding around his neck and brushing across the scarred flesh hidden beneath his collar. Daemon's breaths stuttered at that, but for once, in perhaps a decade, he felt no need to turn from a gentle touch and instead leaned into it.

A haggard cough broke through the music, the musicians trailing their notes off-key as Daemon and Alaynha came to a stop. She pulled her hands away from their place around his neck, and they came to rest at his chest as she pushed against him softly.

Her head turned towards her father, expression tight with concern as she saw the man unable to catch his breath. She would have tried walking to him, but Daemon's touch was unrelenting.

She spared her uncle a look and saw his eyes filled with the same unease that settled in her heart.

Alicent ordered the King to be sent to his bed, Otto chiming in to have him receive milk of the poppy to ease his pains. Alaynha watched with sad eyes as her father's ragged form was carried away by his personal guard, the man much too weak to raise his head and deign a goodbye.

Her eyes followed him as he exited the hall, fixed to the door even after it had been closed. There was a comforting brush across her waist, where Daemon rubbed light circles atop her dress.

But it was Alicent's voice which brought her back - "why not continue your dance, my sweet? I was enjoying it quite so much."

There was a pleasant smile on her face, but Alaynha could not dismiss the suspicion held in her eyes as her mother regarded Daemon. Her grandsire simply looked amused as he nodded his ascent.

"As you wish, muña."

She agreed with ease, already turning back to peer into Daemon's waiting eyes. Her hands were still pressed against his chest, and a shudder ran through the man as she dragged them up to wind around his neck.

They dance for a few moments more, their steps in line with the gentle strums of the violin. But their moves are much more stilted, the joyous atmosphere tainted by the truth of her father's health - the man could take his last breath any day now. Such a truth threatened to drag her down with misery and dread.

It must have been only minutes before they were pulled to an abrupt stop - a powerful thud echoes through the hall as the lean figure of Aemond Targaryen stood above those in the hall.

Rage poured off of him in tempestuous waves, but he composed himself - head held high as he regarded the swine placed in front of him with disgust, and the boy sat across from him with murderous craze.

"A final tribute - to the health of my nephews."

Alaynha tensed, so sure of where his words would lead him that even as she paused with Daemon instead of her arms dropping from his neck, they tightened. In gross anticipation, she held her breath, fingers pressing into the rough and scarred flesh of Daemon that he almost gasped at the heady sensation that tumbled through him.

"Jace. Luke. And Joffrey," he continued, his hardened eye moving to each nephew, "each of them handsome, wise..."

There was a long pause, and Alaynha could see Aegon's lips twitch in amusement as well as Helaena's earnest gaze. A glance back to her uncle, who watched Aemond with narrowed eyes, was enough to restrain a familiar twitch of amusement spreading across her face.

"Hmm. Strong."

Alaynha finally slipped her handa from Daemon's neck, taking in Jace's figure that trembled with anger at Aemond's words.

"Aemond-" Alicent's voice was tinged with exasperation, but Aemond did not allow it to stop him.

"Come, let us drain our cups - to these three Strong boys."

Alaynha watched as Aegon, ever the supportive brother after Aemond had lost his eye, raised his cup almost immediately. Helaena replied to his speech with a light round of applause and a tender smile.

Alaynha could only stand next to her uncle, unsure of what he would do to her should she so openly support her brother in front of him.

"I dare you to say that again."

Jace held his head high, a challenge.

Aemond turned to him with ease, "why - twas only a compliment."

He began to stalk towards Jace as the boy stumbled towards him with a wrathful temper - "do you not think yourselves strong?"

His words were met with a resounding punch to that of his unseeing eye - Rhaenyra called to her eldest son but he paid no mind.

Aemond had barely shifted, turning back to Jace with a bearing grin.

Where Alaynha had previously been hesitant, she now began to seethe as years of resentment over what these Strong boys had done to her brother came crashing over her in waves.

She watched as Lucerys marched for his brother, but Aegon got to him first - slamming the boy face-down against the table.

Jace moved to Aemond again, and at that, Alaynha moved forward, simmering in rage - a dagger falling easily from the clasp in her sleeve into her awaiting hand.

Aemond pushed Jace to the ground with ease, and a large hand wrapped around Alaynha's wrist to stop her from what would have been a glorious rampage.

Daemon tugs the girl harshly, throwing her behind his back as he watches the scene unfold with speculative eyes. When she tried to round his solid figure, he reached back - his hand scrapes across the pristine blade held in the princess' hand, and it closed over the blade and her wrist in a tight grip.

He paid no mind to the sting as his flesh tore open, and blood began to spatter upon the floor beneath them. But there was a moment of hesitation that overcame him when he heard her sharp intake of breath, and he knew he must have cut her flesh open the same.

The two began to bleed freely in the hall of the Red Keep, a small pool of blood leaked between them as their blood mixed into one.

Daemon felt light-headed, his skin burning where his bleeding gash met hers. But he steeled himself, watching the scene unfold with unforgiving eyes.

It was when Rhaenyra stood with her eyes blazing as she watched him hold her half-sister, a hand on her swollen belly as she called to him silently, that he found himself reluctantly letting go.

He clenched his fingers around his gaping wound. Alaynha hid hers behind her back, hopeful that her brothers nor mother would see the blood that stained her gown.

They stepped away from the pool of blood with ease, stepping in opposite directions.

Alaynha walked to Aemond's side with graceful steps, and Daemon stood as a barrier between her family and Rhaenyra's.

They shared a weighted gaze, unsure of what it is they were searching for.

Daemon looked away first, staring passively into the bright eyes of Aemond instead.

The man hummed, a smirk painting his face before he rounded his uncle and walked away. He paused by the door, peering over his shoulder - Aemond watched Daemon as he spoke, a glimmer of a challenge in his eyes, "come sister, tis late. I shall see you to your chambers."

"Of course, Aemond."

She walked to her brother, holding Daemon's gaze with every step. As she walked past him, his injured hand seemed to reach for her own, but with Aegon taking Aemond's words as a silent order for himself, he stepped between the two and led his sister away.

Daemon didn't turn, lest they take his glances for weakness. But he stayed silent, listening to how the sound of her soft footfalls melded into the silence, which haunted the Keep during the late hours of night.

He stayed still for a moment longer, wondering if she would turn back.

Rhaenyra sent her children away, his own following them with practised ease. His eyes met Rhaenyra's, which wobbled with a darkness - an endless wrath that threatened to boil over should he make one more wrong move.

She turned to Alicent, her shoulders sagging with relief when her dearest friend took her hands - Alicent took a glance at Daemon, apprehension colouring her features as she thought her next words out carefully.

Rhaenyra plans to leave tonight.

Alicent did not want it to happen.

Daemon could not let that happen.

"You only just got here, Rhaenyra."

Alicent's voice was heavy with reminiscence, poisoned with the longing desire to relive the days of her childhood before she had been sold to Viserys like a brooding mare.

"You cannot leave. Don't."

Perhaps if Rhaenyra stayed, she would grow used to the presence of Alaynha. Of her other siblings, too.

Perhaps she would enjoy Alicent's company once more.

Perhaps she would be happy at the Keep, and she would love Alicent's children enough that she would not order them killed when it came time to claim the throne of the Seven Kingdoms.

Would it be Daemon who took a sword to their throats? Would she have them killed in their sleep? Or tortured for all the kingdoms to see, in fear of retaliation? Would she have them poisoned or stabbed or beheaded? Would she wish them away? Would she kill them with her bare hands if she could?

Perhaps.

Daemon wanted to stay. Curiosity poked at him with growing force - a gnawing and aching sensation that flooded his body when his mind flitted back to the girl he had only just met.

It had to have been her beauty - her moonlit hair, her glowing skin, her bashful laughs, her gleaning smiles.

It had to have been her dragon - Grey Ghost was a wild dragon, and for her to have tamed him with such ease and become his rider only sang to the idea she had dragons blood burning through her veins.

It had to have been her words - coy and hesitant, shy and calculated.

It had to have been her darkness - hidden within the depths of her soul, easily prodded if one knows how.

Daemon knew how. He remembers the look on her face when she mentioned his dismissal of her brothers and sister. She cares for her family, deeply and true. She had given away her biggest weakness, and Daemon could not let such an advantage slip through his fingers unsullied.

There was an ache growing within Daemon, in the very place his curiosity had seeded and grown.

Rhaenyra wantes to leave, but Daemon would do what he had to, to ensure they stay.

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta @kemillyfreitas @americanprometheuss @clarap23 @pet1t3 @your-favorite-god @hypocritic-trash-baby @esquivelbianca @serving-targaryen-realness @toji-girl

Tags in italics - couldn't tag blog, sorry.

[naurimastaur]

Seeing them for the first time, again

Summary: losing a lung and your friends to wkcd meant Gally had a pretty shit year. What’s the harm however, in seeing a familiar face?

Pairing: Gally (maze runner) x nb!reader

A/N: this is so cringe but I’m so obsessed with him Idc if this flops with the dying tmr fandom// also this is my first attempt at angst so go easy on me

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“Hey everybody relax, we’re all on the same side here,” Gally called out amongst the chaos. The faces of his old friends turning towards him in apprehension. The familiarity of his voice momentarily pausing their act of rebellion, the concealment of his face enhancing their confusion.

“What do you mean, we’re all on the same side? Who the hell are you?” Thomas, ever the skeptic, interrogated.

Gally’s eyes weren’t focused on him however, for lingering in the back was the reason he joined the right arm to begin with; y/n. Wretched and messy but all in one piece, they stood in front of him.

It was like seeing them for the first time, all over again.

———————————————————————

Gally had heard the familiar siren of the box’s arrival. He wasn’t remotely interested most of the time on seeing who came up with it. On this day however Gally had overworked himself, and the idea of joyfully revelling in a greenie’s newfound terror seemed like a treat.

Towering over the box he spotted a figure hiding amongst the supplies, crouched like a caged animal, eyes wild and ferocious. He had to admit his curiosity was peaked, most greenies were crying at this point. This one however had looked at him in rage, a hand lingered behind their back.

“Where the hell am I?” They snarled, chest slightly heaving, the only real indicator of their fear.

“Your new home,” Gally had replied, a sarcastic smile on his face. His gaze never left the greenie, whose eyes had regarded each and every teen boy in front of them with predatory caution.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” They questioned, eyes never focused on one person.

“All part of the glade’s charm,” Gally said, before he had reached out an arm for them to take. His admiration controlled his limbs before his brain did.

The greenie considered his offer before they had hauled themselves up, and bolted towards the maze doors. Gally hadn’t bothered to run after them, leaving the job to someone who actually cared like Newt. He had however returned his gaze to the supplies, noticing one of the crates was missing a shard of wood, no doubt a fault of the greenie’s.

He had to admit he was enamoured from that point onwards.

———————————————————————

Now they stood adjacent, mirroring their first encounter. Y/n was looking at him with rekindled fury, this time paired with their tainted memories. Their gally had died back in the maze, physically and figuratively. This version was a stranger; a defying act against fate.

The fire within them was awakening once again, where it was quieted by the nature of the glade, it now burned with the raw desire for revenge.

Their wrath was overcoming their joy. For where their heart was aching for the comfort of Gally, for the ease of his embrace, the overbearing rage was all-consuming.

Wkcd had taken Gally, that much they were certain of. This was a trick, a taunting illusion created from the depths of their imagination and wkcd’s tampering. Their time confined within wkcd’s laboratories meant they were forever trapped in their own mind, never knowing for certain what was real.

What was real was that there was a time when Gally had been theirs, when his company mellowed their temper and gave them faith. But those feelings had died with him, things were different now. They were both different; no longer two sides of the same coin but two puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit anymore.

( why did I write this cringe corny ass ending)

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A/n: might write a part 2 if I’m feeling silly. Also, why did I describe y/n so animalistic? Bc I’m so crazy and quirky and I can do what I want!!!! If you’d like to leave a request for any character for me to write, feel free I’m open to any! To my Weasley twin enthusiasts I will write them again don’t sweat it, I’m going through a phase<3

@thescrunkler despite you not being in a tmr phase, you’re getting tagged anyways x

[aethergate]

99% of people give up attempting to retrieve their bodies. give up soon. to lingering will from xehanort for the what muses need to hear meme <3

he doesn't know i'll hit him so hard with my keyblade it'll correct his posture

[euphoriacafe]

If you're down to write Star Wars, I would love to read some Obi-Wan smut cause that man deserves a good time after all he's been through. Maybe he's had a series of rough days with Anakin being a general menace on their last mission and he's finally home and he just really needs to take it out on the reader who is more than willing to help him de-stress?

Dangerous Woman

Author Note : I was in a hurry to write this since I had other things to do, but I will make a better one later when I have the time. I'm sorry it's a bit short. I hope you enjoy this still!

WARNING : Mentioning of P in V, MDNI, sexual tension, aggressive (I don't usually do the fluffy smut)

As Obi-Wan stormed into the room, his frustration was palpable, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched. (Y/N) glanced up from her meditation, concern etching her features as she rose to meet him. "Obi-Wan," she murmured softly, her voice a soothing balm in the midst of his turmoil.

He paced restlessly, his mind swirling with the chaos of the recent mission, his words tumbling out in a rush. "(Y/N), you wouldn't believe what Anakin did this time," he began, his voice strained with frustration. "I swear, he's like a whirlwind of chaos, leaving destruction in his wake."

(Y/N) listened attentively, her gaze steady as she watched him pace, her heart aching for the weight he carried. She moved closer, instinctively drawn to him, her hand reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through them both, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat at her touch, his eyes meeting hers in a moment of raw vulnerability. For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as they lingered in the space between them, the air heavy with unspoken desire.

In that moment, (Y/N) knew what he needed - not just comfort, but release. Without a word, she stepped closer, her body fitting against his as she wrapped her arms around him, offering him solace in the warmth of her embrace.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, the tension slowly melting from his body as he buried his face in her hair, his arms tightening around her. In that moment, with (Y/N) by his side, he found refuge from the storm raging within him, his heart finally at peace.

As Obi-Wan held (Y/N) in his arms, the room seemed to crackle with an electric charge, a magnetic pull drawing them closer. His breath mingled with hers, their bodies pressed together in an intimate dance of comfort and longing. He could feel the heat radiating between them, a fire that threatened to consume all reason.

"(Y/N)," he breathed, his voice husky and low, "I've needed this. Needed you." His hands tightened on her waist, fingers digging into her flesh as if trying to anchor himself in the whirlwind of emotions. His lips grazed her earlobe, and he couldn't help but release a shuddering exhale, the proximity to her awakening a hunger he'd kept buried for too long.

She tilted her head back, meeting his gaze with an intensity that matched his own. The air was charged with unspoken desires, and he felt the familiar pull of temptation. Every fiber of his being ached with a need that had been festering since he left for the mission.

"I've missed you," he confessed, his voice tinged with a raw edge. "Every moment away, all I could think about was coming back to you." His hands slid up her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine, a desperate attempt to convey the depths of his longing.

(Y/N)'s breath hitched, her heart pounding in sync with his. The room felt smaller, confined by the unspoken tension that hung in the air. Obi-Wan's lips sought hers in a fervent kiss, a release of pent-up desire that sent shockwaves through them both.

Their kiss was heated and desperate, a collision of suppressed emotions. Obi-Wan's control wavered, the walls he built around his desires crumbling in the intensity of the moment. His hands roamed her body, seeking solace in the closeness, the hunger between them escalating with each passing second.

"I can't resist you," he admitted, his voice a low growl against her lips. "Not anymore." His hands moved with a possessive urgency, fingers threading through her hair as he deepened the kiss, losing himself in the intoxicating taste of her.

As their kiss deepened, (Y/N)'s hands roamed over Obi-Wan's body, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles with an urgency that mirrored his own. She gasped into their kiss, the heat between them igniting a firestorm of desire that threatened to consume them both.

"I've been waiting for you," she whispered between kisses, her voice a husky breath against his lips. "I'm more than happy to de-stress you, Obi-Wan." Her words were like fuel to the flames, reigniting his hunger with a fervor he couldn't contain.

With a primal growl, Obi-Wan's hands found purchase on (Y/N)'s clothing, fingers fumbling with the fabric in a desperate attempt to remove the barriers between them. There was a hunger in his touch, a need that bordered on desperation as he tore at the fabric, his desire laid bare for her to see.

(Y/N) responded in kind, her own hands moving with a frenzied urgency as she stripped away his clothes, each article of clothing falling to the floor in a heap of discarded fabric. Their bodies collided in a tangle of limbs, skin against skin, the heat of their passion threatening to consume them whole.

Obi-Wan's lips trailed feverishly down (Y/N)'s neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she surrendered to the primal desire coursing through her veins.

Their movements were frenetic, driven by an insatiable hunger that refused to be sated. In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the here and now, lost in a whirlwind of passion and desire.

With a primal growl, Obi-Wan's desire surged, his need for her consuming him entirely. In a surge of raw passion, he pushed (Y/N) against the nearest wall, a hunger burning in his eyes as he devoured her with his gaze.

She gasped as the impact jolted through her, her back arching against the hard surface as Obi-Wan's lips crashed against hers in a fierce, demanding kiss. Their mouths melded together in a frenzied tangle of tongues, a symphony of desire that echoed through the room.

Driven by an insatiable hunger, Obi-Wan lifted (Y/N) effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his bare waist as he pressed her against him with a primal need. The heat of their bodies melded together, skin against skin, as they surrendered to the fiery passion that blazed between them.

With a desperate urgency, Obi-Wan's hands roamed over (Y/N)'s body, fingers tracing the curves of her form with a possessive intensity. He could feel her heart racing beneath his touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she surrendered to the overwhelming desire that pulsed through her veins.

As their lips continued to meet in a heated frenzy, Obi-Wan's arousal pressed against (Y/N)'s core, his need for her driving him to the brink of madness. With a primal instinct, he positioned her over him, her slick heat sliding against his aching member, both of them trembling with the intensity of their desire.

As their bodies melded together in a feverish dance of desire, Obi-Wan's grip tightened on (Y/N)'s hair, his fingers entwined in the soft strands as he pulled her head back, exposing her neck to his hungry gaze. With a guttural groan of need, he guided her core down onto his throbbing member, their connection igniting a blaze of ecstasy that threatened to consume them both.

As he began to thrust into her with a primal rhythm, each movement driving them closer to the edge of oblivion, Obi-Wan's voice dripped with raw desire as he unleashed a torrent of degrading words, each one a cruel caress against her skin. His words were like a whip, lashing out with a savageness that left (Y/N) trembling with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice thick with desire. "You're nothing but a filthy little whore, begging for my touch." His thrusts grew more aggressive, each one driving her closer to the brink of ecstasy as he claimed her with a savage hunger that knew no bounds.

With each harsh word, (Y/N)'s arousal surged, her body responding to his dominance with a fervor that left her breathless. She surrendered to his control, her moans mingling with his as they danced on the razor's edge of pleasure and pain.

In that moment, there was no room for gentleness, only the raw, primal need that bound them together. Obi-Wan's grip on (Y/N)'s hair tightened, his thrusts growing more frenzied as they chased the elusive peak of ecstasy, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as they surrendered to the carnal desires that consumed them both.

As he buried himself deep inside her, a guttural groan escaped his lips, the sound reverberating through the room like a primal declaration of dominance. His words were harsh, dripping with lust and desire as he degraded her with each breath, his voice a wicked symphony of pleasure and pain.

"(Y/N)," he growled, his voice thick with desire, "you're mine. Mine to use, mine to pleasure, mine to command." His thrusts grew more fervent, each movement driving them both closer to the edge of oblivion.

(Y/N) gasped at his words, her body trembling beneath him as she surrendered to the overwhelming desire that consumed her. With each thrust, she felt herself teetering on the brink of ecstasy, her need for him overwhelming her senses.

"Please," she whimpered, her voice a breathless plea, "more. I need more, Obi-Wan. Please, don't stop." Her words were a desperate prayer, a plea for him to take her higher, to push her beyond the limits of pleasure.

Obi-Wan's lips curled into a predatory smirk, his grip on her hair tightening as he drove her closer to the edge. With a primal instinct, he responded to her plea, his movements becoming more relentless, more intense as he chased the elusive climax that danced just out of reach.

[reminiscingtonight]

If You Love Her

Leah Williamson x Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Sorry if the story is a bit confusing, it jumps through time a lot. You can follow the numbers if you want to read it chronologically, otherwise just sit back and enjoy!

[WOSO Masterlist]

9.

There’s been an annoying tune stuck in your head all day. 

You thought that after finally being able to expel the thoughts raging in your head, you’d finally have some peace and quiet. But no, after a night cranking away, working on songs you know you’d add to your new album, you woke up to an inkling of a melody and nothing else. The more you tried to work on it, the further it seemed to slip from your grasp.

After spending the entire day cooped up in your studio, you finally decide to stretch your legs. Your eyes nearly fall out of your head when you see the time. It now made sense why your stomach was cramping like crazy.

It isn’t a hard decision to go to your favorite hole in the wall cafe. There’s nothing a cup of coffee from your favorite place couldn’t fix. 

You couldn’t have been sitting for more than five minutes before you get that strange tickle again. And with the tickle comes the answers you’re looking for. Quickly pulling out a pen, you start scribbling on the napkin in front of you. In your haste to leave your house, you somehow forgot to bring your trusty notebook with you. 

The ring of the bell above the door catches your attention, and your head lifts at the sound. 

Your hand screeches to a stop when you catch a familiar flash of blonde hair. 

You blink. 

She seems to be scanning the room before her eyes fall upon yours. The first thing you notice is how red her eyes are. She must’ve been crying earlier. You can’t help but want to frown at the thought.

Then there’s the whole host of emotions that seem to wash over her when she sees you: relief, regret, fear. There’s sort of a timid look on her face when she raises a hand in greeting. The uncertainty still lingers in her eyes.  

The corner of your lip turns up. You hope she can’t tell how nervous you are.

You raise a hand in response.

“Hey.”

And just like that, with just a simple greeting, you give your heart away again.

---

4.

You wake to cold toes pressed against your quads and even colder fingers digging into your ribs. 

Even with sleep still clouding your mind, you have to fight the urge to squirm away. 

No matter how many layers Leah wears to bed or blankets the two of you pile on, the northerner always seems to wake up feeling like an ice cube. You’re the opposite. Wearing the thinnest t-shirt and lightest boxers you own, you always wake up burning like a furnace. Ten out of ten times your heat and Leah’s lack of heat will result in Leah climbing on top of you somewhere in the night, completely trapping your warmth against her. 

Shivering, you try to keep yourself still. With the amount of energy Leah expends every day, you want to let her sleep for as long as she can. Usually you awaken to Leah’s soft whispers of apologies, shimmying on some clothes before she sets out for training or a meeting with some sponsor. No matter what it is, your girlfriend never stays still for too long, always up before the sun even rises in the sky. 

That’s why today, on a rare day off for both you and her, you’re willing to do whatever it takes so Leah can get some extra hours of sleep. 

Eventually, sometime between losing feeling of the arm trapped beneath your heads and the sunlight peeking through the blinds, you see Leah’s brows start to furrow. Her face twitches as her free hand starts clenching at your shirt, bunching up the material under her hand. 

You stay quiet until stormy blue eyes hazily blink open. 

“Hi,” you whisper, brushing back her hair. 

Leah’s eyes momentarily fall close again, basking in the comforting feeling of your fingers running through her hair. “Morning,” she rasps. 

Your smile is automatic. You’ve always loved Leah’s voice, when she’s on the pitch or singing in the car, it doesn’t matter. There’s not a version you don’t love. But there’s nothing like her morning, scratchy, “just woke up from a deep slumber” voice. 

Almost as if she can hear your thoughts, she mumbles out a quiet “don’t say it.”

Your grin widens. “Don’t say what?”

She flattens her feet against your legs, fingers also pressing harder against your skin. This time you can’t stop your yelp, trying to squirm away from the cold. The hand holding your shirt drops so she can get her whole arm around you. This time you’re really trapped.  

The next few minutes consist of your shrieks, Leah’s delighted laugh, and your unfairly strong girlfriend keeping you pinned against the bed.

When Leah’s finally done torturing you, she sits back with a content sigh, trying to stretch out her arms above her head. Despite still being fully clothed, you can’t help but run your eyes appreciatively up and down your girlfriend. She mistakes your appreciation for amusement.

“Not all of us can be as hot as you.”

She’s referring to your body heat, but you can’t help but poke fun at her.  “Are you complaining?” 

She rolls her eyes, hints of a grin on her lips when she catches your innuendo.

“It’s okay, you can call me hot. Or smokin’. I also respond to hot tits,” you jest, winking at her. 

When Leah turns around to pounce on you in retaliation, you know you deserve it. But with your lips locked and Leah pressing you back against the bed? Well you couldn’t really complain.

---

5.

You rub tiredly at your eyes. You’ve been staring at the same piece of paper for the past two hours, almost as if the words would magically appear if you just stared hard enough.

The sound of the door unlocking makes you tap your pen a little harder, but other than that, you don’t react to it. 

Leah’s light greeting is responded with a grunt, but the blonde takes your non-greeting in stride, simply dropping her bag by the door before sliding onto the couch next to you. You give yourself the leeway to melt into the kiss Leah presses against the side of your head in greeting, but after the doled out seconds, you focus your eyes back onto the paper. 

Your girlfriend doesn’t say as much, but you can sense the curiosity rolling off her in waves. She eyes the half scribbled words, the tons of question marks, and other symbols that meant nothing to her but everything to you. 

“Had a good day?” she muses, trying to gauge your mood. 

You shrug, not really giving her an answer.

Leah’s eyebrows draw down in concern, but she changes the subject, sensing your discomfort. “Well my mum called again earlier. She was wondering if we would be arriving on Monday or Tuesday for the holidays.”

You try not to make a noise of annoyance, but Leah’s hand tightening around her phone tells you you didn’t succeed. “I don’t know, I’ve got a busy schedule lined up. I’ll need to check. Let me get back to you.”

Leah tenses up more next to you. She tries to be gentle, but you can hear the irritation seeping into her voice. “You said you were going to check when I asked you earlier this week. And last week. And the week before that.”

You let out a huff of frustration. “Look, I don’t know yet, okay? What more do you want?”

“How ‘bout a fucking answer?” Leah pushes off from the couch, coming to stand in front of you so you’d meet her eyes. “My mum asked me about our holiday plans months ago. And all you do is push it off.”

“I’ve been busy,” you grit out. Your head is killing you and this conversation isn’t doing too much to help. 

“And I haven’t?” Her eyes flash angrily as she barrels on. “I can’t tell if you’re even being serious anymore. We’re all busy in our own way but you can’t pencil us in even for an hour?”

The sarcasm dripping from her voice has the voices in your head biting back with vengeance. You can’t help but let out a sigh of exasperation. “What do you want me to do? Tell my manager to piss off? I need to give her something before her and the record company drops me.”

“I’m not telling you to do that, I just simply--”

“Look, no one said dating a singer would be easy. I have deadlines I need to make.”

“Don’t do that,” she snaps. “I know what I signed up for when we started dating. Don’t blame your inability to balance your personal and professional life on me.”

Your nose flares in annoyance. “Not all of us can spend our days kicking balls around. Some of us actually need to put in work to get by.”

The second the words leave your lips, you wish you can take them back. 

Leah’s eyes narrow dangerously as she clenches her jaw tight. She looks like she wants to punch you, and honestly you probably wouldn’t try to stop her if she did. “You want to repeat that?” 

There’s a dangerous edge to her voice, and you instantly know better than to take her up on that challenge. 

You say nothing, dropping your eyes to your hands. The half-empty page sitting in front of you just looks more pathetic now that it’s cultivated into you starting this fight. 

You know Leah had nothing but the best intentions when inquiring about your holiday plans. If anything, you should’ve given her an answer when she asked a while back. But you didn’t. And here you are now. 

Leah lets out a sardonic scoff. “You know what, forget about it. I’ll let my mum know it’ll just be me.”

You’re silent when she stalks away, loud stomps revealing her internal emotions with ease. The bedroom door slams shut with a loud bang not long after.

You drop your head into your hands, instantly feeling the hot sting of tears. 

Fighting with Leah was never your intention. You always hated it when the two of you disagreed on anything. Those ugly words you said, well you know you have no one to blame but yourself for them. 

These past couple years have been some of the best in your life. From meeting Leah to falling in love with her, there hasn’t been a moment you didn’t treasure. But for some reason, you haven’t been able to capture any of it down on paper. Every time you try to channel your feelings into a song, it never ends up coming out right. Other than a song you wrote relatively early in your relationship, you haven’t been able to release anything substantial. 

Simply, you’ve hit a big musical block and you didn’t know how to get past it. 

You felt disappointed in yourself, your craft, your life. It also didn’t help that your manager and label were pressuring you to give them something lest they begin taking some more drastic measures. The threat was clear: give them something or be dropped. 

It’s not Leah’s fault she walked in on you just hours after one of those thinly veiled threat calls. She had left early in the morning for a training session, not returning until hours after you’ve been up. Hours after you’ve been silently stewing in anxiety. 

You stay in the living room long enough that your back grows stiff and your headache increases tenfold. Shuffling to your feet, you quietly make your way to your shared bedroom, knocking before gently pushing it open. 

You find Leah sitting on the bed, head buried in her hands.

“Leah, I-- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start a fight.” You swallow hard, not liking the way she barely responds to your voice. She’s still sitting slouched, not even lifting her head to look at you.

You nervously wring your hands before timidly taking a seat on the bed. You’re sitting far away enough to give your girlfriend some space, but still close enough so she can hear the sincerity in your voice.  

“I know I-- I’ve been stressed lately, and I… I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It doesn’t excuse what I said today, and I’m so sorry.”

“Then why did you?” comes her muffled response. She still hasn’t moved from her initial position, but you’ll take Leah responding to you as a win. 

“Why did I--” you break off when you realize what she’s asking. There’s a painful stabbing in your heart when you realize just how much you’ve hurt her. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you, I promise. I would never belittle you like that on purpose. I know how important football is to you and I honestly applaud you for how well you’ve done for yourself. What I said was stupid and I would take it back if I could because I definitely didn’t mean any of it.”

Leah moves suddenly, turning to face you. You don’t know whether to expect a slap or something else, but you don’t have a chance to do anything before she’s burying herself against your neck, arms tightening against you. 

You instantly feel the wetness of her tearstained face pressed against your skin.

“I’m sorry. I love you,” you whisper, trying to swallow away your guilt as you press a kiss against her hairline. 

Leah hums a sad, low note, but doesn’t say anything else. 

“I’ll tell them I can’t make it. I want to go home with you, you’re more important to me than they’ll ever be.”

“I don’t want you tank your career for me. You should stay if you need to work on a song,” Leah eventually sighs out. You know if the roles were reversed you would probably say the same --- in no universe would you ever want Leah giving up her football career for you.

But you shake your head. She would never ask you to do it, but you would be willing to give it all up for her.

“I love you,” you repeat, arms tightening around the blonde. “You’re more important to me than any stupid song I have to write.”

And it’s true. All you have to think about is how she makes you feel, when she’s taking you out on a date, seeking you out after a game, or simply curled up into your side reading a book. The high you get from touring sold-out stadiums never compare to the one you get by simply being around Leah.

She makes you a better person in every way imaginable.

“Tell your mum we’ll be there bright and early Sunday morning.”

Leah sniffles into the side of your neck but doesn’t say anything. 

Shutting your eyes, you will every ounce of your person into being a better partner. Leah deserves someone who treats her with the utmost love and respect, and you’d be damned if you let her slip through your grasp. 

You think about the tiny black box you accidentally stumbled upon when helping tidy up Leah’s home gym.

You think about the tiny red one you have hidden under one of the false bottoms in your guitar case. 

None of it would be worth it if you didn’t have her by your side.

---

3.

“So the strangest thing happened today.”

You hum in question, still focused on running your hand through her hair. Upon arriving at your place today, Leah simply plopped herself down in your lap, heavily exaggerating how much her head hurt. Knowing Leah was only fishing for a head massage, you simply chuckled before planting your hands in her hair. 

“Katie and I were talking earlier.”

Leah has brought up her Irish friend a couple times already. From all the stories she’s told you, you gathered that the Irish woman seemed like a hoot to be around. Although you’ve only been dating for a couple weeks, you couldn’t wait until you met Leah’s friends from work. They all sound so interesting, not to mention close with Leah.

You’re still caught up in your head, imagining what you’re going to need to do to impress said friends that Leah’s next words take you off guard.

“When were you planning on telling me you were a famous singer?”

Your fingers still. Leah turns over in your lap, fixing you with a look. With Leah literally laying on top of you, there was really no way for you to escape this conversation.

“Uh, how did… why did-- Katie brought this up?” You want to cringe at how panicked you sound. It’s not like you were purposefully hiding your profession, per se. Your face has been plastered all over social media, your songs top of the charts. But you haven’t really released anything in the past year leading up to meeting Leah, so you’ve faded a bit from the public eye. But it’s not like Leah ever dug too deep into trying to figure out what you did for your job either, so really you couldn’t hold too much of the blame.

“It just came up in conversation.” Leah doesn’t mention how it all began with Katie catching sight of you on her phone and then eventually pulling up your wikipedia page and spotify page and… well quite a lot of things before she believed her. 

You nervously fidget, only having enough room to squirm a little bit. Leah raises an eyebrow, more than happy to stay here until you answer her question. 

Eventually you fix your eyes somewhere off into the distance, nervously scratching at the back of your head. 

“I guess I just… I liked how I could just be myself around you. Usually when people realize who I am, what I do, they become some sort of artificial shell, because that’s what they expect from my persona as well. But then when we met, you just… you didn’t know who I was. You didn’t have any expectations, and I could just be me.”

The feeling of Leah’s hand soothingly rubbing on your knuckles has you nervously bringing your eyes back down. She meets your gaze with a warm understanding, none of the accusatory glares you were expecting. 

“I’m sorry. I know I should have told you a while ago, but I just selfishly wanted to keep living this perfect paradise we’ve created. You help ground me and I honestly just like myself better when I don’t have to be the ‘famous singer’ everyone expects everything from.”

It’s at this point that Leah finally sits up. You’re not sure what to expect, but she opens her arms, pulling you into a hug. You let out a surprised huff, sinking into her arms with ease.

“It’s fine, I’m not mad. I was just taken by surprise. Thank you for feeling comfortable enough to be yourself around me.”

If you thought you couldn’t love Leah more, you were wrong. 

She leans back a little bit, a smile on her face. “This doesn’t change anything, okay? You’re still my goofy girlfriend who really needs to learn to hang up her towels after showering and put away her clothes in her closet. You being a big star doesn’t make a difference to me.”

You giggle at her reference to things she’s no doubt reminded you to do at least five times this week already. Leaning in, you press a soft kiss against Leah’s lips. She responds in kind, climbing back into your lap to deepen it. 

Her fingers are playing at the hem of your shirt when she pulls back. You blink, feeling kissed dumb and a little dazed. 

“While we’re sharing secrets…” Leah chews on the bottom of her lip. 

Your eyebrow raises, knowing Leah’s tell. 

“Have you ever searched me up on the web?” 

“Should I?” You’ve never made it a habit to look anyone up in your life that didn’t give you a reason to. Being in the public eye yourself, you thought it best to let everyone have the privacy they deserve. But the way Leah suddenly can’t meet your eyes tells you maybe you should’ve looked your girlfriend up a while ago.

Reaching off to the side, Leah grabs her phone from where it’s sitting on the cushion next to you. After fiddling with it a bit, she passes you her phone without a word, google already pulled up.

You’re a bit confused when her name autofills as you’re typing it in. And when you hit search…

You gasp.

When you end up meeting Leah’s friends later that week, they all get a kick out of the fact that neither of you knew the other was famous. 

---

6.

When Leah breaks up with you, it comes out of the blue. 

It only comes back in flashes when you try to remember it. 

Leah packing her bags. 

“I need to focus on the Euros. Being captain is… it’s a lot. And I just can’t do this right now.”

You trying to convince her to stay. 

“Leah, I love you. I want to help you any way I can. Let me be here for you.”

Words falling on deaf ears on both sides. 

The door closing shut with a startling finality.

.

The rings neither of you end up using seems to mock the silence left behind. 

---

7.

The tickets have been lying there ever since the break up. 

It’s hard to miss how well the Lionesses have been doing. Everywhere you turn there’s at least five people buzzing about the nation’s team and how they’re dominating the European tournament. 

You’re not daft. Of course you’ve been following their journey yourself. Thinking of Leah hurt, but trying to block all of her from your life hurt even more. 

So you watch everything play out through the screen. As England progresses through each stage, as Leah gets one step closer to reaching her goal.

You could never blame Leah for following her dream. Hell, you’ve been to enough of her games, both club and country, to show how much you support it, support her.

But the tickets you got from what now feels like eons ago stay unused and collect dust sitting on your shelf. Supporting Leah is one thing. Seeing her in person? You’re a little masochistic, but you’re not that masochistic.

The announcer’s excited shout has you lifting your eyes. You look up just in time to see Georgia rocket the ball past the keeper. The crowd goes wild but the only person you can focus on is Leah. 

There’s a look of pure joy and pride on the blonde’s face as she runs towards Georgia. Her shout is unintelligible through the screaming of the crowd, but Leah briefly lifts the midfielder in celebration. 

And it’s this image of her elated face, a little tired but all the more determined that has you reaching for your notebook.

When the first word falls, the rest come spilling out. 

You’ve written pages by the time your eyes grow tired and hands grow stiff.

---

2.

You’re so nervous you might throw up. You’ve counted to ten three times already, but nothing you do can calm your nerves. 

When you first asked Leah out on a date, you didn’t think she was going to accept. But she did. And here you are now, at the local carnival. 

The date started out pretty well if you say so yourself. She blushed when you gave her a bouquet of flowers before you set out, complimented you a couple times on the drive over, in all honesty, this has been one of the best dates you’ve had in a long while. 

At least it had been until this moment. 

You rub your hands up and down your jeans, trying to get the nervous sweat off of them. 

“It’s just five bottles. You’ll do fine.”

You don’t even bother giving Leah a look. “I’m going to win you that bear if it’s the last thing I do.”

You give yourself a small running start. 

The ball doesn’t make it anywhere close to the pyramid. 

When you turn back around, shoulders a little slumped, Leah’s trying to stifle her giggles. 

When the two of you had walked past the booth earlier, you didn’t miss the brief look of interest on her face. You were quick to jump at the opportunity to impress her. 

Leah looked a little uneasy when you asked if she wanted to get the giant bear hanging from the prize section, but the look quickly faded when you offered to play the game. “It’s just kicking a football. How hard can knocking down some bottles be?”

For someone who’s never touched a football, you’d like to say you did a decent job. At least it went in the direction you desired. 

Leah steps towards you, briefly rubbing your back and giving you a “sorry” that sounds more amused than genuine. You’re ready to poke fun right back at her, but she picks up the second football sitting off to the side. 

All she gives you is a simple wink before striking the ball. 

Your mouth’s hanging open when Leah comes back with her newly acquired bear, a light skip in her steps.

“Wha-- how?!”

There’s something sheepish in her smile. “Just pure luck.”

You don’t believe her for a second. But the giant stuffed bear that dwarfs Leah makes her look cute beyond compare.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

Her arm hooks around your hip, pulling you into her side. She presses a kiss against your cheek. “Good to know I can get away with things simply because I’m cute.”

You should’ve known you’d be a goner from the start.

---

8.

She should feel at the top of the world. They won. The Lionesses fucking won the Euros.

But the feeling that’s been there ever since she broke up with you still haunts Leah’s every move. 

The celebrations pass in a blur. If she’s being honest, Leah doesn’t think they ever stopped. But when she wakes the next morning, she’s expecting the feelings to finally break through. The relief that breaking things off with you was all worth it. 

Her guilt only intensifies. 

By the time Leah trudges into the conference room, the team’s already milling about. Beth slides into the seat next to Leah seconds after she sits, handing the captain a perfectly made cup of coffee. Leah mumbles her thanks, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. 

Beth strikes up a very light conversation, and Leah can’t help but get the feeling that the blonde is working herself up to ask Leah something. Seconds before the defender is about to ask Beth point blank what’s up, Beth finally says what she’s been itching to ask all morning. 

“Did you hear the song?” Beth’s leaning forward with her elbows rested on her knees, staring at Leah in earnest. 

Leah shakes her head, not liking the attention being put on her and not really knowing exactly what the woman is referring to. “What song?”

“(Y/N)’s new single.”

Leah stops mid-sip. 

Leah wishes she could say she hasn’t thought about you since leaving your place all those months ago. She wishes she could say she doesn’t wake up feeling like something’s missing every day, like she’s made the worst decision in her life. 

It definitely makes it easier to pretend everything’s okay when she hides every trace of you from sight. Leah’s got all of the things she accidentally took that were yours stored in a box in the back of her closet. She has your socials all muted, knowing it’s better to not know how you are than to risk the chances of seeing you doing better than her. 

The team definitely caught on early after the break up. You had gotten close to many of the other girls, so they quickly realized something was wrong when Leah stopped talking about you and you stopped coming by to practices like you always did. Everyone was careful not to bring you up in front of the defender anymore. At least they were until Beth.

The fact that you released a song on the same night the Lionesses made history piques her interest. It definitely doesn’t seem like a coincidence, or at least not something Leah can scratch off to chance. 

By now Beth’s face has grown a little panicked, the nervous eyes periodically darting around Leah’s face telling the defender all she had to know about Beth’s well-intended question. The attacker obviously thought that Leah had already known about the song. But if the shocked look on Leah’s face and the way she’s desperately trying to pull up her spotify and slide in her airpods are any indication, then no, she has not in fact heard your new single. 

Leah doesn’t even make it a minute into the song before the tears start falling.

The song’s so obviously about her. The rawness in your voice as you sing about the things she loves, about the high and lows of your relationship, about how you treated her then.

How she wishes you’d still treat her now, comes the automatic thought.

It makes Leah freeze, body going numb.

Oh my god. I still want her to love me.

The room’s gone silent by the time Leah’s done listening to the song. The other girls have all seemed to pick up on her change in mood, giving the defender a wide berth.

She hastily rubs at her eyes, nose stinging from her runny nose.

Leah plucks out the airpods with shaky hands, only barely slotting them back into their case.

She’s like a madwoman then. Pushing her chair out, pulling on her jacket, grabbing her bag.

“Hey, where are you going?” Keira shouts after her, looking confused as Leah books it towards the door. 

“No time to explain, I just-- I need to go.”

No one stops Leah when she slips out.

---

1.

There’s been an annoying tune stuck in your head all day. 

You had stayed up all night, chasing the ghost of melodies in your head, scribbling away in your notebook as you tried to get your thoughts down on paper. But no matter how hard you tried, none of it seemed right. 

It was nearing four am when you called it a bust and hit the sack. You woke up at eight to five angry voicemails from your manager, a raging headache, and an overwhelming urge to pack your bags and leave your life behind. 

Instead, you type back a curt response, shut off your phone, and leave your house. Dressed in a pair of aviators, a ball cap, and the largest hoodie you could find, you hope that you can escape this day unscathed. The paparazzi haven’t been hard to miss, lingering around all of the usual areas you frequent. Hopefully your incognito gear will allow you a bit of air. 

The bell above the door rings when you softly nudge it open. It isn’t until the door is fully shut behind you that you peel off your sunglasses. To your delight, the cafe seems to be fairly empty, only a couple of people milling around the tables near the back. Tucking your sunglasses inside your hoodie, you pull your cap further down on your head, fully intending to head towards the counter.

Only you don’t make it two steps before running into a pretty solid body and bouncing off them.

“Woah, hey.” A strong set of arms grab at your waist, steadying you before you can go crashing towards the ground. 

Internally you’re cursing at yourself. You can’t even go get a simple cup of coffee without fucking it up. Maybe your manager was right when she was raging on you about needing to treat you like a child earlier. 

“I’m sorry, I--” Your words die off when you look up to see the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen only inches from your face. 

Taking your sudden silence as discomfort of your close proximity, her face flushes. “Oh, sorry, just let me,” she steps back, arm leaving your waist when she’s sure you’re not going to fall over.

It’s a bit embarrassing how much you miss her touch the second it’s gone.

You nervously scratch at your neck, knowing that you’re profusely blushing by now. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.”

The blonde smiles. The sight of her pearly whites only makes your palms feel even more clammy. “Hey, it’s no sweat, really. I’m alright, you’re alright, I still have my coffee. There’s really nothing to apologize for.”

Your eyes drop to her now half-empty iced coffee. She follows your line of sight, blushing when she notices that her coffee did not in fact come out unscathed.

“Okay, you’re alright and I’m alright, that’s all that really matters.”

Her grin makes you feel things that you know you definitely should not be feeling right now. 

“Let me buy you another cup of coffee. It’s the least I can do.”

She shakes her head, waving you off. “No, no, don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

You’re ready to argue back, insist that you repay her for the coffee spilt, but she’s quick to cut you off again before you can. The smirk that slips onto her face shouldn’t be making her seem more attractive, but all you can think about is what it would be like to kiss her pink lips when she drawls out: “But there is another way you can make up for spilling my coffee.”

Your heart sinks. Here you go. You were a fool to think she wasn’t going to recognize you. You mentally prepare yourself for the request of an autograph and picture. 

“Give me your name and number and I might consider us square.”

You blink. 

Okay, not what you were expecting. But you could work with it. 

Your first instinct is to decline. You can never be too sure about giving away your number to strangers. But something about the goofy smile on her face and carefree expression makes you want to do something stupid. 

“I don’t make it a habit to give my name or number out to strangers.”

Her smile widens. 

Your heart skips a beat when she sticks out a hand to you. “I’m Leah.”

And just like that, with just a simple handshake, you give your heart away. 

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 05 Chapter 05 | awakening force⌟

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The thrill of your newfound power lingered as you walked home. A shiver danced down your spine—a delicious mix of fear and exhilaration.

You were no longer just Y/N. You were something more, something... powerful.

Reaching your house, the murmur of conversation drifted from the kitchen.

Inside, you found your mom chatting with a couple perched at the table—Hiro and Shisuki, your parents' old high school friends.

You vaguely remembered them stopping by a few weeks ago to celebrate your dad's promotion.

Hiro, tall and tan with a shock of lime-green hair and light brown eyes, flashed a friendly grin. Shisuki, his wife, offered a wan smile. She was pale and slender, her lavender hair mirroring the color of her eyes.

You noticed something subtly off about them. You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

Your mom, ever watchful, intercepted you before you could linger. "Y/N! There you are, sweetie. Let me see those hands." Her voice held a familiar edge of worry as she inspected the scrapes from your encounter with Bakugo.

Before you could protest, she whisked you upstairs, muttering about "rough-housing" and "being careful."

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to a quick bath. Wrapping a towel around your head, you picked up a rag and began drying your hair as your mom hurried downstairs, called upon by your dad to help entertain the guests while dinner simmered.

Alone in your room, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the floor, you replayed the scene in your mind.

The memory of your helpless rage, the shove that sent Bakugo sprawling— it all felt distant now, overshadowed by the chilling realization of what happened next.

The way Bakugo crumpled, his whimpers replaced by a strange, terrified silence—it was like you'd flicked a switch, taking control of him not with your body, but with your will.

Suddenly, the image in your mind flickered. Bakugo's tear-streaked face contorted, morphing into an older visage. Golden-brown eyes, framed by a mess of unruly blond hair, stared up at you with an unsettling intensity. A wide, toothy grin stretched across his face, revealing a chipped canine tooth.

The boy—no, the young man—held a chainsaw in one hand, the whirring blade a constant hum against the silence. Yet, despite the weapon and the wildness in his eyes, the most unsettling aspect was the way he looked at you.

It wasn't just fear or submission; it was a kind of god-worship, a bizarre adoration that promised nothing but utter obedience.

The distorted voice echoed in your mind, the words spoken with a reverence that bordered on obsession. "You... have control..."

You blinked, the mental image dissolving like smoke. Your heart hammered against your ribs, the echo of the phantom voice lingering in your ears.

The room seemed to vibrate with your nervous energy. You grabbed a stray pillow, squeezing it until your knuckles turned white.

This power... it was intoxicating, a forbidden fruit that promised both dominion and danger.

The memory of Bakugo's terrified face warred with the strange, exhilarated feeling of controlling the distorted figure in your mind. It felt wrong, alien, yet strangely exhilarating.

You practiced the word in your mind, a mantra of your newfound power: "Control." The word resonated within you, a dark promise of possibilities. Curiosity gnawed at you. Could you do it again?

Glancing out the window, you saw a familiar sight—a plump robin perched on the sill, its head tilted inquisitively.

This little visitor often graced your window ledge, a welcome distraction from the monotony of your days.

Today, however, it served a different purpose. It was a test subject, a pawn in the game you were starting to play with your own abilities.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you pushed the window open a fraction. The robin cocked its head again, then with a bold chirp, hopped inside.

It fluttered around the room for a moment, its bright red breast a splash of color against the now-beige walls (you utterly despised the pretty-pink-princess aesthetic and threw an absolute fit until it was gone).

A cruel amusement bubbled within you.

This was your domain now, and this little creature was subject to your will.

You focused your mind, picturing the bird in your control. "Fly." You willed the bird to take flight.

It obeyed instantly, launching itself from the floor in a flurry of feathers. You guided it through the air with your thoughts, a puppeteer manipulating its movements.

The bird performed aerial flips, swooped low to the ground, then ascended again in dizzying spirals.

A giddy smile stretched across your face as you willed the robin to perform another daring maneuver. It swooped low to the ground, skimming the throw rug with its wings before launching into a spectacular corkscrew climb.

You felt a surge of exhilaration, a sense of power you'd never known before.

This—this was your Quirk!

Suddenly, the urge to share your newfound ability with your parents overwhelmed you.

You bolted for the stairs, the excited chirp of the robin echoing in your wake. Reaching the top of the stairs, you paused.

Your parents were in the living room, your mom topping off two glasses of whiskey for their guests.

"So, how's Y/N doing these days? Anything new?" you heard Hiro ask, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

"Oh, you know," Wino replied, his tone dismissive.  "Same old, same old. Still no sign of a Quirk manifesting."

A bitter taste filled your mouth.

Here you were, bursting with the revelation of your newfound power, only to be dismissed by your own father.

Hiro chuckled, the sound sharp and unpleasant.  "Poor kid. Stuck being Quirkless in a world like this.  Rough luck."

Your father laughed along, a hollow sound that grated on your nerves.

Mei, ever perceptive, picked up on the shift in the conversation.  "Dinner will be ready soon," she announced, her voice laced with annoyance.  "Wino, please try not to discuss such sensitive topics about our daughter while I'm here." With a huff, she turned and stalked back towards the kitchen.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

You stood frozen on the stairs, the joy of your discovery replaced by a cold anger. They didn't believe in you.

They pitied you.

You stared at them, a cold emptiness settling in your chest. Their flippant dismissal of your prior Quirklessness, the way they treated it like a minor inconvenience, stung more than you cared to admit.

Without a word, you turned and retreated back up the stairs, the robin fluttering after you with a soft chirp.

Reaching your room, you sank onto the bed, the bird landing gently on your shoulder. Staring down at the bird, a flicker of defiance sparked in your eyes.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You reached out a hand, gently rubbing its soft feathers.  Focusing on the bird, you willed it to fly away.  "Fly," you whispered the order once more.

The robin launched itself into the air, soaring effortlessly around your room. A surge of satisfaction coursed through you. You could do it again.

You were powerful.

For the next hour, you spent time honing your newfound ability. It was like playing a video game, but with a living creature as your avatar.

You sent the bird on dizzying spirals, weaving through furniture and dodging obstacles with practiced ease. But as minutes turned into an hour, the thrill began to wane.

The bird, once curious, now fluttered erratically, its tiny body exhausted by your relentless commands.

You released your control, and with a tired chirp, the robin landed on your outstretched finger. You stroked its soft feathers, a sense of boredom replacing your amusement.

A different idea took root. You remembered the innate feeling that nearly swallowed you as you willed Bakugo under your control.

With a deep breath, you focused on the bird, visualizing a pressure building within its tiny body. Staring intently at the robin, you willed that invisible force to constrict its organs.

The bird froze, its bright eyes filled with sudden fear. You broke eye contact and released the pressure. It chirped weakly, its body trembling.

You hadn't seen any outside physical harm, but the raw terror in the bird's eyes was enough.

The robin let out a relieved chirp and took shook its feathers, before looking up at you, waiting for its next command.

As the bird sat before you, a surge of exhilaration washed over you.

You hadn't just controlled something; you'd inflicted pain, a mere taste of the power you now wielded.

A chilling realization settled in your stomach—this wasn't just dominance; it was manipulation on a terrifying level.

Suddenly, a familiar voice jolted you from your introspection. "Y/N! Dinner's ready, honey!" It was your mother's voice, laced with a warmth that seemed to pierce the fog of darkness clouding your mind.

With a sigh that carried the weight of the world, you sat the bird down and pushed yourself off the bed, heading downstairs. Every step felt heavy, a chore rather than a movement.

As you reached the bottom stair, something strange caught your attention.

It was a smell. Not unpleasant, but amplified.

Your mom's familiar scent of lavender soap and cinnamon rolls mingled with the sharp tang of cleaning supplies. But these were just base notes. A new layer of perception had been added.

You could smell everything with a startling clarity.

Your father's cologne, a cloying mix of citrus and musk, suddenly seemed overpowering.

Shisuki's perfume was a sickly sweet floral that made your stomach churn. Hiro's scent was worse—a combination of stale beer and something vaguely acrid, like sweat that hadn't quite dried.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you came to a screeching halt. The world smelled different, and not necessarily in a good way.

Then came sight.

You recognized the scene unfolding before you—your mother setting dishes, your father laughing with a man by the TV. But a chilling disconnect settled in your gut.

You knew who these people were supposed to be—your parents and their friends, Hiro and Shisuki. Yet, their appearances seemed...wrong.

Your mother turned, her smile widening at the sight of you. "There you are, sweetie! Come sit down, dinner's ready."  She gestured towards the table, her familiar voice a grounding presence amidst the sensory overload.

You shuffled forward, eyes glued to the couple beside your parents.

Hiro, you vaguely remembered, was tall and tan with brown eyes and lime green hair. Shisuki, his wife, was pale and slender and had hair the color of lavender with matching eyes.

But staring at them now, their features seemed blurry, their colors muted.  Like someone had smeared their image with dirty fingers.

You tried to focus, to etch their appearances into your memory.  But the harder you concentrated, the more their forms dissolved, details slipping through your grasp like sand through your fingers.

Panic clawed at your throat.  What was happening?  Why couldn't you remember their faces?

A sudden realization dawned on you. The heightened sense of smell came at a cost. You could now only distinguish people by their scent, but your ability to differentiate faces seemed to have dulled.

It was a strange trade-off, one that mirrored how a dog identifies others through scent.

You had gained a quirk, yes, but it came with a price—quickly, you darted your eyes down to your plate, unable to bear looking at the distorted couple any longer.  But even that small movement seemed to draw attention.

"Honey, is everything alright?" Mei's voice filled the room, laced with concern.

You wanted to scream, to blurt out your questions: Were those really Hiro and Shisuki?  Was your mind playing tricks on you?  But the words wouldn't come.  The fear was paralyzing.

Stealing another glance at the couple before forcing your eyes back to your plate, you mumbled, "I don't feel very hungry anymore."

Your mother's eyes widened significantly, a hint of worry flickering across her face.  "Oh, sweetie," she began, her voice taking on that fretful tone you knew all too well.  "Is there something wrong? Maybe you don't like what I made? I could fix you something else—"

Before she could launch into a full-blown worry spiral, your father cut in.  "Y/N," he started, his voice heavy with irritation, "stop acting childish and just eat your dinner."

The room fell silent.

You felt a prickle of defiance rise within you, but it was quickly squashed by the overwhelming confusion and fear.

You stared up blankly at your father, then reached across the table for your water glass, taking a slow sip before setting it back down with a clink.

"You know what—" your father started, his voice rising in anger.

But before he could explode, Shisuki interjected, her voice firm but strangely calm.  "Wino," she said, clearing her throat slightly, "why don't you take a breather? Maybe go outside for a smoke or something?"

A beat of silence followed, then Hiro spoke up, his voice warm and friendly.  "Yeah, man. Take twenty.  We'll keep an eye on things."

With a heavy sigh, and a final glare in your direction, your father pushed himself away from the table.  "Fine," he grumbled. "But someone's gotta go get some dessert. There's nothing decent in this house."

Without waiting for a response, he stormed out, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

As soon as the front door slammed shut, the air crackled with a tension you hadn't noticed before.

Shisuki, with a cruel edge creeping into her previously saccharine voice, leaned towards your mother and remarked, "Honestly, I don't know how you two deal with it, Mei. All that screaming and tantrums—it's no wonder people are rethinking having kids these days. It honestly makes us so grateful we don't have to deal with any of that with Yumi."

Hiro, previously sporting a smug smirk, let out a bark of laughter that grated on your nerves.  "Yeah, Shisuki's right. Yumi's such a sweet, well-adjusted child. Always top of her class, never a complaint," he chimed in, his voice laced with a smugness that turned your stomach.  "Y/N? She's a walking advertisement for abstinence if I ever saw one."

The words struck you like a physical blow.  Your breath hitched, and a hot ember of anger ignited in your chest, growing with each passing insult.

You clenched your fists so tightly your nails dug into your palms, but it wasn't enough to contain the surge of power that threatened to erupt from within.

Your mother, bless her heart, attempted a feeble defense. "She's just going through a tough phase, that's all," she stammered, her voice wavering. "She'll grow out of it."

Shisuki scoffed, the sound harsh and dismissive. "Oh, honey, this is more than just a phase," she condescended, her eyes flickering towards you with a cold, calculating gleam. "What you need to do is take her to a professional. There are specialists who can deal with these...issues."  Her voice dripped with a false sympathy that made your skin crawl.  "After all, I am a child psychologist. I've seen my fair share of troubled youngsters."

Wino's absence hung heavy in the air, his departure emboldening the couple like vultures sensing weakness.  They felt free to dissect you like a lab rat, their words slicing deeper with each cruel pronouncement.

Mei, clearly struggling, could only stammer a weak response, overwhelmed by their condescending assault.

Then, a horrifying realization dawned on you. They weren't just talking about you—they pitied your parents for having you, while in the same breath, celebrating their own perfect child.

A dangerous glint flickered in your eyes, mirroring the growing inferno within your chest.  The memory of Bakugo's compliance surfaced, a chillingly sweet reminder of your newfound power; the image of the robin, tweeting in alarm, hapless and in your mercy.

For a terrifying split second, the world seemed to blink. Shisuki was crumpled sideways, her head lolling at an unnatural angle as crimson bloom spread across her once-pristine white blouse, a silent scream trapped behind her lips.

Hiro slumped forward, his chair clattered onto the floor, eyes wide with terror as a similar stain blossomed on his lime-green shirt. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, a sickening counterpoint to their choked gasps and desperate clawing at empty air.

Their bodies convulsed into a grotesque form of flesh and bones, their lives draining away before your very eyes.

The image was so vivid, so real, that you almost choked on a gasp. Your breath hitched, the taste of iron flooding your mouth. But before you could succumb to the darkness, a flicker of self-preservation sparked within you.

No, they won't get the better of you.

With a deep breath, you wrestled the power back in, forcing it down into the churning depths of your being.

Slamming your fork down on the table, the harsh clang echoed through the room, effectively halting the conversation.  All eyes turned to you, surprise etched on their faces.

"I'm not hungry anymore," you declared, your voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor running through you.  "Good night."  Without waiting for a response, you pushed yourself away from the table and headed towards the stairs.

"Honey, wait!" your mother called after you, her voice laced with concern.  "Are you sure you're alright?  Maybe I can make you a sandwich..."

You paused on the bottom step, the sound of her fretting already starting to grate on your nerves.  "No, really, I'm fine," you said, forcing a smile.  "Thanks anyway."

As you ascended the stairs, you could hear your mother's voice trailing behind you, a mixture of concern and indecision.

Reaching your door, you spared a final glance back at the scene unfolding downstairs.  Shisuki and Hiro were engrossed in conversation again, their faces devoid of any worry about your abrupt departure.

The moment you were out of sight, however, the conversation shifted.  Their voices, though lowered, were still audible.

"Honestly," Hiro scoffed, "what a useless child.  Quirkless and a constant burden."

Your mother gasped, a sound of wounded pride. "Hiro!" she protested.  "That's not fair.  And besides, Wino and I are Quirkless too, remember?"

Shisuki, her voice dripping with condescension once again, waved her off dismissively.  "Darling, at least you two contribute to society. Your husband's a decent accountant, and you tutor those college kids on the side. But what good is that girl?  She's a walking black hole of wasted potential. Honestly, she'd probably be better off in some kind of...  well, you know."

Their words hung heavy in the air, the unspoken implication a sledgehammer blow to your already fragile ego.

Your hand instinctively closed around the doorknob, knuckles turning white. A cold fury burned in your gut, fueled by their callous disregard for your feelings.

As the last of their conversation faded away, you finally closed the door, the sound a small act of defiance.

Slumping against the cool wood, you slid down to the floor, knees pulled tight to your chest.  Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palm until a crescent moon of pain bloomed.

The heat in your chest bubbled over, a volcanic rage threatening to erupt.  Your body trembled, wracked with a potent mix of anger and fear.

Flashes of the power you wielded, the intoxicating satisfaction of controlling Bakugo and toying with the bird, looped through your mind like a cruel highlight reel.

"I...need it," you muttered, the words barely a whisper.  The urge to unleash that power, to silence the voices that taunted and belittled you, was overwhelming.

But then, a soft chirp pierced the storm raging within you.  You glanced up to see the robin perched on your desk, its head cocked inquisitively.

The sight of the small creature, so full of life and innocence, was a much-needed anchor.

Taking a shaky breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, legs wobbly like a newborn foal.

Stumbling towards the bird, you reached out a hand.  It chirped again, a single, questioning note, before hopping onto your outstretched palm.

Walking over to the window, bathed in the soft glow of the twilight sky, you gently stroked the bird's head.  Below, you could see your parents saying their goodbyes to Shisuki and Hiro.

Their laughter, strained and forced, grated on your nerves.

Eyes going blank, you entered a state of intense focus. The world narrowed, the air crackling with invisible energy. Walking back to your bed, the small bird remained motionless on your finger.

You settled against the pillows, propping yourself up for a better view. "Fly." With a chirp, the bird nestled in your hand took flight around your room once again. Its tiny wings beat a silent rhythm as it zipped and zagged.

With a sigh, you dropped your hands, severing the mental connection.

Well, kind of.

The moment the bird was outside of your window, a harsh caw ripped through the air.

"Caw!" You recognized it instantly—the hunting call of the large falcon that had been terrorizing the smaller birds lately.

Right on cue, a blur of feathered fury streaked into view, diving for its prey

Just as the falcon was about to snatch the smaller bird in its talons, you clenched your fists, focusing your power inwards. It was a forceful contraction, like crumpling a piece of paper with your mind.

Staring intently at your clenched fist, you imagined the falcon instead. You envisioned every detail, its sharp beak, powerful wings, and piercing eyes.

Then, with a flick of your wrist, you imagined it crushed, its body crumpled like the paper you'd envisioned earlier.

A beat later, a sickening thud echoed from outside, followed by a strangled cry.

You scrambled to your window, flinging it open despite the cool night air.  Below, on the sidewalk in front of your house, a gruesome scene unfolded.

Shisuki and Hiro, caught completely off guard, stood frozen in shock.  Blood splattered across their clothes, a horrifying reminder of the falcon that lay lifeless at their feet, its body mangled beyond recognition.

You stared, the image searing itself into your memory. A wave of apathy, as familiar as an old friend, washed over you.

The dream, the impossible dream, of a life with Pochita—a family built on fear and adoration, flickered through your mind.

Even if you'd been devoured by Chainsaw Man himself, even if you'd been granted a twisted rebirth in that blood-soaked world, the machinations would have continued.

Schemes and plots would have brewed in the dark corners of your mind, always focused on the same objective: eliminating the blonde parasite, Denji, and securing your place at Pochita's side.

But here, in this mundane reality, such grand ambitions felt pointless.

With a sigh that carried the weight of extinguished dreams, you slumped back against the pillows.  The power you possessed was a burden, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked within you.

Maybe, you thought with a flicker of morbid curiosity, there was a way to use it for good.

But for now, the allure of apathy was far too strong to resist.  You closed your eyes, the image of the lifeless falcon and the horrified faces of Shisuki and Hiro swirling behind your eyelids.

The future is now stretched before you, an uncertain path riddled with both possibilities and perils.

Would you become a conqueror, wielding your power for dominion? Or could you learn to control not just others, but yourself?

Who knows? But there one thing you do know...

The game had just begun, and the choice was yours.

***Ahh, denji my bby 😭❤️