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inseobts · 2 months ago

Note

Hey hey so I absolutely love your writing but I have an idea and I need you to kinda hear me out… so basically law x f!reader but BUT she’s kaidos daughter GASP (that gasp was totally real) but she hides it but the find out and uh that’s kinda it but maybe like kinemon and the others of the Kouzuki know her somehow (maybe by a birth mark or her eyes or something). So yeah 😋

Shadows of the Dragon

law × reader

a/n: bestie, I spent all morning writing this instead of looking for a job lmaooo I was really into it ngl

words count: 6.3k

tags: wano arc spoilers, reader is kaido’s daughter, first meeting, fluff, slow burn(?)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The battle for Onigashima has already begun.

Explosions echo through the halls. Screams, smoke, clashing steel. The floor shakes beneath your feet as you weave through the chaos, hood low over your face. You’re not meant to be here. If Kaido knew, you’d be caged.

Just like Yamato was.

Your lungs burn as you duck into the shadows behind a cracked pillar. The air tastes like ash and blood. You scan the fight ahead, Beasts Pirates swarming a small group.

At the center: Trafalgar Law.

He’s calm, calculating, his sword slicing clean arcs through the crowd. But there’s too many. One slips past his line of sight, a massive axe raised behind him.

You don’t hesitate.

Your blade flashes, a quick, clean throw. It hits the attacker’s shoulder, knocking him off balance before Law even knows he was there.

He turns instantly, catching the movement out of the corner of his eye. But you’re already gone, disappearing into smoke and stone like you were never there.

“Someone’s following me” Law mutters minutes later, once the fight thins out. Bepo tilts his head.

“An enemy?”

“…Not sure.”

He looks toward the shadows where you linger, high above on the rafters. Watching. Quiet.

You saved him. You didn’t have to. And now you can’t stop watching him.

That night, as the battle calms down, you leave another Beast Pirate unconscious behind.

Law appears near the crates just moments later. He sees the body, then the knife still buried in the man’s leg. Same kind of blade as before.

He kneels down, inspecting it “You again.”

You smile from the darkness above, unseen.

The next day.

“You know someone’s been helping us,” Law tells the others “Takes out enemies before we see them. Gets in and out like a ghost.”

Momonosuke frowns “A spy?”

“Could be,” Law says “But whoever it is, they’re not with Kaido’s soldiers.”

Kin’emon stiffens at that. His eyes flash toward the shadows “Did you say… ghostlike?”

Law looks over “Yeah.”

Kin’emon’s face darkens “There is an old tale… of a girl with a dragon’s eyes. One who walks through Wano like smoke. Seen, but never caught.”

“Sounds like a myth.” Law says.

Kin’emon shakes his head “Not a myth. A warning.”

You press your back to the wall, heartbeat rising.

They’re starting to notice you. But you can’t stop now. Not until Kaido falls.

Later on you start to pay more attention and you think you’ve gotten better at hiding. But Trafalgar Law is better at catching.

“Room.”

His voice is quiet, but the pressure shifts.

Before you can leap away, you feel the strange ripple in the air, the pull of his power.

Shambles.

The space around you blinks, your feet leave the ground.

You land hard on stone, the shadows gone, replaced by firelight.

You freeze.

He’s already standing there, arms crossed, sword sheathed at his side. Calm, unreadable.

“Not bad,” he says “You lasted longer than I thought.”

You say nothing, the hood still covering your face. Your heart hammers in your chest. You didn’t expect this.

He steps closer, slow and deliberate “You’ve been following me since the inner gate. Took down five of Kaido’s men without being seen. Saved me twice.” He tilts his head “Why?”

You grip the edge of your cloak tighter.

“I don’t owe you an answer.”

“You do if you want to leave.”

You look past him. The door is blocked. No windows. Just firelight, stone, and the surgeon of death with those piercing eyes.

“I’m not your enemy” you say, voice steady but low.

“That’s not an answer” he replies.

His tone isn’t cruel. It’s precise. Focused. He’s dissecting you with words the same way he would with a scalpel. Slowly. Carefully.

You shift your stance, weight toward your heel, just in case.

Law’s eyes flick down for a split second. He notices.

“You’re not used to being cornered,” he says “You don’t like it.”

“Who does?” you mutter.

He steps closer, now only a few feet away. You can see the cut across his brow, half-healed. You almost patched it yourself... almost. But you stayed hidden, like always.

“I don’t like mysteries in the middle of a war,” he says “Especially ones that move like assassins and carry Kaido’s blades.”

You stiffen. Just slightly. Enough for him to notice.

He watches you, eyes narrowing “You’re not with him.”

You hesitate.

“I’m not” you say.

“But you know him.”

That lands like a knife between your ribs. You don’t speak. Can’t.

He stares, then slowly lifts a hand but not threatening, just… thoughtful.

“Let me guess,” he murmurs “You’re not one of his soldiers. But you move like someone who trained. Someone who had to hide.”

He pauses.

“You’re someone close to him.”

Your heart kicks harder. Your hand twitches toward your hood.

He notices everything.

“I won’t say it,” he adds “But you’re going to have to. Eventually.”

You step back, the fire behind you casting long shadows “I’ve done more for your side than you know.”

“Then say it.”

“No.”

He sighs through his nose “Then take off the hood.”

You don’t move.

“I won’t force you,” he says “But if you want me to trust you, I need a face.”

A long beat of silence stretches between you.

Then, finally you slowly lift your hands and pull the hood back.

Your hair spills down. Your face is lit by firelight. And your eyes, Dragon gold. Just like Kaido’s.

Law freezes.

His expression doesn’t change, but you feel his silence is sharp now. Like something just snapped into place.

You say quietly, “Now you know.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not at first.

Then he speaks “…You’re his daughter.”

You flinch.

“I’m not him,” you say quickly, the words tumbling out “I don’t fight for him. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

Law’s jaw flexes. His eyes narrow. You can tell he’s thinking fast, too fast.

“You expect me to believe that Kaido’s daughter, his blood, is sneaking around, saving my life and stabbing his men in the back?”

You lift your chin “I never chose him.”

He’s silent again. The fire crackles behind you.

“Yamato knows,” you add “I saw him with your group and he knows who I am. He knows what I’ve done.”

“Then why hide?”

“Because if Kaido finds out I’m against him…” You shake your head “I won’t get another chance. And neither will anyone else. I'm not as strong as Yamato.”

He stares at you for a long time. You’re sure he’s going to walk away. Or call you a liar. Or worse.

But then he mutters “…You’re reckless.”

You blink “What?”

“Reckless.” he repeats “And lucky I didn’t stab you the first night.”

You give a breathless laugh, more from relief than humor “You tried.”

He smirks faintly “I missed on purpose.”

You roll your eyes “Sure you did.”

He steps back, finally giving you room to breathe “You’re staying close to me now. No more hiding.”

You hesitate “You trust me?”

“Not yet... not fully.” he says flatly “But I’m curious.”

After that he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches.

You shift under the weight of it, but keep your chin up. You’ve already shown him too much.

“So,” he finally says, voice quiet, flat, “you can throw a blade, take down five men without being heard, and disappear into smoke.”

He tilts his head.

“Were you trained as an assassin?”

You snort, soft and bitter “No.”

He arches a brow.

“An obedient wife who had to learn how to survive.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you see the twitch in his jaw. The faint disbelief.

“…What?”

“That’s what I was trained to be,” you say, eyes fixed on the flames “Kaido wanted me to be a perfect bride. Pretty. Polite. Silent. Loyal.”

You shrug like it doesn’t matter, even though it burns like hell.

“They taught me how to move without being noticed. To listen more than speak. To smile even when I hated it.” You pause, voice low “It made it easy to sneak around later, though.”

He’s quiet. Watching you too closely now.

He says, “Then you’re surprisingly good at throwing knives.”

You let out a short laugh “Yamato taught me that. In secret. He said if I was going to be caged, I should at least know how to stab the lock.”

That earns a very slight, very rare pull of a smirk from Law. It fades fast.

“Do you know who he wanted you to marry?” he asks.

You glance at him, just for a moment “Someone powerful. Someone Kaido could use. It never got that far.”

“Why not?”

“Because I disappeared.”

You watch him now. The way his gaze drops to the stone floor for a second, like he’s putting together pieces you can’t see.

“And now you’re fighting against him,” he says “From the shadows.”

“It’s the only place I can do anything.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then, quietly “Until now.”

You blink “What do you mean?”

“You’re not in the shadows anymore.” His voice is soft, but steady “You showed me your face. That means you’re in it now. With us. Whether you like it or not.”

You swallow.

“I didn’t save you to join your army.”

“No,” he agrees “But you saved me anyway.”

The fire pops. His gaze softens, not much, but enough to make your stomach twist.

“You’re not what I expected" he murmurs.

“Good or bad?”

He considers.

“…Confusing.”

You huff a quiet laugh “That’s fair.”

He steps away, hands in his pockets now, a casualness that’s almost too calculated.

“We leave at dawn. We’re moving to the eastern wing. I want you close.”

Your brows lift “What, no cages? No cuffs?”

“You’d just slip them.” He glances back at you “Besides, I already know you’re dangerous.”

You arch a brow “And?”

He shrugs, dry as ever “So am I.”

You’re walking a few paces behind Law, half-shrouded by the long corridor shadows of the eastern wing. The firelight makes your cloak shimmer at the edges, but your hood is back now. He insisted on it.

He doesn’t speak as you move, he’s not much of a talker unless he’s annoyed or amused. Right now, he’s somewhere in between.

And then, around the corner, you both stop.

Yamato stands at the end of the hall, bandaged and panting, having just shoved open a heavy side door. Behind him, Kin’emon and Momonosuke follow close.

“Law! There you are—” Yamato pauses as soon as his eyes land on you.

The whole corridor stills.

You feel their gazes like blades. Momonosuke blinks, trying to place you. Kin’emon’s eyes narrow, sharp with memory.

And Yamato smiles.

“You told him” he says, voice low with something like relief.

Law glances at you, then back at Yamato “You knew?”

Yamato steps forward, nodding “She’s been helping from the start. Since the capital. I only found out a few months ago, but I kept quiet because I know that she likes to hide.”

Kin’emon steps forward now, slowly “Wait…”

You tense as his eyes roam over you, his expression shifting from suspicion to something more ancient, recognition.

“The birthmark…” he murmurs, eyes locking on the base of your neck.

You instinctively reach to cover it.

“You were a child, around my age.” he says “I saw you once. During a peace talk… when dad... Oden was still alive.”

Your breath catches.

“I thought you were just a servant. But I remember your eyes.”

Momonosuke stares at you, wide-eyed “She’s Kaido’s daughter?”

“She is,” Yamato answers for you, calm but firm “But she’s not like him.”

Law stays quiet through all of it. Watching you. While you lower yuo head to not face them.

Yamato faces Kin’emon and Momo “She never supported him,” he says “She kept me safe. Snuck food to villages, warned people before attacks. She hid it for years. But she was always there, helping everyone but herself.”

Momonosuke steps behind Kin’emon, still processing. But Kin’emon… he lowers his sword.

“If what Yamato says is true… then I owe you an apology.”

You blink “Why?”

“For not helping you leave,” he says “For walking past a child in chains and doing nothing.”

That stings more than you expect.

Yamato’s hand rests gently on your shoulder “She’s with us now,” he says “She wants Kaido gone as much as we do.”

Law finally speaks, voice as dry as usual “She’s good at hiding. Quiet as a whisper. But she throws knives like she means it.”

Kin’emon raises a brow.

“She’s also very stubborn, I'd say.” Law adds.

You glare at him “Says the man who cornered me into a room with his powers.”

“You were being annoying” he replies flatly.

“You were being slow.”

Momonosuke blinks between the two of you “Are… are they flirting?”

Yamato groans “Oh no.”

Law just turns and keeps walking “We move in twenty minutes. Don’t fall behind, princess.”

You hiss under your breath, chasing after him “Don’t call me that.”

But he just smirks without looking back.

The room they gather in is small.

You stand near the edge, half-shadowed again, cloak pulled tighter. Law’s somewhere behind you, flipping his blade open and closed in that restless way he does when he’s thinking too hard.

Then the door slams open.

Luffy barrels in followed by Zoro, Killer, and an annoyed-looking Eustass Kidd. They’re dust-covered, blood-smeared, and loud.

“Yo! Law!” Luffy waves like they’re at a barbecue instead of the middle of a war “We just trashed another floor!”

“Obviously” Law mutters, but doesn’t look up.

Then Luffy spots you.

He stops walking.

“Eh? Who’s that?”

You shift, not answering. Yamato clears his throat behind you, ready to explain. But Luffy just beams.

“Oh! Is she your girlfriend or something?”

Law doesn’t even blink “No.”

“Really?” Kidd snorts, arms crossed “You’re keeping her that close and glaring at us like that, but she’s not your girlfriend?”

“I’m glaring because you’re way too loud” Law deadpans.

Zoro eyes you, a flicker of curiosity behind his boredom “She’s been following us, right? I saw her take out two Beast Pirates before anyone noticed.”

“She’s Kaido’s daughter” Law says bluntly, like he’s ripping off a bandage.

The room goes silent.

Even Luffy blinks.

“…Eh?”

You sigh and step forward, lifting your chin “Technically. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Kidd’s eyes narrow “You’re serious?”

Yamato nods “She’s been on our side the whole time. She’s the one who warned the capital two nights ago.”

Zoro whistles low “Well, shit.”

Luffy grins wide again “That’s awesome!”

You blink “You’re not… mad?”

“Why would I be?” he says, confused “You’re fighting him too, right?”

“…Yes.”

“Then you’re with us.”

Simple as that.

Law rolls his eyes “Don’t let him fool you. He always accepts people way too easily.”

Luffy shrugs “I like her.”

You stare at him, stunned. No suspicion. No fear. Just… acceptance. Like it’s normal to welcome the daughter of the enemy with a smile and an outstretched hand.

“Thanks?” you say softly, unsure how to react.

Then Kidd rolls his eyes and mutters, “Still sounds like you picked a girlfriend up mid-war.”

Law turns to him, voice flat “Do you want to be shambled into the ocean?”

You cover a laugh with your hand.

Zoro smirks “He’s definitely keeping you close. That’s not nothing.”

“Shut up.” Law mutters.

“You’re blushing!” Luffy points out.

“I will kill you.”

“I ship it.” Yamato adds unhelpfully.

Killer says nothing, but you’re pretty sure he snorts behind the mask.

You shake your head, hiding a smile you didn’t expect to have today. It feels like chaos, but not the kind you were raised in. It’s lighter. War still rages outside, but here you can finally breathe.

And maybe… fight for something more than just survival.

The storm of battle breaks again not long after.

Steel rings out, smoke choking the air as the ground trembles beneath the weight of clashing armies. Thunder crashes overhead.

You stay close to the walls, in the dark, your steps silent, your blade lighter than air.

This is where you belong.

Not at the front. Not swinging heavy weapons like Yamato. Not rallying the rebels with a captain’s call.

No. You were trained to be invisible. To listen. To vanish. And you’re good at it.

You slip past a Beast Pirate without a sound, catching the edge of his weapon with your cloak as you pass, he stumbles, confused, then goes still as a blade brushes his throat. Yours.

One down.

You never linger. Never let them see your face.

From your perch on a rooftop beam, you watch the others fight below.

Luffy is chaos incarnate, leaping from debris to debris, fists flying. Zoro and Killer carve through the crowd, Kid hurling steel like it’s an extension of his rage.

And then there’s Law, controlled. Deadly. Calling out “Room” like a calm god of precision. You watch his fingers flick and another soldier vanishes mid-swing.

He doesn’t look at you, but you know he knows where you are.

He always does.

But something’s shifting. You feel it in the way Kaido’s men move. Sharper. Slower. Looking up. Behind. Whispering.

They’ve noticed.

You drop behind a wall and press your back against the stone.

Two soldiers stand nearby, speaking low.

“…Too many of us gone too fast” one says “No one saw who did it.”

“She’s here,” the other growls “The girl. His daughter.”

Your breath catches.

“They say she’s with the rebels now.”

“She wouldn’t. He loves her.”

“He doesn’t love anything. You know that.”

A pause.

“If she’s here, and she’s helping them... we’re supposed to kill her, right?”

“…Only if we’re sure. But we better capture her alive, or if we kill her at least make it look like an accident. Don't go ma—”

You’re already gone before they finish the sentence.

Your lungs are tight, your movements sharper than before. Every shadow feels thinner. Every glance feels aimed.

They’re looking now. Not for a fighter. Not for a rebel.

They’re looking for you.

A hand reaches from behind a torn banner, grabbing your wrist.

You twist, knife in your palm, ready to fight.

“Easy.” It’s Law.

His fingers tighten around your wrist just enough to still you. His voice is low, close to your ear “They’re starting to talk.”

“I heard” you breathe.

His eyes flick toward the rooftops “We need to move. If they know you’re here, they’ll send someone.”

“They won’t be sure.”

He stares at you “You don't know how strong some of them are.”

You glare “And you don’t know me.”

He smirks faintly “That’s why I’m keeping an eye on you.”

You pull away, stepping back into the shadow “Then keep up.”

And just like that, you vanish again. But now, they’re hunting you.

You keep your distance, wait to strike when it’s necessary. And then, it happens.

You’re climbing a rickety scaffold to get a better vantage point on the battlefield when a voice, sharp and familiar, cuts through the noise.

“There! There she is!”

Your blood runs cold.

You whirl around just in time to see a Beast Pirate, a low-level soldier, pointing directly at you from across the field. His eyes widen with recognition, then narrow with intent.

“There she is!” he shouts again “Kaido’s daughter!”

A sickening rush of heat floods your chest as the world seems to slow down for a moment.

You don’t think. You react.

In an instant, your hand finds your blade, and you spring forward, vanishing behind a pile of debris.

They saw me.

Your heart pounds as you look for an exit. Somewhere, far down the hall, you see movement, more men. More eyes.

But this time, you’re not just running. You’re not just hiding.

You’re being hunted.

Your mind races, trying to find the quickest escape route, but the sound of footsteps behind you grows louder. They’re closing in.

“You’re not getting away, princess” the Beast Pirate shouts, his voice thick with malice.

Then, a voice, so familiar, so close, cuts through the tension.

“Room.”

The air around you shifts in an instant. A pull. A tug. A lurch.

The ground beneath your feet vanishes, and the next thing you know, you’re thrown sideways, but somewhere else entirely. A shadowy corner of the battlefield, far from the soldiers who are still scrambling.

Law stands over you, the same sharp, unreadable expression on his face.

He doesn’t ask questions. Just holds a hand out to help you up “You good?”

You nod, gasping for air, your heart still hammering in your chest.

“Thanks” you manage, your voice a little too thin. You push yourself to your feet, checking over your shoulder.

He looks behind you, eyes narrowing “They didn’t see you slip away. For now.”

“But they know. They’re coming for me.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his hand rests on his sword as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“We need to move” he says quietly, pulling you along behind him.

You glance back, but it’s already too late. The soldiers you just outran are regrouping.

And then, you hear it.

“I’ve seen her!” the Beast Pirate shouts “Kaido’s daughter’s here! She’s helping the rebels!”

The words pierce through the noise like a lightning strike.

“You need to go tell Kaido.” another pirate shouts, clearly panicking “Now!”

Your blood runs cold.

Law’s grip tightens on your wrist “Stay close.”

You’re both moving again, but now, it’s not just about escaping. It’s about buying time.

“Shambles.” Law snaps his fingers again, his power yanking you both forward, but this time, it’s a wider distance. You’re thrown through the air, landing against the stone wall of a nearby ruin. But you’re still not safe.

The Beast Pirates are catching up.

You glance back toward Law “You know they won’t stop looking for me now.”

He nods once “I know. That’s why we don’t stop either.”

He strides forward, facing the group of pirates charging in your direction. They’re only seconds away from being on you.

You feel the familiar panic start to settle in, but you force it down. You know how to fight in the shadows, even when you can’t be hidden.

You swipe a hand to your side, pulling out a dagger. Law’s eyes flick to it, and a rare smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“You know, you’re not as bad as I thought, princess” he says, voice dry.

“Right now, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t call me that” you mutter under your breath.

He doesn’t answer, only moves to block the advancing soldiers, his sword raised with calculated menace.

One of them steps forward, eyes gleaming as he sneers at you “You're in the middle of the enemy camp. You think you’ll survive this? You think he alone can protect you agaist all of us?”

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, all you can see are shadows.

“I don’t need to be protected and I don't care to survive anymore.” you murmur, and then, you move.

The soldiers charge forward, teeth gritted, weapons drawn. They must think you’re just a soft girl trained to be a wife, that somehow you found someone who protected you all this time.

They’re wrong.

You’re quick, faster than they expect. One rushes you, sword raised, and you sidestep him in a fluid motion. A twist of your wrist, a flash of silver, and the soldier crumples in silence.

Next.

Law’s already engaged, slicing through the soldiers with his surgical precision. He doesn’t need to think about it. Just moves, calm and cold, his blade cutting through the air with deadly accuracy. His power flicks like an extension of his body, ripping through the battlefield with ease.

“Room” he mutters, and in an instant, a soldier who thought he was safe is yanked off his feet and flung into the distance. Law turns toward you with a sharp glance “You’re doing well, princess.”

You twist, knocking the sword of another soldier out of his hand with a well-placed strike “I told you not to call me that!”

He raises an eyebrow as he cuts down another pirate “What’s the matter, princess? I thought you liked the title.”

“I don’t!” You lash out with a quick thrust, taking down another attacker “Don’t call me that!”

He watches you for a moment as you fight, the sword flashes in your hand a blur of motion. But instead of teasing you more, he sidesteps an incoming blow and slides beside you, his voice quieter now “Why?”

The question isn’t mocking. He’s genuinely curious, and for the first time, you can feel the weight of his attention on you. The question hangs in the air, a rare moment of understanding between the chaos.

Your breath catches as you dodge another blow. The soldier’s eyes widen in surprise when you duck, slipping into the shadows just as you’ve been trained. You’re not done yet.

You drop the soldier with a swift kick to the ribs.

Law’s voice follows you through the smoke and dust “You’ve told me to stop calling you that. Why?”

You hesitate for a moment, turning to him as the last of the soldiers scatter in defeat. The heavy weight of the title, the one that’s been used to cage you your entire life, weighs on your tongue.

You take a breath “Because that’s all they’ve ever called me. Kaido’s princess. His daughter.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you quickly steady it “I’m not a princess. I’m just… me. I’m not his.”

The words hang in the air like a challenge to the ground beneath you. For the first time, Law’s sharp gaze softens just a little. He stops for a moment, looking at you, his brow furrowing in thought.

“I’m sorry” he says, his voice quieter than before. The usual teasing is gone.

You’re not used to hearing that from anyone.

You give a curt nod and start walking again, ignoring the weight that still clings to your chest. You don’t need his pity. You don’t want it.

But you’re not used to this either, someone recognizing that you’re more than what others called you. Not Kaido’s daughter. Not some “princess”.

“Let’s just finish this,” you say, pushing forward, your eyes scanning the shadows “They’ll be back. More of them.”

Law watches you for a beat longer, then falls in step beside you, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze “Right.”

You don’t know what’s different now, whether it’s the way you both move in sync or the fact that Law’s stopped calling you “princess” with his usual sarcastic grin, but you know it’s not the same as before.

Not anymore.

The rooftop battle is chaos.

You hide just behind a crumbling pillar, smoke curling around your feet. Lightning flashes above the shattered remains of Onigashima’s highest level, casting jagged light over everything. You can barely breathe through the thick air, heat, ash, blood.

Luffy’s up front, panting hard but still standing.

Kidd is yelling something, hurling twisted metal with wild force. Killer and Zoro are bleeding but moving, their blades catching firelight.

And Law is precise. Silent. His blade is slick with sweat, his coat scorched and fluttering with each blast of energy, but he never stops. His voice is calm, clipped.

You stay hidden. He told you to.

“Don’t show yourself” he said back before the fight began “You’re not ready for this kind of power. And if Kaido sees you…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

So you wait. You watch. And it’s killing you. Because they’re losing.

Zoro’s down on one knee. Luffy coughs blood. Kidd takes a brutal hit to the ribs and staggers, cursing.

And Kaido laughs.

“Pathetic,” the dragon snarls, his voice cracking the sky “You ants dare challenge me?”

He raises his kanabo, slamming it into the stone with earth-shattering force.

You don’t even think.

You move.

You’re in front of Law before you realize it. Blades drawn. Eyes locked on Kaido.

He sees you. And he knows.

The laughter stops.

Kaido’s gaze sharpens like a blade “You.”

The silence cuts deeper than the wind.

“My daughter.”

Law’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide “No!”

But it’s too late.

Kaido takes one slow step forward, the storm above him crackling “You’ve been hiding behind them,” he growls “Lurking like a coward.”

You hold your ground “I’m not your daughter.”

That makes him snarl. The kanabo swings up, glowing with thunder.

“I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?” His voice booms like thunder cracking stone “I should’ve thrown you away like you brother. Thought you were smarter.”

Your stomach twists but you don’t move.

You hear Law behind you “Get back.”

“No” you whisper.

Kaido lunges. The ground shatters.

And then—“ROOM.”

One second, you’re standing in front of a god. The next you’re nowhere.

The battlefield is gone. The air is cold. You’re lost somewhere far from the battle, knees hitting the ground as you fall from the jolt of his power.

You look around, eyes wide “Why?!”

You're alone.

You keep walking and walking, until you see Kidd and Law stand half-collapsed in the wreckage of victory, bruised and bloodied and barely alive.

You run to him.

“Law!”

He looks up and the flicker of relief in his eyes almost breaks you.

You drop to your knees beside him, checking his pulse, your hands already on his shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding.

Kidd, lying flat in the rubble nearby, groans “Hahh… damn… this hurts…”

You ignore him, completely focused on Law.

Kidd glances over and smirks through cracked lips “Tch. So what, Law? Your girlfriend gonna patch you up, cry a little?”

Law glares “Shut up, Kidd.”

You roll your eyes, already ripping fabric for bandages “Don’t tempt me to throw a rock at your face.”

“You see?” Law mutters, eyes fluttering half-shut “Not a princess.”

You snort softly, pressing your palm to his chest to keep him still “Damn right I’m not.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Just lets you touch him. Lets you stay.

And for once, you’re not in the shadows. You’re right here, with him.

You don’t want to leave him.

You glance up as one of Law’s crewmates rushes over, panting and wide-eyed.

“Captain!”

You stand immediately “He needs stitches. Internal bleeding, maybe more.”

“I—I’ll take care of him,” the Heart Pirate stammers, already pulling out medical supplies.

Law grabs your wrist before you can move away. His fingers are weak, but his grip is firm.

“Don’t disappear” he mutters.

You offer him the smallest smile “Not this time.”

Then you let go, and walk away.

The celebrations stretch on for hours.

Wano is free. The skies are clear. Kaido’s rule is shattered. And for the first time in years, you breathe without watching your back.

You’re standing by a balcony overlooking the lanterns floating up into the sky, your hair loose, a small drink in your hand. The laughter from the festival below rises with the breeze.

Yamato appears beside you, sliding you a grin as he leans on the railing.

“Still not used to this,” you say, looking up at the stars “No shadows. No running.”

He nudges you gently with his shoulder “Told you we’d get here.”

You smile. You’d never had a chance to just be with your brother. Not like this. Not in peace.

You both stand in quiet for a moment, letting the warmth settle.

Then Yamato glances over your shoulder, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Well, I’m gonna go… talk to Momo. Alone...” he says casually “Very alone. Don’t follow me.”

You frown “What?”

Then you hear the footsteps behind you.

You turn and Law is there.

Cleaned up, bandaged, coat draped over his shoulders like a cloak. Tired, but standing. Breathing. Alive.

Yamato’s already halfway down the stairs, wearing that dumb knowing smirk.

Law stops a few feet away from you. Hands in his pockets. Watching you with that unreadable stare.

You speak first “I didn’t think you’d be up already.”

He shrugs “Didn’t want to waste time.”

You shift your weight, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands “You shouldn’t push yourself.”

“Not pushing.” He takes a step closer “Looking.”

You tilt your head “For what?”

Law pauses.

Then he softly says “For you.”

Your breath catches just slightly.

He glances out toward the lanterns, jaw clenched like he’s thinking too hard about what he’s about to say.

“I’m not good at this,” he mutters “Saying things.”

“I noticed.”

He gives you a dry look.

You let him continue.

“I’ve had enough of people who only look useful when they’re strong.” he says “That’s not you. You’re not strong the way people expect, but you still held your ground. Even when it nearly got you killed.”

You don’t respond. Just… listen.

He shifts, eyes flicking to yours “I could use someone like that on my crew.”

You blink “What?”

Law exhales, as if this was harder than any battle he’s fought “Join me.”

You stare at him, stunned.

“You don’t belong here” he says, quietly now “You’re free. Don’t waste it standing still.”

Your heart thuds hard in your chest. Because you hadn’t even let yourself dream that far ahead. But the idea of being with his crew, the sea, freedom, it blooms fast in your chest, warm and terrifying and right.

You finally ask, softly, “And what would I be to you? On your crew?”

Law’s mouth curves just slightly. Not a smile, not yet, but something close.

“Not a princess,” he says “That’s for sure.”

You don’t sleep much.

Your mind buzzes with Law’s words, your heart thudding with something between fear and excitement. You lie in the quiet room the Kozuki retainers offered you, eyes on the wooden ceiling.

Freedom is loud in your chest.

By dawn, you’ve made your decision.

Yamato nearly chokes on his rice ball when you tell him.

“You’re what?!”

You grin “I’m joining Law’s crew.”

He blinks like he misheard you “Law’s? The grumpy one with the resting death glare? Does he know??”

You laugh “Yeah. That one. And of course he knows, he's the one who asked me to.”

“Wow.” He leans back, genuinely stunned “I mean, I knew something was going on between you... but… joining his crew? Really?”

You nod.

Yamato grins, proud and a little sad all at once “So you’re finally leaving Wano.”

You look out over the now peaceful land. Lanterns still float in the breeze. The smoke of war is gone.

“I’ve hidden here long enough...” you say “It’s time.”

He claps a hand on your shoulder “Then go. Find your freedom. You earned it.”

The samurai don’t question your choice. They bow, grateful and respectful, and offer quiet farewells. Kin’emon even presses a small wrapped charm into your hand.

“For protection,” he says “Not that you’ll need it.”

You smile and thank him with a bow.

The Polar Tang is docked just off the coast, preparing for departure. The sun glints off its yellow hull, and the crew bustles around the deck, laughing, loading crates, checking gear.

You approach, a little hesitant until a loud voice cuts the air.

“Oi, captain!” Bepo calls from the deck, waving wildly “She’s here!”

Law steps out from the lower deck, coat swinging behind him. He’s in full command mode again, but when he sees you, something shifts in his eyes.

He meets you at the dock, hands in his pockets.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

You smirk “I’m already packed.”

That earns a short, quiet chuckle from him “Good.”

He turns and gestures to the ship “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

You climb aboard, the sea breeze rushing against your skin, the world stretching wide in front of you.

“This,” Law says as the Heart Pirates pause to stare, “is our newest crewmate.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Bepo cheers “Welcome aboard!”

Shachi whistles “Whoa, the boss brought back a pretty one.”

You laugh, already feeling the knot in your chest loosen. Law just rubs the bridge of his nose.

But just then, Penguin glances at you with a smirk, looking at Law.

“So… she’s the one?” he asks, raising an eyebrow “The one Kidd and Luffy were talking about? Your girlfriend?”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Law freezes. His eyes narrow, a small frown forming.

“What?” Law mutters, his voice barely above a growl.

Penguin shrugs “Well, they seemed to think so.”

Law’s frustration is clear, and you can’t help but laugh a little, leaning against the ship’s railing “It’s not like that,” Law says, brushing his hair out of his face “We’re not—”

“You’re not?” Shachi cuts in, grinning “Then why were you looking so worried she wouldn’t join us, captain?”

Bepo joins in, his innocent smile hiding the teasing tone “Yeah, captain, never saw you being so obviously anxious… Sounds like you’ve got a thing for her.”

Law glares at them all, his face flushed with frustration “I’m not doing this” he says, rubbing his temples.

The crew laughs. You, however, are enjoying the banter, crossing your arms and smiling to yourself.

Law sighs heavily, looking at you like you’re both cursed and a blessing “I’m really starting to regret bringing her here” he mutters under his breath, but you can hear it clearly.

“Yeah, sure,” you say, laughing softly “Regret it all you want… captain.”

Penguin grins at Law one more time “Hey, she is cute, captain. You could do worse.”

Law just shakes his head in defeat, not bothering to argue anymore “Can we please just get to work?”

You chuckle, feeling a warmth in your chest. Even with all the teasing, it’s clear to you that the crew already sees you as part of their family. And while Law’s still trying to keep his composure, there’s a quiet part of you that feels like maybe this is the place you’ve been searching for.

499 notes · View notes

saintsanddevils · 4 months ago

Text

Never Alone - pt 4

Aaric Graycastle x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s time for Threshing! You and Aaric are separated and try to find a way back to each other. If you can stay alive.

Warnings: very graphic violence, blood, swearing, dragons being dragons, yearning, idiots in love

Author’s Note: part 5 might be turning up the heat for this slowly burning slow-burn👀

Word Count: 5.3K

Part Three | Part Five

————

-Threshing-

(Aaric POV)

The sharp blade of a dagger hovers inches from Aaric’s throat. Any closer, and the edge would cut open his artery, making him bleed out all over the forest floor.

With heaving breaths, he meets the eye of the enraged cadet. Snarling, the first-year tries to press in, throwing his weight, but once his eyes snap to his knife, Aaric takes his shot. He throws his elbow into his opponent’s gut, before leaning forward and biting his fingers. He coughs a yell, dropping the dagger on instinct. Aaric doesn’t waste time. He throws every ounce of strength into tackling the cadet to the dirt. The stolen dagger slides into his grip as he quickly slices the man’s throat.

Blood sprays, and Aaric dives out of its path. The man’s hands come up to stop the bleeding, but it’s too late. He heaves and chokes, flailing, before his body suddenly stills.

He’s dead within seconds.

Aaric stares at the body for a moment before glancing down at the blood-covered blade. He recalls Y/N’s words from this morning. “Threshing will be a breeze.”

He scoffs, wiping the dagger off the dead cadet’s trousers to clean it. He recalls the rattled smile she gave him before reluctantly walking away. He knew she was trying to be positive, even though she was obviously worried and afraid. Aaric felt the same, but not for himself.

That’s why he has to find her. Immediately. He has to make sure she’s okay, that she’s alive.

Looking up at the golden leaves of the trees, he takes a deep, steadying breath.

She’s alive. She can take care of herself. She’ll bond a dragon.

Aaric chants this over and over in his mind as he scales down the forest mountainside towards the valley. Distant roars echo through the trees as he treads carefully.

A sudden feminine scream that’s immediately cut off causes him to freeze. It was close by.

It’s not her, it’s not her, it’s not her.

The chant carries him through scaling across boulders, one eye on the sky as he tries to take cover under a tree. The grumble of a dragon shakes the ground he’s standing on before he sees a flash of red.

Shit.

For years, Aaric has been gifted the best education by highly acclaimed tutors. Part of that education was studying everything their kingdom knew about dragons. What he knew about Red dragons: if you find yourself cornered by one? You’re already dead.

Red scales gleam in the sunlight. Smoke fills the air as Aaric catches sight of a charred body in cinders lying in the dirt. He takes quick notice that the body is far too short to be Y/N. It emboldens him, but he keeps an eye on the Red as it breathes deeply, snarling.

By the luck of the gods, the dragon hasn’t noticed him yet. He stands near the dragon’s tail, which he notices slithers through the leaves, nearing him. With all the calm he can muster, he slowly backs away, inch by inch, to not draw the dragon’s attention.

Another distant roar suddenly echoes through the valley. But this time, it comes from behind Aaric. He curses every god he can name when the Red’s head swivels to look right at him.

The gleam in its gold eyes, where scars abound its hide, looks entirely too murderous for Aaric’s liking. He stills to appear less threatening, but it’s too late. The Red’s eyes narrow on the bloody dagger in the prince’s hands.

Fuck.

Aaric has seconds to dive out of the way before a stream of fire consumes the tree he was standing in front of. The fire follows him as he runs as fast as he can down the mountain, sliding through mud and leaves. He keeps his footing and just as the dragon’s fire stops, he ducks behind a boulder. He hears its growl as it prowls forward, toying with him.

If this is supposed to be a breeze, like Y/N said, it’s quickly turning into a cyclone.

Panic tries to choke him, but he uses her method of counting backwards from 100 to keep calm and stay centered. If he can’t focus and stay present, he’s dead.

A flash of black in his peripheral is what saves him from being this Red’s next meal. Three cadets stumble upon the scene, enraging the Red further and drawing his attention. Fire singes the air once more, but far from where Aaric hides. He doesn’t waste a second before bolting through the trees.

Where are you?!

Panting, he pumps himself faster. He sees the rise of a cliff up ahead and knows that he can get a good vantage point of the whole valley from there. He could try and see if Y/N is anywhere near him. If not, he’ll assume she’s on the other side. Being on that cliff would leave him entirely exposed to any dragons flying overhead that think he’s better as a snack than someone to bond with.

It’s a risk he’s worth taking for her.

Once Aaric stands on the edge of the stone cliff, he scans the horizon. He sees smoke and wings darting through the trees to the west. A river cuts through the mountains to the east. Basgiath’s towers can be seen to the north.

With a quick surveying of his surrounding area, he knows Y/N isn’t nearby. That seed of hope that was guiding him slowly dies.

What if I find her and it’s too late?

Flashes of the nightmares that plague him nightly flash to the forefront of his mind. Her lifeless eyes trained on him, haunting him for the rest of his life.

A chill slides down his spine.

Aaric and Y/N have known each other for most of their lives. He’s spent every birthday, for as long as he can remember, with her. If this is how she dies because of him, he’ll never forgive himself. They’ve both come too far for this to be their end.

Withering dread slowly fills him to the brim. He can’t imagine life without her. A day without her laughter, her charm, her threats, her smiles, is a day not worth living.

If she dies, she’ll never know that I—

Something large and sapphire-hued streaks through his vision, cutting off everything he can see before he finds himself staring up at very large golden eyes trained entirely on him.

The dragon assesses the prince before landing in front of him, sending Aaric scrambling backwards. He stares up at the looming dragon, fear and apprehension coursing through him. But the previous emotions of panic and worry from earlier echo through him in sudden shades of rage.

Y/N is out there, and he has to find her. He’s going to find her. She’s alive. And if the only way through this damn valley is to fight every dragon he can find to get to her? So be it.

He grips the dagger in his hand, standing his ground. A pregnant pause weighs heavily between them before the dragon throws back its head. With a deafening roar, the Blue levels their head to look Aaric directly in the eye.

“I have been looking for you.”

Aaric’s stomach drops as a deep, gruff voice rings through his mind. The golden eyes of the Blue Clubtail narrow on the dagger.

“Do you wish to kill me, Camlaen Aaric Tauri?” A wave of sulfuric breath washes over the prince. The dragon’s slitted eye contracts as a grumble fills his chest, resembling thunder. “I must warn you, if you try, your mate will surely die.”

—————

(Reader POV)

I’m going to die.

The thought echoes in my bones as fire singes at the heels of my boots. My feet pound through dirt and leaves as I race through the forest.

The Orange Scorpiontail is gaining on me, and the burning trees aren’t helpful as ash and embers rain down from their limbs. I duck and roll beneath a falling branch as the Orange roars loud enough to startle me. I lose my footing and stumble, sending myself sprawling to the ground. Mud cakes itself all over my leathers as I roll to a stop.

Taking quick stock of my limbs to ensure nothing is burned or broken, I stare up at the sky.

Holy shit, I’m alive.

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. Once I establish only a few bruises and aching ankles, I glance over to see the other cadet who crossed my path just before the dragon showed up. She’s sprinting towards a boulder when a scaled jaw, full of sharp teeth as long as my arm, clamps down on her leg and drags her, screaming. I take my chances, hoping this will distract the Orange, and haul myself out of the dirt.

Smoke covers me as I bolt through the trees. I run as far and as fast as I can, putting as much distance between me and the Orange.

Crashing through bushes and twigs, I hurl myself out of the woods at the sound of rushing water. A river cuts through the forest, sparkling in the sunlight.

I catch my breath, relief washing through me when I notice no one is around. The Orange didn’t follow me.

Looking to the sky, I take stock of what I can see. Mountains line the valley where wings tumble through trees and various dragons fly in circles. I didn’t realize bonding a dragon would be so difficult.

Late last night, Aaric had snuck out of the men’s dorms to meet me. We stole away to an alcove with a window overlooking this very valley I’m standing in now. Aaric’s face was tense with concern and worry. We both knew we wouldn’t be together during Threshing. It made everything harder, but we had to trust we would stay alive.

I close my eyes, letting the wind caress my face in the brief stillness.

He’s alive. He’s too stubborn and arrogant to die.

Aaric remained the top of the class for the last month, whether that be in academics or training. It’s not hard to guess he’s breathing and probably already bonded.

I swear to Malek if he’s bonded before me, I’ll—

A dagger whistles by, inches from my face, before embedding itself into the trunk of the tree I’m standing next to. Heart in my throat, I whirl to see two broad cadets standing in the trees. It’s plain to see the murderous intent on their faces as they asses me.

I don’t turn my back on them as I begin to walk backwards towards the river’s edge.

“Looks like we caught ourselves a mouse,” the one with a large, imposing nose drawls.

The other smiles, cold and menacing. Old burn scars cover the left side of his face, making him look even more threatening. “Let’s catch it,” he snarls.

Big Nose darts forward, daggers in hand. I reach behind, finding my throwing knives strapped tightly to my waist. With the flick of a wrist, two blades sail through the air. Big Nose dives out of the way, but the Burned Guy shouts in pain.

“You bitch!” The knife sticks out of his upper thigh. His eyes burning with hate as he limps forward, blood seeping through his pant leg.

“Careful,” I smirk. “The next one will castrate you.”

This mouse has sharp teeth.

Big Nose bounds towards me, trying to tackle me to the ground, but I maneuver out of his reach, backing onto the rocks lining the river. My hands brace my knives in my grip as I try to keep both cadets in sight.

As if he’s reading my mind, Big Nose whistles low to Burned Guy. They take either side of me, forcing me to choose. Burned Guy is injured, his limping growing more severe as he gets closer. He’s not much of a threat. Big Nose, however, with his daggers extended, is more intimidating.

Choice made, I face Big Nose fully just as I throw a blade towards Burned Guy. I hear him swear just as Big Nose aims to punch me in the face. I swerve before slashing at his chest, hard enough for the leather to give beneath the blade to draw blood.

Big Nose hisses before barreling towards me. I dive between his legs, tripping him with my foot as I go. Just as I turn to watch him fall into the rocks head-first, pain rackets up my skull as someone yanks my hair. I gasp in pain as I’m dragged backwards.

“Two against one,” Burned Guy huffs. “Stop fucking around and die already.”

Using my hair, he turns my face to look up at his, blood trickling from his injured leg and arm. I smile at the sight of my knives sticking into him like a pin cushion. Too bad he’ll have to deal with one more.

With every ounce of strength I possess, the throwing knife already gripped in my palm slams to the hilt into his crotch.

The scream Burned Guy unleashes is hair-raising. He lets me go as he falls to the rocks, crying and panting. His screams are blood-curdling as my knife’s grip sticks out of his pants right where his dick is.

“Told ya I’d castrate you,” I wink.

One down, one to go.

As soon as I look away, I’m caught around my middle by two large arms and thrown to the ground. The air is knocked out of me, causing me to wheeze as sharp rocks dig into my back. Big Nose holds his arm to my throat, crushing my windpipe. His body pins me to the ground.

Spots fill my vision as I scramble to punch him in the ribs, kick him in the groin, the leg, anything. He doesn’t budge. He only holds me more with his full weight, not holding back like Aaric does on the mat.

Panic begins to grip me as I try to reach for a knife, only to find the holster empty.

“Out of toys, bitch?” Big Nose spits in my face. His other hand grips my arm, pressing it into the sharp rocks before skin begins to break.

“You didn’t have to fight like that, ya know,” he huffs. “We would’ve taken care of ya. Made it quick. Besides,” he leans closer, my head swimming from lack of oxygen. “I’ve always loved a woman on her back.”

A shriek dies in my throat as he shifts his weight, pinning me to grab something I can’t see. The dagger gleams in the sun as he holds it flat against my cheek.

“You’re pretty,” he smirks. “Not pretty enough to live.”

A sudden roar echoes through the air, startling the cadet on top of me. His attention is briefly torn from me, and I take my shot. I bite his arm as hard as I can before the skin splits and blood rushes into my mouth. Big Nose hollers, bucking off of me, but I’ve already reached for his loosened grip on his knife. I tear it from his hand and throw my weight into tackling him to the rocks, pinning him as I thrust the dagger downward, straight into his eye socket.

Blood sprays from the wound, pooling into the soaked rocks beneath. He screams and thrashes as I rip it back out before plunging it into his throat, opening his artery and cracking the bone of his spine.

He’s dead instantly.

Sharp air slices my lungs like knives as my fingers let go of the pommel. I slide from his body, heaving.

The spots in my vision have begun to fade, and the flow of oxygen in my lungs slowly steadies me. The smell of autumn leaves and wet stone grounds me before I remember the roar from earlier.

A Red Daggertail, with scars covering the entirety of its scales, prowls towards me. Its tongue licks the air like a serpent, tasting the scent of blood.

I’m so fucked.

My heart stops as I freeze on the riverbank. I stare at the golden eyes, wondering if I’m supposed to be feeling something apart from fear. Is this dragon debating between bonding with me or eating me?

A snarl fills the silence as its lips curl, revealing sharp teeth that could crack me in half. It definitely wants to eat me.

Just as I try to move backwards, it lunges.

Another roar cracks the air, but this time, from behind me. I don’t take my eyes off the imminent threat as the dragon stops just before me, eyes snapped up to what is surely another dragon behind me.

I find myself caught between two dragons and I pray to every god there is that this isn’t the Orange Scorpiontail from earlier.

Sulfuric breaths heave behind me, shifting my hair. I freeze on the rocks, hoping the two dragons don’t notice me.

When the Red’s burning eyes snap to mine, I know I’m dead.

I’m so very, very fucked.

The Red darts forward, widening its jaws as it dives for me. In a blink, the dragon behind me rushes in, massive jaw clamping around the Red’s exposed throat and tearing it open. The dragon’s blood sprays the air, masking the world in a brief kaleidoscope of crimson.

The dragon behind me gleams like emeralds as it rips the hide of the Red and cracks the bones of its neck. The fight is over in a minute, and I sit there, dumbfounded and terrified, as the Red’s body slumps into the stream. Blood trickles from its torn neck, turning the crystal water red.

My breaths come out shallow and rough, jackhammering through me as I stare in shock at the dead dragon.

Holy shit, I just watched a dragon kill another dragon.

The ground rumbles like an earthquake as the Green dragon that’s hovering above me roars into the sky. When it’s done, the dragon huffs steam into the dead face of the Red before snapping its attention to me.

“Krik wanted to make you his next meal. I could not allow that to happen.”

The voice that carries into my mind is feminine. It’s soft as the wind and thunderous as a storm. Her eyes are a deep gold, like all dragons, but there’s a ring of green tinted silver around the slitted iris.

I stare in both wonder and bone-rattling fear as she moves her body closer to me.

“Do not be afraid, Y/N Y/L/N. It does not become you.”

I huff an incredulous laugh, but it’s cut off by the sounds of branches snapping. I twist to see the Orange Daggertail from earlier, snarling and kicking at the dirt as it emerges from the tree line.

And it looks pissed.

The Green (I glance to the tail of the dragon that just fucking talked to me as if that was completely normal) Swordtail stands tall, raising her head as she settles herself above me. Almost like she’s… claiming me.

They’re definitely communicating to one another as snarls and growls fill the space between them. The Orange begins to look more and more hostile, maybe even a bit rabid with blood soaking its teeth. I quickly get to my feet, backing into the Green since she saved my life already. She might do it again.

The leaves of the trees rustle and the branches bend as the wind picks up. My hair whips in my face just as a large shadow soars above before landing between the Orange and the Green. Shimmering sapphire scales that end with a tail in the shape of a club sit before me and the Green. A Blue Clubtail. And it’s the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen. It’s stunning.

The Green Swordtail isn’t happy to see whoever this is, that much is obvious. She snarls and bends forward to flash her teeth at the Blue. The Blue whips around as if chastising the Green.

I look up at my dragon. “Is he a threat too?”

The Green huffs. “One of the most stubborn, territorial, protective, and dangerous males in the Empyrean.”

I nod. “So, you’re not on good terms, I take it?”

“He interferes to protect us.”

I furrow my brows. Why would he do that?

As if in answer to my question, a cadet slides down the leg of the Blue dragon with ease. As if he’s done this a hundred times. Sandy-brown hair whips in the wind as he races towards me.

My heart pounds in my chest erratically at the sight. Aaric.

Unbidden, tears spring to my eyes as he rushes to me. I take quick stock of his body, noticing only a few cuts and fresh-blooming bruises before he tackles me into a hug. I laugh into the embrace, a tear falling down my cheek as he holds me.

The embrace is so familiar that it brings me back to every moment I’ve ever held him. Every breath, laugh, and smile I’ve shared with him.

He’s here. He’s alive. I’m alive.

I grip him like my life depends on it, gasping a sob into his shoulder. I don’t even care if dragons surround us, not even if this Orange attacks us while we hold one another. Nothing matters but Aaric.

I can feel his arms touching me in various places to ensure I’m all here. That I’m whole and uninjured. I smile before a blush rushes to my cheeks when his hands find purchase low on my hips.

“Are you alright?” He says into my ear. “Molvic warned me you’d be dead if-“

I pull back, smiling at him. “Molvic? You bonded?”

He nods, looking over his shoulder at the Blue Clubtail. Molvic. “He found me.”

Like she found me.

Molvic growls again, this time, raising his body to stand over the Orange in an obvious play for dominance. I notice the Green above me shake her head as if she’s rolling her eyes at him.

The Orange cowers before snarling again, lunging forward and snapping its teeth. The Green snaps back, but Molvic intervenes and cuts the Orange off.

Aaric shifts me further behind him as he turns to face the scene. I gasp as Molvic snaps his teeth inches from the Orange’s throat. He roars in its face, loud enough to make both Aaric and I cover our ears. The Orange finally relents before readying its wings and taking off into the sky.

Aaric’s tight grip slackens as the Orange fades from view and we’re left with Molvic and the Green.

“Did he just save us?” I question aloud.

“His involvement makes me look weak,” the Green snarls in my head. “I can protect my own.”

“We flew over as fast as we could,” Aaric turns back to me, only now noticing the blood staining my chin. His fingers automatically touch the skin, sending a jolt of awareness through me. “What the hell? Are you okay?”

I shrug. “It’s not mine.”

Aaric raises a brow before surveying the area around us, catching sight of the two dead cadets and the blood soaking the ground. “What happened?”

“They cornered me, followed me, maybe they were even hunting me,” I shrug before bending down to retrieve one of my fallen knives. “Either way, they’re dead and I’m alive.”

Aaric stares at me. “Obviously.”

His gaze finds the knife embedded into the crotch of Burned Guy’s dead body, and his eyes go comically large. “Holy shit, Y/N.”

“The prick deserved it for pulling my hair. I even warned him that would happen.” I nod to the other dead cadet. “Big Nose was harder to take down.”

Aaric whips around to me. “Big Nose?”

“Didn’t really have time to ask for his name while he tried to slit my throat, you know?”

Aaric tenses, his eyes honing in on my exposed neck. “Did he hurt you?”

I step closer to reach for his tightly closed fist. I smooth my fingers over his skin until he finally opens his and wraps them around mine.

I won’t ever lie to him. “Yes, he did. They both did.”

Aaric’s posture is rigid from the confession. If the cadets weren’t already dead, they’d be slaughtered by now. By his hand. The overprotective bastard.

“Did they suffer?”

I smile, squeezing his hand. “You bet.”

He relaxes slightly. “Good.”

The snarling of the dragons behind us has us turning to look at them. Whatever conversation they’re having is not going well.

“You think your dragon is going to kill mine?” Aaric whispers under his breath.

I shake my head, warmth spreading through me as he claims the Green as mine. “She’ll kick his ass, just like I can kick yours.”

That makes Aaric smirk. “Try taking me on tomorrow, and we’ll see about that.”

The snapping and gnashing of teeth have us tensing as the Green whips her tail around to face away from the Blue. Molvic closes his eyes as if he’s frustrated.

“Guess our dragons aren’t friends,” I whisper.

“Molvic and I can hear you,” the dragon hisses in my mind. I startle at her clipped tone. “Also, I have a name. I am Kesilarryium, Sword of the Realm. Not “the Green” as you keep calling me.”

A chill runs down my spine from her full name, just as warmth rushes to my cheeks in embarrassment. Nothing like being called out by your own bonded dragon.

I try to attempt her name in my mind, but she stops me.

“Call me Kesi.”

A strange, overwhelming sense of rightness fills me, as if her name and our bond are something I’ve been missing for years. I feel found, whole.

“As do I,” her tone is softer now as her large eyes snap to mine. “And to be clear, Molvic and I are not friends,” she sneers at the Blue who bows his head in submission as she flashes her teeth.

“We are mates.”

————

By the skin of my teeth, we make it to the flight field. I’m shocked I’m still breathing when Kesi lands. My teeth rattle in my skull from the force. I breathe deeply, staring out at the other dragons on the field. My fingers are raw and bleeding from holding onto her scales for dear life. The mud on my leathers is now fully dry and begins to crack as I maneuver myself off Kesi’s back. I practically fall from her leg before landing on my feet in the grass.

“We will have to work on your dismounting to ensure you do not break your neck.”

I wince. I guess it looked worse than I thought.

I catch sight of Molvic soaring overhead before landing next to Kesi with his wings fully extended. It looks like Kesi rolls her eyes as she shifts away from him. Molvic huffs, steam billowing from his nostrils as he stares at her in annoyance.

If I didn’t know they were mates, I’d assume they hate each other.

Mates. The word echoes in my head like a church bell. They’re rare and unheard of nowadays. The only mates I’ve heard of are Violet’s and Xaden Riorson’s dragons. At least Aaric and I are in the same year, so it won’t be difficult to deal with a mating bond.

Kesi growls low at Molvic, who huffs smoke in her face.

Oh gods, if they keep this up, they’re going to prove me wrong.

Aaric comes into view on Molvic’s shoulder before he slides down his dragon’s front leg and lands gracefully, to my utter annoyance.

“Of course you’re a natural at this,” I shake my head.

Aaric gives me a cocky grin as he comes to stand with me. “Jealous?”

I give him a sly smirk. “Why should I be jealous of a royal know-it-all?”

“Just admit it,” he winks. “I’m good at everything.”

I roll my eyes. “Not everything.”

His eyes slide to my mouth, causing my breath to get caught in my throat. ”Care to find out?”

Holy shit.

My pulse is racing as Aaric takes a step closer. I’m very, very, aware of every single part of him as his fingers come up to move a strand of loose hair out of my face.

“I was terrified I wouldn’t make it in time,” he whispers. “Molvic was super cryptic and made it seem like you were close to dying and—“ he visibly swallows, my eyes tracking the movement. “I couldn’t stand the idea of it.”

My eyes slowly meet his. “Of what?”

His green eyes are dark and enticing as he breathes out, “Losing you.”

His hand reaches up, sliding across my cheek. From months of hard training, his skin is calloused. It’s rough and warm against my skin, but comforting all the same.

I lean into him, gazing up through my lashes. “I thought I’d lose you too.”

The confession hangs heavy between us as we stare. As if gravity pulls us together, my face lies inches from his. Any closer and my lips would be—

“Uh, are your dragons alright?”

The voice startles us, springing us apart. I look over to see Sloane staring up at Kesi and Molvic, oblivious to what she just interrupted.

I can’t even meet Aaric’s eyes as warmth floods me. Gods, did we almost just—?

“We think they’re fighting,” Aaric coughs out, his voice strange and thick. “They’re mates.”

Sloane’s eyes are huge as she looks at the both of us. “Mates?! Holy shit.”

I nod, my cheeks still flaming, but I press on, still not looking at Aaric. “Yeah, it was a surprise to us, too.”

She looks between us for a moment before a smile curves her lips. “Honestly? Makes sense this would happen to you two.”

I tense. “What?”

Just before she answers, Rhiannon Matthias calls all the first-year cadets to attention, motioning over to the Scribe table where they’ll record our bonded dragons’ names. I catch sight of Violet standing next to her, who’s beaming at me. I smile back.

Aaric is at my side again, this time looking flustered. He won’t meet my eyes as he nods to the end of the field. “Guess we should—“

“Yeah,” I rush, interrupting him awkwardly.

Silence blankets us for a moment before Aaric begins walking ahead of me, his fists tight and shoulders bunched. I wonder why he’s so uptight.

“Your mate is frustrated he did not get the chance to kiss you.”

I startle, whirling to stare up at Kesi in bewilderment. My what?!

If dragons had eyebrows, she’d surely be raising hers at me. “Your mate. Your partner. Your lover. Whatever you humans like to call your significant others.”

I trip over my boots, catching myself before I fall into the dirt. Aaric?! He’s not my mate! He-he’s my best friend.

Kesi just stares at me. “The prince tried to kiss you.”

I shake my head. No, he didn’t. Nothing happened.

“You are in denial. Lying to yourself does you no favors, Y/N.”

I balk.

“Molvic agrees.”

I glare up at her. Don’t you dare give me relationship advice when you clearly are having issues with your own mate.

“So you agree, the prince is your mate?”

No!

I stomp away from her, frustration wracking up my spine as I find Aaric in the crowd of cadets lined before the waiting Scribes. His brows are furrowed and his jaw is clenched as if he, too, seems to be arguing with Molvic like I was with Kesi.

When his eyes meet mine, my stomach drops. I truly think I’m imagining the longing shining in his eyes. The obvious regret of something I wish I understood.

I tear my gaze away, panting. If my feelings for Aaric were complicated before, now it’s worse with two nosey dragons in our business.

We’re friends.

Friends.

I keep chanting it to myself to keep the doubt at bay. I’ve had years to keep my feelings hidden, ensuring Aaric never knows how I feel about him. It’s better if I get a grip on myself before it leads to eventual heartbreak.

We’re just friends. Right?

————

• moodboard of Kesi & Molvic below •

the fanart of Aaric is by etherealbookart, all other images are from Pinterest

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lola-writes · 6 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐈 ║ I. Adonis ║ Marcus Acacius x Hanno's sister!reader

➣ Deliciae Imperii -> Delights of the Empire

➣ Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Ao3 | Ko-Fi

➣ Chapter II. | Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2,9k

Synopsis: As an esteemed warrior of the Numidian army, your world turns on its axis when you’re taken prisoner by the Romans. Ever since your stealth attack that nearly cost the General of the Roman army, Marcus Acacius, his life, he appears to have taken a special interest in you. Under his tutelage of swordplay and carnal things, you delve deeper into the heart of the Roman Empire, uncovering its instability, and Acacius’ true intentions with you…

Chapter Themes & Warnings: POV first person, use of y/n, blood, detailed descriptions of violence, terms of endearment (anaticula, Adonis), slavery, Roman history, vomiting, angst, swearing. See series masterlist for full themes & warnings!

Song: Fight for Survival – Klergy

a/n: The original plan was for this to be a oneshot, but in the end it seemed impossible. I've got a lot planned for this story. Hope you stay tuned! 🥰

Anaticula (duckling), Adonis (god of beauty and desire)

Poem by @fairytalesques

Enjoy the read!

Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

I am a rose unfurling, winter’s bloom. Poison dripping down my throat and out of my bladed fingers. I spin stars into black holes, drive monsters to extinction in the dead heat of summer. You ever stop to think what life could have been if the poison had been potent? A lifeline in the carnage. A blessing or a curse? The flower is now festering like a disease but with Adonis I’ll be safe, he keeps the antidote.

The metallic tang of blood, thick and cloying, hung heavy in the humid air, a shroud of death as thick as smoke. It was a symphony of war, conducted by the piercing shrieks of the wounded and the barked commands of the officers. A cacophony that blurred my senses as I moved with deadly precision through a haze of silver and red.

I fought with the savage efficiency of a wild animal, yet my kills were clean and quiet, each motion honed by years of training under Hanno's tutelage. My vision tunneled to a singular, deadly focus – the annhilation of the Roman usurpers by any means necessary. In this moment, I was a force of nature, an instrument of retribution. I would purge the land of their corrupted touch if I were to die trying.

The enemy pressed on, a relentless tide. For every ten I felled, another twenty rose to take their place. Yet somehow, the more I fought, the stronger I became, as though the adrenaline that infiltrated my every tissue contained a potent elixir that invigorated my muscles and dulled their exertion.

Clashing blades rang in the air. Our two armies mingled near indistinguishably; clanging, crunshing and screaming. It would be difficult to tell friend from foe, if it weren’t for the Romans distinctive galeas, the red fur frilling atop the silver helms like beckoning targets.

Just then, the crowd parted like clouds from the sun, unveiling a figure descending the battlement steps, a silhouette of lethal grace. Donning a sable breast plate emblazoned by Sol, sprawling across his chest with a douzen golden rays, he moved with the effortless grace of a dancer, his blade a blur of silver death, his countenance molded into a rigid canvas of authority. A retinue of red fringed galeas encircled him, their bodies his shields, their presence a testament to his rank.

My gaze fixed him through the crowd as the next wave of men in their peculiar-looking helmets came charging at me. I ducked, slicing open the patellas of the first two, making them buckle in the sand. The third I dodged, sidestepping before plunging my blade into his brachial plexus. The fourth I parried, our blades screeching in unison, before I kicked under his flared skirt. There wasn’t much fight left in him after that.

Jubartha’s words echoed in my mind as I tracked the approaching entourage, “Take out the leader of your enemy, and it matters not how much blood stains your sword.”

He moved fluidly like a windless sea. His spatha whipped around him, trailing shadows in the dust-ridden air, splattering the sand with blood. His expression was a paradox. As though he would not rest until Rome had pocketed another conquest, while simultaneously longing for a different fate entirely.

Crimson trailed around him like crushed punica granatum. None breached the shield of bodies surrounding him, and those who tried did not emerge alive, like prey entering a lion’s den.

I caught a glimpse of Hanno and Jubartha atop the parapet, fending off the ruthless wave from the assaulting sea. The walls had been breached, our numbers were dwindling. A sense of desperation seized me, a reckless courage driving me forward.

There was but one choice at my disposal.

I sprinted up the steps of the opposite parapet, scaling the heights with desperate urgency. Ducking behind a wooden pole, I dashed across the platform until I reached its bosom. I leaned out over its edifice, where down below, a second protective roof had been built. I started the climb downward, the splintering wood tearing at my hands like an angry cat. I landed on the roof with a thud and crouched towards the edge. Our men were still charging through the opening of the parapet, but before I knew it, they began to slow, getting knocked back by the shield wall of fearsome Roman guards. I rose to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, adrenaline surging through my bloodstream. My hand found the hilt of my sword and clasped it into place. For what I was about to do, risking becoming unarmed was to invite my doom.

The chaotic shadowy flare of guards flanking the steady shadow of an unyielding assassin grew in the sand below. I filled my lungs, washing out the biting fear of death creeping around the edges.

A warrior’s oath echoed in my mind: I am Numidia.

I dipped, toes to the edge. A head of dark and silver emerged below.

What could go wrong?

I leapt.

The fall felt decelerated, as if in a dream, and all surrounding noise faded underwater. My feet met his back, and a heavy grunt of startlement escaped him as he fell forward. His body broke my fall, and I rolled with the force of the impact, swiftly regaining my footing as I turned to face him. Dazed for but a second, his face dusted with sand, he grappled for his sword. But before he managed to get a proper grasp of the hilt, I pressed my boot atop his knuckles. He groaned in frustration behind gritted teeth. The next second, my one hand had clasped the knife from my boot, while the other had gathered a fistful of his hair and snatched him backward.

In the third second, my blade was poised at his throat, ready to claim his life when, for reasons unexplained, the edge paused in his skin.

In the fourth second, I had met his eyes, and an unfamilliar current passed down my spine. They were big, and brown, and full of contradictions, staring up at me with equal surprise, malice, and admiration. But no fear. His chest was heaving. His hair was a full, tangled mess of black and silver beneath my fingers, textured from the unsettled sand. The strands of silver had leaked into his beard which covered his dark, dirt-and blood-spattered complexion. His nose was sharp, angled like the limb of a bow, and his lips were slightly parted from gnashed teeth. The wound I had inflicted seemed to defy the vision of him I had before me, bleeding red but ichor.

In the fifth second his resistance faltered, his head growing heavy against me. But before I could savour my victory, a sharp blow clattered my teeth, and suddenly my body was not my own. My vision blurred, my ears buzzed, and my fingers loosened the grip of the knife, no matter how hard I fought against it.

In the sixth second, I was laying in the sand, grasping for consciousness. I thought I could hear Hanno screaming in the distance, but it was just beneath the surface. Gathering the last ounces of strength I had left I reached for the blade laying inches away. The contours of Adonis hovered over me, as one of the guards kicked my weapon out of reach. My other hand dragged itself to my waist, half-limb, seeking to undo the clasp to my sword.

“Tsk tsk tsk...” Adonis clicked his tongue. I winced as his boot came down on my hand, pressing down. “You have some fight in you, anaticula,” his voice, laced with what I would percieve as… concern, circulated around my head like a distant echo. “Grab her.” The words consumed me, nuzzling my cognisance like a warm blanket, and as I lifted off the ground, I faded into oblivion.

Vae victis. Woe to the vanquished.

The declaration travelled with me between the realms of my unconsciousness, followed by the distant wails of bereaved mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters.

I awoke to the comforting crackle of the fire we used to cook our supper. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fish, and the vague neigh of my stallion drifted in from outside. I sighed, nuzzling my face into the pillow, and was captivated by the unfamiliar softness of it. Something was different. The ground beneath me seemed to shift and sway, and as I opened my eyes, the pillow under my cheek was foreign to me – vibrant with patterns winding around the fabric like climbing vines.

Reality slowly dawned. I was not home. And the crackle of the fire and the neighing from my stallion was in fact the creaking and squeaking of ship timbers.

I groaned as a sharp pain lanced through my skull. Everything came back to me. The Roman invasion. The battle. The blow to the head. Adonis …

My breath stilled when I met his gaze across the room. Clad in the same sable armor and a royal scarlet cape, he was seated at the head of a table bedecked in plates of fish, cheese, fruit and caraffes of wine. He held my stare with a distant look of interest, rolling a purple grape between his fingers before plopping it into his mouth, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

The throbbing pain pulsed in my temple in tune with my heart as I sat up on the setee. Sludge stuck to my thoughts and it felt as though my center of gravity was off the way the room kept rocking.

“Easy,” came his voice, a low rumble. His chewing ceased, his movements stilled, as if ready to rise in haste.

The ship’s rhythmic rocking intensified, the sound of waves lapping against the hull growing louder. A cold sweat broke out on my brow. My breathing surged and grew ragged, trying to subdue the rolling sense of nausea consuming me.

But it was futile.

With a violent shudder, I retched, the contents of my stomach emptying onto the wooden planks.

I stared blankly at my mess, a strange blend of satisfaction and shame washing over me. Relishing at the thought of having defiled the ship of the Roman usurpers, I was humbled by doing so in front of the man who I failed to kill. My guts were ready to spill again at the very thought.

His chair creaked against the floor as he rose. I only saw his legs as he approached, dropping to his haunches in front of me – in my vomit, and I recoiled, equally to his sudden advance as to the indignity of it. He moved with intent, the scarlet cape pooled around him, and I could not help but feel intimidated. It was like he didn’t know what he was standing in. Or rather, didn’t care. Furthermore, based off his attire alone, he was too high in station to be on his knees for a commoner like me. Even less, kneeling in a commoner’s bodily fluid.

He was so cool and calculated, from how he moved to how his gaze settled on mine, though something alive played in his dark brown eyes. Something that could snap at any second. His complexion was still riddled with dried dirt and blood from the battle, and the cut in his neck had leaked down his throat like spilt ink.

I knew not if it was the sudden uprising of nerves, his closeness, or a result of the blow to my head, but the words slipped past my lips without thought. “You’re a truly terrible commander.” I dried the dribble off my chin with the back of my hand.

A furrow etched between his brows and genuine concern flickered in his eyes, like he was contemplating whether it might be true. “I conquered your city,” he parried.

“I nearly killed you,” I retorted.

A hint of malice clouded his features. “Nearly.” His tone of voice gathered timber; that the word came off as a threat.

He stared at me. The urge to look away was so strong it itched beneath my skin. He expected me to. Though something foreign and astute made me persevere. Holding eye contact with him felt like a deadly game. But it also evoked a whisper of adrenaline, as warm as spiced wine.

Finally, his eyes drifted downward to the pool of vomit at his feet. “I’ll have someone clean this up,” he said, before leaning forward and putting his arms around me.

Adrenaline shot through me like a violent storm, and I pushed him away instinctively. His face was a mask of indifference, and he reached for me again, and this time he didn’t let go, no matter how hard I fought him. He carried me up off the settee as I kicked, squealed, grunted and clawed. My mind raced with the thoughts of what he might do to me. His breast plate was ice cold against my skin, but I was too frantic to notice. I came to my senses once he dropped me down in a chair next to the table. He glared at me, clearly unimpressed by my defiance, before grabbing a plate off the table, methodically filling it with a chaotic assortment.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, breaking off a twig of grapes as a final touch before serving it to me, rounding the table to seat himself.

I simply gaped at him, too bewildered to respond. My chest heaved from exertion, my tense body clutching onto the wood of the chair, trembling slightly from the waning adrenaline spike.

“You need not fear me, anaticula,” he soothed. His voice was a strange blend of velvet and steel, a combination I believed to be uniquely his; calming and unsettling me in equal measure. And despite the ingrained hatred I harbored towards his people, an inexplicable, vexing trust for him began to bloom within me.

“I am General Marcus Acacius,” he boomed, as though I would have trouble hearing him from across the table. Where he came from, I’d wager men stood to attention at the mere mention of him, but I remained indifferent. Belittling him was all the power I had.

His name grew heavy in the air, silence stretching. I’d expected him to explain my fate next. That I would be sold as a slave for men to plunder as they wished, or perhaps executed for having his life at my disposal. Perhaps he’d do it himself.

“What do I call you?” he asked finally.

“Whyever does that matter?” I snapped.

“Is it so strange to wish to know the name of the woman who nearly killed me?” His voice dipped at the very mention of it.

“I’ll be dead soon enough,” I said with feigned indifference. Acacius stiffened, watching me carefully. “Or if you do not kill me, I’d kill myself before I ever become a slave.” I watched him relax slightly and continue his meal.

“That’s not going to happen,” he muttered inbetween chews.

My gut flared with anticipation, “Which part?” I demanded.

He looked up at me. “What’s your name?” he asked, deliberately ignoring my question.

“Y/N,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

He repeated my name, the sound rolling off his tongue like honey while he fixed me with his eyes dark like amber. I grew strangely warm and restless, and a sudden urge to flee seized me, a wild beast gnawing at my nerves.

“Where is my brother?” I blurted out, rather raggedly, a note of desperation creeping in, but as I did, I recalled I had not seen Hanno since the start of the battle. Was he even alive?

“Your brother?” he asked, like the notion I’d have a family was aberrant to him, a fleeting spark of uncertainty passing through his eyes. He swallowed sharply, picking at the salted fish on his plate. “With the other prisoners,” he muttered.

“So,” I began, molding myself out of the rigid posture I had assumed, and leaned forward. “Why am I here?” I asked, casting a disapproving look around his opulent cabin.

He stopped and fixed me with a gaze ice-cold. “For safe keeping,” he said sternly. “You nearly killed me today, Y/N. I wouldn’t want to find out what else you’re capable of.”

Vague images flickered before my eyes – chaos, then darkness. “You talk as if it’s some big feat,” I scoffed.

His eyes, twin pools of lethal venom, bored into me. “I assure you,” he hissed, resting his bracers against the edge of the table, a hint of admonition lingering in his voice, “It is.”

My face heated at the thought of having impressed him, but the word ‘nearly’ was a nettlesome creature.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” I said, the words bitter on my tongue.

Acacius cocked his brows in recognition and poured wine. “Why didn’t you?” he asked, raising the cup to his lips.

The question caught me off guard, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. I recalled myself hesitating. I had the blade at his throat. I could have ended the battle there and then, declared Numidia victorious against the power of Rome. But I couldn’t do it.

“I-,” I don’t know, I thought.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the silence, and a sentry entered the room, bowing slightly. “General Acacius,” he spoke, his voice laced with duty and reverence. “Rome awaits.”

Chapter II. | Series Masterlist | Chapter III

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miwsolovely · 2 days ago

Text

—HOLLOWED PLACES

𝜗𝜚 — in which, jason almost loses you. you who built his world, you who is his world.

JASON TODD x READER mimi spitting out fics like crazy era , hint at reader being a vigilante but you’d have to squint, can also imagine reader as like a reporter / someone who searches + reports crime , . requested <3

The air reeked of smoke, gunpowder, and rotting metal. Rust dripped like blood from the beams overhead, and the shattered windows of the abandoned warehouse let in only slivered moonlight—pale and watchful. You ducked behind a rusted-out crate, heartbeat rattling like loose screws in your chest, breath caught somewhere between panic and instinct.

Footsteps crunched across the gravel-strewn floor. Not yours.

You’d come here on a hunch—stupid, reckless intuition. A whisper about a drop spot. A stolen phone pinging in this dead zone on the edge of Crime Alley. You hadn’t waited for backup. Hadn’t told Jason.

Because some part of you still believed you could handle it alone.

A flashbang cracked in the distance—followed by a scream, then silence.

You pressed a hand against your stomach, where the edge of a steel crate had kissed too hard. Bruised, but not broken. Not yet.

With a loud crash that reverberated in your bones, the back doors blew open like a bomb had gone off. Smoke spilled into the room in a crawling, living cloud, and through it walked a figure dressed in blood-red and black—shoulders squared, helmet glinting in the firelight like a demon had risen from the ashes.

Red Hood.

You didn’t even have time to say his name before he opened fire—precision sharp, brutal grace in motion. Two thugs dropped before they could turn their weapons. A third tried to run, and Jason threw a knife with an effortless flick of his wrist, pinning the guy by his jacket to the wall.

He didn’t speak as he approached.

Didn’t say a damn word as he took down the last straggler with a fist to the throat and a low, seething growl. Didn’t even flinch as a glint of a knife in his hand caught skin and pulled.

Only when the silence fell—thick, ringing, and absolute—did he finally turn to you.

His helmet came off with a jerk.

And Jason’s eyes burned like open flame.

“The hell are you doing here?” His voice was a snarl, barely leashed. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t answer right away. The adrenaline was still draining from your limbs like water through a cracked dam.

“I was following a lead,” You said, quieter than you meant to. “I thought—”

“You thought?” He cut in, voice slicing sharp and clean. “You thought this was a good idea? You didn’t even call me. You just waltzed into a goddamn death trap like it’s some kind of—what? Solo mission? Do you think you’re bulletproof?”

The hurt behind his fury made your chest tighten.

“I didn’t want to drag you into it if it turned out to be nothing,” You muttered. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Jason’s expression twisted—shock, heartbreak, and fury mingling in a storm behind his eyes.

“A burden?” He repeated, voice hoarse. “You think I care about being dragged into danger? That’s my job. My whole life is built around pulling people out of burning wrecks—especially you.”

The words punched the breath out of you.

“I thought I lost you,” He added, quieter now. It was raw and it scared you. “You didn’t answer your phone. I saw the ping on that burner you took and by the time I got here. . .” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “I thought I was gonna find your body.”

Your heart cracked at the edges.

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint tremble in his hands. His jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle ticking in his cheek, but there was fear underneath all that anger—a bone-deep terror carved into every word.

You reached out, fingers brushing the hem of his jacket. “I’m sorry.”

Jason exhaled through his nose like he’d been holding it in for hours.

He didn’t raise his voice again. He just wrapped an arm around you, sudden and fierce, pulling you against his chest like he needed to feel you breathing just to believe it.

“Next time,” He said, voice low and ragged into your hair, “we go together. Or not at all. Got it?”

You nodded, face buried in his armor. His scent was smoke, leather, and something painfully familiar—home, even when everything around you burned.

“Got it,” You whispered.

He kissed your temple, lingering there like he could imprint safety into your skin.

And for the first time all night, you let yourself feel safe—tethered to the one person who would always come for you, even if it meant tearing down the city to do it.

Jason didn’t let go of you for a long moment. His arms were wrapped around you like he was anchoring you to the present, as though if he let go, you’d disappear into the rubble and smoke like a dream he’d wake from too late.

Then, finally, without a word, he slid his helmet on your head and gently guided you toward his bike.

The ride home was silent—save for the roar of the engine and the occasional sharp gust of wind that tugged at your clothes. Your arms were tight around his middle, face pressed to the worn leather of his jacket, and though the ache in your body hadn’t subsided, something inside you settled with every mile that carried you away from that godforsaken warehouse.

When you finally reached the apartment, Jason parked the bike with precision, killed the engine, and peeled his helmet off your head, smoothing down your hair with a worried look, the lines of tension still hardened on his face.

The lock clicked under his fingers. He ushered you inside with a hand on your back—gentle, but firm, like you were glass and he still hadn’t forgiven himself for watching you crack.

Inside, the low lights flickered on, casting everything in a gold-dusted hush. The apartment smelled like cedarwood and lingering gun oil, the kind of scent you’d once found intimidating and now found oddly comforting.

Jason crossed the room ahead of you, tossed his helmet onto the couch already shedding off his body armor, then turned back with eyes that scanned you top to bottom. “Sit,” He said. “Living room. Let me see.”

You didn’t argue.

The moment you sat, he was already kneeling between your legs, hands surprisingly gentle as they swept over your arms, your ribs, your thighs—checking for bruises, breaks, blood. His brows were furrowed, a storm still quietly raging behind his eyes, but his touch was reverent. Almost apologetic.

“I’m okay,” You murmured, but your voice came out thin. Unconvincing.

Jason didn’t answer right away. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes dark and solemn. “Let me take care of you.”

There was no room for pride in that request. No sharp edges, no armor. Just the quiet plea of someone who needed to make sure you were still here, still whole.

You nodded.

He moved like a ghost then, retrieving the first aid kit from the bathroom with all the familiarity of ritual. When he returned, he cleaned the gash near your hip—nothing deep, but raw and angry-looking. The alcohol stung, but he didn’t flinch when you hissed. He murmured something low—an apology, or maybe a reassurance—as he worked.

His fingers were stained with your blood, but his hands were steady.

When he was done with you, you gestured for him to sit. “Your turn.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding, Jason.”

A breath escaped him—half a sigh, half surrender. He pulled off his shirt, revealing the mosaic of fresh bruises blooming along his ribs like stormclouds. A long scrape ran across his side, angry and red.

You worked in silence, the antiseptic sharp between you, the quiet hum of the city outside the only sound. As you pressed gauze to his wound, your hand trembled slightly. Not from fear—but from the sudden, sobering awareness of how close this had been.

“You could’ve gotten hurt worse,” You whispered.

Jason looked at you then—really looked—and something in his gaze softened. “So could you.”

You pressed the bandage into place, helped him put his shirt back on, then rested your palm over his chest, just above his heart. It beat strong beneath your fingers, steady and alive. And for a moment, that was all that mattered.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” You said. Gentle.

He leaned into your touch, eyes closing briefly like your hand was the only thing tethering him to solid ground. “You didn’t just scare me,” He said, voice low. “You wrecked me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so instead, you leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his. The space between you buzzed with things left unsaid—fear, anger, relief, love—all wrapped in the same silence that hung heavy in the apartment like smoke that never cleared.

His hands found your waist, careful and grounding. Yours rested on his shoulders, fingers brushing the edge of the bandage you’d just placed.

And together, under dim lights and aching hearts, you held each other—not because either of you were broken, but because in the wreckage of that night, this was what survival looked like.

Quiet. Steady. Earned.

You stayed like that a while—knees brushing, foreheads touching, hearts slowly finding the same rhythm again. The world outside could fall apart, and maybe it had tonight, just a little. But here, in this pocket of warmth and gauze and unspoken promises, you both breathed a little easier.

Eventually, Jason eased back and stood, offering you a hand. His palm was calloused and nicked from years of holding guns and gripping rooftops, but when he held yours, it was soft—like even with all the danger in his bones, he remembered how to cradle something delicate.

“Come on,” He said, voice low and gravel-edged. “Let’s get some rest.”

You followed him into the bedroom, the floor creaking underfoot like it, too, exhaled after the night’s tension. The sheets were rumpled from earlier, but still warm. Jason tugged his shirt over his head again, a wince catching at his side, and you stopped him with a hand to his wrist.

“Don’t push it,” You said.

“’m fine.”

“You’re not made of titanium, Jay.”

He snorted faintly, then let you guide him to the bed. The two of you slipped beneath the covers without ceremony, just quiet, exhausted gravity. You settled into him like muscle memory, head tucked under his chin, his arm looping around your waist.

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the city bleeding in through the windows and the soft cadence of his breathing.

Then, quieter than before, Jason spoke.

“When I found you in that warehouse. . .” His voice cracked a little, like something raw split open beneath the words. “I saw you—on the ground, blood on your shirt, that look on your face. I—” He stopped, swallowed, started again. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared.”

Your chest ached.

You looked up, and even in the dark, you could see the guilt etched across his brow, in the way his jaw clenched like he was still trying to keep something buried.

“I’m here,” You whispered. “I made it. Because of you.”

Jason’s arm tightened around you. “You don’t get it,” He said hoarsely. “You’re the one thing I can’t lose. Not after everything. Not you.”

And just like that, the last of the night’s defenses cracked.

You leaned up and kissed his temple, slow and lingering, like a benediction. “You won’t,” You murmured into his hair. “You won’t lose me.”

Silence stretched again—but this time, it was full. Of trust. Of breath. Of healing.

Jason’s breathing slowed, and you felt the tension bleed out of his body bit by bit, until he finally melted into the bed, into you. And you followed soon after, both of you bruised but whole, fragile but stitched back together in the places that mattered.

Outside, the city kept its noise, its violence, its ghosts.

But with him, under the soft hush of shared blankets and battered hearts, there was peace.

It wasn’t perfect or clean; but it was real. And that was enough.

It was the kind of peace that didn’t sing or shine, but rather breathed—low and slow, like the final exhale after a storm’s last crash. It settled in the hollow places: in the cracks beneath your ribs, in the ache of bruised skin, in the place between Jason’s shoulder and your cheek where your breath fogged against his bare collarbone.

The room was dark, but not empty. The quiet wasn’t silence—it was safety. The distant drone of traffic and the occasional siren became nothing more than white noise, swallowed by the warmth radiating from Jason’s body and the slow, syncopated beat of his heart under your hand. You could feel it, solid and relentless beneath your palm, a pulse like a war drum that had finally quieted to a lullaby.

He had one hand curled at your waist, fingers twitching in his sleep like his body didn’t quite trust that you were still there, even now. His other arm was tucked beneath the pillow you shared, cradling your head. Every inch of him—this man built of muscle and scars and rage—was wrapped around you like he was made for it.

And maybe he was.

Jason Todd was not a soft man. He was fire and steel, vengeance with a loaded gun and a restless soul. But in this hour, in this bed, he’d folded down all his edges just to make room for you. Every breath he took was a vow spoken in silence: I’ve got you. I won’t let go.

The ceiling above you was cracked and dim, a canvas smeared by passing headlights, and the shadows that moved across it were slow and reverent—like even the night didn’t dare disturb the stillness that had grown between you.

You didn’t sleep right away. Your body ached too much, and your thoughts—though gentler now—still flickered like old film reels. But you stayed close. You listened. To him. To yourself. To the miracle of being here, alive, and held.

And when your eyes did finally close, it was not from exhaustion, but from surrender.

Not to weakness—but to rest. To the quiet kind of love that didn’t need grand declarations or perfect timing. The kind that waited through the worst of you and met you in the wreckage, hands steady, heart bruised but unwavering.

You drifted off with your fingers still tangled in his shirt and his breath warm against your forehead, knowing—deep in the marrow of you—that tomorrow would come, full of city noise and unspoken danger and all the chaos that living beside him brought.

But tonight? Tonight, you had this: blood and balm, thunder and tenderness, wrapped up in the arms of a man who would tear the world apart just to keep you breathing.

And that, you thought as sleep finally claimed you, was more than enough.

And as sleep finally threaded its fingers through your hair and pulled you under, you didn’t think of the warehouse, or the bruises, or the mistakes that had almost cost you everything.

You only thought of him—the quiet strength in his arms, the steady beat of his heart anchoring you home—and how, in this fragile sliver of night, wrapped in the aftermath of chaos and care, you were no longer afraid.

Not of tomorrow. Not of falling. Not with him beside you.

©miwsolovely do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms . likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 3 months ago

Note

What if Sebastian and MC are fighting some Ashwinders. Sebastian finishes the last one off and turns to MC with a huge grin on his face only for it to drop when he sees her crumpled on the ground, not moving. He realises she's dying and just starts sobbing and babbling because he can't do anything else. It doesn't have to end with MC dying but just reading a distraught Sebastian in love with MC holding them bleeding out in his arms in your phenomenal writing would be gut wrenching and beautiful and I need it.

Between Life and Death | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Words: ~6,200

Tags: Violence, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Sebastian had always been good in a fight.

It was the one thing he could rely on, the one skill that had carried him through every reckless decision, every brush with death. And tonight, he was in his element—moving like a shadow through the barn, his wand a blur of motion, spells tearing through the air as he cut down Ashwinders one by one.

It was almost fun—if he ignored the fact that he’d nearly died about a hundred times in the past ten minutes.

He ducked low, rolling behind an overturned cart as a jet of green light shattered the wooden beams where his head had been a second ago. He barely had time to breathe before he was up again, wand snapping forward, Expulso sending a wave of concussive force into an advancing foe, throwing the man back so hard he crumpled into the splintered remains of a stall door.

Sebastian grinned, breathless, a sharp rush of adrenaline thrumming through his veins. The barn reeked of damp hay, smoke, and blood, the air shimmering with heat from the relentless spellfire. He pivoted just in time to deflect a Bombarda, the impact knocking him back a step, but he recovered fast—too fast for the poor bastard who had thrown it. With a flick of his wrist, he wrenched the Ashwinder’s wand from his grip, then sent a Diffindo slicing through the air. The man hit the ground with a strangled cry, unmoving.

That was the last of them.

Sebastian exhaled hard, wiping a line of blood from his brow where a near miss had grazed him. He should have felt triumphant. He should have felt relieved.

But instead, he felt uneasy.

It had been a bad idea to split up.

The two of you never did that—never needed to. You had fought and bled together for years, perfecting a rhythm that didn’t require words. It wasn’t just trust, it was instinct. And yet, when you insisted, all stubborn confidence and reckless certainty, he had let you go.

He shouldn’t have.

Because the barn was clear, and you weren’t back yet.

Sebastian turned on his heel, bolting through the side door and into the open field beyond. The night air was thick with the scent of burning ozone, the grass scorched where spells had landed. In the distance, flashes of magic still clashed, illuminating the darkened farm in jagged bursts. Red, green, white, blue.

And then your voice. Strained. Furious. Tired.

Sebastian sprinted toward the sound, heart slamming against his ribs. He caught sight of you just beyond the treeline, tangled in a final skirmish against one last Ashwinder. You were still on your feet, still fighting, but something was wrong.

You were hurt.

Your stance was off—your left side sluggish, your dodges not as sharp as they should have been. Blood darkened your robes where a wound had already torn through fabric, your wand arm trembling under the effort of holding your defense.

Sebastian ran toward you, wand already snapping up as he fired off a volley of Basic Casts. The spells shot through the air in quick succession, streaks of gold against the dark. But the Ashwinder barely reacted—his wand flicked lazily, deflecting each attack with a casual ease that made Sebastian’s stomach twist.

"Ah, there you are," the Ashwinder drawled, sidestepping a stray blast that sent dirt flying. His lips curled into a smirk as his gaze flicked between you and Sebastian. "You Aurors always come in pairs, don’t you? Like a matched set."

Sebastian barely heard him. He was too focused on you. The fight had gone on too long, and you were exhausted.

Sebastian held the Ashwinder off with a flurry of casts, slipping seamlessly to your side. He kept his wand raised, breath coming quick and shallow, sweat dampening his collar as he positioned himself between you and the threat. His body thrummed with adrenaline, his mind racing through every possible outcome, every spell that could end this now.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said breathlessly.

You huffed a breath—almost a laugh, but too ragged, too weak. "You took your time."

"Had to make a dramatic entrance."

The Ashwinder tilted his head, unconcerned, his wand still held lazily at his side. There was something about the way he stood—casual, relaxed, too comfortable for a man facing two Aurors in a fight to the death. He was unbothered. Amused. Like he had already won.

"This isn’t going to end the way you want it to, you know." His voice was calm. Certain.

Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

He’s stalling.

The realization cut through the haze of adrenaline, sending warning bells shrieking through his mind. He had seen this before, too many times, too many fights that had turned just before the final blow landed.

And then he saw it.

The flick of the man’s wrist. A subtle, practiced movement, too smooth to be anything but deliberate, his fingers curling around his wand as an incantation left his mouth.

Sebastian knew dark magic when he saw it. He had spent a lifetime running from it, pretending his hands weren’t just as stained. He had seen spells most would never dare utter, watched them take root in the bones of men who had deserved far worse. And in that instant, he knew.

This wasn’t just any curse. This was meant to kill.

The spell tore from the Ashwinder’s wand in a flash of crimson, slicing through the air like a blade. It was too quick, too vicious, aimed straight for Sebastian's chest, but before he could react—before he could cast, or dodge, or breathe—

You were already moving. There was no hesitation. No pause. No second-guessing. Just you shoving him aside.

Sebastian stumbled, the force of you knocking the air from his lungs. His boots skidded against the scorched earth, hands grasping at nothing as he lost balance for half a heartbeat.

The night exploded in red light, a sickening crack tearing through the air. It was the sound of flesh meeting force, of limbs jerking in ways they weren’t meant to, your body snapping like a marionette with its strings cut.

Then you hit the ground with a horrible, lifeless thud.

Sebastian’s breath locked in his throat. It was like time had collapsed in on itself, like the world had narrowed down to the unbearable stillness of your body sprawled in the dirt.

“No—NO.”

Sebastian turned sharply, wand raised, ready to kill. Ready to rip the Ashwinder apart, to end him with whatever unforgivable curse came to mind first—

But there was nothing. The Ashwinder was gone. Vanished.

With the danger gone, he fell to his knees beside you, hands reaching, grasping, shaking as he hovered over you.

Your body twitched. Shaking like an exposed wire, snapping with electricity, the aftershocks of magic still crackling through your limbs.

Sebastian reached for your face. “Hey—hey, look at me, you’re fine, it’s fine—”

Blood dripped from your lips. Thick and dark, slipping down your chin, staining your skin.

You weren’t fine.

You weren’t fine, and Sebastian—he should have been faster. He should have seen that spell coming, should have moved in time. In fact, he should have ripped that bastard apart before he had the chance to even cast it.

Sebastian’s breath was a harsh, ragged thing in the back of his throat. His pulse thundered so loudly it drowned out everything else. He was shaking, rage burning through his blood so violently it felt like it might split him apart. But he had bigger problems.

Like the way blood was dripping from your mouth and your nose and your ears. The way you clawed weakly at his robes, desperate for something—for him—as your chest heaved in shallow, gurgling breaths. The way your lips trembled, trying to form words that wouldn’t come.

Sebastian could feel panic rising. He could feel it thrumming beneath his skin, curling around his ribs, clawing at his throat like a vice—but he couldn’t let it take hold. He had to stay calm. He had to fix this.

He was already moving, tugging at the front of your coat, ripping through buttons and fabric as he yanked it open. His fingers fumbled at your shirt, hands tearing at the fabric, desperate to find the wound.

Sebastian's hands slid over your chest, your sternum, your stomach, pressing desperately, trying to stop the bleeding that had no source, his fingers slick with your blood.

“Where—” His voice broke. “Where is it?”

There was nothing.

No. That didn’t make sense. The spell had hit you dead center. It should have burned through you, should have split skin and shattered ribs, and yet—

No gaping hole, no shattered ribs, no jagged tear of flesh where the spell should have struck. No injury to bandage, no visible wound to close.

Only evidence.

Scarring, curling across your skin in intricate, fractal-like patterns branching out from where the curse had struck, winding across your chest and shoulders like the roots of something hungry. And blood. Not from a single source—not pooling from a wound he could heal—but everywhere. Your nose. Your ears. Your mouth. Your eyes.

Your chest rose in shallow, desperate breaths, each one a ragged, gurgling effort that sent fresh rivulets of blood spilling down your chin. Your fingers twitched against his wrist, gripping at him like he was the only thing tethering you here.

Sebastian’s stomach lurched. You were drowning in your own blood.

You were dying.

This was a curse. Not a wound. Not something he could stitch up or set right with a simple spell. This was something deeper. Something worse.

No. No, no, no.

“Stay with me.” Sebastian wiped your mouth with frantic, shaking fingers as he tried to keep his focus, tried to think. He knew dark magic, had studied it in ways he wasn’t proud of, had seen the aftermath of curses that twisted people apart from the inside out. This wasn’t just an attack—this was designed to ruin. To erase.

He needed to counter it.

Sebastian forced magic into his wand, too much, too fast, the raw surge of it crackling along his arm as he pressed the tip to your chest.

The spell nearly shattered on impact, the sheer force of his desperation threatening to unravel it before it could even take shape. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care., he just had to fix this.

He ran through every healing charm he knew by heart, ones he had practiced for years, ones he had murmured over you a hundred times before, through broken bones and deep gashes, through the bruises and burns of battles past.

"Vulnera Sanentur." His voice trembled, his grip so tight on his wand that his knuckles turned white.

Nothing.

"Episkey." Another pulse of magic, another useless attempt.

"Ferula—"

"Brackium Emendo—"

Every spell bounced off you, the energy dispersing into the air, wasted, slipping from his grasp like water through his fingers.

Sebastian’s breaths came sharp and ragged, frustration clawing at his ribs as he tried again. And again. And again.

"Reparifors."

Nothing.

"Anapneo—" His voice cracked. He could hear the blood clear momentarily from your throat, your breath rattling as you sucked in a breath, your chest struggling beneath his hands, but it only took a moment before blood still bubbled from your lips again, your body still shaking, still deteriorating.

"No, no, no—come on—" Sebastian pressed harder, forcing magic into you, trying to make it work, trying to force the spell to take, but the harder he pushed, the worse it got. His own magic sparked, burning too hot, too wild, and it wasn’t fixing you—it wasn’t doing anything. t was like throwing a lifeline into the abyss and feeling it slip through empty air. Like trying to hold back the tide with bare hands.

This wasn’t something he could heal. This wasn't something Sebastian could fix, not by himself.

The realization sent a sickening, leaden weight crashing into his chest, something so final, so wrong, that for a moment, he thought it might break him.

Sebastian had spent years clawing his way out of the darkness, had fought tooth and nail against the temptations of the past, against the reckless desperation that had once led him down paths he couldn’t take back. But right now, with you dying, he would have burned the entire world to ash if it meant saving you.

"Fuck—" His voice broke as he moved, hands desperate as he gathered you against him, pulling you up and into his lap with an urgency that bordered on frantic. His arms locked around you, his body curling protectively around yours like he could somehow shield you from what was happening.

You were feverish. Your skin was slick with sweat and blood, burning against him despite how violently you were shivering. Every breath you took was a ragged, struggling thing, each one sounding more painful than the last.

Sebastian’s hand fumbled for his wand again, clumsy with panic. He cast Anapneo without thinking, without pausing, forcing the magic through even as his voice trembled on the incantation.

A brief moment of relief.

The blood in your throat cleared just enough for you to suck in another gasping, rattling breath. But it wasn’t enough. The moment the magic faded, the blood pooled again, slipping past your lips in sluggish, crimson trails, soaking into your collar, your torn shirt, his hands.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, tugging at his sleeve, using the fabric to wipe at your face, brushing away the fresh blood streaking your chin, catching the slow dribble from your nose, but the blood kept coming, staining the fabric, staining his fingers, staining you.

Another cast. Anapneo. eEnough for another breath, another heartbeat, another second of you still here.

"Hey," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "You're okay. You're—you're gonna be okay."

But he could see it in your eyes.

Fear.

It was deep and wide, unmistakable even as you fought to keep your expression steady. You had faced death a hundred times before, had stood beside him in battle without hesitation, had bled for your duty, for him. And never—not once—had he seen you afraid. But now, your eyes were wide, darting, searching, looking to him for something he couldn’t give you.

You knew you were dying.

Sebastian clenched his jaw. His pulse pounded, his vision tunneling to nothing but you—you, shaking, struggling, fading.

Sebastian had seen bodies before. Had watched people die a thousand times in battle, in back alleys, in the ruins of homes left burning, in the aftermath of violence and choices made too late. He had seen blood soak the earth, had heard the final, rattling gasps of those who didn’t make it, had felt the cold, empty weight of knowing that nothing could be done.

But it was never supposed to be you.

His breath hitched—sharp, broken—panic eclipsing instinct, smothering logic, drowning out the training drilled into him over years of war. He was losing you. The realization hollowed him out, left something splintering and raw in its wake.

And then—

Then he was crying.

Not the restrained, bitter tears of grief he had learned to swallow down, but helpless, frantic sobs, shaking him from the inside out, tearing through his chest with every word, every desperate, useless attempt to keep you here.

"No, no, no—" His voice cracked, hoarse and broken, as his hands pressed against your face, as if he could hold you here, as if his grip alone could keep youalive.

Sebastian sobbed, rocking slightly with you cradled against his chest, his forehead pressed against yours. His free hand tangled in your hair, brushing it back from your damp forehead, his thumb skimming across your temple in a helpless, desperate attempt to soothe, to comfort.

"I should have never left you." The words spilled from him before he could stop them, breaking apart at the edges, raw and unfiltered. "I should have—I never should have let you go off alone, I should have stayed, I—fuck, I should have been faster—”

Another tremor wracked your body, and Sebastian choked on his own breath, panic clawing at his ribs, making it impossible to think.

"No, no, no, stay with me—" He cast Anapneo again, frantic. His vision blurred with hot, stinging tears as you sucked in another shuddering breath, but he knew—he knew—this wasn’t going to last. Eventually, you would lose too much blood. Eventually, no spell would be enough to keep your lungs working.

Sebastian let out a strangled noise, something desperate and untamed, something that sounded more like an animal in pain than a person.

His hand smoothed over your hair again, trembling fingers carding through it as he pressed his lips to your forehead, his tears slipping into your hair.

"You shouldn’t have had to take that curse for me." His voice broke completely, all the air knocked out of him as the weight of it crushed him. "Why did you do that? Why the fuck did you do that? That should have been me—I would have taken it, I would have—" He sucked in a sharp, gasping breath. "I should have protected you. I should have—" His jaw clenched so hard it ached, another sob forcing its way up his throat.

You made a sound—weak, barely there. Your fingers twitched at his sleeve, trying to grasp at him, trying to tell him something.

His arms curled tighter around you, his fingers gripping the back of your neck, pressing you closer.

"I love you."

The words tumbled out before Sebastian could think better of it, before he could stop them.

Because they were true. So fucking true.

"I love you—I should have said it, I should have said it sooner, I—I thought—" A shuddering breath, a ragged sob. "I thought I had more time."

His hands pressed to your cheeks, his thumbs smoothing over bloodied skin, his lips ghosting over your forehead, over your hair, over everywhere as if he could somehow kiss you back to life.

"I love you—" Another whisper, another broken, wrecked admission, his heart tearing itself to shreds in his chest. "Please, you have to stay with me, please—don’t leave me."

His voice cracked. His whole body cracked.

Sebastian Sallow, who had spent his entire life fighting, clawing, surviving, was begging. Praying to every fucking god there was, every single god he didn’t believe in, that something—anything would hear him. That some force greater than himself, greater than the world would take pity on him, on you, and undo this.

Because this was losing you. This was your fingers twitching weakly at his robes before going still. This was your lips parting as if to speak only to fall silent. This was your breath—ragged, struggling, fading.

"You are not dying, you hear me?" His voice was wrecked, shaking as he crushed you against him. "You are not fucking dying, I won’t let you—"

Footsteps. Distant. Faint. Like echoes through water, like a sound trying to reach him from a place that didn’t exist anymore. Then shouting. Urgent, frantic voices cutting through the thick, suffocating haze of his grief, his panic, his desperation.

"Sebastian!"

He knew that voice.

Ominis.

Another followed. "Where is she?"

Anne.

There were others too—more voices he should have recognized, voices calling his name, voices filled with alarm and urgency—but none of them mattered. None of them fucking mattered.

Sebastian’s fingers dug into you, his arms curling impossibly tighter around you as his forehead pressed against yours, his whole body trembling with the force of his sobs. Your skin was so warm, too warm, feverish and slick with sweat, but your chest—

Your chest wasn’t rising.

Your lips had parted just slightly, as if you had meant to speak, to answer him, to tell him something, but there was nothing. No sound. No breath. No pulse beneath his fingertips.

A strangled noise ripped its way from his throat.

"NO—NO, PLEASE—"

Then hands. Hands on him. Grabbing, tugging, trying to pull him away from you, to separate you, and something deep inside of him snapped.

Sebastian screamed.

It was raw, violent, a gut-wrenching, hollowed-out kind of sound that could tear the heavens apart if the gods fucking cared enough to listen. His whole body locked up, every muscle tensing as he fought, thrashing against the hands pulling at him, his grip on you turning bruising, his fingers refusing to let go.

"Don’t fucking touch me—DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME—"

"Sebastian, let go!" Someone was pleading with him, voice trembling, but he couldn’t.

"She’s not breathing!" His voice cracked, his chest heaving with the force of his sobs, his body shaking so violently it felt like he was falling apart. "She’s—she’s not breathing, I—" He gasped, curling over you, shielding you, clutching you so tight it hurt, but he couldn’t let go. "I can’t—I can’t—I can’t let her go—"

"Sebastian, listen to me—*"

"DO SOMETHING!" His head snapped up, his tear-streaked, blood-smeared face twisting with something wild, something feral, something beyond words. "FUCKING DO SOMETHING!"

Anne lunged forward. Her hands clamped around Sebastian’s wrists, firm and unyielding, forcing them away, forcing him away from you. But Sebastian fought.

"Garreth, grab his arm!" A voice snapped, urgency threading through her voice.

Sebastian barely had time to react before strong, freckled hands locked around his bicep, yanking him back. "Sebastian, stop!" Garreth gritted out, struggling against the sheer wildness of him, the way he thrashed like a caged animal, desperate to get back to you.

"I’ve got him—" The other voice came again and an arm hooked around his other side, her grip like iron, "pull him back!"

Sebastian screamed.

"NO—NO—LET ME GO—LET ME GO—"

His voice shattered the air around them, a wrecked, raw agony that vibrated down to his fucking bones, that twisted through his ribs like something that would never heal.

"Sebastian, you have to let them help her!" The woman shouted, struggling to keep hold of him.

"She’s not breathing!" Sebastian roared, his face streaked with tears and blood, his body writhing, his feet digging into the dirt.

"Anne’s got her—" Garreth gritted out, his own voice tight, "Sebastian, stop! You need to come with Natty and I—"

But he couldn’t stop because you were dead. You were fucking dead.

Sebastian's body snapped forward, another frenzied attempt to break loose, and Natty cursed under her breath, her fingers slipping from his arm.

"Garreth, hold on to him—" she ordered before letting go.

Sebastian lurched forward, nearly wrenching free, but Garreth held, struggling to keep him back.

Natsai came into view, her expression grim, her jaw tight. "I’m sorry, Sebastian."

He barely processed the way she raised her wand, the flick of her wrist, the sorrow laced through her voice as she spoke the words—

"Incarcerous."

Ropes lashed around him before he could react. Thick, unyielding ropes snapped tight around his arms, his chest, his legs, dragging him down, binding him, trapping him.

Garreth stumbled slightly as he let go, quickly joining Natsai, Ominis, and Anne at your side.

Sebastian could only watch.

Bound, restrained, helples, his body shaking, his breath coming in sharp, ragged sobs as he knelt in the dirt, completely and utterly fucking useless while the others moved.

Somewhere, buried beneath the all-consuming panic, he knew there was nobody else he could trust with this.

Garreth and Natty—the other top duo in the Auror department, second only to you and him. They had saved more lives than he could count, had fought beside the both of you in battle after battle, had survived things that should have killed them.

Anne—his sister, a professional Healer, with hands steady enough to stitch together miracles.

Ominis—the best fucking Cursebreaker that Sebastian had ever known, with magic deeper than most could ever comprehend.

They were the best of the best.

And still—

Even as Anne worked desperately to force life into you, pressing her wand to your chest, even as Garreth and Natty wiped the blood from your face, their hands trembling as they tried to cool your fevered body, even as they did everything possible to bring you back to life, it wouldn't matter. Because in the end, it came down to breaking the curse, and your life was in Ominis' hands.

All because of Sebastian. Because he had failed. Because he had let you go alone.

Sebastian's vision tunneled in on Ominis, on the precise way he moved, the slow, deliberate motion of his wand over your skin, over the fractal-like curse marks that pulsed against your fevered flesh.

It was taking too long. It was all taking too fucking long.

Sebastian clenched his jaw, his breath coming in sharp, shaking gasps as he yanked at the ropes. “Ominis,” he ground out, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Hurry the fuck up.”

Ominis didn’t respond. His brow was furrowed, his expression drawn in tight, sharp lines as he carefully guided his wand, as if even breathing too hard might unravel everything.

Sebastian struggled against the binds again, his voice rising. “Hurry up! She doesn’t have time for this—”

Ominis snapped.

“If you want her to survive this, then shut the fuck up.”

Sebastian’s breath stalled, the sheer force of Ominis’ voice slamming into him like a hex to the gut.

He had never heard him like this before. Never.

Ominis was always composed, always measured. But now—

Sebastian stared, chest heaving, watching as his best friend hovered over you, his wand moving with painstaking precision, his shoulders tense, his jaw locked so tightly it looked painful.

“If I make one wrong move—if I slip, if I miscalculate, if I rush—” Ominis exhaled sharply, his fingers trembling just slightly as he adjusted his grip. “There will be nothing left to save.”

Sebastian felt like the world had tilted beneath him. A cold sweat broke out over his skin, his pulse thundering so violently he thought he might vomit.

Ominis didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge the way the air had gone deathly silent, didn’t ease the unbearable weight of those words. He just kept moving, slow and meticulous, his wand following the curse marks like he was tracing something delicate, something on the verge of breaking.

Another moment passed. Another eternity.

Sebastian’s breath came sharp and shallow, his heart hammering against his ribs as he lifted his head, watching, waiting, pleading, and then—

A sound. A sharp, gasping breath. A choking, wet inhale.

Sebastian barely had time to process it before Anne gasped, her hands flying to your chest as your body convulsed, your limbs twitching violently, blood dribbling from the corner of your lips as you breathed.

The sound was awful. Rattling, broken, strangled. But it was breathing.

Sebastian’s whole body went taut, his throat constricting with something wild and aching as Anne let out a huff of pure relief.

“She’s— she’s breathing—"

Anne didn’t waste another second.

"Garreth, diagnostics, now!" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of fear still choking the air. "Natty, I need a Blood-Replenishing Potion—check my bag, it’s in the side pocket. Ominis, keep the counter-curse steady. If it falters for even a second—"

“I know,” Ominis snapped, his fingers white-knuckled around his wand.

Sebastian barely heard them. because you were breathing again.

His whole body went weak, his vision blurring as another sob tore from his throat. His head dropped forward, his shoulders shaking violently, every inch of him trembling with the unbearable weight of relief and grief and fucking everything.

Sebastian didn't even notice when ropes binding him disappeared. Didn’t feel the shift of magic as it loosened, didn’t realize his hands were free, didn’t register anything beyond the raw, gasping breaths rattling in his chest.

Because you were breathing.

His whole body trembled, his lungs struggling to keep up with the weight pressing against them—grief and relief colliding so violently inside him that he wasn’t sure how to handle it besides weep.

Then a warm hand landed on his shoulder.

Garreth.

"You're alright, mate," he murmured, voice low. "She's alright. Just breathe, yeah?"

Sebastian didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could. But when his shoulders gave out and his body slumped forward, Garreth caught him without a word. His arm wrapped solidly around Sebastian's back, his other hand firm against his shoulder.

Time blurred. Minutes. Hours. It didn’t fucking matter.

All Sebastian knew was that at some point, Anne inhaled sharply and leaned over you, her expression flickering with something urgent, something new.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely reached him—

“She’s asking for Sebastian.”

Everything else fell away. The noise. The movement. The air itself.

Sebastian moved. He didn’t even know how he moved given his exhaustion, didn’t remember breaking free from Garreth’s steadying grip, didn’t remember pushing forward until he was there—until he was kneeling right there, his hands grasping for you before he could stop himself.

You were still too warm, feverish and clammy, but your fingers twitched weakly when Sebastian reached for you, curling toward him, grasping at his sleeve.

Sebastian let out a wrecked, shuddering breath. The he was leaning in, his forehead pressing against yours, his whole body curling around you like he could somehow shield you from everything that had already happened.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking apart. “I’m here, I’m right here—”

Your lips parted, barely moving.

“…Sebastian.”

A whisper. A breath. A single, fragile word. And yet, it was everything.

A sob ripped from his throat, raw and unrestrained, and he didn’t care anymore. Didn’t care that his hands were still shaking as they smoothed over your hair, your cheek, brushing away the damp strands clinging to your fevered skin. Didn’t care that the others were still there, watching. Didn’t care about anything except you.

"You’re okay," he whispered, his voice breaking apart at the edges, hoarse from screaming, from sobbing, from losing you. "You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay."

Your fingers twitched again, curling weakly around his sleeve, barely gripping, but trying. The effort it took for you to do even that made something sharp lodge itself in his throat.

Sebastian turned his head slightly, pressing his lips against your temple, his breath shaking against your skin. He needed you to know he was here. That he wouldn’t let go.

Your lips parted, the corners barely twitching—too small to be a smile, too exhausted to be anything more than an attempt.

But then, your voice.

Faint. Weak. Barely there. But real.

“…Didn’t… mean to worry you.”

Sebastian let out a sharp, breathless laugh, wet with relief and something close to hysteria.

“You nearly died,” he rasped, his voice rough, wrecked. “You did die.”

Your lips parted slightly, another flicker of movement, your brows barely furrowing.

“…But I didn’t.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, something caught between a sob and a laugh, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He pulled back just slightly, his fingers smoothing over your forehead, your cheek, memorizing every inch of you, grounding himself in the fact that you were still warm. Still here.

His lips hovered over your temple, pressing barely-there kisses against your skin, murmuring half-broken words between every breath.

“I love you.” The words spilled from him before he could stop them, raw and aching and uncontrolled. His chest heaved, his body trembling from the weight of everything. "I love you so much. I should've told you sooner—I should've—fuck, I should've done everything sooner—"

Your fingers twitched against him. Sebastian barely heard your response—so quiet, so weak—but he felt it, the way your lips moved, the way you pressed ever so slightly into him.

"—love you too."

Sebastian stilled. His throat tightened. His heart stopped.

For a moment, he thought he imagined it. Thought his exhausted, grief-addled mind had conjured the words he so desperately wanted to hear.

But then—then you smiled.

And he knew.

You had said it.

A sharp, wrecked breath tore from his throat, his chest constricting so violently it hurt.

He didn’t deserve this moment. Didn’t deserve to hear those words, not after everything. Not after how he’d failed to protect you, how he’d let you get hurt, how he’d let you die.

But you had said it anyway.

Sebastian let out a sound—half-laugh, half-sob. His heart was a mess, a tangled knot of fear and relief and love so overwhelming that it threatened to consume him whole.

He had nearly lost you. Had watched you slip away, had felt the unbearable weight of helplessness pressing down on him as your life balanced on the razor’s edge. And now, you were here. Weak, barely holding on, but here.

And you had said it.

You said it.

Sebastian exhaled, his breath warm against your skin as he tilted his head, as he pressed his lips to your forehead, your temple, then your cheek, his nose nudging against yours as his breath hitched.

And then, slowly, carefully—so much more carefully than he had ever done anything in his life—he pressed his lips to yours.

It wasn’t how he had imagined his first kiss with you would go.

Not with blood still drying on your skin, not with the taste of salt from his own tears mixing between you, not with your body still weak and trembling beneath his hands.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you were alive.

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crazy-rafe-madler · 6 months ago

Text

Attack On Titan

Jealous Levi x Reader

A/N: not exactly following the events of the battle, but I really wanted some jealous Levi so enjoy!

The screams of soldiers and the thunder of Titans filled the air as you sprinted across the rooftops, ODM gear propelling you forward. The fires from the Colossal Titan’s explosion lit the night like a funeral pyre, casting a hellish glow over Shiganshina. Your heart pounded as you leapt, dodging chunks of falling debris and the scattered remains of comrades.

You had barely survived the explosion alongside Hange. The rest of your team was gone—dead in an instant, consumed by the blast or crushed by falling rubble. Their screams echoed in your mind, haunting you as you fought to keep moving. There was no time to grieve. You had to live, if only to make their sacrifices mean something.

Somewhere beyond the walls, Levi was fighting. The thought of him battling the Beast Titan alone made your chest tighten, but you buried your worry. There was no time for distraction, no room for hesitation. The chaos of war demanded focus, and your feelings for Levi—feelings you had never dared to voice—were a vulnerability you couldn’t afford to show.

“Stay close, Y/N!” Hange called, their voice sharp and commanding, though grief was evident beneath their words. “We can’t afford to lose anyone else!”

You nodded sharply, determination masking the turmoil beneath your calm exterior.

When Zeke and the Cart Titan began retreating with Reiner’s body, you saw your chance. Hange was far behind you, and you weren’t going to let the enemy slip away. With a burst of speed, you pursued them, your ODM gear slicing through the smoke-filled air.

“Stop them!” you shouted, your voice raw from the heat and ash.

The Cart Titan growled, its claws swinging wide as it tried to deter you. You dodged easily, adrenaline pumping through your veins as your eyes locked on Reiner. He was vulnerable—injured and barely conscious. This was the moment to end it.

You landed on the rooftop ahead of their path, cutting off their escape. The Cart Titan hissed at you, its claws scraping against the rooftop as it crouched low in a menacing stance.

“Get out of my fucking way,” you snarled, your voice dripping with fury as you glared at the grotesque beast. “I’m ending this!”

Reiner’s human form stumbled toward you, his face contorted in pain and frustration.

“You never give up, do you?” he rasped, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You didn’t respond. Words were meaningless now. Your blades were too worn from the battle to be of use, so you engaged him with your fists.

The fight was brutal and raw. Reiner was strong, but you were faster, ducking under his strikes and delivering precise blows that sent him reeling. For a moment, you had the upper hand, driving him to his knees.

But then his hand found a blade lying amidst the debris. With a sudden burst of strength, he swung it toward you. You dodged, but the move left you open. He tackled you to the ground, using his weight to pin you.

Pain exploded through your side as the blade plunged into you, the sharp steel biting deep. You gasped, blood spilling from the wound as Reiner shoved you toward the edge of the rooftop.

“Die already,” he muttered, pushing you over.

The world spun as you fell, your vision blurring from the blood loss and the sheer drop beneath you. Just as you thought the end had come, strong arms caught you, jerking you upward.

“Y/N!” Jean’s voice was desperate as he held you tightly, his ODM gear anchoring you both to a nearby rooftop.

He landed carefully and laid you down, his face pale as he took in your wound. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he muttered, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

Your strength was fading fast, but you managed a faint smile. “Thanks… Jean.”

“Don’t talk. Just—just hang on,” he said, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding. He brushed your hair from your face, his touch gentle despite his panic.

Far below, Levi arrived in time to see you collapse. His chest tightened as he saw Jean holding you, his hands on your face and your blood staining his uniform. A dark storm of emotions churned within him—worry, fear, and something far more bitter.

Without hesitation, Levi shot toward you, his movements fueled by pure adrenaline.

Levi landed beside you, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. “Move,” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

Jean hesitated, his hands still on you. “She’s hurt bad—”

“I said, move,” Levi growled, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jean reluctantly shifted back but stayed close, his expression tense as Levi crouched beside you. Levi’s hands were steady as he pulled out his medical kit, cutting open your uniform to access the wound.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but trembling slightly. “What the hell were you thinking, taking on Reiner alone?”

You tried to respond, but the pain was too overwhelming.

“Don’t talk,” Levi said firmly, his tone softening. “Just stay awake. Look at me.”

Jean knelt behind you, holding your shoulders to keep you still while Levi stitched the wound. You winced, the pain sharp and biting, but Levi’s steady presence grounded you.

“You’re going to be fine,” Levi said, though his jaw was clenched tight. “But you need to stop closing your damn eyes. Focus on my voice.”

Jean glanced at Levi, his worry plain on his face. “She’s losing too much blood—”

“I know,” Levi snapped, his irritation masking the fear gnawing at him. He worked quickly, his hands deft as he sealed the wound.

Once Levi finished stitching you up, he gently lifted you into his arms. Jean followed closely as they made their way to the top of the wall, where the wounded were being treated.

When they reached the top, Jean sat down with you cradled in his lap, refusing to let go. Levi crouched beside you, his face carefully blank as he cleaned your wound again, his sharp eyes watching for any signs of infection.

“You’re tougher than you look,” Levi murmured, his voice so low you barely heard him.

When the treatment was done, Levi placed his hands on Jean’s shoulder. “Let me take her,” he said, his tone more a command than a request.

Jean hesitated, his grip tightening on you. “She’s fine here—”

“Give her to me,” Levi interrupted, his voice cold.

Jean finally relented, though his jaw tightened as he watched Levi carefully shift your head into his lap. Levi brushed your hair back, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he watched your pale face.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

He kept you in his lap for a long while, his fingers absently stroking your hair as the others worked around them. Only when Sasha was brought nearby did Levi reluctantly lay you down beside her, his hand lingering on your shoulder before he stepped away.

When you finally opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was Jean leaning over you, his face lighting up with relief.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly. “Thank god. I thought…” He shook his head, his expression softening.

You tried to sit up, but he gently pressed you back down. “Don’t move. You need to rest.”

As you processed his words, you noticed the others nearby. Hange stood a little apart, their sharp eyes darting between you and Levi, who stood silently a few feet away. Sasha and Connie waved weakly from their spots, their smiles a welcome comfort.

Jean hesitated, then blurted out, “You know, back in Trost… I kissed you. After that mission. Do you remember?”

Silence fell over the group like a hammer.

Your cheeks flushed. “Jean…” you began, but his earnest gaze stopped you.

“I thought I was going to lose you then. And now… I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted, his voice soft but unwavering.

Levi’s expression shifted—subtle, but telling. His jaw clenched, and his steel-gray eyes darkened, flicking from Jean to you. The muscle in his cheek twitched, his emotions a storm just beneath the surface.

“It was just a thank-you,” you said quickly, your voice steady but your heart racing. “Jean, you’re a good friend. But that’s all.”

Jean’s face fell slightly, but he forced a smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

Hange smirked knowingly, their gaze flicking to Levi, who looked away sharply, his fists clenched at his sides. The tension was palpable as the others began to disperse, Sasha and Connie throwing sympathetic glances at Jean as they left to rest.

Hours later, the quiet night blanketed the wall. Most of the squad had fallen asleep, their exhaustion overtaking the remnants of tension. You were awake, sitting quietly against the cool stone, your wound freshly bandaged and throbbing dully.

Levi approached from the shadows, his movements silent as always. He stopped a few feet away, his eyes scanning your face with a rare vulnerability.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low and even.

You shook your head. “Not with everything that happened today.”

He sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the day hanging heavily between you.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Back there, when Jean said that…” He hesitated, something unusual for him. “It pissed me off.”

You blinked, startled by his admission. “Levi…”

He turned to you, his gray eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’ve seen too many people die, Y/N. Too many people I cared about.” His voice softened, the hard edges smoothing slightly. “I didn’t think I had room for this anymore. For you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your throat tightening as his words sank in.

“But when I saw you fall,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “I realized I couldn’t lose you. Not like this.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You were too stunned, too overwhelmed by the depth of his confession.

Levi’s hand reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’m not good at this,” he muttered, his cheeks faintly pink despite the night’s shadows. “But I’m not letting you slip away. Not now. Not ever.”

This time, you found your voice. “Levi…” you said, your own voice trembling, “I’ve felt the same. For so long.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, his lips met yours, firm and warm, yet achingly gentle. The world seemed to still, the horrors of the day fading into the background.

When he pulled back, his eyes softened, a small, rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good,” he said simply, his voice laced with relief.

You rested your forehead against his, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. Despite the war, despite the loss, you had found something worth holding onto. And you knew Levi felt the same.

#attack on titan #aot #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader

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justcruisingaroundrevived · 2 months ago

Note

Saw your yandere Pete post. Do you do yandere love letters? If so, can you do a yandere love letter from Pete?

Won’t You Be My Prom Queen?

Summary: You got the love level of the century! Ain’t that cute!

Word Count: 1.3k

TW/CW: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, stalking, f slur, self harm, blood, mentions of teeth, implied female reader (though written to be GN)

A/N: This was so fun to do! I can imagine how obsessive Pete would get when writing this letter (definitely wrote it in a pinch before stuffing it into your locker)!

Reblogs are appreciated!

Ya know, I first spotted you at the video rental store. I was making away to pick up “Alien 2” when I was struck by you.

It was weird seeing a pretty face like yours in the horror section. Maybe it’s some kind of girl code that they don’t go to the “icky” section of the rental store, and even when they do, I can see the dead look in their boyfriend’s eyes as she begged him to go to the rom com section. That section is for pussies, ya hear me? It’s a testament on how girls ruined everything.

But you. You were different. Grazing your fingers on the VHS tape, your eyes actually light up as you picked it up. Looking down, I can see your “Army of Darkness” shirt right on full display!

Jesus! I don’t believe in a god, but holy shit! He sent down a bae in my direction! Even your bags, filled with horror icon pins and patches…it just made my world stop. Time slowed down, and I can feel my eyes glued to your figure. If there was a moment I wanted to be stuck in, it would be this one, sugar.

Even as you picked up the “The Stepford Wives” tape (kind of a bullshit movie to me. The chicks were hot in it though, so that’s a plus). That didn’t matter to me. You with the hook, and I was the fish.

You were about to look my way, and I ducked into another section. Maybe a woman thing, sensing when they’re being watched (can’t blame you, though, smoke show). However, I peer my head and saw a more disgusting sight than the scene than any of the “Cannibal Holocaust”.

It was your partner. More particularly, a normie! Slicked back hair, a sweater vest on, khaki pants. They looked some faggot that got off “12 Angry Men”, and not the partner of a gorgeous babe. The way he kept your hands on your hips, pulling you closer. I bet his breath smelled too fresh as he complained about the movie selection for “Date Night”. You just chuckled and talked about “Just trying to test the waters” before putting it back and walking over to the “comedy” section.

…I know that was bullshit. I saw the sparkle in your eyes, you wanted to pick up that shit! If I was in their shoes, I would’ve encouraged you to pick the movie up, and we could’ve snuggled up under the covers while we watch Ripely tore through the Alien with her blaster gun, SOME SHIT, BUT WE WOULD’VE ENJOYED OUR TIME TOGETHER! Fuck! I would’ve picked up “A Lizard in Woman’s Skin” and showed you a fun time! I can expand your horror taste; I can introduce you to my fucking collection (only fills up half a shelf, but still better than limp dick’s shelves upon shelves of the most bland chicken with white rice movies of all time!)

Gah! Got so angry, I sliced a heart in my hip when I got home. Feeling the knife dragging, my blood pooling down my skin..it was worth it. That fleshy heart tattoos reminds me of what initials would go there once I have you (maybe I left you a surprise photo under this letter).

That night, I dreamt of us. Me being a typical slasher, you the final girl. Running from corner to corner while I chase you around. It’s still clear in my head that you were wearing the tiniest shorts and a crop top; stumbling on every minor box that went into your way, while I grabbed you by the collar.

Throwing you in the pile of my victims, I can see the excitement in your eyes. Even as maggots wiggle their way around your skin, you clutched onto the rotting flesh, and I got on top. I was raining your pristine skin with the meat, but that didn’t matter to you. All that matters was you I was in front of you…

I don’t want to get into detail on what we did next, but let’s just say…it ends with you feeling satisfied.

I’m glad you go to the same high school as me, and I’m super glad that our lockers are so to each other. Seeing you opening it up the space and spotting “Suspiria” and “Birds” mini posters made my heart drop. Even with my extensive collection of horror posters, both in and out home, never seen another out and proud horror fan, especially the likes of you, babe.

You saw me this time, and you gave me a weird face. Maybe it was the look in your eyes, or the scowl that you made, but either way, it wasn’t positive. I had to be tapped in the shoulder by Jerry for fucks sake (he gave me fucking hell for looking at a girl like that. What does he care, probably just thinks about fairies and shit).

Worst of all, that faggot was with you again! GAHHHHHH! HE MAKES ME SO FUCKING ANGRY!! Why do you even date him?! He seems to be a rip off of those bimbo’s boyfriends who instantly gets killed with her; he doesn’t fit into real life. He’s a fantasy character, more fantasy than any DnD session I’ve been in. At least the elves saved the day, and not act all prissy in public (bet I saw him skip before).

Whatever, the point being he was getting in the of you. In the way of us. Watching them in class, I can tell they’re the pretentious type. The type to tell the teacher he forgot to assign extra homework (especially when the teacher’s about to explain their divorce. Ya rather do History homework than hear how he got screwed cause his latest wife opened her legs up for her yoga instructor? Pussy).

I stalked them for a couple of weeks. Man, were they Wonder Bread. Went to school, did their homework, participated in the debate team (Bill kicked me out because I was “interrupting his time to shine”) and just went home and read the fucking Bible! Couldn’t even pick a good classical book to read (one with guts and blood describe in the pages). The only value in them was when they went to the gym, and even then, it’s pussy shit. At least I lift and grunt and end up sweaty. He just does the treadmill, while lifting the heaviest dumbbells known to existence (despite being built like an anorexic Freddy Kruger).

They don’t deserve you…no one deserves you but me! I can picture us now; sitting at the premier of my new horror film. People gawking at us cause “How can a fucking loser get a smoke show them?!” Your partner is crying outside the theatre, realizing how much they just lost while we make out at the premiere. Our kissing would be so fucking hot; tongue action, Frenching, you sucking on my nose, the whole works, BABY! Even ending up with a few bite marks here or there. You’d be glowing in the aftermath, like a true final girl.

I hope you don’t mind that I started the plan early. Your partner, well, let’s just say stealing their steroids from the locker room helped speed up their process much easier. Went down like a tone of bricks. A bunch of the members were trying to life them up, but it was pointless; had to be rushed to an ambulance and into a hospital.

I also managed to snag a tooth of mine for you. I don’t need to anyway, especially when I see you wearing it on your beautiful neck. I even left some animal bones for you! Ain’t I a sweetheart? (Some are from ya favorite animals).

You might be panicking at this point, but that’s okay! I’m doing this for us! We don’t even need the successful career; all I need is you and I; holding hands in our coffin.

I love ya, my little final girl <3

#the eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #eltingville club #pete dinunzio #eltingville #eltingville comic #eltingvile club #eltingville pete #pete dinunzio x reader #the eltingville club pete #pete eltingville #yandere tec #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere character #yandere #eltingville club x reader #tec x reader

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briefinquiries · 2 months ago

Text

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 22

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 22

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Chaos unfolds during you and Tommy's reception, in the aftermath, you find some comfort in Small Heath.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch, emetophobia warning

You didn’t even register the direction the gunshots came from– just the chaos that followed. Screams erupted. Glass shattered. Someone dropped a tray with a crash that echoed beneath the chandelier’s sudden sway. The music stopped abruptly, a needle skidding off vinyl, and for a split second, everything stood still.

Then, another shot.

You grabbed Finn without thinking, your instincts moving faster than your mind. He’d been standing just beside the refreshment table, laughing, a slice of cake still in his hand. You yanked him down with you, ducking beneath the table just as chairs clattered and guests scattered.

His eyes were wide, panicked, and you could feel him shaking.

“We’re okay,” you said quickly, your arms around him, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s alright, stay low, don’t move.”

The tablecloth hung around you like a makeshift curtain, dimming the chaos outside.

Finn clutched your arm tightly. “What’s happening?” he whispered, voice cracking.

Above you, another loud bang– a third shot fired, but this one hit the ceiling, plaster raining down. You flinched, shielding Finn instinctively.

And then, through the noise, a voice bellowed across the room:

“A gift from Luca Changretta. Tell Tommy Shelby that his empire bleeds like any other.”

Finn clutched your arm tighter, his breathing shallow and fast. You pulled him in closer beneath the table, your body curled protectively over his, your hand cradling the back of his head to shield him from the falling plaster.

Around you, everything had gone still.

Not silent, there were still gasps and muffled screams, overturned chairs scraping against the floor, glass shattering somewhere across the room, but still in the way that fear locks a room in place, holding everyone in suspended disbelief.

You barely dared to breathe.

Footsteps thundered toward the exit, fast, heavy, purposeful. Then the sharp slam of the doors as the gunmen fled.

Gone, just like that.

No more shots. No more words. Just a trail of fear and smoke left behind in their wake.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you slowly looked out from beneath the table, your arm still curled tightly around Finn.

Polly’s voice rang out from somewhere across the room, sharp and panicked. Arthur was shouting orders. John’s voice followed, rough and urgent..

You pushed yourself up from the floor slowly, your limbs still shaky with adrenaline. Your hands found Finn first, gently helping him upright. He was pale, eyes wide, shoulders hunched in a way that made him look even younger than he was.

“Finn,” you said softly, brushing plaster dust from his jacket. “Are you alright?”

He nodded too quickly to be convincing. His breath hitched, and you reached for his face, cradling it gently between your palms. His skin was clammy, his cheeks flushed. You wiped a smear of dust from his cheek with your thumb, eyes scanning him for any sign of blood, any wound you might’ve missed in the panic.

“Look at me,” you said, steady but kind. “You’re not hurt?”

“No,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Just… hell– what was that?”

“Just breathe,” you murmured, still holding his face. “You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Your fingers lingered for a second longer, brushing through his hair before pulling him into a quick, fierce hug. He held onto you like a lifeline, his body trembling just slightly.

You heard Tommy before you saw him, the shift in the air, the magnetic pull. His voice was heavy. “Move– move!”

Before you knew it, Tommy was there, storming toward you, eyes scanning wildly– jaw clenched, breathing hard.

His eyes found yours and stopped.

“Fuck–” he breathed, his expression cracking, just for a second. “Are you okay?” His voice was low and sharp, breathless as he reached you, hands already skimming over your arms, your ribs, your waist.

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded your head, slowly.

But he didn’t accept that. One hand cupped the back of your neck, grounding you firmly in place. His touch wasn’t gentle now– it was firm. Urgent.

“Look at me,” he said, voice fierce. “Are you okay?”

Your lips parted, breath shaky. “Yes,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

He closed his eyes for half a second, like the air had been knocked from him. When they opened again, they were darker, stormier. Rage and relief tangled behind them.

“I told you,” he said, voice hoarse and cracking as his forehead dropped briefly to yours. “I told you to stay put.”

Before you could even respond, he pulled away, his hands falling from your face, jaw clenching as he turned slightly, already scanning the chaos again. You stood there, stunned, the weight of his anger settling heavy in your chest.

You hadn’t meant to anger him. But the shame still twisted in your stomach like a blade.

Suddenly, you felt small fingers clutching at your arm.

Finn had latched onto you without a word, his arms winding around your waist. His face was pressed into your side, his entire body shaking with adrenaline and fear.

You blinked back the sting in your eyes and immediately wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, cradling the back of his head. “It’s alright,” you whispered, holding him tightly. “You’re alright.”

He didn’t speak, just shook, buried against you, trying to hide the fact that he’d been terrified. You swayed gently with him, murmuring something soft, your hand brushing through his hair, grounding him in the only way you could.

Tommy, meanwhile, had already shifted gears.

His eyes were scanning the room, sharp and calculating, jaw rigid with fury. “John! Arthur!” he barked. A bitter breath hissed from between Tommy’s teeth. “Find out how they got in. Who let them through the doors. Someone knew. Someone fucking knew!”

John nodded tightly, already heading toward the front.

Tommy’s jaw flexed again as he turned back toward Arthur. “And I want names! Every single fucking guest who wasn’t on the list, where they came from, who they came with. Someone vouched for those bastards.”

Arthur’s mouth tightened. “You got it, Tom.”

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing for a second before muttering, “They didn’t want blood… not tonight. They wanted fear.”

His eyes flicked toward you then, still holding Finn, still trying to slow your breathing, your expression dazed and unreadable.

And in that instant, his fury turned razor-sharp again.

“They came into my fucking wedding,” he yelled. “That’s their warning shot? They’re going to regret not pulling the fucking trigger.”

He paced in a tight line, hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing sharp and ragged. You’d seen him angry before– cold, calculating, precise. But this… this was something else. This was pure fury. Unfiltered. Barely contained.

“They walked through those doors,” he snapped, whirling around to face Arthur and John as they returned to his side. “They fired shots over our fucking heads– at my family, at my wife!”

His voice cracked on the last word, jaw tightening hard enough to make his cheek twitch. His hand went instinctively to his hip like he needed to reach for something– his gun, maybe, or just a way to release the rage bottled beneath his ribs.

“They wanted to humiliate us,” he growled, eyes dark and wild. “To prove they could get in and out without a scratch. That they could touch us without drawing blood.”

Arthur stepped forward, voice low. “Tom, we’ll find ‘em. You know we will.”

Tommy’s glare cut through the room like a blade. “Not good enough,” he snapped. “I don’t want their names. I want their fucking heads.”

You flinched slightly at the venom in his tone, but Finn still clung to your side, and your instinct to protect him kept you grounded.

“They made a spectacle,” Tommy continued, turning toward the ruined tables, the chandelier still swaying faintly overhead. “A statement. They want war? Fine.”

His voice dropped to a growl– cold, merciless. “Then we’ll give them war.”

Arthur nodded grimly, but John exchanged a glance with him, uneasy. Polly hovered nearby, watching Tommy with that sharp, calculating stare of hers, as if measuring how far gone he really was.

And then beside you, Finn let out a soft sound– not quite a whimper, but close. His hands were still clutching the edge of your dress where he’d held on during the gunfire, his knuckles white. He was staring at the floor now, eyes unfocused, jaw tight, like he was trying to swallow whatever panic was still clawing its way through his chest.

“Finn?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer at first. Just kept shaking his head like he was trying to make the memory disappear. His breathing had gone shallow again.

“Hey.” You crouched a little, meeting his eyes, brushing his fringe back gently. “You’re alright, Finn. It’s over now.”

He nodded, too quickly, too forcefully, and then abruptly turned to the side and vomited into the corner.

Polly immediately stepped toward him, but you raised a hand gently. “I’ve got him.”

The sound of Tommy’s voice barking another order behind you made Finn flinch visibly. That was it. Your chest clenched, protective instinct kicking in fully now.

“Come on, love,” you said, steady and soft, already slipping an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get some air.”

But before you could take a full step, a firm hand caught your arm.

“You can’t go outside,” Tommy said sharply, eyes flashing.

You blinked at him, stunned. “He needs air, Tommy. He’s shaking.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “It’s not safe out there. Not yet.”

“He’s going to pass out if he stays in here,” you snapped.

Without missing a beat, Tommy waved two of his men forward with a curt gesture. “Go with them,” he barked. Then his eyes flicked back to you, sharp and unreadable. “Don’t go past the gate. And this time, do what you’re fucking told, please.”

You stared at him, nostrils flaring, heat rising behind your eyes. It wasn’t just the words, it was the tone, the way he said it like you were one of the men under his command instead of his wife, who’d just been dragged through chaos on her own wedding day.

Your lips parted, ready to spit something back, but instead you just wrenched your arm from his grip, your jaw tight.

You turned your back on him and led Finn away, your hand steady at his back. The weight of Tommy’s stare burned between your shoulder blades, but you didn’t look back.

Finn didn’t protest. He let you guide him away, his legs a bit unsteady beneath him. You led him down the corridor and out through the side door into the cool night air, the chaos muffled now behind stone walls and heavy doors. The moment you stepped outside, you felt him exhale, just a shaky breath, but a little steadier than before.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just sat with him on the edge of the steps, rubbing slow circles on his back.

“I thought they were going to kill us,” Finn said quietly after a long pause.

You swallowed the knot in your throat. “I know.”

You sat in silence for a long moment– just the two of you under the stars, the distant pulse of music and shouting still echoing faintly behind you. But out here, for just a little while, you could breathe.

The night air was sharp against your skin, cutting through the lingering adrenaline still humming in your veins. Your heart hadn’t fully settled yet, and Finn was still tense beneath your arm, shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to make himself smaller.

You rubbed a slow, steady hand across his back, letting the silence stretch between you like a blanket. You didn’t need to fill it. Not yet.

“I’m sorry I threw up,” Finn said after a while, voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand stilled for a second, then resumed its rhythm. “It’s okay, Finn. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

A few more minutes passed in stillness, broken only by the distant crack of glass, another door swinging open somewhere inside, a voice shouting orders. The tension of the evening hadn’t fully lifted, not even out here.

You weren’t sure how long you sat like that, just holding him steady, when the door creaked open again behind you.

You turned.

Polly stepped into the dim light of the courtyard, her silhouette sharp against the warm glow from the reception hall. Her heels clicked softly on the stone, but there was no urgency in her steps, just the same quiet gravity she always carried like a second skin.

She stopped a few paces away, her eyes scanning you both. Her gaze softened when it landed on Finn. She crouched down beside him then, resting a hand lightly on his knee. “You alright, love?”

“I’m okay,” he lied.

Polly nodded once, glancing between you and Finn again. “Arthur’s still inside trying to calm people down. Tommy’s… doing what Tommy does.”

You swallowed and gave her a faint nod of thanks.

There was a long pause before you spoke again, your voice low, tired. “When can we go home?”

Polly looked at you for a moment, really looked. Not just at your face, but the slump in your shoulders, the way your hand still gripped Finn’s sleeve like you couldn’t quite let go of the fear yet.

“Soon,” she said gently. “They need to be sure it’s safe first.”

You nodded, but it didn’t ease the restlessness curling in your chest. You were still in your wedding dress. Your hands still smelled faintly of gunpowder and champagne. And your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the first shot rang out.

You could feel the pressure building behind your eyes, that familiar sting threatening to break through. You blinked hard, jaw clenched tight, willing the tears not to come.

Polly stepped closer, brushing a bit of hair from your face in a rare, tender gesture. “You’re alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. You just need to breathe.”

You tried, but it caught in your throat.

“I didn’t even see it coming,” you whispered. “It was supposed to be– just for one day–”

“I know.” Her voice softened again, more mother than matriarch now.

You didn’t have the energy to say anything else. You just glanced down at Finn, who was quiet now, staring out at the street like it might tell him something the rest of you couldn’t.

Polly’s hand touched your arm again, firmer this time. “You’re safe now. We’ll get you home soon.”

You nodded once more, but the weight of the evening settled heavy in your bones. You didn’t feel safe. Not yet. Not really.

Polly returned inside, but you stayed there in silence, shoulders tense beneath the weight of your dress, heart still pounding against your ribs like it hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that the threat was over. You kept your eyes on the door, waiting for it to open again. Hoping it would be him this time.

Finn sat quietly beside you, hands clasped in his lap, gaze fixed on the darkened garden path ahead. He hadn’t said anything else, but he leaned into your side slightly, like your presence was the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

Minutes passed. Then, finally, the door creaked open behind you. Footsteps on the gravel.

Tommy’s figure cut through the dim light like a shadow cast from something solid and unshakable, but there was a new heaviness in his expression, tighter around the eyes, jaw still clenched hard. His tie was crooked now, shirt undone at the collar, blood still flecked faintly at his temple. But his gaze was on you.

“Come on,” he murmured, one hand in his pocket, the other beckoning you gently. “Let’s go.”

You nodded and turned to Finn, brushing your hand gently against his shoulder. “Come on, love,” you said quietly. “Let’s get up.”

He nodded, a little dazed, letting you help him to his feet. He leaned on you more than he probably realized, but you didn’t mind. Your arm stayed steady beneath his.

Tommy reached for him then, his hand landing firm on Finn’s other shoulder, steadying him silently. His other hand reached for yours without a word, fingers curling around yours with quiet purpose.

You glanced down at your joined hands, his fingers warm and certain around yours. The earlier anger– the sting of him snapping at you, the way he’d barked and shut you out, had dissolved somewhere in the chaos. You couldn’t even pinpoint the moment it left you, only that now, standing here beside him, all you could feel was the dull throb of exhaustion and the steady comfort of his touch.

Because whatever his temper had been, whatever sharpness had cut through his voice… you knew it had come from fear.

And now, there was only this, his hand in yours, grounding you again. The way it always did.

Tommy gave your hand a small, silent squeeze, his eyes flicking to yours for a brief second, just long enough to say everything he hadn’t said earlier.

Then, together, the three of you moved toward the car. Slowly, quietly. Away from the wreckage. Toward whatever peace the night could still offer.

The car ride home was quiet.

No one said it out loud, but there was a silent agreement between all of you, not to scatter off into separate homes, not to retreat behind closed doors where the silence could swallow you whole. Instead, everyone returned to the Small Heath house. It felt safer that way. Closer. Warmer, somehow, even beneath the weight of what had just happened.

You weren’t sure if it was instinct or desperation that led to it, but no one argued. No one left.

Polly took up residence in her usual armchair, a cigarette already between her fingers. Ada curled up on the couch, shoes kicked off, eyes tired but still sharp. Arthur poured drinks, heavily, and John paced the hallway like a restless dog while Esme tried to convince him to sit down. The house was buzzing beneath the quiet, like everyone was trying to act normal, but every small noise made someone flinch. Every knock, every footstep.

You glanced at Finn, he hadn’t said much since the ride. He hadn’t let go of your hand either. Now, he sat slumped in the corner of the settee, shoulders curled in, eyes wide and unfocused. His plate of untouched food sat cooling beside him, forgotten.

Your heart cracked a little at the sight of him.

You moved toward him quietly and lowered yourself beside him. “You alright?” you asked gently, though you already knew the answer.

He nodded quickly, but it was automatic, hollow. His lip trembled.

“Why don’t you head to bed, love? Get some rest?”

He shook his head before you even finished the sentence.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Finn mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenched. You reached out, brushing your hand through his hair.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Then stay here with me a while.”

His shoulders eased just a little at that, like the weight pressing into him had lifted, only slightly, but enough.

Minutes passed, slow and heavy. You could hear Arthur and John’s low voices from the kitchen, the clink of glass, the occasional muttered curse. Somewhere down the hall, Tommy’s voice rumbled, low, clipped, issuing orders through the telephone. Polly’s lighter flicked in rhythm from her seat across the room, a steady little flame to match the storm still flickering behind her eyes.

Eventually, you felt Finn’s breathing slow. His body slackened slightly against yours, the last of his adrenaline fading into exhaustion. He was asleep– finally.

You stayed with him anyway, stroking his hair gently, letting your own head rest back against the cushion behind you.

Your eyes drifted closed for a moment, but your mind didn’t quiet. It circled endlessly around the night, around the chaos, around the gunfire echoing behind your ribs. The blood. The fear.

You exhaled slowly through your nose.

The door creaked open, and you turned slightly at the sound.

John stepped into the room, his gaze landing on Finn curled up beside you. He let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Poor kid,” he muttered.

You nodded quietly, brushing your hand once more through Finn’s hair before glancing up at John. “He finally fell asleep.”

John stepped closer, his voice softer now. “I’ll take him upstairs.”

You hesitated, just for a second– some part of you reluctant to let Finn go. But John’s expression was kind, steady. And maybe you needed a moment to breathe.

“Alright,” you said gently, carefully easing yourself away from Finn.

John nodded. “I’ve got him.”

You watched as he crouched down and scooped Finn up in his arms with practiced ease. The younger boy stirred only faintly, murmuring something incoherent before settling again against John’s shoulder.

You followed behind them to the doorway, pausing just at the threshold. Your eyes drifted toward the sitting room, where the low hum of voices carried down the hallway– Tommy, Arthur, and Polly, deep in discussion.

You could see them through the doorway: Polly pacing slowly, a cigarette burning between her fingers; Arthur slouched forward, elbows on his knees, face tense; and Tommy, standing tall, arms folded tightly across his chest as he spoke in that low, unreadable tone he always used when trying to mask the storm brewing beneath the surface.

You watched him for a moment longer, his words indistinct but his posture unmistakably rigid. Earlier, at the reception, he'd mentioned revenge. War. Against whoever it was that had caused all of this.

A message from Luca Changretta.

You didn’t know who that was, not really. Only that whoever it was, was bound to cause you all a world of trouble.

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. You thought, for a moment, about walking in, about catching Tommy’s eye, about pulling him away just for a moment. But he didn’t look up. He didn’t even seem to notice you standing there.

The weight of it settled in your chest again. You were too tired to find out more. Too drained to dig into the shadows gathering around the edges of your wedding night.

So instead, you turned quietly and followed behind John and Finn up the stairs, your footsteps soft on the floorboards.

Whatever that conversation was, whatever came next, it could wait. Tonight had taken enough from you already.

You followed John into Finn’s room, the quiet creak of the door barely audible over the sound of Finn’s soft breathing. The room was dim, only the low flicker of a lamp casting a warm glow across the walls. John moved carefully, easing Finn down onto the bed with practiced gentleness, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders as he settled.

You lingered by the doorway for a moment, then stepped in fully, moving to the chair in the corner. It was old, the cushion a little worn, but it cradled your tired body easily as you sank into it with a quiet exhale.

John glanced over at you, his brow furrowed slightly. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded once, giving him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. I just… want to stay with him for a bit.”

He studied you for a moment, then gave a single, quiet nod. “Alright,” he said simply. “Shout if you need anything.”

You nodded again, watching as he turned and stepped out, pulling the door mostly closed behind him.

The room fell into stillness again. Just you and Finn.

You leaned back into the chair, gaze drifting toward him. His face looked softer in sleep– no longer clouded with fear or tension, just the slow, steady rhythm of rest. You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat and folded your arms across your chest, letting the quiet settle around you.

Your eyelids drifted lower.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But your body had finally reached its limit, and before you realized it, the blur of candlelight and the soft rhythm of Finn’s breathing had lulled you into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

It was the quiet sound of your name that stirred you first, soft, low, spoken like a secret. Then the gentle sweep of fingers through your hair, brushing lightly behind your ear.

Your lashes fluttered, the warmth of his voice coaxing you back to the surface. You blinked up at him, disoriented for a moment, the dim room coming slowly back into focus.

He crouched beside you, one hand still lingering at your hairline, the other settling softly on your knee. “You’ll be sore if you stay like that all night,” he said, voice quiet and full of something softer than usual.

You sat up slowly, blinking away the heaviness from your eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you mumbled.

“It’s alright.” His voice was gentle. “Let’s get to bed.”

Your gaze flicked toward the bed, Finn was still curled beneath the blanket, breathing steady and slow. Safe. Asleep.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were still holding.

Tommy’s hand slipped down to yours, curling around your fingers. “Come on,” he said again, quieter now.

You nodded and stood slowly, glancing one last time at Finn before letting Tommy guide you out of the room. The hallway was dim, the house quieter now, tension still lingering in the air like smoke, but dulled beneath the weight of exhaustion.

You followed him down the corridor to the same spare room you’d taken care of Tommy in– the one you’d stepped inside a hundred times before, back when things were simpler. The sheets were clean but creased, the window cracked just enough to let the cool night air in. It wasn’t your house on the hill– but it was Small Heath. Familiar. Steady. Home.

Tommy shut the door softly behind you, then moved to pull the blanket back. “You alright?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You nodded, stepping toward the bed. “I just… didn’t want to leave him alone.”

“I know,” he said.

You slid beneath the covers, the sheets cool against your skin. Tommy followed a beat later, lying beside you with a quiet sigh. His arm found its way around you, pulling you in until your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you like nothing else could.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing, the faint creak of the old house settling around you.

Then his voice, rumbled, low and rough against the top of your head. “I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

You blinked, shifting just enough to glance up at him. His eyes were on the ceiling, jaw tight.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I should’ve listened.”

He shook his head slightly. “You didn’t deserve that. Not tonight.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly along his chest. “You were just trying to protect me. On our wedding night.”

His hand covered yours, warm and steady. “Didn’t exactly turn out how I pictured it,” he murmured with a rueful half-smile.

“How did you picture it?”

Tommy thought for a moment. “I suppose more champagne and dancing. Less… bullets and threats.”

You gave a soft, tired chuckle, resting your forehead against his collarbone. “Well, I am a Shelby now,” you said. “I can’t think of a warmer welcome.”

His chest rumbled faintly with a laugh. “I suppose,” he said, tilting his head down and brushing a kiss into your hair. "Mrs. Shelby."

You didn’t reply, just curled in closer, fingers curling loosely into his shirt. The storm outside might still rage, but here, in this small stretch of warmth and safety, it was just the two of you.

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby.

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#peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x reader fanfic

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areyoufuckingcrazy · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! I don’t know if you’re doing requests, if not ignore this. I love your writing! My request would be bad batch x Jedi!reader( can be gen) where it’s their reaction to you having to save them and do a bunch of cool badass force moves to get to them. 🩷

Absolutely— I will gladly take any request x

I hope you enjoy this, I kinda went off on my own little world at the end.

⸻

Title: “About Time You Showed Up”

Bad batch x Jedi!Reader

The op was supposed to be simple: get in, grab the intel, get out.

So naturally, it was a disaster by hour two.

The Bad Batch was cornered inside a decrepit refinery complex, hunkered behind a wall of overturned crates as blaster fire lit up the air. Explosions cracked the walls. Wrecker was bleeding. Tech’s datapad was sparking. Crosshair was out of ammo.

Hunter muttered a curse. “We need backup. Now.”

Crosshair scoffed. “You mean the Jedi?”

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” Tech said, wincing as he adjusted his shattered goggles. “They are highly efficient warriors, after all.”

“Well, ours is late,” Echo gritted, shielding Wrecker with a dented durasteel panel. “And I don’t think those guys outside are going to politely wait for her.”

Then, like the Force heard them bickering—

The air dropped a few degrees.

The wind shifted.

And then the main door of the facility exploded inward—not from detonite or a charge, but like something had pushed it in with terrifying, silent power.

Smoke billowed.

And out of it stepped you.

Cloak trailing behind you, lightsaber already humming in your hand, you walked into the chaos like you were late to a dinner party—not a battlefield.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, lifting your hand.

Three enemy droids shot into the air like ragdolls, slammed into a pipe overhead, and sparked out. “Had a bit of traffic.”

Wrecker blinked. “That… was awesome.”

Hunter stared as you leapt forward, deflecting blaster bolts without looking. “Remind me never to complain about Jedi again.”

You moved like a shadow. One second you were blocking a shot, the next you were throwing your saber, calling it back mid-spin, flipping off a wall, and dragging a pair of guards toward each other with the Force so they knocked heads and dropped.

“Show off,” Crosshair muttered, but there was something weirdly close to admiration in his tone.

“Excuse me?” you called as you force-pulled a turret off its base and crushed it into a ball. “You want to do this next time, sharpshooter?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t mind the view,” Crosshair said under his breath.

Tech, oddly calm amid the chaos, adjusted his goggles with a broken-off screw. “Fascinating. You manipulated five separate Force events within a span of—”

“I’ll send you a diagram later!” you called.

You sliced the control panel, opened the bulkhead, and gestured. “Come on, boys. I’m not babysitting this op all day.”

Hunter helped Wrecker to his feet. “That was… intense.”

Echo gave you a half-grin. “We’d be dead if you hadn’t shown.”

“You would be,” you said smugly. “Good thing I like you.”

“Is that a Jedi flirting?” Crosshair drawled. “Should I be worried about a lightsaber through my chest or a date?”

You raised a brow. “Depends. Are you always this cocky, or is it the blood loss talking?”

Crosshair smirked. “You tell me.”

As the team jogged after you, Tech whispered to Echo, “I believe this is what organic beings refer to as ‘tension.’”

“You think?” Echo grinned, ducking blaster fire as you launched an enemy into a vat of molten ore with a flick of your hand.

“Let’s save the flirty quips for after we’re not being shot at,” Hunter grumbled—but he wasn’t exactly not smiling.

You stopped mid-run, looked over your shoulder, and grinned. “Then pick up the pace, boys. You can flirt after we survive.”

⸻

The air inside the safehouse was still hazy from Wrecker’s attempt at cooking, and someone had definitely patched Crosshair’s blaster wound with duct tape and attitude.

But everyone was alive. And that was saying something.

You were seated cross-legged on a crate, calmly cleaning your lightsaber with the kind of peace only someone who had deflected about 200 blaster bolts could muster. The Force hummed around you, quiet but alert.

Hunter dropped onto the floor nearby, arms resting on his knees. “You always fight like that?”

You looked up, raising a brow. “Like what?”

“Like gravity doesn’t apply to you and you’re mad at every object in a ten-meter radius.”

You grinned. “Only when people I care about are in trouble.”

Crosshair, lounging against the wall with his arms crossed, scoffed. “So, you do care.”

“Don’t get excited,” you teased. “I’d do the same for my hydrospanner.”

Wrecker burst out laughing while Crosshair smirked like he’d just been promoted.

Echo, who was calmly running diagnostics on his arm, chimed in: “I don’t know. I think you’ve got favorites.”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

Tech looked up from where he was scanning his datapad, eyes sharp behind his cracked goggles. “You know, from a technical standpoint, some of your techniques—particularly the telekinetic manipulation mid-flight—could be extremely beneficial in combat.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying you want to train with me, Tech?”

He cleared his throat. “For research purposes, of course.”

Echo leaned back against a support beam. “I wouldn’t mind a session or two either. Might pick up a move or two that doesn’t involve being thrown across a battlefield.”

“I think I should go first,” Hunter said mildly. “Since I’m the one who has to keep all of you alive.”

Wrecker raised a hand. “Hey, I want to train with the Jedi too!”

You looked around at all of them. “Let me guess… you all want to train now?”

“Better than watching Crosshair try to flirt,” Echo muttered.

“I don’t flirt,” Crosshair said flatly.

“You stared at their hands for five minutes straight,” Hunter pointed out.

Crosshair didn’t deny it. “They’ve got good saber grip. It’s tactical.”

You smirked and slowly stood, clipping your saber back to your belt. “Alright. We’ll start tomorrow. One at a time. You’ll get a feel for the Force, and I’ll see who whines the least when they land flat on their back.”

“I never whine,” Crosshair muttered.

“Good,” you said with a wicked grin. “You’ll be first.”

Wrecker fist-pumped. Tech adjusted his datapad like it was a test. Echo and Hunter shared a look that said, We’re all going to die.

You stretched your arms and turned to leave.

“Oh,” you added over your shoulder. “And if you’re all so eager to get closer to the Force… don’t forget it can read minds.”

Five men froze. Completely.

You didn’t have to look to know exactly which ones had immediately panicked.

Yeah. You were going to have fun with this.

⸻

You stood in the middle of the field, arms crossed, calm as ever.

The Bad Batch lined up in front of you like misbehaving cadets at a very weird summer camp. Wrecker was bouncing on his heels. Crosshair looked bored already. Echo was trying to focus. Tech was holding a notebook. And Hunter—Hunter was watching you like he was trying to anticipate your every move. Again.

“Alright,” you said, voice light. “Rule number one: you are not Force-sensitive. So stop trying to feel it. You’ll just give yourself a migraine.”

Tech quietly lowered his fingers from his temple and put his notebook away.

“Instead,” you continued, pacing in front of them like an instructor, “we’re going to focus on reflexes, awareness, and how not to swing a lightsaber into your own leg.”

Wrecker raised his hand. “Wait—do we get lightsabers?”

You blinked. “Do you want to lose an arm?”

Wrecker grinned. “Kinda depends on the story I can tell after.”

Echo muttered, “Maker help us.”

You tossed a training baton at Crosshair, who caught it one-handed with zero enthusiasm.

“Let’s see how you handle this, sharpshooter,” you said, smirking. “Try to block me.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “I don’t need a magic trick to win a duel.”

You raised your training blade. “That’s cute. Try to last thirty seconds.”

What followed was the most stubborn, cocky, and utterly chaotic sparring session you had ever experienced.

Crosshair lasted eighteen seconds. He blamed the sun.

Hunter was fast, perceptive, and nearly knocked you off your feet once, but then got distracted when you smiled at him. He never admitted it.

Echo was calculated but got annoyed when you used a Force push to trip him mid-roll. “Not fair,” he growled, flat on his back.

“I told you I’d use it,” you shrugged.

Tech kept trying to guess your next move based on logic. Unfortunately, you were using the Force. And chaos.

“I have a theory,” he said, face-down in the grass.

“I’m sure you do.”

Then came Wrecker.

“Alright,” he said, grinning like a kid about to break a toy, “gimme your best shot.”

You dodged his first three swings. The fourth came very close.

“Easy, big guy,” you huffed, ducking under his arm. “This is training, not deathmatch—”

“Oops!” Wrecker slipped on a rock, stumbled forward, and you had to Force-jump to avoid being pancaked. You landed behind him, breathing hard.

“That was… impressive,” you managed.

“Did I pass?” he asked, hopeful.

“Pass? You almost Force-chucked me into next week!”

“Cool.”

Later, as the group collapsed in a sweaty, bruised heap under a tree, you sat cross-legged nearby, sipping from a canteen.

“I’ll admit,” you said with a sly grin, “you’re all… slightly less hopeless than I expected.”

“High praise,” Echo muttered.

Crosshair lay back, arms behind his head. “So when’s the advanced class?”

You tossed a pebble at his head. “Never.”

Tech looked up from scribbling notes. “I would still like to record your movement patterns. Possibly… for private analysis.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Private?”

Hunter cleared his throat, cutting in fast. “I’d be up for a meditation session. Just us.”

You blinked. “You meditate?”

“I do now.”

Wrecker sat up. “Wait, I want to meditate too!”

“No, you don’t,” Echo sighed.

You lay back in the grass beside them, arms tucked under your head, eyes half-closed. “You know… for a bunch of non-sensitive, chaos-wielding commandos… you’re not so bad.”

Crosshair, eyes closed, smirked. “Careful, Jedi. Keep talking like that, and we might start thinking you like us.”

You smirked back. “I do like you. I just like kicking your asses more.”

#the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch headcanons #bad batch x reader #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #clone force 99 #hunter #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #tbb crosshair #crosshair x reader #tech x reader #tbb tech #tbb echo x reader #tbb echo #echo x reader #tbb wrecker #wrecker x reader

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buffetlicious · 24 days ago

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My youngest brother invited us to celebrate Mother’s Day (母亲节) with a meal at Fu Lee Seafood (富俐海鮮). This year, the tze char (煮炒) stall had came out with a set menu for the special occasion and we decided to go for it.

The very first dish to be served was this Premium Ocean Harvest Porridge (尊贵海洋珍馐粥). It is more like Pao Fan (泡饭) as it consists of rice soaked in broth brewed from pork, fish bones and prawn, served with seafood, and crispy rice. The seafood is just butterflied prawns and clams with crispy rice puffs sprinkled on top but everyone loves it, nonetheless.

This Fish Maw Egg Soup (鱼鳔蛋花汤) was an add on order and not part of the set menu. The starchy soup is choked full of sliced fish maw, mushroom and crab meat. The must have condiments to go with the soup are black vinegar and white pepper. The only complaint was that it was too gooey.

Wasabi Mayo Coated Prawn Balls (芥末脆虾球) are actually whole prawns dusted in flour and deep-fried in hot oil before getting coated in a mixture of wasabi and mayonnaise. The prawns remained crispy on the outside and succulent on the inside. The sesame seeds and wasabi mayo giving the shellfishes a nutty, spicy and savoury notes. The green and red apple salad added a refreshing finishing touch to the overall dish.

Seafood Yam Basket (佛钵飘香) was also a separate order. It is a mashed yam ring or taro basket deep-fried then filled with separately stir-fried ingredients. The prawn, fish, squid, cashew nuts and vegetables are overflowing from the top. Underneath the yam basket is a nest of crispy deep-fried rice vermicelli.

As the server placed the plate on the table, everyone’s attention was momentarily fixed on the stack of Strawberry Glazed Iberico Pork Ribs (黑猪草莓一只骨) pile on high in the plate surrounded by strawberry halves and an edible wafer flower. The sticky meat is tender and savoury sweet, well-liked by all of us. No strawberry taste detected on the ribs unless you ate it with the berries!

The Surf & Turf (富俐双拼) was a combination of crispy prawn fritter and smoked duck breast with sesame sauce. The fritter did not come with whole prawn but minced or chopped up prawn meat with other ingredients mixed inside. The filling itself is nothing to shout about but the extra light and crispy batter is to die for.

The next dish is Golden Silk Tofu with Pumpkin Velvet & Yam Crisps (金丝南瓜豆腐). Silky bean curds deep-fried sitting in a pool of pumpkin sauce and littered with crispy shoestring taro fries. I enjoyed the savoury sweet pumpkin sauce clinging to the soft and fragrant fried tofu punctuated by crunchy taro fries.

Wok Fry Yangtze Nai Bai with Truffle Mushroom Sauce (松露蘑菇酱烩奶白菜) came served with a medley of sautéed mushrooms over blanch nai bai which is a different variation of the bok choy. Also referred to as milk cabbage, it is mildly sweet yet crunchy with dark green leaves and milky white stems. That is how the name "milk cabbage" came about. There was supposed to be truffle in there but I don’t remembered tasting the unique flavour.

By the time the Crispy Chicken with Signature Glaze (风沙香酥鸡) was placed in front of me, I am already quite full. The glaze was not brushed onto the chicken but spread out on the plate. The chicken itself was crispy but bordered on the dry side. That signature sauce seems like a borrowed recipe from the roasted suckling pig’s sauce, popular in Singapore which isn’t bad at all.

When you have fresh fish, the best cooking style is to cook it with minimum ingredients like this Steamed Red Grouper with Garlic (蒜蓉蒸红斑). Steaming it let you savour the sweetness of its flesh and the superior soya sauce imparted it salty flavour to enhance the dish. Both spring onions and crispy garlic served to add flavour and texture to the already delicious fish.

To summarize the dinner, everyone enjoyed it thoroughly and we are already considering coming here for our Chinese New Year reunion dinner next year. The only complaint would be that the dishes were served too quickly one after another and there isn’t space on the table to accommodate so we have to rush to finish the earlier dishes to make way.

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storytimewithnina · 2 months ago

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Ghosts Don’t Bleed (Bucky x reader)

Summary: In the chaos of war and memory, Y/N risks everything to bring Bucky Barnes back from the darkness… and love is what finally breaks through.

Words: 3000+

⸻

The sky over D.C. burned with smoke and sirens. What remained of S.H.I.E.L.D. cracked and fell from the heavens as the helicarriers collided in flame and chaos. But none of that mattered to you.

You were chasing a ghost.

The Winter Soldier.

Except he wasn’t a ghost. Not really. You’d seen the eyes behind the mask. Eyes you knew better than your own reflection.

Bucky Barnes.

He was alive.

And he didn’t remember you.

Not the girl he used to tease on fire escapes, not the woman he held like a lifeline before war, not the one who promised she’d wait—and did. Seventy years of silence. Of blood. Of loss.

Now you were running through a corridor filled with smoke and broken steel, trying to catch a man who once called you his future.

Steve was ahead, fighting like hell to get to the control center. The mission mattered, but your heart had long since left it behind. All you could hear was Bucky’s voice. Not the assassin’s, but the soldier’s. Whispering sweet nothings into your skin, laughter behind locked doors in Brooklyn, promises murmured beneath war-torn skies.

You’d buried those memories once.

Now they clawed their way back like ghosts refusing to stay dead.

He found you before you found him.

The moment you turned the corner, he was there. mask still on, black tactical gear soaked in someone else’s blood. The Winter Soldier.

His eyes locked on you. You froze.

A beat of silence.

Then he struck.

The punch came fast, a blur of metal. You barely ducked in time, the wind of it slicing past your ear. Your boot hit his shin as you twisted under him, driving your elbow into his side..no hesitation. He recovered instantly, catching your wrist mid-motion and slamming you against the wall.

You grunted as pain bloomed through your back, your vision blurring.

“Bucky,” you gasped. “It’s me. Y/N.”

His head tilted. He didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened.

“I don’t know you,” he growled. His voice was rough, mechanical—too deep and too empty. It wasn’t him.

“Then kill me,” you choked, staring straight into his eyes. “If you really don’t remember, then kill me now.”

His arm trembled.

You saw it. That flicker. That hesitation.

But it didn’t last.

He spun you and flung you down the corridor like a ragdoll. You rolled, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. The pain was blinding, your ribs screaming in protest. You barely made it to your knees when he was on you again.

You blocked two strikes. The third cracked against your jaw.

Blood filled your mouth.

You looked up at him, one eye already swelling shut.

“You used to hold me like I was breakable,” you whispered.

He froze.

“I remember the night before the train,” you said. “You kissed me like you’d never see me again. And you didn’t.”

He hesitated.

Just long enough for Steve to arrive.

“Buck—stop!”

Steve crashed into him, shield raised, slamming him into the wall with a roar. The sound of metal on vibranium echoed through the hallway.

You could only watch, crawling toward the wall for balance. The pain in your ribs was hot and deep—you’d cracked at least two.

They fought like monsters. Steve wasn’t pulling punches anymore, not this time. Not with you bleeding on the floor and Bucky standing there like a stranger.

You screamed again, voice raw. “BUCKY, PLEASE!”

And again—

Nothing.

⸻

You remembered the first time he kissed you. Really kissed you.

It was the summer of ’39, a rooftop in Brooklyn, the fireworks from the harbor painting the sky. You were sitting on the ledge, dangling your legs over the side while Bucky was rambling about taking you dancing when the world stopped ending.

You turned. “Bucky.”

He looked at you.

And then you kissed him.

He pulled you close and held you there, forehead to forehead, like he was terrified to let go.

“I think I love you,” he whispered.

“You think?” you teased, laughing softly.

“I know,” he said. “God help me, I know.”

⸻

You were sobbing now, blood pouring from your nose, your fingers barely able to curl. Steve had dropped his shield and was standing still, panting, bruised and broken.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Steve said. “You’re my friend.”

“I don’t know you,” Bucky said. His gun raised again. “I don’t know any of you.”

You stood again. Barely.

“I do,” you whispered. “I know you better than anyone. You used to sleep with your socks on because your feet were always cold. You used to sing in the shower, even though you were off-key. You used to read to me when I couldn’t sleep.”

He turned toward you slowly. The gun didn’t lower.

You stepped forward.

“You kissed me the night before you left. You said if you came back, we’d get married. You gave me your dog tags.”

“I—” His voice cracked. “Stop.”

“You called me your girl in front of the whole bar. You used to carry a picture of me in your wallet, even during missions.”

His breathing changed. Shallow. Uneven.

“You used to love me.”

He blinked, like trying to see through fog.

“I still do,” you whispered. “Even now. Even after everything.”

You took another step—and that was when he snapped.

He lunged, slamming you into the ground. The wind rushed from your lungs. His hand wrapped around your throat, not tight, but firm. Testing.

“I’m not him,” he said, though his voice trembled. “I can’t be him.”

You stared up at him, broken and unafraid.

“Then why are you crying?”

And he was.

Tears. Real tears. Cutting through the blood and grime on his face.

He let go.

He collapsed beside you like something inside him had broken, metal fingers shaking as they hovered over your wounds.

“I hurt you,” he whispered. “Oh my God, I hurt you.”

“You didn’t mean to,” you rasped, reaching up with trembling fingers to brush a tear from his cheek. “They did this to you.”

“I remember your voice,” he said, more to himself. “You used to hum. That song..uh..‘We’ll Meet Again.’ You liked that one.”

You smiled through the tears. “Because I believed it.”

“I… I remember more,” he whispered. “Your laugh. The way you called me Barnes when you were mad. Your perfume. Vanilla.”

“It was cheap,” you laughed wetly.

“It was you.”

He looked at Steve. Then back to you. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know,” you said, letting your hand drop to his. “You’re coming back.”

“Not all the way,” he said. “Pieces. Flashes.”

“It’s a start.”

You both sat in silence, broken, surrounded by flame and ruin. Steve finally approached, kneeling beside you.

“She needs medics,” he said softly.

“I’ll carry her,” Bucky said instantly. “I’ll take care of her.”

And you believed him.

Because Bucky Barnes..your Bucky.. was still there, fighting his way out of the dark.

And he remembered you.

Hours Later

The medbay was quiet.

You drifted in and out of sleep, ribs wrapped, jaw stitched, painkillers dulling the ache. But you knew you weren’t alone.

You cracked your eye open.

He was sitting in the chair beside your bed. Elbows on his knees. Dog tags in his hand—his dog tags.

“I kept them,” you whispered.

His head snapped up. “You remembered.”

“Always.”

He swallowed, eyes red. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You didn’t ask to become a weapon.”

“I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

His hand found yours.

“Can I stay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Only if you promise not to run again.”

“I’m done running,” he said. “I want to remember you. All of it. All of us.”

You smiled through the haze.

“I’ll remind you.”

And in that sterile room of quiet beeping machines and broken hearts, Bucky Barnes leaned forward and kissed you slow, trembling, aching.

It wasn’t a kiss of victory.

It was a kiss of survival.

And promise.

Because love doesn’t die easy. Not when it’s real. Not when it was the only thing strong enough to pull a broken man from the dark.

THE END

#writing #artists on tumblr #fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #x reader #avengers x y/n #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #winter solider x y/n #winter solider x reader #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier fanfiction #bucky fanfic

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yuurayuura · 8 days ago

Text

last on the line

👩🏻‍🍳 you hate being a line cook, so why do you find yourself looking forward to the shifts?

PAIRING 🍳🔪🔥 sungchan x fem!reader GENRES & AUS 🍳🔪🔥 line cook au, attempts at humor, yearning, fluff, slight angst, reader is a little hot-headed WORD COUNT 🍳🔪🔥 6.1k WARNINGS 🍳🔪🔥 suggestive, language AUTHOR’S NOTE 🍳🔪🔥 feedback appreciated! this is an old story i polished up. im going feral for sungchan lately woof woof woof

If you wanted a descriptive image of the environment: There's a lot of banging, first of all, that's a good place to start. Something is always banging, clacking, sizzling, burning, beeping, or yelling.

Loud.

"I'm gonna fucking kill myself," you say, and Sungchan's head pops around a corner. "How many?"

You look at the order. "Party of fifteen. I'm serious, I want you to carve my heart out and put it on a plate. Give them that instead. Slice it in fifteen pretty pieces."

He chuckles, and rolls his shoulders, preparing, ducking out of the way of someone passing behind with a hot pan.

Line cook. That is the last occupation you ever imagined you would have, because in every conceivable way, it is a fucking nightmare.

"You know I'm not that good with knives," Sungchan remarks, "but I could make a little soup? Heart...y soup?"

Somehow, that makes it better. You grin at him and he laughs, before running off to save his potatoes in the oven. Party of fifteen, you think, with burning hate, I hope you all die.

Sungchan is good to have around, and though you're reluctant to admit it, he makes you feel less suicidal in the kitchen. When he has a day off, it seems like the shift will never end.

He's nice to everyone, always brightening the room in grim situations, doing quick quips with the other cooks, and comforting the frightened new waiters. Everyone likes him, and keeps commenting on how he should be on the floor charming guests, which makes the tips of his ears flare red.

But no, he sticks to the kitchen, even if it's not his calling. It's a mystery to you.

"Fucking hell," you mumble, dizzy from the heat and the cleaning fumes, looking at the grill. Sparkling, for a few hours at least, before it's inevitably dirty again tomorrow.

"You in for drinks tonight?" Seunghan asks, wiping his face. "I could use one."

"I don't know," you say, hesitant. The best thing would be to go home; it always is.

Yet that rarely happens.

"Come on, Y/n, it's no fun without you," Sungchan grins. "First shot on me!"

Seunghan rolls his eyes fondly. "And now you’re joining us, right?"

"Alright, whatever," you huff, and Sungchan salutes, stalking off to get shots from the bar. Seunghan gives you a look that is easier to ignore when you're this tired.

Some of the waiters have already gathered out by the bar, and outside smoking. The lights are out over the floor, but the string lights around the counter are still on, blurring people out, making everyone somewhat fuzzy around the edges.

You laugh at some waiter's joke when Sungchan arrives with not two, but four shots, and promptly downs one.

"For you," he says, with a silly little bow, making you laugh.

"Two shots? You trying to get me drunk?"

"I would never," he says, blinking those big eyes.

"Do another," you laugh.

"Hey, you're still alive," you chuckle, when Sungchan sits down next to you on the curb out back hours later, swaying a little.

"Of course," he grins, his eyes crescent. "You... guys wouldn't last a minute without me."

"Yeah. But you're off tomorrow though, right?"

"Aw, right."

"Any cool plans?"

"Sleeeeeeeping," he sing-songs, making you laugh again.

"Hey," he says, swaying again. "Cute. Your laugh."

"You're that drunk, huh?" you grin, shaking your head. "That's it, I'm calling an uber for you."

It's a slow night, just a few tables are taken, and one of the waiters calls in sick. You draw straws in the kitchen to see which of you has to cover, and it's just your luck that you choose the shortest one. Fortunately your bestie Jina is in the bar, but unfortunately for you, Wonbin the waiter is also on duty tonight. So there really isn't much to do other than escape the thick tension whenever the two of them get too close.

Thank god for Sungchan, your saving grace, last on the line tonight so he's always the one plating your dishes up.

"Two halibut, one beef rare," he confirms, finishing up the garnish. It's just him and Sohee in the kitchen now, after they sent Eunseok home and you out on the floor. There really was no need for three cooks, and it's clear the two of them are having a good time, listening to Korean hip hop from the nineties on the shitty Bluetooth speaker.

"How is this music relatable to you kids, you weren't even born," you remark, and Sohee gasps.

"Whatever, grandma."

"Hey, at least I was a baby back then," you tease, and Sungchan looks at you, mock offended.

"Relatability isn't about whether or not you were there," he says, like an old sage. "It's about the message... the emotion... the soul..."

"Thanks," you laugh, picking up the plates. "You guys are weird."

After you leave, Sohee rolls his eyes at Sungchan, poking his side to get him to move for the next order. "Dude, you're embarrassing yourself with this."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, grabbing the order from Sohee's hand. "Get chopping, knife boy."

"These people have got to stop ordering mojitos and daiquiris," Jina sighs, carefully placing the drinks on a tray. "The blender is giving me a headache."

"I wish they would just leave already," you agree, knowing that even if they did, you couldn't close up shop. Unfortunately, that doesn't work in a restaurant, but it's a nice thought.

You manage to escape when you see Wonbin approaching the bar for the hundredth time that night, no doubt with another made-up request for napkins or an extra spoon, straw or glass.

Nearing closing time, you hang out in the kitchen door, chatting with Sungchan when you see Wonbin approaching the bar again.

"This is more entertaining than most movies," Sungchan remarks, as you two watch him lean on the counter and Jina gives him an amused look.

"Wish he would just ask her out already," you nod, chewing on a toothpick. "It's been excruciating all night, you know. I wonder where he puts all the extra stuff he asks for that no one needs."

Sungchan laughs, while Sohee clears his throat pointedly behind you, and stops scrubbing down a pan. "You know what they say about stones in glass houses, right?"

Suddenly you both remember you still have cleaning to do.

"Fuck, ow, shit," Sungchan gasps.

It's one of those days where everything goes wrong. The digital order system collapses, leaving you having to write old-school notes. That one isn't crippling; you manage to get a good system going and Shotaro finds a bell in a cupboard that you hang up and hit every time the food is ready. Then the payment system collapses. The power in the kitchen keeps dipping. To top it off, you look at Sungchan in the other end of the kitchen, holding up his bloody hand.

"Who let him touch the knives?" you yell, making your way past the four other cooks on call tonight with haste you didn't know you had left.

"Sorry, I- I just needed an extra filet, I forgot," Seunghan says.

"The meat..." Sungchan says meekly, like that is important right now. You throw the whole cutting board in the trash, meat and all. That's not a priority.

"Seunghan, Sohee, finish up and cut the last damn filet, Anton, Eunseok, do the plating, and chop those potatoes I had started. We're going in the back."

There's little drops of blood on the floor that Seunghan fortunately understands that he has to clean up without you having to snap at him. You grab the first aid kit in one hand and lead Sungchan by the other, back to the break room where there's no one else.

"You know you can't fucking slice for shit, what the fuck are you doing cutting filet," you bite, practically flinging Sungchan down and onto the couch.

He wisely doesn't respond, and watches you rummage through the kit to find gauze and cleaning supplies.

"I can do it myself you know-" he starts, but shuts his mouth after an icy stare.

"I'm fucking doing it so I know it's good enough," you snap, "because apparently this is what happens when you work with children, who can't..."

You trail off and wonder why you're so emotional about this. Sure, it's been a day from hell, and this is just enough to send you over the edge. But even so, even if you can't see yourself from the outside, you know this is an overreaction.

"I'm sorry," Sungchan says, voice barely above a whisper as you wrap his hand in gauze. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

"Don't."

"Why are you so angry? I just tried to help, the orders were piling up and Seunghan was struggling to get everything done, so I thought I should help out. Is that so fucking wrong?"

He gets up and you're so angry, it doesn't make sense but you are, that you consider asking him to go home. Maybe you should be the one to go.

"Thanks," he mumbles, looking confused, hurt, and defeated, raising his bandaged hand.

"I'm angry," you realize, "because you could have seriously hurt yourself."

Sungchan stops on the way out.

"Those knives are really sharp, and you could have cut deep, through muscle. Nerves. If you had cut your tendons, you could have destroyed your hand. Jesus Christ, you could have lost a finger."

"Y/n," Sungchan says, carefully. "I suck, but I'm not gonna cut off my fingers..."

"You do suck," you agree, with a little smile. "Why can't you work on the floor? Seriously. You know you'd be good at it."

"I... don't know," he says. "I like it in the kitchen."

He looks at you with his doe eyes, and you feel yourself soften, shoulders coming down to somewhere resembling their usual height. His hair is that light brown shade you like and shaggy enough that it makes him look soft and pretty.

"No more knives," you warn, pulling yourself out of it. "I mean it."

"No more knives, yes, ma'am," he echoes.

"And the next slow day, I'm sending you to Eunseok for knife school. Got it? You're a hazard."

"Hazard, knife school, got it," he says, nodding sternly to himself, and it makes you smile again.

"I'm sorry, Chanie. Forgive me?"

"Oh, you just love me, nothing to forgive."

So, back to being brazenly confident again, that's good, you think.

There's tension in the kitchen when you get back, but a weight seems to lift when they see no one is angry or bleeding anymore.

You apologize to them for overreacting, and for five whole minutes, there's respectful peace. Until Eunseok decides to speak up.

"So, you two had a little... spat? A... quarrel?"

There's no doubt he intentionally emitted a word - a fact that no one misses. Anton snickers.

"Shut it," you say, biting back a smile.

Usually in a kitchen, even if it's just a regular restaurant like this one, there would be a hierarchy. Maybe if someone had gone to culinary school for more than a single year (Eunseok) there would be, but there isn't. So, naturally, the most experienced one takes charge, at least a little bit, and usually things flow on their own.

You all know each other enough that dividing up tasks is intuitive - like, no knives for Sungchan. Everyone knows this, and he's got the scars to prove it.

"There's really no need for you to be here today," you say, glancing over at Sungchan's still injured hand. It's been professionally wrapped at the hospital, and he's wearing lots of plastic and a glove to protect the food, but still. "You can go home and heal, we can call Sohee in."

"I'm healing fine," he says, stirring the sauce in trained motions, like that simple task is any indication at all of the state of the arm.

It's right before the dinner rush, and as usual, the people on prepping shifts have not prepped enough. Somehow, they always get it wrong, and everyone knows it's not their fault because it varies so much from day to day, but it's still incredibly annoying.

"We're short on potatoes, garlic, stock... Most everything," Eunseok says, grimacing as he reads off the list and looks at the numbers of reservations for the night.

"And pasta," Sungchan adds, elbows deep in the mixer to get the dough out. Eunseok sighs.

"But we have enough fish for three days," you say, stacking filets into neat little piles. "That's something."

Turns out, you didn't even have enough fish. Half of it was put in the freezer, which turns out to be a huge mistake, leaving you having to try and thaw several kilos of halibut and salmon at the last minute.

Then Shotaro, who's hosting tonight, comes through the door to tell you thirty unannounced guests have arrived, just as Anton's huge pot of pasta tips over.

It's not his fault. No one told him that the counter he put the pot on had a bad leg that was meant to be fixed next week, and could in no way support a heavy pot. So now there's pasta and water all over the floor of the kitchen, Anton looks like he's about to cry, and Shotaro slips on a piece of tagliatelle.

"I..." you start, but no more words come out. Instead, you put down the plates you were garnishing, and slide between pieces of pasta on the floor out the door that leads to the backyard.

Sungchan finds you there, behind the loading dock to the warehouse.

You don't want to cry, but there's no getting past it today. So Sungchan sits down next to you and puts an arm carefully around your shoulders.

"I don't want this job," you sniffle, and Sungchan squeezes your shoulder. "I just have to pay my bills."

"I know," he assures, leaning his head on yours.

"I don't even like cooking," you continue, wiping tears on your sleeve. The uniform is dirty now, anyway. "It's one fucking thing after another in there. I'm done."

"Hey," Sungchan says, his voice much calmer than you've felt for ages. "Tomorrow we can quit together, how about that."

He nudges you gently, and you can't help but laugh at the mental image of the two of you marching together to hand in resignations.

"But right now, we need you. You're that load-bearing leg that was missing under the pasta pot. We're falling apart."

"You're funny," you smile. "But I'm not, Eunseok is there. And Seunghan."

"Yeah, but we still need you to tell them to stop bickering, and find some good music to clean up to. You're the only one who knows where the kitchen's phone book is, to call the repair man. And where to find those band aids with the animals on them to make Shotaro smile again. I'll go with you, and we'll get through it together. You know what a great team we are, right?"

You look at him in the low light, beautiful, tired from the shift, and still pulling through. Taking the time to sit out here with you, coax you to come back inside, and insist that you're an important part of the team. Whether that is true or not.

Suddenly you feel like crying again, for different reasons.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," you say, and watch his face light up in a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Chanie."

"Anytime," he says, like he means it.

When you get back inside, Eunseok has already set the team in motion to clean up, and Shotaro is only a little freaked out by the scratch on his forehead. You find the band aids as promised, and help Sungchan calm Anton down, who is in a little bit of a spiral.

In the end, it turns out the thirty guests weren't even eating, they just hung out at the bar. With a little help behind the counter, everything goes smoothly for the rest of the night.

There's not even a question of drinks tonight, it's just Shotaro immediately grabbing beers from the fridge and getting his little writing pad out to keep inventory, before he starts handing them out.

"Yuck," you complain, after a tentative sip of the beer. Sungchan laughs.

"Give it here, I'll steal you something from the bar."

Jina gives you a look, people have been doing that a lot lately, and it's starting to get to you.

"Sungchan, you don't have to-"

He's gone with a flash of that signature grin, your beer in his hand.

"How's that working out?" Jina asks, less than subtly.

"Sohee said something the other day about stones in glass houses," you shrug, and Jina's smile fades somewhat.

"Alright, I'm leaving it."

"Fair game."

It's not like you and Sungchan always stick together. Most times, if Jina's been working, you hang out until she goes home, and then you somehow end up by Sungchan's side or vice versa. It's just a thing that happens, and if Sungchan isn't there, you hang out with Anton, Seunghan or really anyone else on the kitchen staff.

So, you don't really get why it's become this thing that people seem to be noticing, because of course, you're bound to have friends that you like hanging out with more than others, and that you have better chemistry with. Doesn't mean that there's necessarily something more going on.

"This is my own creation," Sungchan says, sitting down next to you with a drink in hand that looks experimental, to put it gently. "It's rum, some other booze, something green, lime, and a dash of something from a small bottle."

"Sounds promising," you say, dryly, accepting the drink.

You take a sip, against your better judgment, cringing at the blend. "This is awful. Thank you."

"Cheers," he grins.

It's a bit unclear how it happens, but you find yourself later that night on Sungchan's couch, looking up at the pictures on his walls.

He lives in a big building, and you've never been there before, only ever heard tales of Sungchan and Shotaro's famous after-parties. They live separately, but the apartments face each other. With the doors open, it's ridiculous how well it works for a late night get together. The crowd naturally splits up into smaller groups, Shotaro has the dance floor, Sungchan has snacks and some movie playing on the TV. People come and go in between, but you find yourself content and sleepy, sinking further into the pillows.

On their own, your eyes find Sunchan across the room. He's talking to someone from the bar, but he's looking at you, so softly it almost seems unfair. When your gazes meet, a smile spreads on his face, like a secret between you. He has the sense to look a little embarrassed about it, as you turn back to the pictures, unable to stop smiling.

You're drunk enough that you can admit how beautiful he looks tonight, all soft in his hoodie and pajama pants, a look you never would have got to see had you not been at his place. It feels strangely intimate, even if there's tons of other people around, it feels like it might actually be just the two of you. The experience of hearing his laugh trill across the room, mixed with the barely audible TV and the music from across the hall, is so comforting, you could fall asleep here and be perfectly happy.

Tomorrow you work late, and it feels like for once you don't have a single worry.

You must have closed your eyes, because distantly you can hear Sungchan's voice, and feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, sleepy," he says, and you crack an eye open to find him next to you on the couch, looking fond and amused, and maybe some other things you're not reading into.

"Mm," you hum, and resist the urge to tuck yourself into his side, see what it feels like to fall asleep on him. It looks very inviting. "You look like a big pillow right now."

Sungchan chuckles, his eyes practically sparkling. "I bet. You want me to call an uber for you?"

You look at him, and it seems like time slows. His hand is in yours—when did it get there? It's just the two of you, nothing else really matters, and you really, really don't want the moment to end.

"Do you want me to go?" you ask, in a voice that feels a little too vulnerable, watching how he swallows. Is he nervous?

"No," he says, after a beat, the tips of his ears red. "Selfishly, I don't."

"Okay," you say, and you both crack a smile, not really knowing what to do with that information.

"You could... I mean, my bed is..." Sungchan scratches his neck, and shakes his head, embarrassed. "I'm starting over. If you want to stay here, I can take the couch."

He's still holding your hand, and it feels so nice, thumb tracing a little pattern.

Any other time, you would have gone home. You certainly wouldn't want to put Sungchan out like this, make him sleep on his own couch. But you're so tired, and comfortable, and tonight the thought of leaving him is unfathomable.

You let him lead you to his bedroom, and the lull of noise from the party gets quieter, until it's just a soft hum far away. Sungchan says something about a charger for your phone, but he looks so good, and you feel so much, it's a bit hard to concentrate.

Finally, you climb under his covers and the whole bed smells like him- it's like being wrapped in Sungchan, except he stands on the side and looks at you with a little smile.

"Goodnight," he says, so quiet and gentle, it's barely above a whisper.

"Chanie," you say, before you can stop yourself. "Can you stay? Just a little while?"

He doesn't even say anything, just smiles, and gets right in on the other side. Wishful thinking makes it seem like he was waiting for you to ask.

His hand finds yours again, and you sigh contently.

"I'm sorry for asking a lot tonight," you mumble, and Sungchan's eyes are so beautiful, shining in the faint light from the window.

"You haven't. Besides, you can ask anything of me," he smiles, squeezing your hand. "Always."

"Two salmon, one Alfredo," Wonbin announces, to Anton's soft "copy that," on the other side of the plating station.

It's been three hours since the shift started, you're all in the zone, working like this is what you've done all your lives. Anton is the starter, Eunseok does meats, you're on sides and condiments and Sungchan does the plating.

There is an undeniable tension between you and Sungchan, it's something unfinished. Gnawing.

When you woke up that morning, you initially thought you had a strange, but good dream—until you looked around and realized it all actually happened. You lied there for a moment, listening to Sungchan's soft snores next to you, and had a small, internal crisis.

Eventually, you had to get home to shower and get dressed before work. You decided it was best to let him know, and not disappear like some stranger in the night. Besides, it's not like anything really happened, it was all platonic-ish, and you could probably play it off as nothing.

That was, until he turned around and looked at you, sleepy-eyed and smiling lazily. He'd lifted an arm to shield his eyes from the light, all tan and beautiful. Eyes blinking at you slowly.

There's only so long you can fool yourself.

You had rushed out of there, assured him everything was fine, but apparently very unconvincingly, because he also texted you on the way home ´are u sure ur fine?? ur good?'

And it was fine, of course.

Wasn't it?

It's quiet in the kitchen, save for the usual sizzling, clanging, and chopping. Anton and Eunseok share a pointed glance that goes unnoticed by you and Sungchan.

You put on some music, but don't really listen. Only focus on reducing the sauce, checking the potatoes and pasta, and keeping time on the four things you have cooking at once.

"Y/n," Anton says, to no reaction. "Y/n?"

"Shit, sorry," you mumble, smiling at him. "What were you saying?"

There's a late delivery of groceries that you need to accept, and help load out back. It's always a welcome break, so they let you do it. While you're gone, the boys have a tête-à-tête.

Sungchan knows they're going to ask, so he busies himself stirring and checking the things you left. Eunseok clears his throat.

"What exactly happened between you two?"

"Yeah," Anton chimes, a worried line appearing on his forehead. "It's normal for her to be quiet, but you never shut up. What's going on?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, which is only half a lie. It's met with unimpressed looks on both ends.

"Did you do something weird?" Eunseok says, and Anton nods like that must be it.

"I didn't do anything!" he exclaims, exasperated. "If... If I did, I don't know exactly what."

A waiter comes by to pick a few dishes up, so they all shut it, and he looks around nervously in the silence before he leaves.

Sungchan explains the situation, how you stayed over, made him get in the bed with you even after he said he could sleep on the couch. He leaves out the part where he held your hand, because he fears it might be what they nail him for. Really, he could drunkenly hold any of his friends' hands at any time (even if he knows this is different).

They look at him like he's a moron, but the reason is unclear to him.

"What?"

"How long are you going to drag this out?" Eunseok groans. "Just tell her. Do something. What are you waiting for?"

He tries to protest, get them to understand that he doesn't know for sure how you feel, and Anton shakes his head in a laugh.

"Everyone knows she likes you. Are you that dense?"

In that moment, the back door swings open, and you find them all turning back to their respective tasks at lightening speed. Sungchan's ears are bright red, Anton looks fondly annoyed, and Eunseok has a mirthful glint in his eyes.

"Hey, Sungchanie, this is about to burn," you say, carefully nudging his shoulder when you pass. It's more than you've talked all night.

"Yes, chef, sorry, chef!" he says, mock-saluting you, and grinning huge when it makes everyone laugh.

After that, things thankfully go back to normal, even if the pink blush on his ears persists.

"No, no, no," you protest, when Eunseok suggests post-shift drinks in the bar. "What are you people made of? We just drank a bunch yesterday."

"Some more than others," he smirks, receiving a half-hearted slap on the arm.

"Either way, no thanks," you say, sticking your tongue out at him. "I can finish up here, you guys are free to go."

Anton and Eunseok look expectedly at Sungchan, who almost feels a little ashamed that he anyway goes "I'll help!" just for being so obvious.

The two of you are left alone, and even if you small talk, the tension is back full force. The counters are clean, so you get to scrubbing the grill, cleaning empty containers, putting up chairs in the break room. It's the last shift of the week, and fortunately the overtime is paid.

The last thing to do is tidy and check the pantry. It's not really a job for two people, it's kind of cramped in there, and you keep knocking your shoulders together.

It feels like words are burning in your throat. You want to say something so badly, want to reach out and pull him in, feel his warmth. Stand so close you have to look up to meet his gaze.

You can't do any of those things though, for fear of making things weird, losing a friend, and messing up the dynamic for the other people you two have to meet on a daily basis.

This really shouldn't be that complicated.

"I'll lock up," you say, and Sungchan looks like he wants to say something too, but can't quite get it out.

Maybe that's for the best.

"Let me walk you home, at least," he says, chewing his lip like he does when there's something on his mind. He stands in the backyard while you input the code for the alarm, and when you turn to face him again, he looks almost forlorn.

You walk in relative silence, Sungchan with his hands in his pockets. In what seems like no time at all, you arrive at the building where you live.

You almost can't bear to look at him, for fear of what you'll see in his eyes. It's a strange dilemma, because it feels like he's trying to be considerate by not saying anything. You can't know for sure, but that's how it seems, and maybe that's why you also can't speak. A pitiful cycle.

Sungchan kicks a pebble on the steps and watches it bounce away from the curb.

"I'll see you Monday?" he says, and the sad twinge in his voice is what finally makes you look into his eyes.

"Yeah," you breathe, watching how the wind moves his hair, brushing the side of his face. You want to reach out and run your fingers through it, imagining how he would lean into it and close his eyes. His hands are still securely in the pockets of his jacket, and you wonder if they long to reach out, like yours do.

He's beautiful, like he always is and always has been, with his brown doe eyes and cheeks pink from the cold.

"See you Monday, Chanie."

He nods, and watches you step inside, biting the corner of his lip as he leaves you to your tormenting thoughts.

The days off are horrible. You keep pacing around your apartment, missing meals, spiraling. Monday comes incredibly slow and painful, so much so that you show up forty-five minutes before the shift starts. Suffice to say you're surprised when you find you aren't even the first one there, seeing Sungchan's scuffed Adidas haphazardly abandoned in front of his locker.

So much for avoiding the inevitable.

To dread going to work is not a new feeling by any means, but to feel that way because you have to face Sungchan is a new low point in your life. That always used to cheer you up, before.

You find him by some mysterious instinct, maybe the same innate magnetism that always has you ending up next to each other. He's got the radio on playing oldies in the kitchen while he stacks boxes in the storage room. You allow yourself two seconds of looking at his broad back before you make yourself known.

"Hi," you say, trying not to startle him.

He turns with big eyes. "Hi? Is the shift starting already?"

"No, no," you assure, sitting down on a nearby crate. "It's still forty minutes away. I'm just early, but not as early as you, I guess. When did you get here?"

Even in the low light, you can see the tips of his ears turn pink.

"Uh, like, an hour ago," he says, sheepish. "I couldn't sleep, anyway."

"Me neither," you confess, smiling even if it's not particularly funny.

He's already got his uniform on, the white fabric making his tan skin look even tanner. His sleeves are rolled up, and his free hand twists anxiously on a loose thread. Neither of you know where to look.

This won't do, you realize; you can't shut up about something for fear of fucking things up and making it weird between you, if that's going to happen anyway - for no good reason. If your friendship has to suffer, it should be for more than this.

"We should talk," you say, and Sungchan looks at you with his deer in the headlights look again.

You meet him halfway, and he looks genuinely scared for something you don't quite know. It makes you smile, because it seems he thinks you're going to tell him you're dying, or something. The smile seems to relax him somewhat.

You mean to say that he means a lot to you, and that's why this is scary, and difficult. It means potentially losing someone you care for deeply, not to mention there's a reason you shouldn't date coworkers, etcetera. But maybe that applies more if you actually like the job, and want to keep it.

Of course, the words won't come.

Sungchan looks at you so intently. There's a hint of a smile on his own lips now, like he can see the gears turning in your head. Suddenly, it's like you're transported back to that night, when you were alone in a crowded room, and all you wanted to was to lean in and feel his lips against yours.

Before you can do much to realize it, you find your body moving. And when Sungchan understands what you're doing, there's no turning back.

You crash together, and Sungchan gasps into your mouth, hands finding your waist to pull you closer. You thread your fingers through the short hair at his nape, and feel your pulse race to impossible heights as you press against the shelves.

He grins at you when you get some distance.

"I can't believe you," he mumbles, hands in yours, ears burning red. "I was sure that would never happen."

"I was too," you admit, almost worried again when you start thinking. But before you can get into it, Sungchan pulls you in for a hug, holding you tight.

"We'll figure it out together, like we always do," he says, sure as anything. "We're a great team, aren't we?"

"The best," you say, into his neck, feeling increasingly emotional. "You're the best."

There's no time to figure much out right there, because the rest of the staff are bound to start clocking in any minute.

For the rest of the day, it's a secret, not that you're excellent at hiding it, but it seems no one really catches on.

Sungchan follows you into the pantry after lunch and steals a heated kiss, and all in all, it's the best day at work you've ever had.

"What's going on?~" Anton sing-songs, leaning against Shotaro's fridge as you mix a drink, some ABBA remix on the speakers in the living room.

"Don't know what you mean, Ton," you smile, slightly guilty, thoughts already drifting to Sungchan and how good he looks tonight.

Anton rolls his eyes. "Your drink is trash. I'll mix it for you."

You watch him redo the drink with surprising finesse, rummaging around Shotaro's fridge more familiarly than you would dare to.

"I'll give it to you if you spill the beans," he smiles, evilly, for someone so sweet.

You laugh. "Enjoy your drink, Anton."

"Fine," he pouts, handing it to you.

"I'll tell you when there's something to tell," you promise.

You're not avoiding Sungchan. On the contrary, you want to be glued to his side like a koala, smell his mouth-watering perfume and kiss his neck. But it's too much too soon, you haven't had a chance to catch up since the shift, and you know everyone's eyes are on you two.

That's why you're keeping your distance, to try and seem more nonchalant than you are. But you still shoot him brilliant smiles when your eyes meet, so he won't get the wrong idea. He seems to get it, and maybe he's thinking the same thing you are.

As the night progresses, and the alcohol content in your blood gets higher, this becomes exceedingly difficult.

Inevitably, you meet in Sungchan's kitchen by accident, and again the tension is astronomical. This time, though, it's not uncertain and anxious, just hot and electric and wonderful.

The lighting is low in there, and unless someone else comes in, no one will see how he pins you against the counter, hands firmly on your hips.

"This is killing me," he admits, pupils blown out, squeezing you like it's something he can't help or control.

You should talk, maybe go on a real date, away from people, to figure out what this is and where it's going. But there's no way to do that right now, and there's no time. The places he's touching you are on fire, you need to feel him, need him closer.

It's not that reckless. You already know each other to a certain extent, you're already friends, there's a foundation to build on.

"Take me to your room," you say, not really meaning for it to sound like a commando, but Sungchan's eyes widen anyway, and maybe you file that information away for later.

"Aye, aye," he smiles, his cheeks red.

84 notes · View notes

reverseexorcist · 1 year ago

Text

★ 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 ★

Wow just realised this entire time my asks have been off woopsie ●_● Should be fixed now.

Anyway, since y'all went feral over this dynamic (and I can't blame you), here's more of Carmilla with her adopted fallen angel child.

I know I said part 2, but I'm honestly considering making this a sort've slice-of-life series seeing as I absolutely love this dyanmic and I'm having some serious brainrot over these two.

Part 1 ↫ Right Here

➲ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 Carmine + !Fallen Angel!Reader

➲ Romantic ☐, Platonic ☒

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 3,662 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Female reader, somewhat depressed reader, minor mentions of gore, sleep deprived writing, potential ooc Carmilla, mother mode Carmilla increased

Getting used to your new life required more effort than you ever thought was ever needed. Getting used to living in hell was a chore in of itself, and quite a tedious one, and getting used to the new family you now found yourself surrounded by only piled on a tad more stress.

Unlike heaven, the land below was almost always swathed in some sort've darkness - There was literally no day night cycle at all and it was fucking with your head. Your poor circadian rhythm was completely thrown all over the place when three in the morning was just as bright at two in the afternoon. Not to mention the smoke ever present in the air. You weren't sure which you hated more between the two.

(Probably the air. You actually liked it when you breathed and didn't hack up a lung.)

It was a lot, especially when you were getting used to your new wingless life.

(Which sucked, by the way. Every time your fight or flight response kicked in, you found yourself straining your back muscles trying to lift off with nothing to support you and it made you want to cry every single time it happened.)

However, all of this was way better than what could've happened had Carmilla not saved your life. Your back still ached and the phantom pain still tortured you at night, the feather-fluff nubs of your old wings only served as a painful reminder. As much as you hated to admit it, often times you'd spend the entire night longing for the newly comforting touch of your adopted mother figure…

Wow. That felt weird to admit. That and a whole lot of other repressed emotions and memories.

You groaned and sighed, clutching your head and threading your fingers through your tussled bedhair. Your back muscles flexed, the sound of rustling feathers muffled by the mattress. The sensation was weird enough to make you 'gwak', roll on to your stomach and faceplant into your pillow. It was more natural that way, anyway - When one has wings it was rather difficult to sleep on your back, afterall, at least after your first growth spurt. You never thought you would miss the feeling, but you fought to find any silver lining in your new life. And in a world that was mostly shades of red, silver was quite a luxury.

Your somewhat depressing quiet time was broken by the gentle tapping of steel carefully approaching your room.

"Mi peque?" You didn't have the energy to jump, already having heard the delicate 'tink' of Carmilla's pointed shoes against the hardword floor of your new home. Her silhouette took up most of the doorway, the faint light spilling in from the hallway making the angelic steel decorating her body glow, much like the warm lull of her crimson eyes. Your head tiltied to the side to stare at her, but otherwise you made no movement.

She blinked once and ducked her head to step into your room. If you were, well, you from about a week ago, you probably would've been shitting bricks at the sight. It was lowkey terrifying, mostly because Carmilla was so much taller than you and had the expression of a constantly pissed off commander or something. However, it didn't scare you - Mostly because your worst nightmare had already come true.

"Can't sleep?" Her voice was soft, something that completely contrasted her outward exterior. It was soothing, though, and you found yourself not caring when she settled herself on the end of your bed.

(Your new bed. Your new bed that you could, for once, comfortably stretch out on.)

"Something like that," You mumbled, practically whispered. Your eyes glowed much like Carmilla's, like a mischevious cat from your spot hidden under your multiple blankets. "It's, mm, weird. Sleeping by myself."

Her eyebrow quirked, a silent invitation to continue if you wanted to. Maybe? Emotions were still hard to read for you.

"Well, because I'm used to sleeping in the barracks with the rest of my platoon. It's apparently really comforting, seeing as I haven't had a good sleep since I got here," You grappled your blankets a little tighter, as if doing so would provide you with some sort've phantom comfort that you secretly longed for.

A breath of silence hung steadily in the air, as if both your minds were churning on what to say next.

"I'm sorry."

"M'sorry."

You both said at the same time, which seemed just a little cliche. Slinking out from underneath your covers, you couldn't help by eye the demon across from you warily.

"Why're you sorry?"

"Because, I'll admit, I'm a little rusty," She reached up and untied her buns, letting her hair loosen and tumble down her back. "It's been a while since my girls were young like you-" You scoffed, which prompted an amused smirk "And it's not like I know anything about taking care of an angel."

"Well, you're doing better than what they were doing up there," You blankly motioned upwards where the pearly gates shone brightly in the sky like a constant sun. "Plus, I'd say you're dealing with me as gracefully as you can."

"Elaborate?" Carmila carded her fingers through her hair, tilting her head curiously. The mountain on your shoulders threatened to stumble, and by god you were ready to let it fall.

"Well, it's not like any heaven-born has parents. Heaven was always all about equality and shit, and every single child was raised by the community. And yeah, it was all rainbows and crap because everyone was loved mostly equally, but it sucked because I was always just another nestling that someone had to keep an eye on," You brought your knees up to your chest. "That's why, when the lieutenant gave me her offer I didn't refuse, cause I thought 'wow, someone noticed me!' and it was a feeling I chased ever since."

It felt nice to let it all out for once. Not like anyone else around you back then really cared, cause they all went through the same thing.

Beside you, the covers rustled. Carmilla opened her arms wordlessly, minutely enough that if you didn't want to, you could probably brush the motion off as stretching. But, the warmth the she radiated was sorely tempting, and your little serotonin deprived brain was severly touch-starved.

Wow, four days into your new life, and you found yourself snuggling into the arms of one of Hell's overlords. And, sullying the lord's name, by god you loved it.

Not a single word had to be uttered between the two of you, not as long as you didn't want it. That was the silent message that you both clearly understood.

It kind've made you want to cry, if you were being honest with yourself. In a place that had seemingly been perfect, you found your life lacking, and in the burning pits of eternal damnation, you'd found yourself feeling loved for the first time since you could remember. The way Carmilla's hold around you grew tighter, just ever so slightly - A comforting weight draped across your shoulders as you leaned into her warmth. That, along with her mellow breathing, it felt homely and nostalgic.

Tugging your blankets a little tighter around yourself, you didn't even fight the way your eyelids drooped.

Two weeks.

It felt like a lot longer, but you'd been living in hell for fourteen days, and it already felt like you'd been living here for months.

Well, it certainly didn't help that you never really left the main house. Like, ever. And you, for one, weren't complaining. The burning pits of Hell left much to be desired, and as a little angel who hadn't even had her first adult moult yet, you didn't really fancy going galavanting off around Hell, even if Carmilla was hovering over your shoulder like a helicopter parent.

Still, after the first week where you'd discovered and explored all the places that you were allowed to (the allure of the armory was great, but the potential wrath of an angry demon was greater), there wasn't really anything to do around the house. Sure, it was probably one of the safest places in the eternal firepit, but neither Carmilla nor Clara and Odette were ever really around, and it left you bored out of your mind.

Sprawled out across a rather decadent couch, soaking up the hellfire from outside, you found yourself wishing that something would happen that would hopefully prevent your mind from rotting further. But, if the big man from upstairs was paying attention, he surely must've hated you, because literally nothing was happening.

Unless…

You sat up, straining your ears.

Nope. Absolutely nothing.

You flopped backwards dramatically, back of your hand against your forehead and all.

Maybe, if you still had your weapon, you could've spent your time training or practicing or something. There was a training room somewhere in the house, and you weren't explicitly banned from using it, and it wasn't exactly a useless way to spend your time.

(At least that way you'd be able to get some reasonable exercise in rather than just moping around all day.)

Maybe that was something you could ask Carmilla later. She wasn't the type to be against learning self defense, however you had no idea if even she deemed yourself too young to learn how to fight. She certainly was not happy when she found out about how you were sent to fight with baby feathers still warming your wings, that was for sure.

At least you had something to talk about when she got home.

…

"You want to learn how to fight?" As expected, Carmilla didn't seem entirely thrilled at your idea.

"Not necessarily. Just, how to use weapons?" It was more of a question than an answer, but it seemed to ease the tenseness in her shoulders.

"What type of weapons? Swords? Spears? Firearms?" She fixed you with a look. "If you want to get started, the first thing you could do is be a little more specific."

Which was certainly not the answer you were expecting, so you took a few moments to blue screen.

"Well, I wasn't too fond of using spears… Swords don't sound to appealing either…" Your eyes started drifting, and soon you found that your real answer was right in front of you.

"If possible," You wrung your hands nervously, "could I use shoes like you do?"

Honestly, Carmilla's unique fighitng style had piqued your interest ever since your head became clear enough to notice. Having your hands free sounded more appealing than lugging around a heavy blade.

The demoness paused for a moment, completely silent as she studied you with a stern gaze. It wasn't negative or positive, if anything it was most likely calculative. You weren't entirely stupid, even if you were young, and you weren't naive. Carmilla was weighing the pros and cons of teaching you her trade.

"Why? They aren't exactly easy to use," That wasn't a no, at least.

"I don't like melee weapons, not hand-held ones at least," There was more to your answer that Carmilla already knew. Months of cycling through weapons till you landed on one you could somewhat use you realised that you absolutely hated using hand-held weapons.

Carmilla sighed, a small smile appearing on her face.

"Okay, but it's not like I have spare angelic steel laying around. We'll have to wait till I can melt more down," She mused, almost seeming excited about crafting you your own weapon. But her words only confused you more.

"But, we do, don't we?" You furrowed your brows.

"The steel in the armory is meant for prepaid orders-"

"I was talking about my old helmet," You hoped that didn't sound too rude, interupting her. "I mean, the entire thing is is technically angelic. I don't know if it's steel exactly, but I know for a fact it's just as solid!" Now you were the one musing.

Like mother like daughter, almost.

"We could certainly try…" The two of you shared a look.

"Like… Right now?" You prodded almost mischeviously.

Tired as she was, Carmilla couldn't help but falter and smile, your enthusiasm almost contagious.

"Well, we can have a look."

After that it was only a matter of days. Carmilla was far more invested in your new project than you had expected, and even Clara and Odette had briefly joined in, if only to get a sneak peak at the workings behind an exorcists helmet. For the briefest of moments, with all four of you crowded around a table with tidy plans sprawled all over its surface, it almost felt like you were a family. Which, did prompt a stray thought in your head.

After gently pulling the threads of angelic steel from the rivets in the helmet's horns, you couldn't help but bundle them to your chest. They weren't exactly big, nothing compared to the horns of a full fledged exorcist, but they were still something.

So, while your mo-… Carmilla was busy melting down the odd, almost obsidian material of your old helmet in preparation of your new shoes, you were busy tinkering away with your own little side project. Of course, it was hard to explain the various little burns marks littered across your palms that had started appearing, but that didn't deter you one bit.

In fact, during this time, you found yourself shyly approaching the taller of Carmilla's other daughters, Odette.

One thing about her that confused you was the fact that her horns were fake, merely attatched to the band that held her hair up. But right now, that was exactly what you needed.

It was a sweet sight, honestly, at least to Carmilla.

You were huddled against Odette, listening with rapt attention as she explained something to you, finger brushing against what was most likely some sort've plan.

With a smile, Carmilla got back to work.

At the end of it all, you were left with a pair of shoes similar to the overlord's. Pointed and shiny. Sharp and deadly, yet oddly comfortable. The only key difference was the colour - Forged from the scrapped glass of your old helmet, the shoes were jet black inlaid with threads of silver, trailing all the way up the ballet ribbons.

And with your shoes, a matching set of your own horns. Odette seemed proud at the sight of you with small, obsidian horns branching from your head, unable to stand still as you clutched your new weapons to your chest gleefully.

There was a massive learning curve to your new weapons, but at least you weren't bored around the house anymore. Most of your time over the next month had been dedicated to learning how to move around in your new shoes, building both the strength and balance so you could walk, let alone run. So many bruises had been blemished into your skin, but in the end you were able to walk almost as easily as Carmilla did.

(Of course, the demoness had way more experience under her belt, but you were still doing pretty damn well.)

And during that time, the bond between you, Clara and Odette had only grown. Sure, they were only around as much as their mother, but after donning your horns, it seemed whatever barrier that had been built between you and the sisters had been torn down. Seeing as the two could also walk en pointe like their mother, many a helpful tip had been shared from them which served to get you walking faster.

It was endearing as it was funny to watch.

But, being couped up inside all day everyday was starting to wear you down, which was certainly starting to show with the way your pep had slowed down significantly.

With a heavy heart, Carmilla finally unleashed you on the world outside, accompanied by Clara and Odette.

In reality, you were just tailing behind the sisters on one of their usual deliveries. This way you could stretch your legs and practice on terrain other than the smooth floors of your home, which, while it was more difficult, was learnt within no time.

As dreary as the place looked, there were certainly sights to see around ever different corner. You'd found yourself tempted to wander off every five minutes or so, especially when you passed by a rather bright looking… hotel? The entire vibe seemed friendly and inviting, unlike the rest of Hell, but you really didn't fancy getting lost, so sticking close by Clara and Odette was the most sane option in the moment.

Or, at least that was the plan.

Really, with your head on a swivel trying to grasp every sight and sound (which you regretted not a moment later) you'd lost sight of the sisters and found yourself completely by your lonesome.

Which… Fuck.

That wasn't the most ideal position, especially when you really couldn't do more than walk in your new shoes, but they couldn't have gotten far, right?

You were wrong. Turning either corners of the street yielded no Clara or Odette, which only made your heart sink further into your stomach because you really didn't fancy getting cornered in an alley.

Backtracking, you tried your hardest to think. Perhaps, if you could find your way back to the hotel, someone there could help you? It was wishful thinking, because this was Hell after all, but the aura was so different compared to the rest of the ring of wrath that maybe, just this once, luck would be on your side.

But of course, since this was you, luck was mercilessly right out of your reach. Not a moment later, a rambunctious howl pierced the air and a group - a pack? Of hellhounds started approaching you. Which, y'know, wasn't good, especially with the way their ears were pinned back and grins plastered across their faces.

Oh shit.

You started speed walking away, or your best attempt at it, in what you hoped was the direction of the hotel. Down in the streets without either of your guides, it all seemed like one continuous labarynth of red, LEDs and very questionable stores. And, as it turned out, lots of dead ends that you could easily get cornered in.

With the blood thrumming in your ears, heart pumping in your chest loud enough that it shook your head and just the general sense of 'oh shit I am so fucked', you really didn't pay attention to whatever the hounds were spouting off about. Lots of snapping of teeth and snarls, some crude gestures that made your gut twist anxiously and your feathers rustle nervously.

(You were seriously considering using a shoe as a knife. It wasn't like it was impossible with how sharp they were.)

At least, that was your train of thought. Until a resounding bang pretty much deafended you, echoing a chorus of ringing in your ears as the middlemost hound collapsed, head exploding with the force of the bullet that lodged itself firmly within the back of his disintegrated skull.

With dramatic timing, the others peered over their shoulders, only to be met with the towering, thoroughly pissed off form of Carmilla Carmine.

The barrel of her rifle was tinted with holy silver, but she seemed perfectly happy and prepared to behead them with a well placed kick. Whichever worked, you knew Carmilla prioritised your safety over the method of execution in the end. And in the end, the alley was scattered with various corpses in various states of limb loss, and you were carefully toted away in the arms of Carmilla.

She was furious. Probably. Maybe. You couldn't really tell. her face was completely stoney, and you were still awful when it came to identifying emotions. You assumed most of the anger had been taken out on the unsuspecting assholes that had cornered you. And for some reason, that only made you more anxious.

Not being able to tell what she was thinking was off. Back in Heaven, you could tell when Lute was pissed off, or proud, or indifferent, or whatever other emotion she was feeling at the time because she didn't really give two shits about what the recruits thought of her. And at least that way you could prepare on how to react. If she was angry, you knew to stay out of her way. If she looked indifferent, you knew you had to work harder in training. If she was proud, well, also best to stay out of her way so you didn't ruin her mood.

You whimpered and huddled a little closer. Carmilla clutched you a little tighter.

"Are you alright?" She finally asked once you were close enough to home that is was mostly just her employees around the two of you.

"Please don't be mad at Clara or Odette. It was my fault for getting lost," Was what you went with anyway. Carmilla shushed you gently.

"I'm not mad, I just want to know if you're okay."

Which completely threw you off. But you just went with it.

"M'fine. You got there before they could do anything," Those words seem to put her mind at ease, her shoulders visibly untensing as she exhaled a long sigh.

She hugged you, closer and tighter to her chest as if scared you were about to disappear from her hold. And you could only return the gesture, sinking into her comforting warmth. It made you feel small, almost like a little nestling on her first trip out of the nursery, but you found that you didn't really give two shits in the moment because you felt completely, wholly safe right where you were.

"Mi peque, mi querida, mi corazón," She uttered softly, "never wander from your siblings again."

Despite the firm tone, you could feel the care dripping from her words. You sighed and relaxed.

"Of course, mother."

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

#carmilla carmine x reader #carmilla x reader #platonic #hazbin #hazbin carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel

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