#tears and blood make a peace hard won au

[fioiswriting]

Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew. 

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded.  He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt.  It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation.  A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges.  And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled.  Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger. 

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders.  Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it.  He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own. 

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell.  Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost.  King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you.  Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you." 

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor.  You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back.  It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you. 

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead.  It must have been your imagination.  You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest.  Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen. 

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears. 

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets.  And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company. 

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal.  You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead. 

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly. 

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway. 

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him.  You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be.  You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't." 

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs. 

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you.  You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin.  Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall.  Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself -  but you can't help feeling your heart clench.  You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time. 

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him.  A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly.  Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind.  A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy.  Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips. 

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion.   You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you. 

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit.  He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely. 

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion. 

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly. 

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience. 

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps. 

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you. 

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him.  He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence.  You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious. 

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching. 

He doesn't let go of you. 

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him.  It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his. 

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you. 

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him.  You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow. 

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other.  Your hands are buried in his long silver hair.  You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet? 

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress. 

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices. 

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body. 

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry.  You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable. 

You need him. 

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears.  You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him.  It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you. 

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting.  For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness. 

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you.  You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy. 

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth.  You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie.  You know you should lie.  To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years.  You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not." 

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips. 

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye.  It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words.  You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath. 

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe.  It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity.  Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know." 

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him. 

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him.  You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up. 

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know."  Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence.  He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions. 

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

[darkdemeter]

HABITS OF MOTHER NATURE’S WILL II: AFTERMATH

◤✘WANDA MAXIMOFF SERIES/AU'S | CATALOGUE Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader, (Platonic) Avengers x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader ISSUE NO.#2.1

WARNINGS! ↳ Fluff ending after a hard journey — slightly sad but it's comforting — brief mention of passed relatives — implied sex (fade to black style) — minor alcohol consumption — slight profanity slip. SUMMARY ↳ The battle was won and so begins the time to heal. You return to Alaska to have some time away, to take in the home you had once lost and you've come to your decision. When Wanda shows up with the team, you finally reveal to Wanda the special bond you both share. you will tell her that she is your mate. And of course, someone had to bring the red ball along...

✎ 4.5k

@alexawynters

↳ WANDA MAXIMOFF TAGLISTS

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ONE MONTH LATER

Fury had informed you that the Hydra resurgence operatives were apprehended during your recovery. The base was destroyed along with any weaponised supplies and what remained of the pack was unknown for the most part. Most likely moved on when they saw the state of their former alpha. A second warning wasn’t needed. 

True leadership was the betterment for the pack. You did for the pack as they did for you. It was not a matter of power dynamics, but respect. Packs were built through blood and loyalty: you were bound as family. 

You would do anything for family for one reason: love. You never understood your father’s lessons back then but now you finally did. You sat atop one of the taller hillsides that overlooked the valley; your territory. The evening wind blew gusts of white across the snowy peaks in the far distance. Half the lake had begun to splinter, the dark water softly lapped at the still frozen half, the orange hue painting the sky reflected off its surface. 

Your hair was swept by the oncoming breeze from behind. This was home. This was sanctuary. A place of peace and which, from the ashes, would arise with renewed strength. New memories. You’d recovered quite a bit from your wounds but a little more time was required before your next assessment and your go-ahead into the field. No one was risking putting you on the front lines anytime before then. 

Your hand fiddled with the little trinket you’d found in the locked room when you began to clear it out, and put things back where they belong. Deep in your thoughts, the wind howled a low and long note. 

Your head lifted slightly as your ears strained to hear something behind you. Footsteps crunching in the snow. You turned to look but saw nothing and your brows furrowed hard. The world suddenly slowed around you and any outside sound became muffled.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” you sighed in defeat, shoulders sagged as the burden was slowly lifted. “No,” your father said as he sat beside you, “I’m the one who should be sorry. It wasn’t right what I said. I never meant what I said.” 

Your breath froze in your lungs when his hand pressed against your wounded shoulder. Tears pricked in your vision. “I was scared you were going down that wrong path again, Y/N. I wanted to make sure you would pull through it - that you would be safe - before I passed on. I should have been more… understanding.”

You finally exhaled the iced over air caged in your chest. Your father - the former alpha - so instilled in the ways Mother Nature made him out to be, sniffled and broke into a sob. It was the first time you saw that headstrong demeanour crack. 

Who knew ghosts could weep and mourn the sorrows of their regrets after they were gone?

“But I was wrong about you.” His hand patted your shoulder. You looked at him and he gave you that nod of approval you’d spent years chasing. “You learnt what it truly means to be part of a pack. And I was wrong to think that bloodline was the only source such loyalty - such love - could be born from.”

“I learnt from the best,” you said, voice crackling slightly under the pressure of your own tears. He smiled with a shake of his head.

“But you’re far better than I. Braver than I ever could be. You surrendered yourself without fear to protect them. You always have. Mistaken for recklessness; you’ve a heart of pure wolf. You define Mother Nature’s intended protector. A leader.”

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. The familiar scent of pine blended together with his signature musk, but you could smell one more thing. 

The one rare scent a wolf could ever smell. It was often said that a werewolf would only smell it during three points in their life. It was like when people said that water has no taste. But when blindfolded, they would know it was water because they could taste it.

That was what spirit smelt like.

Your father stood up from your side. “I’m proud of you, Y/N. I’m proud of the person you’ve come to be. To embrace who you are, no matter how else anyone perceives you.”

“Thank you, Father,” you said with a bow of your head. You watched him wander back to the treeline, your mother and siblings waiting for him there. “Oh,” he mused as he shot you a wink, “don’t shy out on her this time.”

You smirked. “I won’t.”

You found yourself waving at the barren treeline as the world resumed around you, eyes red from the tears that streamed down your cheeks but you weren’t stricken by grief or guilt any longer. You were smiling. You were done running. 

“Home. A wolf calls this home.”

The sun had fallen over Alaska’s horizon and the orange curtain with it. The inkling of Northern lights danced across the blue and black sky, but the moon was bright and full. Your eyes were radiant in their excited glow as the Quinjet flew over the top of you, heading straight for the landing pad. 

With a flick of your thumb, the trinket rolled in the air before gravity pulled it back down, you snatched it into the palm of your hand. Your gaze never wavered as the Quinjet’s ramp lowered with a hiss. 

“Are you sure you want to go alone? You don’t want me to come with you?” Wanda asked from her spot, sitting cross legged on your bed as she helped pack some clothes for you. 

You threw a smirk over your shoulder. “You just want to get into my pants.” She gasped and slapped a hand to her chest, mouth agape to feign shock. “Y/N M/N L/N, the scandal!” she laughed, “I dare say, it makes me wonder what else goes on in that mind of yours.”

You raised a brow as you looked back at her, that amber hue bright as ever. 

‘You damn well know, Velvet Cupcake.’

‘Oh, do I ever.’

You both chuckled together and you grabbed a few pairs of pants from your drawers and brought them back to the bed. Wanda stood and placed a hand to your chest, halting you from packing. Your eyes moved from the delicate way her hand rested against your front, up her arm to her face. Her eyes didn’t meet yours, however, as you thought they would. “I’m going to miss you, Wolfie.” Her voice had lowered into a whisper, a sigh of disappointment not too far behind her words. Your good hand - as it could be - raised to tilt her fallen chin until her eyes found yours again. 

“It’ll only be for a short while. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” Her arms looped around your neck as your arm circled her waist and held her firm to your front. She took care to not lean her weight on you, afraid she would agitate your wounds. 

You didn’t really care much. You’d pull stitches fetching a stick she threw across New York’s busiest street during peak hour. 

“And you’ll finally tell me what it is you keep avoiding to tell me? Because I’m not letting you off the hook, Wolfie.” Your lips stretch into a toothy grin, a silent chuckle laced in your throat. You nodded in assurance.“Yeah, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Promise?” she purred with dangerously pursed lips and a sharpened glare. 

You nodded again slowly as you began to gently sway her side to side. “Meet me on the next full moon.”

She scoffed at this and rolled her eyes. “Where?”

You lean forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Trust me… you’ll know.”

Wanda pulled her arms to cover her chest as a particular chill ran down her spine, herself and the team exiting the Quinjet. She couldn’t help herself as her eyes coasted over the landscape in search of one thing. 

You were all she could think about during the last month. Time was far too slow for her liking and she counted the days even the hours until she’d see you again. 

“Looking for someone, Wanda?” Natasha asked with an all too knowing smirk as she walked down the ramp to join her. Wanda didn’t need to answer her, her chin tilted to the ground was answer enough for the ex-widow. “Funny to say this, but it feels good to be back,” said Clint with a small grin, carrying his and Natasha’s bags down the trail towards the lodge. 

“Y/N said it was a beautiful place,” Steve added with a shrug. Wanda stared up on the vacant hillside, gaze pulled there by a force unknown to her. She just knew you’d been there at some point recently. 

“Come on, Wanda. Let’s get settled in.” Sam curled an arm around her shoulders and led her after the others. The walk felt peaceful down to the house. No looming threats of an attack, no distant howls that haunted the valley like a dark cloud. 

The lights were on when the team arrived in anticipation for their arrival. They wandered up the porch and entered, Wanda however, paused before she could fully commit to the first step. Her eyes turned towards the thicket of woods around them.

You were waiting for her. Her eyes shimmered with a scarlet hue. “I’ll meet you guys inside,” she said to the others. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Gonna go and find the pup?” Tony asked, his eyes flickered up when he heard something rustle in the bushes somewhere in between the cluster of pines. She nodded, the act all too eager, as her fingers laced together. “They wanted to meet with me. They… want to tell me something.”

Natasha waved her off, encouraging her to do what she felt she needed to with a smile. “Just be back in time for dinner, alright?” Wanda nodded again and when the team walked inside, she turned and made for the pier. Something was pulling her there.

The lake was beautiful from where she stood at the end of the pier. She understood your love for the spot. How comforted you looked when she saw you standing watch, arms folded over your chest and leaned against one of the posts. 

Anxiously, she waited for some form of sign of you as she stood there, silently. She wouldn’t allow doubt to intrude on your promise to her. 

‘I told you you’d know.’

Wanda turned fast on her heel. Her relief in her anxious smile pulled her lips into a toothy grin, the corners of her eyes glistened at the sight of you. Your fur gently swept along with the wind as you stood proudly on the other end of the pier. Your head lifted a little higher until the radiant colour of scarlet in your wolfish eyes was visible. Slowly, you advanced towards her. She admired you for your strength to carry yourself despite the scars that marked your body and would for years to come. 

They were part of your legacy; a battle hard fought to protect your pack. A trophy that outranked any hunter’s prized quarry. Nothing could ever garner more admiration and respect than bearing the marks of war. Because it showed they had the strength to keep fighting even when their body was so close to giving in.

Wanda felt the pull of that ethereal thread tug her closer. She advanced towards you, her mouth agape as her eyes misted over. You stood on your hind legs and your body shifted back, your arms spread wide open as Wanda pushed herself into a jog. She practically threw herself into your embrace as her arms looped around your torso. “Wolfie,” she sniffled, “I missed you so much.”

You ran a hand along her back as a way of comforting her, your other cradled her jaw with a tenderness reserved only for her. You leaned your forehead against hers with a sigh as her rose scent filled your nose, you failed to subtly nuzzle your nose into her hair. “I missed you too,” you drawled quietly against her head. 

She pulled her chin away that had been tucked against your chest to gaze up at you. Your own met her there already, the same vibrant red glowed in your eyes. She’d admit you looked mesmerising - intimidating - with those coloured eyes. But nothing could conceal the hint of amber behind them; flaming coals that burnt with such passion and fire. Unbridled and unmatched ferocity. 

You took her face in your grasp and your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip. “You’re my mate, Wanda.”

“W-what?” she asked with knitted brows and the adorable scrunch of her nose. You huffed faintly in amusement. “You’ve felt the bond yourself. You’ve felt it - even just an inkling of it - since the last full moon. When I fell into the ruins, the thread of our tie were under threat of severing…”

Your voice quivered as it fell silent. The realisation dawned on you both again that your strength had almost given in. The soulmate tie almost plucked loose with your very close demise. It was why Wanda had shrieked your name with such anguish, such vigour it compelled you to keep fighting. “Even now, you knew to meet me on the pier.” You let a hand drop from her face to grab hold of one of her wrists. You brought her hand to rest over your heartbeat. Like waves, something pulsed beneath the steady rate of your heart. 

“The dread that I had the entire time you weren’t awake, while Helen and Bruce worked to bring you back, I… I felt like I was drowning. Suffocating and when you awoke I broke free from that. I felt like I could breathe again.”

You nodded. An accurate description many mated couples expressed in stories of their own experience. “You and I, Mother Nature intended us to be for each other. But… I-I’ll understand if you don’t–”

She pressed a finger to your lips and silenced you completely with a small whimper. She swore if you were in your other form, your ears would be folded back so far they would be lost to the thickness of your winter coat. She shook her head with a smile. 

“I know what it is like to feel alone. To feel rejected. And I promise you that I want this bond. I want you; both the wolf and the human. Every part of you Mother Nature intended to be mine. I want it.”

The wolf retreated back into the depths of your very soul to make way for you. Two different sides, but still very much intertwined. It was a balancing act but each of you shared the common interest; the betterment and safety of your pack and your mate.

“You accept?” you asked, you tried to fight the growth of anxiety and excitement. She giggled. “I accept it with all that I am.”

You pulled her lips to yours without another moment to spare. Her body flush against yours as you held her to you by her waist. Your thumbs danced over the fabric of her coat. Her nails scratched along your scalp to deepen the kiss. You bit down on her lip and she moaned. Your tongue met hers in the intimate entanglement you shared under the silver full moon, bathing the two of you in her light. 

When air became thin and nearly nonexistent in your lungs were you forced to withdraw from each other's heated kiss. “Getting wild again?” you chuckled with a click of your tongue. She had a mind not to shove you off the pier. “Unlike someone else,” she cooed with a hot breath beating against your neck. You whined at her insinuation. 

‘Touché.’

She stepped around you with her hands in yours, she began to drag you back towards the house. “The others are excited to see you, and Natasha wants us in for dinner.”

You didn’t budge, however, and Wanda was forced to stop when she realised you weren’t going to follow. Her brows furrowed as a ghost of a frown made itself present. “Wait a moment, I… I have something for you.” 

Damn it, you were going shy on her. You reached a hand to scratch behind your neck. Wanda’s body slowly moved back towards you to bridge the gap between you both. She tilted her head and damn it all, if she wasn’t so adorable. She had that effect on you. “What is it, Wolfie?”

“I…” Your sentence trailed off on the single word as courage deflated. You shook your head and stepped forward. “I’ll save it for later.” Her eyes were pressing you with that quizzical glare. “I promise. Come on, let’s head inside the den.”

After dinner, the cluster of you all gathered around in the lounge room. Familiar faces from the mission and those who stayed behind at the compound finally took the venture to see the beautiful snowy slopes of Alaska. 

“Come on, I never got to see them! Please, just one? Just one and I’ll stop asking, I swear,” Peter pleaded with his best attempt at puppy eyes, he was jeered at by the others, each of them told him to leave you be. They didn’t want you to get your back up because of peer pressure. Though you couldn’t miss the curiosity that some of the others themselves were guilty of. They just wouldn’t ask while it was still all a fresh ordeal. 

You raised a hand up to bring order to the argumentative group. “It’s alright,” you assured them. Wanda shifted beside you as you moved to pull the neck of your shirt down to reveal the marred flesh of your shoulder. Peter’s face was beyond priceless, eyes wider than any full moon you’d seen and jaw practically hitting the floor.

“Holy sh–”

Steve pointed at the teenager accusingly with a firm raise of his brow. “Language.”

Peter, after regaining his composure, looked back to you. “That alpha did that to you?” 

“Yep,” you answered with a nod, “All the way down my back too. Didn’t feel particularly nice either.” Wanda’s fingers soothingly ran through the length of your hair. She wasn’t shy about showing a strong level of affection, the matter of relationship between you both was silent but in the air. Where exactly you were with each other wasn’t spoken and known by account on the others, but there was no argument about it. It just felt natural, especially now that you’d told her the truth. 

You knew what you were to each other and that’s all that mattered. Natasha couldn’t help but pull Wanda aside during dinner to speak with her privately when she saw you both enter the house, your arm wrapped around her waist and pulled into your side. And the look she’d given you both after that was all the more evident Wanda confided in her the new foundation of your relationship together. 

“It’s good to see what you’ve done with the place, Y/N,” Steve said from his spot on the couch. His blue eyes scanned the walls that were once bare of anything besides the odd abstract canvas of art, now a host to frames of people he never knew personally; but through you he could pinpoint what trait belonged to either your father and mother’s side. 

“Thanks, Cap.” Your head turned up to view the sill of the lit hearth. The most treasured frames adorned their space once more. However the wall above the fireplace was bare. It needed something to fill that space. You knew exactly what. “It means a lot to me to have you all here. I want you guys to consider this place as a sanctuary, if you ever need to get away for a while. This is as much your home as it is mine.” 

Slowly, one by one, your packmates nodded in gratitude. In your first few months with the Avengers, you had a bit of a reputation of being unable to share space without getting territorial. A minor and nasty habit at that. But you worked hard to break out of it. You wanted to share your space with those you saw as your family. “Thank you, Y/N.” Natasha smiled at you and raised her beer. The same brand you couldn’t drink without getting an upset stomach. “To Wolfie,” she announced and the rest of them joined in raising their bottles and glasses alike. “To Wolfie!” 

You gave a bow of your head with a wave to fend off their antics. You looked to Wanda but you were pulled away from her by that one, single and very familiar thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

First your eyes and then your head followed suit. Up and down. 

‘Ball.’

“Oh boy,” a few of your teammates chuckled, all amused by the sight of your fixation on the red ball Tony bounced. He looked up as if he didn’t recognise he’d caused the commotion. “Oh yeah, this,” he held the ball up, “I thought we could finally put that theory to the test.”

The ball flew towards you, pulled from Tony’s hand by Wanda’s magic tinged fingertips. She caught it easily and smirked, her eyes found yours. “But first, I think we’re owed a game of fetch.”

“I get the first throw!” barked Sam immediately as he darted up from his seat, racing to the front door, his beer discarded without a second thought. He really was dedicated to getting that throw you denied him. Everyone followed after the enthusiastic bird boy and promptly dressed themselves for the cold. Tony held a manner of professionalism as he swaggered by, his hand snatched his coat off the rack and pulled it over his shoulders. 

“Come on, Mate.” Wanda cooed playfully, the singular word made your spine tingle from the way her accent tinted voice said to lowly in your ear. 

Your paws crunched through the snow with great ease as you bounded after the ball, your movements fluent and natural in this environment. Sam had a very good throwing hand. 

Cheers and applause came from behind you as you bit down on the ball tucked between your hot, panting jaws. Your tail wagged madly and your front bowed slightly. 

“Bring it here! Come on!” You sprinted back towards Sam, eager for another throw that would have you halfway across the half frozen lake. You dropped the ball into his awaiting hand with a rasped, high pitched growl and your jaws snapped together as he feigned to make the throw; obviously teasing you. 

“Go get it!” He shouted as he put all momentum behind his throw. You bolted after it in the blink of an eye. Indeed, the wolf could travel faster than red. 

When you returned, Wanda was next to retrieve the ball. Your breath came in hot, ragged and fast puffs. “We should head inside, it’s getting late.” 

Although there was a chorus of disappointed groans and pouts, Wanda assured them all that tomorrow they could play fetch all day long, if you were up for it of course. Your head bowed a few times with a snort, the team understood that you were in agreement with that idea.

Organising the sleeping arrangements was quite the carnival, but ultimately you and Wanda shared the master bedroom again. She changed into a similar style as she did the last time, an oversized shirt - one she had stolen from your stash - and a pair of panties. 

You now had free reign to let your eyes take in her form from head to toe, but a deep flush still bled into your neck and cheeks, your fluster made Wanda chuckle. The adorable and yet frightening alpha, her wolf and her mate. 

You pressed your forehead to her stomach when she stood before you, her hand found purchase in your hair again to massage your scalp. She knew your weak spot for head rubs was the small dip right near the juncture where your skull and neck met. 

You grumbled deeply when her fingers found that spot. “You’re too sweet on me,” you mumbled, not intentionally meaning for her to hear, but she lifted your chin so your eyes could meet. 

“Because you deserve it.” Her hands slipped down past your neck until they rested on your shoulders. Her body slightly arched forward as she tilted her chin down. Her state penetrated through the barrier of your mind.

‘And because I love you.’

Your brows raised and she saw your pupils shrink in response. Did you hear her correctly? What were you thinking, you’d never been bad for hearing. She confessed that she loved you.

Your hands ran up the back of her thighs and gripped her by her hips. “And I love you, Wanda Maximoff.”

She hummed and leaned down, her plump and soft lips ghosted over yours. She teasingly let the pink tip of her tongue press against your top lip. Your grip on her hips tightened a little.

“Don’t tease,” you rasped lowly, that dangerous glow marked the wolf’s return. She continued to ignore the warning. She was testing the big wolf before her, how much she could get away with, as your mate. 

“Or what?”

You flipped her over, your legs on either side of her and your hands pinned her wrists above her head. Your canines were longer now as you growled.

“Or the beast comes out,” you answered and Wanda shimmied her hips playfully from beneath you. Purposefully. She had you right where she wanted you from your first night together.

“And maybe I want that.” With a roll of her hips, Wanda Maximoff sealed her fate with Mother Nature’s finest killer when she pulled her stolen, oversized shirt up and over her head. 

Sunlight beamed in through the glass panel of the window, the idea to draw the curtains to block out the invasive light completely forgotten after last night. Wanda took the liberty of using you as her bed, her hair a little razzled and the scent of your climaxes only faint in the morning air. 

The blanket was pooled at the middle of her back, the rest of her body had you to keep her warm. Your hand absentmindedly ran up and down the column of her spine, your breaths even and slow. You heard her mumble softly beneath an exhale, her face calm and untroubled. She had everything she could want in that moment as did you. Seven years on the run had put you in a state that shut you off from everything and left you bitter because of the fear that one day Hydra would find you again.

Had you followed orders… you didn’t want to think about where you would be now. But that didn’t matter anymore. No one was ever going to tear you away from your mate or your pack. You were with them to the end of the line. 

Your other hand securely held the small trinket you’d saved, elegantly sliding along the golden chain. You decided to let Wanda sleep for a little while longer before you presented to her your most promising gift. Your everlasting vow that you would forever be by her side; come what may. 

THE END.

NOTES ↳ And there you have it, the finale of Habits of Mother Nature's Will. We've reached the end! Thank you to everyone who has shown their love and interest in this "trilogy". Truly, I appreciate it. More stuff to come, Babbies! Okay I'm just gonna... go back up to my treehouse now... bayy.

[angelrider13]

Tears and Blood Make a Peace Hard Won

Title: When Mind and Body Don’t Match Chapters: 3 / ?

Summary: Waking up in a boy’s body is not at all what she expected. Predictably, it sets the tone for her second life.

FF | AO3 | Master Fic List

Relearning how to work her body is annoying.

Crawling was fairly easy to work out, but walking is another matter entirely. She's been here for roughly two years now and the best she can do with this body's tiny legs is waddle around. Judging by the looks she gets, she supposes that she's progressing far more quickly that an actual toddler would, but it is still frustrating. She knows what she wants, how she wants to move, but her body isn't cooperating with her.

Even worse is the fact that she has to learn language all over again. Her mind is still hardwired for English and it is not something anyone here speaks. The language here is not what she is used to - the structure is wrong, the sounds are off, and all the rules are different. She dreads relearning to read and write because she's seen the written language and it is far more complicated than she knows what to do with.

Still, given her physical age and the fact that she knew nothing of the language, she supposes that she's learning as well as a toddler can.

Her new mobility is something she likes to test because being stuck in the same room for the majority of your time is not as fun when you are mentally over two decades old. So even though she knows it probably scares Mikoto out of her mind, she wanders off every chance she gets.

It probably says something about this world when no one seems to notice or care that there is an unattended toddler wobbling around. She'll take all the freedom she can get though; she just wants a change of scenery.

She hears voices and the tone is jeering, goading - not teasing, because teasing can be lighthearted and is rarely ever cruel, but this is.

Brow furrowed, she turns and spots a group of boys, all years older than her, crowded around another boy who looks to be slightly younger than them. She can't understand everything they are saying, but she catches enough to understand their meaning. She blinks, looking around for someone older, to see if they can stop it and finds no one. When the boys get a little too loud, someone on the other side of the street glances over, but that's the extent of acknowledgement they get.

Moving closer, she finally catches a look at the younger boy's face.

She feels like she's been punched in the stomach.

Uchiha Obito.

A large part of her wants to recoil in terror - she knows who this boy is, what he will become. She knows that even if she wanted to, if she were braver perhaps, that she could not do anything to save him from the mission that pushes him into the arms of the enemy. She is too weak, too young, too small and it is physically impossible for her to change that.

She wants to flee, to run away and never look back. To hide away from this the same way she's trying to hide from everything else.

But.

This Obito is a boy. Not the man who is willing to burn the world to the ground for a fantasy, but a lonely little boy. Just a child.

A child who endures sneers and name calling and cruel words from his own clan.

A child who is unfamiliar with kindness, with people seeing him.

She presses her lips together and takes a deep breath.

For now, he is just a child.

For now, he is not someone to fear.

But he is someone who needs a friend.

Squaring her shoulders, she walks over to them, slipping past the older boys unnoticed, and reaches out to take Obito's hand.

He startles, looking down at her and she almost laughs at the double take he gives her, eyes going wide when he registers just who she is.

The other boys around them fall silent and stare at her with the same expressions of bewilderment.

They know who she is.

The whole clan knows who she is.

They whisper about her in a way that makes Mikoto’s eyes go hard and Fugaku’s expression go grim.

They talk about her even when she’s right there.

She's the son of the Clan Head.

She's also apparently the youngest in clan history to activate the clan's kekkei genkai.

"Obi-nii," she says into the silence and delights in the looks that cross the older boys' faces even as the one she clings to stares at her open mouthed, "Play me. Pwa-misd."

"Itachi-kun," one of the boys starts to say.

She doesn't listen, she turns to him and glares and feels her eyes burn and all the boys around her pale and Obito's hand squeezes hers almost to the point of pain.

"No," she says, pointing at the boy, not even caring what he was going to try and say.

She heard his tone, he was talking down to her. She knows he was probably going to tell her to play with them instead or to leave Obito alone because he wasn't worth her time. She looks at each of them and memorizes their faces because even though the person who Obito will one day become frightens her, right now he's just a child. So she hates these three on principle now.

Obito stares at the child that takes his hand with something like numb shock.

Uchiha Itachi, son of the Clan Head and future prodigy, had marched right up to them, taken his hand, and called him "Obi-nii" like they've known each other for ages.

He has never met Itachi in his life.

"Itachi-kun," Takashi starts to say in that 'I'm-older-and-therefore-better-than-you' voice that makes Obito bristle automatically.

Itachi turns to look at him and his eyes go crimson, three tomoe spinning lazily, as he glares up at Takashi. Obito feels his eyes go wide and his jaw drop. He's never seen the clan's eyes so close before and certainly not on a two year old before - looks like all those whispers about the Clan Heir being born with the clan kekkei genkai fully developed hold truth after all.

"No," Itachi says firmly, pointing at Takashi in emphasis, "No like. You mean. Go 'way."

Takashi, Akio, and Daisuke stare at the toddler, pale and still and silent in the face of those red eyes - eyes none of them have for all they like to pretend.

"Go 'way," Itachi repeats when none of them move, eyes narrowing.

Spluttering, the older boys vanish and Obito stares after them in awed amusement.

"Okay?" Itachi asks, looking up at him with crimson eyes and giving his hand a little tug.

And that's when Obito realizes the entire thing was deliberate. Itachi saw what was happening - understood what was happening - and decided to stop it. That's far more than most people do and those people are adults.

"Y-yeah," he manages around the sudden lump in his throat.

This is ridiculous, he's eleven. He is not going to cry over the fact that a two year old stood up for him.

Itachi nods at him, a frown pulling at his mouth as he raises his free hand to rub his eyes.

"Itachi?" he asks and the mentally kicks himself for assuming familiarity. Though, Itachi assumed it first, so maybe it's okay?

"Burns," Itachi says, voice dangerously close to a whine.

Obito swears.

Itachi is two.

Regardless of how amazing he might be, he's still a little kid and right now, the boy's eyes are still crimson, still spinning and Itachi clearly doesn't understand.

Obito kneels down in front of him. "Itachi, your Sharingan is still active," he says, and Itachi gives him a wide eyed look of confused surprise - he hadn't even realized what he'd done, "You need to stop channeling chakra to your eyes."

At least he thinks so. Obito only has the vaguest idea of how the Sharingan works.

Itachi blinks at him, brow furrowing. "Cha'ra? The shiny s'uff?"

Huh. He'd never thought of it that way, but it's not like the kid is wrong. "Yeah," he says, "Think you can do that?"

Itachi nods and closes his eyes, a look of concentration on his face.

Obito kind of wants to smush his cheeks together, it's so cute. Then the toddler's eyes flicker open, not a trace of red in sight, and he beams.

"Good job!" he says, eliciting a shy, but pleased smile from the little boy.

"Thank you," Itachi says, enunciating each sound carefully, "Burn gone now."

Obito waves away the gratitude. "You helped me first," he says.

"Help 'chother," the boy replies seriously and Obito has to stop himself from cooing, "Play now?"

He blinks. "Wait, you were serious about that?"

Itachi nods and takes Obito's face in his tiny hands. "Obi-nii frien'."

His eyes well up before he can stop them and he waves his hands. "Ah! Sorry, sorry! I'm fine! Just something in my eyes!"

He is a shinobi, damnit! He is not going to start crying because a toddler decided to be his friend.

But Itachi just blinks at him in bewilderment before something in his expression sets and he leans in to press a kiss to Obito's forehead. Obito stills at the gesture, staring at the toddler before him as he says, very seriously. "No sad."

Obito takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, nodding as an involuntary smile pulls at his face. “Not sad, promise.”

Itachi eyes him for a moment, like he’s not really sure if he believes him, but then he nods and steps back, taking Obito’s hand and pulling him down the street.

“Where are we going?” Obito asks, amused by the boy’s determined stride.

Itachi grins at him. “Dunno. A’vnter.”

Mikoto has been looking for Itachi all afternoon.

She swears, as soon as that boy learned to walk, you couldn’t turn your back on him for three seconds or else he’d disappear.

And she knows that the Clan for the most part considers its children to be self-sufficient, toddler or otherwise, and the most they will do is keep an eye on them from a distance.

So Mikoto is surprised, and more than a little relieved, to find her son sitting on a bench outside a dango stall with a boy who has to be ten years his senior. There is a small plate with two half eaten sticks of dango between them and her son is watching the older boy attentively as he animatedly tells a story about something that sounds like a training mishap. The boy is clearly a shinobi, hitai-ate proudly displayed on his forehead. Mikoto is struggling to place his face, though the orange goggles are definitely familiar.

She watches, bemused, as Itachi goes to eat some of his snack and the boy pauses in his hand gestures, but not his story, to make sure her son can take a bite, holding the stick for him so that Itachi can get to the dango without poking himself.

It’s the first time that she’s actually seen Itachi invested in an interaction outside from herself and Fugaku.

Itachi is smiling and listening to this boy and it warms something in Mikoto’s chest.

Not enough to make her forget her worry in the first place though.

“Itachi!” she calls as she makes her way over.

The boy’s mouth snaps shut and his eyes swing around, going wide when they land on her. “Ah…Hello, Mikoto-san,” he says sheepishly before turning to her son, “Looks like your mom found you, Itachi.”

Itachi hums, eyeing her carefully and she can’t figure out why. “’lo, Kaa-cha.”

She sighs. “Itachi, you can’t just run off like that,” she scolds, “It’s dangerous to wander around alone.”

Her son frowns at her. “No ‘lone,” he says, pointing to the boy sitting next to him, “Have Obi-nii.”

Mikoto blinks as the pieces click into place.

Obito. Asami’s son. The one who lives alone. The one who most of the clan turn their noses up at because of his grades and poor chakra control and constant sunny smiles in the face of it all.

“Uh, Itachi,” Obito is saying, “I don’t think that’s what your mom means…”

Itachi doesn’t pay him any mind, staring her down with eyes too old for his face. “Obi-nii,” he repeats seriously.

Mikoto feels a smile pulling up her lips without her permission. Itachi doesn’t get attached to people, doesn’t want anything to do with them for the most part. But it seems he’s made a friend all on his own. And if that friend just so happens to be the clan pariah. Well.

“I can see that,” she says, smiling at Obito, who freezes under her attention, “Thank you for looking after him, Obito-kun.”

The boy flushes. “It’s not a problem!” he blurts, “I mean he’s a really nice kid and, uh, it was fun.”

The smile he gives her is bright and sunny, but Mikoto is a mother and before that a shinobi, and she can see the uncertainty that lingers in the boy’s eyes. She keeps her anger off her face like the professional she is, but inside, she’s seething. She wants to collectively take the Clan in hand and brow beat them into submission.

She looks at these two boys before her – two children for all that one of them is legally considered an adult because of the hitai-ate he wears proudly – and wonders what logic justifies this treatment. One revered before he can even crawl and the other an outcast long before he even entered the Academy. Accidents of birth that neither had any control over, isolated for something they did not choose and yet here they sit together, smiling.

“Well, if that’s how you feel,” she says to Obito, refusing to let her smile falter, “Perhaps you would like to babysit sometime?”

Obito stares at her in shock, but Itachi lights up like the sun. He reaches over and snags the older boy’s shirt in his tiny hand and gives it a light tug.

“Play ‘gain?” he asks when Obito turns to him.

“What?” he asks, obviously caught off guard by her question, but then he blinks and his eyes go wide and he swings around to face her again, “I mean, yes! I would like that, Mikoto-san!”

Itachi beams, looking entirely pleased with himself.

Mikoto laughs lightly. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Obito-kun,” she says, “In the meantime, we need to be heading home, Itachi.”

Itachi pouts at her, but slides off the bench regardless, wrapping himself around Obito’s legs. “Bye, Obi-nii.”

Obito grins and ruffles his hair. “See ya later, Itachi. Try not to wander off so much, okay?”

Itachi just gives a non-committal hum to that and Mikoto sighs inwardly, already resigned to future scavenger hunts for her child.

“Thank you again, Obito-kun,” she says, scooping up Itachi in one arm and setting him on her hip, turning down the street towards the house.

She feels more than sees Itachi waving over her shoulder.

Her son made a friend.

She smiles.

[stellocchia]

Anyone remembers my Platonic Soulmates AU?

Well, I decided I wanted to write something in it for Wilbur as well because he's just perfect for angst... (also it's technically the second part of This One, but you don't need to read it for this one)

The Anchor

-

Wilbur had always been what his father liked to call “an artistic soul”. He learned how to play guitar and sing at a young age and he’d been very averse to violence ever since. His father was not one to voice his concern, but Wilbur knew that he had disappointed him when he called out his cruel practices in leading the Antarctic Empire. It was fine though because Wilbur didn’t need him.

He set out to adventure, a guitar on his back and a name proudly displayed on his wrist for everyone to see. He deserved to meet his soulmate and of that, he was certain like of nothing else.

Things don’t always go according to plan however and soon enough he found himself broke and raising the son of a fish he stared at longer than it was strictly appropriate. That was not ideal per se, but he knew he could manage somehow. He was the son of the Angel of Death, after all, giving up wasn’t in his blood.

The next couple of years had been hard, what with the low funds and Fundy growing faster than expected, which meant he needed new clothing more often and more food than other babies. Fundy also absolutely hated Wilbur’s cooking and he never held back from letting him know with shrill cries and incessant pouting. Wilbur wished someone would have told him how exhausting being a parent would be, no wonder Phil avoided it like the plague…

Something good did happen however when one day at a market he met a very young teen named Tommy. The boy successfully stole from him, but, upon seeing him break down when he realized he couldn’t afford a meal for him and his child, he came back with a mortified expression and an apology. Wilbur understood though. They were both leading a miserable life so, instead of calling the guards asthe teen expected, he invited him over for a meal.

It took Tommy one try of Wilbur’s culinary expertise before declaring him a lost cause and inviting himself over for supper as well so that he could make something decent. Wilbur didn’t comment on his inability to taste the food when asked how much better their dinner was, but Fundy was full of praise for the first time in his existence, the little shit…

It took a couple more encounters before Wilbur noticed the name on Tommy’s wrist and they were already brothers by then. It seemed perfect like it was meant to be. And, according to the Universe, it was.

Years passed and they got invited to a moderately new Server apparently owned by Dream, renowned all over the System for his hunting challenges.

The news was the best thing that happened to Wilbur in a while. The desire to prove himself had been buzzing under his skin since forever, almost turning into an unbearable scorching fire in recent times. And that was his opportunity to upheld his father’s legacy, he would not let it go to waste.

Tommy was the first to join, though Wilbur was very reluctant to let him go alone. He was still so young and reckless and so painfully kind. Wilbur’s heart ached knowing him alone where couldn’t be easily reached, but he had to deal with the legal procedures regarding the Server transferal, so he’d have to suck it up this time.

Still, his brother and son were there waiting for him when he joined. Tommy had made friends with another teen and, somehow, had a war with the Server’s Admin. Nothing less than what Wilbur expected.

It was fine though, they were finally getting their life in order.

The first thing Wilbur tried was to get a monopoly on potions, which lead to the impromptu formation of a police force, which then lead to the formation of a country and war.

Before he knew it he was one life down, holding his little brother while his second life bled out of him, choking on his tears while the jubilant screams of his enemies resounded behind him.

It had taken no time for him to lose so much, and Tommy coming back from a meeting with the Admin saying how he’d won them independence was not enough to bring back his sense of safety and control. He was lost. It dawned on him then that he had no idea of what he was doing, only moving forward because he had to. It gave him such a sense of dread that he’d often end up crying alone in his office, the comfort of his soulmate feeling too far with a door between them, yet not far enough to hide his shame.

In a desperate attempt of reigning his life back in he proposed an election. It should have been an easy way to consolidate his power and possibly to give him some peace of mind. He’d planned it perfectly, so of course, nothing could go wrong. Turns out he was mistaken.

His second death was from an arrow piercing his heart while he screamed for Tommy, who was already on his last life, to run for his life. In retrospect, he should have expected things to go wrong as that’s what usually happens.

From then his life just turned into a never-ending spiral. There was no one he could trust, no one who hadn’t betrayed him, aside from his soulmate. And, even then, where he once found comfort in it, Tommy’s presence now felt blinding. Like staring directly at the sun after days spent in a cave. Oh, Tommy was as tainted as him, he knew that much, but the boy was so stubborn in his pathetic desire for peace. He refused to understand how that wasn’t an option anymore. L’Manburg, the country they founded and fought for, was now nothing but a corrupted husk of its former self. It was far beyond saving, destruction being the only remaining option. But Tommy refused to understand and, after a while, Wilbur stopped trying to make him. He’d come around to it eventually…

And then came the grand day, his final act! The stage was set and everything was perfect down to the most minuscule of details. Even Philza showed up for the heartbreaking reunion of the century, where he could pretend he’d been a father to Wilbur while stabbing him through the heart. It was perfect and wonderful and he could finally have peace.

Only death was not what he imagined. It wasn’t nothingness and it wasn’t peaceful. Instead, he was trapped at a station, trains passing but never stopping, and lost souls of those who came before him roaming the platform, unresponsive shadows of their former selves.

And it was such a cruel trick, wasn’t it? Showing him what he was to become while letting him keep the mind of who he was. Of course, he did his best not to succumb to the numbness and fade in that state of non-existence, but he was about to give up when Schlatt fell into an eternal slumber. But then something happened, something wonderful, the veil of death retracted for just a moment and he saw his little brother finally succeeding in defeating Dream once and for all. They talked like they hadn’t in a long time and with the reunion came the constant dull pain of a broken bond interrupted too soon.

It was grounding in a way. There weren’t many sensations in Limbo and of course the one breaking him away from his crushing loneliness would be Tommy once more. His one constant. His one anchor to retain himself.

An even better event was when Tommy himself joined him in Limbo. Wilbur couldn’t be more ecstatic! He mostly ignored his brother’s newfound constant fidgeting and shakey breaths he would take from time to time. They weren’t important, what was important was that Wilbur wasn’t alone and his bond stopped hurting. They were together now and nothing could change that! Well… he thought so, until one day a hand appeared grabbing Tommy’s neck and dragging him away, towards the tracks. Wilbur screamed and tried to take a hold of Tommy’s hand, but it was too late and the boy disappeared with the passing of another train.

After that Wilbur almost faded. He almost gave in. Why holding so desperately onto his mind when he was condemned to an eternity of loneliness? His soulmate too far out of reach once more… this time perhaps forever.

But eventually, a train stopped at his station, with Dream as the conductor. Dream, his hero! Taking him away from that nightmare and gifting him life once more!

He’d been grateful at the time. Truly grateful. Even after receiving Ghostbur’s obviously incomplete memories and having seen some of what the Admin had done to Tommy he still was grateful. And then he noticed something on Tommy’s wrist, a scratched-out name that appeared to have once been carved into the skin, and suddenly the desire to rip Dream apart with his bare hands reappeared stronger than ever.

He’d have to wait of course. Gain allies first, strengthen his bond once more, and play his cards right. He’d have to get the Admin to let his guard down with him and then… well then he would find out what happened when you tried taking Wilbur’s lifeline away from him...

[dingdongitsbees]

BLACK-EYED SUSAN | LEVI X READER HUNGER GAMES AU

Chapter 13: Rinse and Repeat

Previous - Next

Tw: PTSD, implied suicidal ideation, alcoholism

WC: 5.4k Ao3 link Ask to be added to the taglist! It will be updated weekly on Saturdays

First person version can be found here

Master List

“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful, it was always just red.” – Kait Rokowski

 .

 .

 .

It had been a few years since your world had gotten simultaneously a million times better and also gone to shit. It hadn’t really hit you two until you had spent a few days back in the homes that had been provided for you. You each had your own house as per usual for victors, but you didn’t need a second. You had spent your life together in a borderline shack, it would feel weird to have the other sleep across the street. But it had been in that gifted house that it finally came crashing down.

All you could see was their faces, all you could feel was that knife in your hand, all you could hear was that goddamn canon. You were sitting on a velvet couch paid for in blood. Now having more than enough food on the table was exchanged for lives. Being able to still exist in the world meant twenty-two people had been ripped from the world.

Levi had been next to you, so he just held you, his shoulders shuddering just as bad as yours, and you cried. You just cried. There’s nothing you can do or say or think to make anything like that better. Only time can help, and to be honest it isn’t very good at its job.

The trip to each district took what was left out of you two. Combined you had killed tributes of five districts out of the other eleven. Almost fucking half. Most of their families just glared at you on their platforms as their child’s face was displayed behind them as you recited propaganda scripts.

District Ten was hard for you. They had surprised you to be honest, neither of Sasha’s nor Connie’s family looked at you with any disdain. All you could feel was pity radiating off of them, especially from Sasha’s father. She told you how he had taught her how to shoot, you almost deviated off script to say how you learnt vicariously through his daughter, how kind she and funny she was.

Connie’s siblings hurt to look at. They looked at you with such big eyes. They should have hated you, they really fucking should have. Their brother died in one of the most horrific ways possible yet they stared at you as if you were one of their sisters. The normal people in front of the stage only copied their looks, none of them hated you for taking away two souls. It didn’t make any fucking sense. It would have been better if they had just heckled you. Just yelled at you and screamed at you, taking the brunt of their words was the least you could do for exchanging your life for one their own.

District Eleven wasn’t so kind to Levi. Kaya’s family looked like they were two seconds from breaking on to the main stage and choking him to death right there. He might have let them. Niccolo’s family was confusing. There was obviously no forgiveness for how Levi killed their son, a wild animal in a spree of rage, but they didn’t look angry. Levi had told you he had just said a few words over Niccolo before coming back, maybe those words were enough remorse for them to not want his head on a spike.

However, the civilians in the crowd didn’t agree. They had to be restrained from climbing up, yelling threats and taunts, about how he could kill a little girl without a second glance, how he took pleasure in killing Niccolo. Levi kept his head down, his undercut blinding his view, but his hand shook in yours. You did the speech on behalf of the both of you.

The districts from Nine to Five didn’t give two shits about you, maybe only some had mild curiosity. Their glazed-over eyes just stared, clearly bored as you were from the fuckery spilling from your lips. Some of the families glared only because their child wasn’t standing up there instead of you, but you couldn’t blame them for that.

One was…weird to say the least. Neither of you had many interactions with either Annie or Bertolt, but you two lead them to their deaths. Levi may have killed Annie directly but Bertolt’s murder was just cruel, you knew that, but you had thrown that rock anyway. Both of their families just looked devoid of any emotion, the crowd didn’t seem to care, that’s One for you, but their parents just looked empty. The speech went smoothly.

Three was strange as well, you never met nor saw their girl, but Falco you certainly had, but you also hadn’t killed him, in reality your relationship him was positive. They didn’t seem to hate you, quite the opposite really, they seemed to be happy you were there. Three was no stranger to careers betraying and killing their tributes so they were probably just happy Reiner didn’t win and it had been because of your own hands. Still, it was strange. Falco’s older brother, the one you had seen in the reaping recording, had looked on the brink of tears but he stayed strong, his back straight and head up high. They probably wouldn’t have looked at you the same if Falco had gone with you. Someone would have needed to kill him at some point anyway, it just so happened it wasn’t you.

Two was painful. Instead of two separate families standing on their respective platforms it was just one. There was confliction in their eyes for sure, you were surprised they could even stand to be around each other, their sister or bother’s son killing their child. But they stood together. Staring at you with a mix of hate and affection. Levi had to do the speech that time.

Four was hard once again, but only because of one person, specifically Marcel’s younger brother. He flew daggers from his eyes, pure fury ran through his veins. He probably would have killed you both if he had the chance, probably would have been good at it too. You could only begin to imagine the anger he had stored up since you had sliced his brother’s throat.

You recognised him in the reaping for the next game.

He used his anger well.

At the end of the trip you had to go to the Capitol once again for the Presidents party. You nearly preferred the arena.

Floch was sweating buckets under Zeke’s gaze the entire time and drank himself into a stupor, avoiding you both at every turn which you were glad for. People reached for you like you were statues, brushing your hair and clothes and bodies like you were pets. Nick was the only thing stopping you from cursing everyone in the vicinity, Levi came close. Zeke watched from his balcony, eyes narrowed and sipping on champagne waiting for one of you to misstep so he could order a bullet into your heads.

When you got home you two didn’t know what to do. You both fucked around for a year, bought anything that caught your eyes at the hub no matter if it was an ugly piece of pottery or a toy. You bought a lot of liquor too and drank most in one go. The burning in your throats let you forget the inferno in your brains. A small price to pay for some peace and quiet between neurons.

You two were rarely sober for the first few months. You’d wake up and have whiskey for breakfast, you’d walk around town, maybe sneak through the fence, and have some gin, and if it was a particularly bad day you’d opt for tequila as your bedtime stories.

People in the streets knew to leave you alone, just to let you wallow a bit, they hadn’t seen many victors, but they could guess that starting up conversations with people on the knife’s edge was a good way to get punched. Hannes talked to you two occasionally, usually at the hub, cheering your bottles with his flask. He didn’t ask about the game, he saw enough anyway, he just pretended you were those troublemaker kids you had been when you left.

It was Hanji of all people that got you out of it, though she wasn’t one to talk when it came to the number of empty bottles in your living room, but she at least cut the number down a bit or swapped out the drinks for something weaker much to your slurred complaints.

The months after that were hard, letting the built-up trauma hit you like a train. You both started getting nightmares.

One of you would wake up already screaming or crying or be entirely frozen still and unable to move as their body quaked. The other would hold on to them until their tremors ceased and their breath evened again. Then you’d just rinse and repeat the next night.

Rinse and repeat.

Flinch at a raised voice, go numb at the sight of blood, start hyperventilating when you were sure you had seen another tribute in the crowd.

Try not to let yourself die.

Rinse and repeat.

Then the next game came around. You both offered to go as mentors, to let Hanji take a backseat from the role after her isolating years, she came to make sure you didn’t say something stupid, but she just got to hang around without much of a care.

The two kids that you got weren’t good. You knew the second that their names were called that they were goners. Wouldn’t make it in the bloodbath, and even if they ran, they probably wouldn’t live past the first day. You learnt to push their names away. It didn’t help any to hang on to them.

The kids weren’t dumb, they knew that too.

There was a little bit of hope when they looked at you however, a hope that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Porco had sliced both of their throats open within the first minute. Porco won the title of victor in only three days with a kill count of eight. They never had a chance.

You think that was the last time you cried.

When mentors go to the Capitol and watch the feed, they sit in a room together connected to an ongoing party that never stops until the games do, infested with sponsors and government officials. Only mentors are allowed in that room, not even titan servants. You just needed a room to be in to be able to grieve only with people that understood.

They always looked after the new mentors, it didn’t matter the districts or even if their tribute killed yours, they’d hold you, get you a glass of water or usually something stronger, just let you get everything out and topped up makeup on your red rimmed eyes before you got ambushed by press outside the door. Sometimes the career districts were prickly, but only the ones that truly cared about the kids became mentors anyway, so they weren’t ones to give you shit.

It just sort of numbed you after that. You’re not sure if you could even remember all the kids you sent to their deaths. No, you definitely couldn’t, and you didn’t plan to.

Without fail every year they always got killed in the bloodbath, and every year without fail you’d drill into them to just run away, but they just wouldn’t listen, or the careers just didn’t let them leave. You both spent most of your time in the Capitol just flicking off the tops of third bottles and taking quiet bets on who was going to win or who’d kill who. Levi was always right.

It was actually Erwin’s idea to do something back at Twelve, to find something to pour yourselves into. So, after the 70th Hunger Games you went back and pushed your ludicrous amount of money to builders to create an orphanage. The one on your side of Twelve was shit and didn’t have the funding nor space, it was the reason you two had never gone to it yourselves, so you gave them some of your load too so they could get food on the table for once.

Kids started trickling in, you didn’t run the place yourselves, you didn’t have the emotional range to do something like that anymore and you’d probably do more harm than good as their caretakers, they didn’t need a pair of fucked up twenty-year-olds to lead them through life. But you visited, making sure everything was up to scratch and there was no complaints or concerns from the kids about the people you had employed or the quality of their beds and food or if they needed some more toys to play with.

Levi always made sure the place was meticulous, and it was kinda funny how he used cleaning as his way to bond with the kids. They always complained but they never said no when he asked for their help. You helped kids with schoolwork and funded whatever type of skill they wanted to learn.

“You wanna paint? Here’s an easel and some paints from the Capitol that my designer friend sent over.”

It was hard to smile but at least you could help them to.

One day, when you two had dropped in to visit before you went to stock up on vodka, a boy came up to you with big emerald eyes, with a black-haired girl trailing after him. He asked a question that got everyone surrounding you looking up from their sandwiches.

“Can you teach us how to fight?”

And so you did. Twelve had always been at a disadvantage, nothing in your district aided you for the Games, the closet you’d had was learning about mines and explosions or having the physical strength to lift a pickaxe but that was only available when you worked in the mineshafts at eighteen, the last year qualifying for the reaping, and eighteen-years-olds were never picked.

So usually any kid that went in was utterly fucked.

Unless you tried changing that.

You started small. Learning how to throw a proper punch or kick, things you had learnt on the streets stirring up trouble. How to balance yourself in a proper stance so a gust of wind or a shove from a career wouldn’t send you stumbling.

You taught them the things you learnt in the Capitol and in the training room; what foods were safe, how to set a trap, how to treat a wound, how to conduct an interview, how to form an alliance, who to avoid.

It was a long time before you held a blade again.

They had begged you for months to just teach them how to knife fight, but the idea still shook you. You hadn’t held a throwing knife in your hand for years, but it still melded uncomfortably comfortable into your palm. You could still throw it and hit it dead on centre. You knew if the throw was hard enough to go through someone’s skull. You knew how long it would take for their body to hit the ground if it were a clean shot, and how long it would take if it wasn’t. You knew how many milliseconds it would take for the canon to fire.

Picking up a knife again, only if to teach, was a torturous process, but you didn’t let them know that. You would just drink a little more that night.

“Eren keep your arms up! Try and copy Mikasa’s form!” you barked.

They all stood in a line, throwing knives into hay bales, some making it, most missing. Mikasa was unsurprisingly the former, Eren was unsurprisingly the latter. The two were always the hardest at work though it seemed it was usually driven by Eren’s ambition. The kid wasn’t gifted with natural talent but he was stubborn enough to try and make up for it. They had come to the orphanage after Mikasa’s parents were murdered over some debt they couldn’t pay and Eren lost his mum to a mine explosion and then his father caught something bad from his own patient.

It was always them begging you (well Eren at least, Mikasa would just ask nicely) for more lessons and whatever advice they could squeeze out of you. It frightened you a little, Eren’s enthusiasm, you had seen that face before.

It was an unspoken truth that they were your favourites of the bunch, the others didn’t take offence to it, it was just those two were always coming up to you two whenever they got the chance, though you were scared it was because they reminded you of an overconfident kid and the one trying to take care of them. You tried to pretend you didn’t see Gabi and Falco when you looked at them.

“I’m trying but my arm’s starting to feel heavy!” Eren said, not even bothering to turn his head.

“You brats don’t have time to get tired when you’re in there so just get used to it,” Levi replied.

He walked behind them, arms crossed as he analysed each of them, you tried not to make a joke that Eren and Mikasa were taller than him now. He muttered out tips to those who needed it, and compliments to those who deserved it, you had tried to get him to coddle them just a little bit but then he said overestimating yourself just gets your killed and you couldn’t say anything to that. When he got to the end of the line of kids, he wandered back over to you and you gave a crooked smile.

He bumped his shoulder into yours before turning around and standing next to you, you both falling into your usual silence as you just watched.

“There’s more of them than usual,” Levi noted and you nodded absentmindedly.

“It’s today, it makes them nervous.”

“Zeke never picks them though.”

That was true, when you had first started up the orphanage, you had expected Zeke to jump at the opportunity, there was no way he wasn’t privy to your every movement let alone something that required legal documents to be signed, so how he hadn’t rigged the reaping to pull one of your kids was honestly getting a little unnerving.

But each year a pair of kids were picked that you didn’t recognise, and you’d breathe a sigh of relief; it’s much easier to forget strangers.

You realised that the games were rigged at the 71st games, you had noticed that all the slips of paper you could see, even though they were folded in half, would all start with the same letter, it peeking out, and then the name called out would match. You asked Hanji afterwards, cause there was no way she hadn’t noticed, and she just laughed in your face.

“It’s a show, of course they choose their cast.”

You leant your head on his shoulder as you watched, he leant his head too. His arms untangled themselves from each other and he let one fall, letting his pinkie interlock with your waiting one. You both still being there was a constant surprise and an unspoken threat, because someday, when Zeke got tired, or you did something to piss him off, that fact might not be so true anymore.

But Levi’s there now, maybe not tomorrow, but today at least, and you could only hope that the trend remained.

“Cut it out dude!”

You both whipped your heads around, finding two kids wrestling on the ground. They panted as they tried to get the advantage, dust billowing around them as the other kids stared. Neither of you could be bothered to move. Eventually one straddled the other, pinning him to the dirt.

Levi’s pinkie tightened.

The boy on the ground whined while the other grinned in victory before joining his empty hands together and sending them down onto the boy’s chest.

Levi stiffened beneath you and alarm bells blared in your head.

The boy started pretending to stab him.

“Die! Die! Die!”

The kids around them laughed.

The boy beneath told him to stop.

Levi’s breath shortened.

You were at the kids in a second, pulling them off one another.

“That’s enough.”

They went silent, the boys looking down to the ground in shame, though they didn’t know why you were trying so hard not to glare.

“Time to pack up anyway, you guys need to get ready for the reaping,” you said, you were just greeted with whinges, “Put the knives in the tub you lot. Now.”

They instantly shut up, knowing that tone of yours was not to be messed with under any circumstances. They all shuffled off, throwing the knives in, you always counted them all in case one of them took one, but they were good kids.

Levi nodded at them as they filed back inside the building, jaw still tight. As soon as they were all gone, Eren and Mikasa waving goodbye at the end of the line, you sprinted back over, running your hands through his hair as you brought his face to your shoulder.

“Shh it’s okay it’s okay.”

A shudder whipped through him.

You kissed his temple. “You’re not in the arena, you’re in Twelve. I’m not about to die and neither are you. No one is dying and no one is going to. Just breathe, just focus on my voice and breathe.”

Eventually he stilled again, air flowing through his lungs like normal. It didn’t happen as much anymore, but it still happened. It probably didn’t help that he was about to meet two dead kids.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

He nodded into your shoulder before finally raising his head, sliding over his façade again. You two of all people had to be the strong ones today, you couldn’t show fear, you weren’t allowed to anymore.

The walk home was silent, most people were inside or rushing home to get ready. You dropped past the hub quickly and you bought some bottles from your usual, Levi didn’t say a word, just stared into space. You passed the town square, the camera crews were nearly all set up, the barriers were getting placed. Hannes was testing the mic on the stage, he sent you a nod that you sent back.

The Victor’s village was always weird to see, after passing smog polluted houses with windows that are barely transparent anymore with walls that are starting to tilt, you come to a pristine gate. The separation pissed you off like it was saying you were better than them, but Nick would have your head if you even suggested taking it down. The houses were beautiful too. Maybe it was just an average house for a Capitol citizen, maybe a little nicer, but it looked like a goddamn king’s estate compared to everywhere else in Twelve.

People would say you deserved it, to have a nice home. It made you want to puke.

You could see Hanji through her window, lounging on a couch, bottle of whiskey in hand. Seemed like a plan.

You squeezed Levi’s hand as you unlocked the door and led him inside. You shed your jackets and shoes and put away your bottles, leaving one out. You glanced to him, he was still sort of out of it, he needed quietness, maybe a bath. Yeah a bath would do, those always calmed him down.

You trekked up the stairs, on the landing you let yourself take a little run up and slide across the wooden floorboards on your socks towards the bathroom door. Silly shit helped sometimes.

You reached out and grabbed the handle and turned it, pushing forward on the door. It let out an ungodly and far too familiar screech.

You gasped and slammed your back into the wall.

Fuck.

Your breath was getting quicker, not letting your lungs get enough oxygen before taking another gulp.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You crouched down, elbows on your knees as you pressed your palms into your eyes at a sad attempt to get your brain to stop.

You could only see him, or in more exact terms, you could only see his melted remains.

Fuck.

Rapid thumps came from the stairwell, you didn’t look up as arms enveloped you.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t say anything, just kissed your head before holding you tighter. Your need to talk to communicate was even less than it used to be ever since the Games. There were things you two didn’t need to speak about, you just acted on, knowing exactly what to do.

Though there were moments you didn’t want to talk about, and you didn’t plan to talk about them either. He didn’t mention finding you sobbing on the bathroom floor surrounded by spilled sleeping pills and you didn’t mention waking up alone in bed and finding him completely out of it on the roof of the orphanage. You didn’t talk about it, but you held each other a little tighter just as you did both of those nights.

“I’ll get some oil for it when we get back,” Levi whispered.

You nodded into his chest.

“Bath?” he asked.

You nodded again.

.

Warm water has magical powers you swore, it really shouldn’t be able to make someone feel so good, to be able to relax and almost drift away forgetting about the possibility of drowning. What a lame way to go out, though it was much nicer than the ways you’d seen.

You laid on Levi’s chest as the water rippled around your little movements. He played with your pruned fingers, touching the fingertips with his own like it was an interactive museum exhibit. You watched, fascinated by his fascination, blinking slowly as the bath bled out all of your stress.

Moments like that were nice, but it had to be broken today. You couldn’t stay in that warm heaven forever, though it was quite tempting, you wouldn’t exactly be missing out on the adventure of a lifetime.

.

You ruffled the towel through your hair as you sipped the vodka. The burn and taste were barely noticeable, even the effect had begun to wear off or maybe you had just gotten better at being under the influence.

“Catch.”

You threw the bottle to Levi on the couch who caught it without a second glance, immediately taking a few gulps of it himself.

“Hello you two.”

You both looked to the door, sending tight smiles to your usual guest, though to be honest your home was hers and hers was yours at that point.

She walked behind Levi’s couch and took the bottle that he already had extended to her, taking a gulp before placing it on a side table.

“Ready to send children to die?”

.

The reaping went as usual. Hanji welcomed everyone to the 74th Hunger Games, two kids got reaped, one fifteen-year-old and one thirteen-year-old, you couldn’t remember which was which. You waited in the train, neither of them came up to talk to you and just ate up all the food they could before passing out on the nicest bed they would ever sleep in. You didn’t bother them, one look and you knew they were a lost cause.

The process went on.

Neither were that charismatic, they were only memorable because they were last and that was pushing it as is. They both got low scores, a four and a six. The thirteen-year-old cried himself to sleep the night before, or he might have, you wouldn’t know, you slept through it.

That morning you went up to the roof with them, got in the mentor’s hovercraft and just twiddled your thumbs, wondering who was going to win that year or what the arena was going to look like. You went in, sitting in the back of a cart, going through the maze of corridors beneath the grand stage, not bothering to focus in your eyes to see your surroundings. It was just grey walls anyway.

You yawned when you got to the centre, scratching the back of your neck as you tried to find your tributes amongst all of the shaking teenagers.

A finger tapped you on the shoulder. You spun around to see the girl from…Seven? She grinned, her eyes crinkling.

“I just wanted to say I think you’re really cool, I really admire what you and Levi did in your games.”

You blinked.

“Oh, is that so? Good luck then I guess.”

She smiled even wider before running off with a wave. You dragged a hand over your face before heading over to your tribute waiting for you.

It was a forest arena, nothing too special.

The games had long since started when you got back to main city of the Capitol and went into the sponsor party, both of you immediately beelined for the mentor room. You watched as replays showed one getting killed in the bloodbath the other getting hunted down by none other than the careers. You just stared at their slow-mo screaming faces and sighed.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t even blink. You did the first time but after that it’s just been shut away. Thankfully there was no new mentors that year, you didn’t have to deal with sobbing messes. You were too exhausted to care for someone anymore. Compassion doesn’t come cheap.

The mentor room was filled with pain as always, most were just trying to unlearn two names as quickly as possible, drowning their neurons in liquor so they could pretend that two faces weren’t burnt into their brains. It won’t be enough, it never is. You knew that too now.

Some of the others in the room weren’t mentors but they were victors all the same, having just grabbed a free trip to the Capitol so they could bum off some high-class booze. Couldn’t blame them. They were lucky though, the other districts, having more than three victors meant they had the option of just staying home and just ignoring the screen. They didn’t have to know the kids.

You two spent the rest of your time in silence, going back up to the penthouse to sleep before coming back, hoping the whole ordeal would be over soon.

The girl that talked to you before it started, a girl from Eight you had learned, was still alive though, and you couldn’t help but cheer for her a little bit. She started an alliance with a girl from Six, both doing well against the attempted threats on their lives by the careers. Soon they had made it to the last few with only a few scratches to show the world, much better than your leg to say the least. It still ached every once in a while.

But you were still surprised when her little duo alliance were the last ones left. Their mentors were on the edges of their seats, hands covering their noses and mouths like a prayer, eyes glued to the screen.

Then the girl from Eight did something fucking stupid, something that made everyone’s breath hitch around the country.

She brought out some poisonous berries. They had killed a career with them, not needing to get into a fight, but then they held grenades in the form of blueberries in their blood-stained hands.

They brought it to their mouths as the room cursed in unison, people rose from their seats, you could hear people yelling outside the door. They both hesitated for a second as they counted down but plopped them in their mouths anyway.

Two canons fired in quick succession.

The transmission was as silent as the room. No one knew what to do. You stared at the screen with two dead kids. There wasn’t going to be a victor. There wasn’t going to be a victor because they copied you.

“I really admire what you and Levi did in your games.”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The room slowly turned to you two as your heart hammered in your chest, Levi’s hand fumbled for yours.

You were fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.

.

.

.

a/n: sorry this chapter was late! this was mainly just summary but we’ll really get into it next chapter

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Taglist: (if you are bold i cannot tag you)

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[hoebii]

Found and Lost

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre : Angst, slight fluff, e2l, soulmate!au

Rating : nc-17 

Warnings : Swearing, major character death, mentions of attempted sexual harassment, mentions of being in an accident, jjk is a good boi

Wc : 2.3k

A/N : Thank you @joheunsaram​ for making such a pretty banner for me in such a short notice!!! Also thank you @taegularities​ and @heejinnien​ for being my amazing and adorable betas~ NOW LISTEN I GOT THIS FIC IDEA FROM A DRABBLE RID ASKED FOR guess who tf beta’d it? that’s right! the one this fic was for 🤡  My clown shit aside, I hope you guys like this one~ Also please let me know if there’s any correction to the warnings, I still struggle with wording shit right. As always, feedback is always welcome!! <3 

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Jungkook stood there, staring at you, hands fiddling with the flowers in his hand. He felt numb, no more tears left to shed - or so he thought. He couldn’t help but think back to happier days, when things had been good. 

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Jungkook walked down the corridor, casually chatting with Jimin while avoiding the students scattered about. He let out a yelp in surprise when someone bumped into him, causing him to stumble back as the other person fell to the floor. 

“I’m sorr- Oh, it’s you,” Jungkook muttered in distaste, when he saw it was none other than you on the floor. “I’d offer help but I don’t want to.”

“Fuck off, Jeon, I don’t need your help,” you hissed at him, standing after gathering your things from the floor, “just watch where you’re going, asshole.”

Jungkook watched in silence as you stomped away after that, annoyed beyond words at having to have interacted with you. 

“She’s cute,” Jimin spoke up, watching your retreating figure.

Jungkook could only scoff at the elder’s words, “How? I honestly feel sorry for her soulmate, dude.”

“Why do you two even hate each other so much?” Jimin asked, curious eyes staring at him.

He opened his mouth to answer before closing it again - why did you two hate each other? You two used to be best friends when you were younger, what had happened? Feeling Jimin’s gaze on him, Jungkook huffed and started walking away, “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s go.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“Shut up.”

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It was like any other day, Jungkook was walking home when he saw one of his classmates walking inside an alley. Usually he would have minded his own business - guys like that were bad news but when he heard someone calling for help, he decided to intervene. 

“What’s going on there, buddy?” he called out, stepping closer to inspect the situation. 

Whipping to face him, Sung-ho scowled, “Mind your own business, punk.”

Now having a clearer view inside the alley, Jungkook noticed a girl trying to fight him off, “Sorry dude, can’t do that. Now why don’t you let the girl go?” 

Sung-ho growled and walked towards him, grabbing Jungkook by the collar. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Mind your own business before you regret it.”

Sighing, Jungkook rolled his eyes and grabbed his hands, “Come on man, I don’t want trouble, just let her go.”

Growling, he pulled his hand back before throwing a punch at Jungkook, making him stumble back a few steps. Wiping at his nose, Jungkook’s hand came back stained with blood. “So that’s how you wanna play, alright then.”

He stepped away, shrugging his backpack off before turning and punching Sung-ho, making him fall to the ground at the impact. Jungkook heard the girl gasp, but he paid no mind to her for now; he had a douche to teach a lesson to. Sung-ho grunted, shaking his head to gather his senses before getting back up and rushing towards Jungkook. 

Jungkook merely side stepped, causing him to miss and stumble forward and Jungkook grabbed Sung-ho by his collar before he could fall. Raising his leg, he kicked Sung-ho’s back, making the said man shout in pain as he crumbled to the ground yet again. 

Walking towards the man, Jungkook stepped on him, looking down at him with raised brows. “Is that all? For someone who acts so tough, that was the easiest fight I’ve won. I don’t think that even counts a fight, dude.” 

Saying nothing, Sung-ho laid there on the ground, panting heavily as Jungkook moved away, watching in amusement as he pushed himself off the ground and rushed away, shouting,“You’re gonna regret this, Jeon!”

Scoffing, Jungkook turned to face the girl who had walked out of the alley now. “You alrigh- you? How do you always get in trouble?”

You said nothing, just stood there and tried not to cry as he went on. Jungkook noticed the tears in your eyes and snapped his mouth shut, his eyes softening. 

“Hey… It’s okay, he’s gone now.”

You finally broke at that, tears streaming down your face as you stepped forward and hugged him tight. “H-he cornered me out of nowhere. I didn’t even see him coming.”

Hesitating a little, Jungkook softly pat your head, hugging you back. He couldn’t help but think how good it felt to have you in his arms, how it felt as if you were the missing puzzle piece that would complete him. 

The two of you stood there for a while, enjoying the feeling of being in each other’s embrace before you finally moved away while sniffling. 

“Thank you…”

“Don’t mention it. Do you want me to walk you home?” he asked, heart sinking at how small you looked at that moment. 

“N-no.. It’s alright, you’ve done enough for me as it is,” you answered, starting to walk away when you felt him grab your hand. 

“Wait,” Jungkook called, grabbing your wrist before you heard him gasp, making you turn around, “it’s you!”

“Huh?”

He pulled you close - you exclaiming in surprise - and tugged your sleeve higher, exposing your soulmate symbol, a beautiful tattoo of a lily adorning the expanse of the side of your forearm. 

Tugging to free your hand, you felt his grip get stronger. He kept a firm hold on your hand as his other hand rolled the sleeve of his jacket up to show his own soulmate tattoo. It was you who gasped this time - there sat the exact same tattoo as yours on his forearm.

“Same tattoos, you know what that means, right?” he asked, still looking at your hand.

“You’re my soulmate…” you said, “wait, you’re my soulmate? Oh my god, you’re a jerk!” 

Jungkook sputtered at your words, looking at you with wide eyes, “Jerk? JERK? You’re the jerk here!”

“Real mature.”

“You’re the one who-” he started to fight back, only to be cut off when you kissed him. 

Pulling away, you couldn’t help but smile at the lovestruck look on his face, you didn’t know why you kissed him out of nowhere but you liked it. A lot.

 “Cute.”

Your heart felt like it would jump out of your chest, your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling. You never thought Jeon Jungkook would be your soulmate but here he was, looking adorable as ever. 

“I-I’m not cute,” he grumbled, blushing furiously.

Chuckling, you stepped away, “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, soulmate.”

“Yeah…” Jungkook answered, still not over the kiss before snapping out of his thoughts when you walked away, “Wait! Let me walk you to your house!”

You only laughed as you heard him running behind you. “Dork.”

-----------------

Once the two of you reached your house, you lingered in front of the entrance, “So that’s my house… ha..”

Jungkook chuckled at your words, looking at you with a raised brow, “I know, I’m your neighbour.”

“Right! Yeah. Obviously,” you exclaimed, face flushing in embarrassment as he stepped closer to you. 

“Why’re you acting so shy? You’re the one who kissed me back there,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows when you looked up to face him. 

“Jesus, you’re such a dork.”

“But now I’m your dork,” he sang childishly. 

“Go home you idiot, I’ll see you in school tomorrow.” 

“Aww, no goodbye kiss?”

You huff out a laugh before grabbing his collar and pulling him down for a kiss. Your eyes slipped shut as his hands came up to cup your face, deepening the kiss. The two of you stood there kissing in front of your door till the need of oxygen became too much. 

Jungkook pulled away slowly, hands still holding your face gently, as if you were a delicate flower. In that moment you felt as if you were in a fairytale, stars twinkling in the sky and heart beating happily as you two stared at each other. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked softly, feeling as if speaking any louder would shatter the serene atmosphere.

“Yeah…”

“Yeah,” he repeated before leaning down and pressing another soft kiss on your lips. He stepped away after that, eyes never leaving your form as he started walking backwards towards his own house.

 “Watch out for the” you started, concerned as he bumped into a roadside lamp, “lamp…”

“I’m okay! Goodnight,” he called out, smiling sheepishly.

You shook your head at how endearing he was before entering your own house, you couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

-----------------

Jungkook waited impatiently at the entrance of the university, Jimin standing by his side and smiling in amusement. “So you two don’t hate each other anymore?”

“We never hated each other, hate is a strong word, you know,” he answered, trying to act unbothered at being laughed at by his best friend. 

Jimin acted as if he was contemplating the other’s words. “Hmm, you’re right. Though it was pretty obvious that you two would end up together.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please, the sexual tension between you two could have been cut with a knife.”

Jungkook didn’t know how to reply to that, he just stared blankly. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Oookay then, I would fight that but I’m not in the mood to fight.”

“Since when are you not in a mood to fight?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, “where’s Y/N? She’s never this late.”

“How do you know that?” Jimin asked, smirking.

“...No comment.”

Jimin only laughed, shoving his hands into his jean pockets and turning to look at the gates again. Hoping to catch sight of you and finally put his nearly vibrating best friend at peace.

After a while, Jungkook started worrying; you still hadn’t showed up. He spotted one of your close friends walking by, looking worried, and he decided to approach him. 

“Hey.. umm Namjoon, right? Do you happen to know where Y/N is?”

The said man looked at him, raising one brow in question, “Didn’t you hear? She got into an accident this morning. It was pretty serious.”

It felt as if someone just punched him in the face. “What do you mean she got into an accident? Where is she now?”

“At XXX hospital, I’m going there right now.”

He hesitated a little before finally asking, “Can.. can I come with you?” 

“Sure.”

-------------------

Rushing into the lobby, the trio raced to the reception to find out which room you were in. The receptionist checked her computer before asking for their relationship with the patient. 

“My soulmate,” Jungkook answered, trying to keep a steady voice. He could feel Namjoon’s shocked eyes on him but he paid it no mind, you were more important. The nurse looked up at that, eyes turning sympathetic as she revealed the information.

Ignoring the look of sympathy, he rushed towards your room, Jimin and Namjoon close behind. Arriving in front of the room you were in, he saw the doctor leaving and approached him, “Is she okay?”

The doctor seemed startled at the sudden question but with one quick glance at the worried faces, he cleared his throat, “It’s not looking good, she lost too much blood.” 

“Will she be okay?”

The doctor looked at Jungkook curiously, “what is your relationship with the patient, sir?”

“She’s my soulmate.”

Jungkook hated how his eyes softened at that, hated how dread seemed to settle in his heart from the look of sympathy he got. 

“I’m sorry, she might not make it.”

-------------

Jungkook snapped out of his thoughts, blinking away the tears that gathered in his eyes. 

“Huh… what do you know? I’m crying again,” he spoke to himself, chuckling quietly. 

“It’s been a whole year since we figured out that we were each other's soulmates. Actually, a year and one day,” Jungkook started, “today’s the day you promised that you wouldn’t leave me. Ironically it’s also the day when you...” he continued, his voice breaking at the end and he sniffled.

“The day when you said you loved me, I was so happy, over the moon,” he kept talking, his grip on the bouquet in his hand getting stronger, “but you’re selfish, you know? Didn’t even let me say I love you too before you left. Who does that?”

At that point, Jungkook was on his knees, body trembling from how hard he was crying but he went on, “You’re so selfish Y/N… leaving me right after I found you.”

Wiping his tears away, he placed the bouquet down on your grave. “I got your favourite flowers today… black roses. You always were into unique things,” he said, letting out a tearful laugh at the end. Though the laugh didn’t last long when he broke down again. “I miss you so much, Y/N. Why’d you have to leave me? We were supposed to grow old together, make many happy memories… not, not live the rest of my life alone.”

Wiping his eyes, he rolled up his suit’s right sleeve. “Look, I got new tattoos. Aren’t they pretty?” he asked, though he got no reply, just a breeze flowing past him.

It was in that moment that Jungkook felt truly alone, he had been in denial all this time, refusing to mourn for you. He had acted as if everything was fine till now, kept everything bottled up as to not worry anyone around him but now that he had finally come to visit you after all that time, reality hit him. It weighed him down, as if trying to crush him and he sat there as everything around him went on, the birds flew by twittering happily and the trees rustled in the wind. 

It was a beautiful day, honestly; the sun was shining and the sky was clear but Jungkook still couldn’t feel at peace and how could he? It was as if a piece of him was gone, never to return.

[cafeacademia]

Guardian | Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: You navigate the battle of Hogwarts with Draco at your side (alternate AU where Freddie doesn’t die and Draco is on your side).

Warnings: Speak of war, violence, mild injury, sadness

Word count: Approx 1200

Masterlist

A/N: Hi loves!! This is a transitional piece, which marks the end of the angst parts of Guardian, the next planned parts will be must more soft! 💕 Anyway, I hope you enjoy, things will be clearer in the next part!

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The dust of the flames and rubble burned in your lungs and you struggled through the war trodden hallways. What had been once a place of safety, a place of love and friendship and innocent adolescence was now in ruins.

Banners that were once so bright and bold in their rich, royal colours were now bathed in a muddy grey grit, thrown up from the destroyed stones that lined the halls. It was a sight to behold, though not one you wanted to remember as you meandered, disoriented through the eerily quiet hallways, the only sounds that rung in your ears being the distant cries of others. It was dark. Tragic.

But somehow through the pain, the torment you had all endured had come a victory. Though while some seemed to have processed it faster than others, you were still in a state of shock, mind a blur with the intense memories of what had taken place, images that surely would never leave your mind.

But some in particular were more prominent than others. And as you exited the gaping entrance into the courtyard, you looked up to see the Weasley twins holding each other and their family, watching as others did the same, embracing each other, grateful to still be able to hold one another. Glancing across the courtyard, you caught his eye, the ashen haired boy who always seemed to linger in your thoughts, every passing hour your mind turning to him, wondering, hoping, wishing, loving. But he was not yours.

Your eyes met, his cold grey hues lingering on yours as he paused in his movements. “Draco, come.” Narcissa called to him, but he stayed still, just as he had hours before.

Hogwarts students lined the outside of the castle in defence as the Death Eaters approached, Lord Voldemort stepping out into the middle, his abhorrent mocking echoing off the walls of the courtyard as you stood among your peers. Only months earlier had you only been mere students, but now as you stood at the foot of your only stronghold, a place that had been home for nearly half of your life, you were soldiers.

You felt him as he joined you, discreetly reaching forwards to brush his fingers against yours and it was only when you saw a hint of pale white blonde hair in your peripheral vision that you realised it was Draco. Your Draco.

You reached for his touch as he pulled away, your fingers loosely intertwining with his. His hands were cold, and you could see when you looked down that he was almost a pale, sickly grey, one that showed the blotches of red beneath his skin and the pale blue hues of his veins. He appeared languid and listless and it made your heart drop as you gripped onto him.

“Draco.” Narcissa’s voice was deceptively soothing, but underneath you knew it was a tone that was serious, one that despite appearances was demanding beneath the carefully crafted surface. His grip on your hand tightened, your heart beating hard, feeling a heavy weight full of dread and fear tense across your chest. Please don’t let go, you pleaded to yourself, hoping that in some capacity Draco might understand. Please don’t let go.

His grip tightened again, his hand firmly holding yours as if you were the only thing he had left to hold onto. And perhaps to Draco, you were the only thing left.

He had stayed at your side in the battle, fighting alongside you as he had always intended. It was a gruelling battle, the coppery smell of blood clinging to the dust heavy air, the sky dark and murky with dark clouds that churned above, rolling and coiling over each other like snakes. Flashes of sickly bright green, purples and reds were thrown in all directions, appearing out of the battle haze, the particles of dust glowing and dissipating against the broken stones.

You were alone when she cornered you, her laugh malicious, the devious and cruel way that she mocked you as you slumped back up against the cold stones, sharp rubble sinking into your delicate hands, cutting and marking as you backed away. “Poor little baby, all alone.” Bellatrix pouted mockingly before she broke out into an unhinged, maniacal laugh. Her voice felt as if it shook the hallways, the silence between her words was deafening. But as she raised her wand, mockingly slow, playing with her prey, was she knocked back by a spell and thrown to the ground with a sickening thud.

“Draco?” You only breathed his name out in an airy whisper, too afraid to find your voice as he rushed to your side, reaching out for you and pulling you to your feet. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” He asked, gently gripping your shoulders in worry, watching as tears rolled down your cheeks, leaving tracks in the grime that was smeared over your skin. All you could manage was a nod, and with that, Draco took your hand and led you away.

It was now that you stood only meters from him that you both hesitated. The war was over, the battle was won, but as the moment of simultaneous peace and lingering shock overtook the courtyard, Draco took a step away from his parents, slowly making his way to you. His eyes were heavy with silent guilt, hatred for what he had taken part in, face gaunt, tired and sickly.

“Sweetheart,” He whispered to you, struggling to find his own voice in the silence that clung to the school. “Please don’t leave again.” It came out weak and soft, your eyes pleading with him to stay with you this time, not to part with you again. But as he reached for you, his hand gently taking yours in his own.

“I promise darling, I will find you.” He met your eyes with a look of heartbreak in his, knowing what his words must be doing to you, leaving you in internal turmoil. “I must go, at least for a short time to put my life back together.” He whispered. “I wish I could go with you now, I truly do.” He said, squeezing your hand. “But I can’t. Besides,” He paused, giving you a meek smile. “There’s still one page left.” Draco said, watching as you attempted a soft smile, tears welling up in your eyes.

“I promise, I will come back to you soon, sooner than before, you have my word, sweetheart.” Draco promised, stepping forwards and embracing you. His arms were warm, his chest warmer as he held you against him, his lips pressing softly against your forehead, staying for a moment as his eyes closed, feeling you hug him tightly around the middle. He felt you tremble as you cried and he could only imagine what his goodbyes did to you. “This will be our last goodbye, the next time you see me, I’ll stay by your side.” “Promise?” You asked, looking up at him as he parted from you, the Slytherin gently cradling your cheek, thumbing away your tears as he stepped back. “I promise, sweetheart.”

And with that raised your hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand before he slowly left you slip out of his grasp and he walked away, casting you one last look over his shoulder before he left.

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[glimmerglanger]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 8

Day 8 of Whumptober, part 8 of the oof!au. Not sure how today is going to work because.... tumblr is formatting everything wrong and this is very long. I didn’t want to post over on ao3 until the whole thing was complete, but I might have to for tomorrow (which is over 5k for the “rescue” prompt and that’s SO LONG). ANYWAY, maybe they’ll fix whatever they broke today.

General info: Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Past/eventual Codywan. One-sided Vaderwan. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Please read the warnings.

WARNINGS: Mind control trauma, mind controlled into hurting people, references to past torture and past non-con, brain trauma, references to suicide, off-screen loss of a limb.

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS

Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

The Kaminoans bred Cody for war. They’d forged him into a weapon and then they trained him, taught him how to fight and how to win. He’d been stubborn and determined, even among his brothers, and they’d valued those qualities. He learned strategy. How to handle himself. How to handle his men. How to handle a war.

And he’d excelled at it. His men had taken on armies and won. They’d come within a breath of winning a galactic war and had that victory soured. He’d lost a fight he’d never had a chance to prepare for, lost everything, all at once.

He didn’t know, exactly, what had happened on Utapau. One moment his body had listened to him and the next it just… hadn’t. It felt like dreaming, in a way. Or a nightmare. He could see the world. He could feel the things his body touched. He could hear his own voice.

But he couldn’t control any of it, could not stop himself from ordering his General shot down, no matter how he fought and struggled and--

And the most he could do, raging inside his own head, was file a form stating that General Kenobi had died, falling into the waste-water pit. After all, no nat-born would have been able to survive that fall.

Not according to the training he’d received on Kamino. 

He’d watched his hand hesitate, on Utapau, watched his fingers twitch a different direction on the pad, and fought. In the end, the report went out that Obi-Wan had died. And Cody, scratching and tearing at the walls inside his own head, counted that as a victory, refusing even to allow himself to consider the alternative, in case the thing that had stolen his body heard the thoughts, somehow.

#

Nothing much else felt like a victory for years. He lost track of time. Lost track of himself. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t stop the things his body did. He killed people, people begging for their lives. Children. 

Jedi.

People he’d fought beside.

His friends.

He couldn’t stop it. 

It was a relief, of a sorts, when Vader - the man who had been Anakin Skywalker - reassigned him to Mustafar. There were no people to kill on Mustafar. In fact, there was little to do. He and his brothers just… lived there. It was strange to see so many members of the 212th.

They’d kept them apart, after they were trapped inside their own heads. Split up battalions and companies. Put them in blank white helmets that made it impossible to know the man standing beside you.

But on Mustafar, he found his men. Not many of them. Nothing close to their full complement. He knew many of them had died in pointless battles and… in other ways. He walked by troopers slumped sideways in their bunks, a blaster still in their hands. Maintenance accidents, the forms said, when they were filed.

He’d watched troopers step into the line of friendly fire, or walk off the edge of tall paths, plunging hundreds of feet with no attempt to stop themselves. 

On Mustafar, it jarred something in his mind each time he looked over and recognized one of his men, memories clattering through his head of battles fought together, victories hard won.

It was a constant reminder that he’d failed them. He’d been their Commander. He was supposed to look after them. But-- But he couldn’t. Couldn’t do anything to help them, even as Vader put him into position as supervisor of the base.

Cody’s body ran the base, in Vader’s absence. Designed security and set up duty rosters for his brothers. He wondered, sometimes, why Vader hadn’t put Rex in such a position. He wondered if, perhaps, Rex had not died, when they were all trapped inside their minds, and wished, more than anything, that he’d been that lucky.

He and his brothers slept and ate and trained, for, as near as Cody could determine, no reason.

And then Vader found Obi-Wan.

And Cody, who had gotten too tired to fight, somewhere in the last three years, stirred inside his head and started screaming, again.

#

The Kaminoans had bred Cody to make war. He warred with the thing that lived in his head, the thing that used his voice and his body, the thing that wasn’t him. He fought every order Skywalker gave him, after the bounty hunters dragged Obi-Wan from their ship and dropped him on the ground. 

It felt like throwing himself at the side of a wall, over and over and over again. Trying to break through stone with nothing but his will alone. But he found ways. Little things he could do. Muscle movements, trained into his memory, below whatever level the control operated.

He could twitch a finger, if he focused. The code he’d created with Obi-Wan was as automatic as speech, once upon a time. Wrestling enough control of his body to communicate anything sensible felt almost impossible.

But Cody hadn’t been trained to give up. And he’d never learned how. He managed, watching Skywalker wreak his terrible atrocities across Obi-Wan’s body, to tear and pull at the wall. To haul on it, determined that he should either break it or force it to finally break him utterly, to grant him death, if nothing else.

And, when he wasn’t throwing himself at the wall inside his head, he planned. He couldn’t stop his body from carrying out minor tasks. Couldn’t stop it. But he could turn his thoughts elsewhere. He could turn all his focus onto exactly what he’d do, when he got control of himself back.

Skywalker had set him up as commanding officer. Cody built plans and refined them and waited.

And he managed, at least, to say “no,” when Skywalker made him hurt Obi-Wan, made him--

Cody remembered, in stunning detail, the very first time he’d wanted to kiss Obi-Wan. They’d been standing on the edge of a cliff on Trillol II, looking out across a sea that was, as far as he could see, endless. The wind rising off it had buffeted them both. Purple sea birds spun through the air above them.

There had been Separatist ships out on the water, far away but coming closer. The ships were the reason they were up on that bluff, but Cody had forgotten to care about them, for a moment, looking across at Obi-Wan, his hair tangling in the wind, the water close to the shore the exact color of his eyes, and--

And Cody had wanted to kiss him, then. Suddenly and achingly. He hadn’t. They needed to get back to the lines and - and it wouldn’t have been appropriate, anyway, to kiss his commanding officer. His General. But Obi-Wan had blinked, stopped in the middle of talking, and looked over at him, eyes getting wider, and--

Cody had assumed, really, that Obi-Wan knew exactly how he felt from the time they stood on that cliff. They hadn’t done anything about it. The middle of a war was hardly the place and their ranks stood between them, and--and they just hadn’t. But they’d both known. 

And then Skywalker ordered him to - to beat Obi-Wan, to hold him down and rape him and-- Cody wished, more than anything, beating at the inside of his own head, trying to tear himself to pieces, if just to make the nightmare stop - that Obi-Wan would just - just give Skywalker what he wanted, spare himself--

Cody knew he wouldn’t. Even felt a swell of fierce pride that Obi-Wan wouldn’t allow Skywalker to win, but it was a sour, awful kind of resistance. Cody would never be able to unfeel the way Obi-Wan had struggled, the way he’d flinched and tried to get away, shaking all over, shocky. Never be able to unhear the crack in his voice, the way he’d tried to get Cody to stop, and Force, all Cody had wanted to do was stop, make it stop, never--

He used to dream about kissing Obi-Wan, out under a wide-open sky, slow and sweet. He used to imagine Obi-Wan smiling against his mouth, eyes crinkling in the corners with easy joy. He used to imagine what it might be like to do more than that, to press together skin to skin, to find out how their bodies might fit together, all imaginings, because Cody had never touched anyone that way, never wanted to touch anyone but Obi-Wan, and--

Cody was light-headed by the time it was over. That had been happening more and more often. The harder he fought, the worse he felt afterwards. His head hurt, terribly, and his vision swam. He tasted something strange, down the back of his throat. Salty. Too thin to be blood. 

Skywalker told him to go get cleaned up and he could not resist the order, but he swayed sideways, in the hall, shoulder bumping into the wall, and for a moment, for just a moment, he managed to reach for his blaster.

He had it halfway to his head - because he’d never do that again, never again, never - before the thing in his head took over again.

It passed, the fleeting taste of control, but it made him redouble his efforts. It could be done. He could talk to Obi-Wan, at least a little. He could make himself move, if he just fought hard enough. 

No one had ever accused Cody of not fighting hard enough.

#

Cody fought, desperately as Skywalker got Obi-Wan to kneel, got him to beg, and-- and Cody knew his General. He’d always known what it would take to break Obi-Wan. Known it would be his brothers on the floor, finding what peace they could in death. 

They’d - they’d all hurt Obi-Wan. Sometimes directly. Betrayed him. Tried to kill him. Cody had thrashed inside his head on Utapau, as they tried to murder their General, and he hadn’t been strong enough to fight it.

None of them had. They’d been weak, when Obi-Wan needed them, weak over and over again, and--

And he still fell to his knees for them. Cody had watched him take abuse after abuse, every violation Skywalker could come up with. Watched him bounce back with a smirk and a sharp comment, indomitable.

Obi-Wan only begged for them. For their lives. After they’d failed him and hurt him and--and watched. After Cody had - had taken everything from him, violated him, ruined whatever they might have had, once, and it didn’t matter that Obi-Wan had said it wasn’t him, it--

Cody should have been stronger. Fought harder. He should have been able to stop himself from pulling the trigger, should have been able to turn the blaster on Skywalker, should have never left Obi-Wan in a position where he had to beg, where he had to let Skywalker fist fingers in his hair and abuse him again, making him choke, and--

Something salty ran down Cody’s throat. He could feel hot wetness in his ears, moving down the side of his neck. 

They were supposed to look after each other. He was supposed to protect his General, his Obi-Wan, but--

But more of his brothers were pulling Obi-Wan out of the room, Obi-Wan calling out for him, concern in his voice, even still. And, somewhere in Cody’s head, something gave in a hot, dizzying rush.

#

Cody swayed on his feet and then went to one knee, panting, breath ragged and heart beating off-rhythm. He said, “Ah,” and the shock of hearing something he intended to come out of his mouth slipping free cut through the dizziness in his head like a vibroblade through butter.

Liquid flooded his mouth and he spat it out, because it tasted awful. He expected, vaguely, for it to be blood. It was clear. Mostly. Like saliva, tinged pink. There was blood, too, dripping down from his face. His thoughts were a tangled, confusing jumble. He couldn’t make them stay still.

His head hurt. His vision swam in front of him, the room getting blurry. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and nausea punched up through him. He retched, which only made his head hurt worse, and decided to accept the state of his vision, for the moment.

Something was, obviously, very wrong with him.

He barked a sharp laugh. The sound buzzed in his ears, oddly. Something had been very wrong with him for a long time. Maybe something was right with him, finally. He pushed to his feet, the world reeling around, and almost fell when he took a step.

He gritted his teeth, striking out for the door. He needed to get to Obi-Wan. But that might, he realized, require a trip to the medbay first. If he made it that far. His chest hurt, sudden and sharp, a deep, terrible kind of pain.

He ignored it, pushing past several of his brothers, who were still standing, stock still, expressions frozen, eyes red, blood under their noses and by their ears. “With me,” he ordered them, voice steady and his, grabbing Bones and dragging him into motion, forcing them all to move, taking another step and another. 

Obi-Wan had begged, for them. For him. After everything. 

Cody dragged in a breath and then another, forcing his brothers onward, his legs holding him up all the way to the medbay, where they tried to fall out from under him. Obi-Wan had begged. For him. Fought for him. After all he’d done. All his failures. 

Cody wasn’t going to fail him again. Ever. He grabbed a droid, panting, and slurred, as it blustered in confusion, “Lord Vader. Wants. Me alive. And them.” They had orders to keep him alive, he knew. Skywalker wanted him there to keep hurting Obi-Wan. And they wouldn’t question his orders about the rest of his brothers. 

Skywalker had, after all, left him with so many responsibilities.

Maybe, he thought, swaying, he could use that to his advantage. He was going to need every advantage he could get, to bring this entire place down on Skywalker’s head. All of the plans he’d nurtured over the past months were already screaming in his head, one after another.

And then the blackness came up and swallowed him.

#

Cody woke up staring at the ceiling in the medbay. For a jerking, awful moment he thought he couldn’t move, thought he was trapped in his own head again, and he lurched up. It was shocking to have his body respond to what he wanted it to do.

Chimes started, all around him. Medical sensors. He blinked, disoriented, looking down at the little wires coming off of his body, his head and chest. There was an I.V. in his arm. He shuddered, reaching for the sensors on his head and pulling them off of his skin, even as a droid hurried up.

“You are not recovered,” it said. 

He dropped the sensors and stood, reveling in the ability to control his body, to make his legs take his weight, even if he still felt dizzy and unbalanced. He was… in the area of the medbay designated for trooper use. Two of his brothers lay in the beds beside him, similarly wired up. Cody frowned at them. They’d both been in the room when he’d broken the thing in his head. “I’m recovered enough,” he said, looking around for his blacks and his blaster.

He felt… very still, inside. Battlefield calm. He’d taken enemy strongholds before. And, this one, he had played a role in designing. His mouth twitched up in the corners. Skywalker, for whatever reason - to hurt Obi-Wan - had left Cody in charge of ever so much. He was going to pay for that mistake.

“2224,” the droid protested, as Cody took a moment to slide the I.V. free, putting pressure over the puncture. “You do not understand. You suffered a major malfunction, along with several other troopers. You must--”

“What kind of malfunction?” he asked, grabbing a pair of neatly folded blacks and pulling a shirt on. “How many others? These two?”

The droid made a little whirring sound. Cody wondered if it were surprised. Wondered if he’d need to destroy it, before it raised some kind of alarm. He was not, he recognized, acting in an approved manner. 

The droid said, after a moment, apparently writing his change in behavior off as some organic nonsense, “A massive aneurysm in your frontal lobe. Six of you were affected.” Cody took that information in, yanking his pants up his legs. Six of his brothers. He’d bet all the credits in the galaxy they’d been in Vader’s little torture chamber. That they’d watched Obi-Wan beg for their lives. That it had… snapped something in them, too. “These two survived.”

Their General was going through hell. And he’d put himself through worse for them. He--

“Only these two?” he asked, and there was his armor, right where he’d known it would be, ready for him to step back into, to make himself a cog in the Empire’s awful machine once more. He was never going to wear it again, once he got Obi-Wan and his brothers out of here.

“Yes,” the droid said, “2224, you are not recovered,” it continued, as Cody buckled his armor into place. 

“I’m ready to return to duty,” he said, a phrase he’d heard himself utter against his will, so many times over the last three years. Duty - Skywalker’s twisted idea of duty - had been all that mattered. 

He’d never forgotten where his duty actually lay. And he finally - finally - had a chance to do all the things he’d wanted to do for the last three years. He snapped his chest piece into place and gripped his blaster, the grip cool and familiar against his palm, full of sweet promise and potential.

He knew, based on reports read while he’d been trapped in his head, that a blaster bolt was unlikely to kill Skywalker. Not while he was in that suit. It had all kinds of defenses and protections.  People had shot him before, apparently. It hadn’t even slowed him down. He’d just carved them to pieces with a red lightsaber.

As much as Cody liked the thought, walking up to him, placing the barrel against his head, and pulling the trigger probably wouldn’t do anything. That was fine. Cody knew how to work around an enemy’s defenses. He’d had time to plan. He’d requisitioned an EMP device weeks ago, managing that much control. He was going to bring this entire base down on Skywalker. Make him pay for everything he’d done.

“Wake them up,” he told the droid, working on his vambraces, the movements close to automatic. 

“I’m not sure they’re--”

“Wake them up,” Cody repeated, flat and hard, and the droid made an unhappy little noise, but complied. Cody knew his brothers. Knew they’d want to be awake for what was to come. It was a relief, he found, that Bones had been one of the ones to fight his way free. He shot the droid in its central processor, a moment later, unable to risk the security breach it represented.

He was in charge of reporting all lost materiels and investigating the reasons for their loss. One droid going missing would be very easy to explain. 

And Cody was going to need a medic he trusted. He watched his brothers struggle their way awake, watched the horror and disgust roll over their expressions as memory settled and they regained control of their own faces.

Bones curled sideways, got his head over the side of the bed, and retched. Crys jerked to sitting, looked around, and gasped, “Kriffing--Commander? Is this--is this another dream?”

“No,” Cody said, flat and hard, nothing soft left in him. “You’re awake. We’re awake.”

Bone looked up, wiping his mouth, eyes wide and horrified. He asked, “What are we going to do?”

And Cody told them. Told them everything, watching their eyes get wider as determination settled across their features. He looked at Bones when he finished, and said, “Not all of us survived breaking free. And too many of us are still controlled.”

Bones nodded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You want full autopsies?” he asked, and Cody could see them falling into their jobs, the tasks in front of them. Grabbing onto something to focus on, the same as he was. 

As long as there was something to do, a next step to take, he didn’t have to think about what he’d done. He didn’t have to remember Obi-Wan’s eyes, looking up at him, or the sound of his voice, begging, or--

Something in their brains was controlling them. Somehow. He didn’t know what it was, but he intended to find out. Victory could only be obtained once you knew your enemy, after all. “Start with the brain,” Cody said, gut cold and heart beating steadily. “I want a full report by the time I get back. Crys, you’re with me.”

Crys nodded, swinging off the bed and pulling on armor. It took only moments before they were moving out of the trooper’s area, into the medbay proper and Cody jerked to a halt, because--because Obi-Wan was floating in one of the base’s few bacta tanks. His hair floated in the fluid, longer than he’d ever liked it to be. There were healing wounds, all across his skin. And-- and his left arm ended, abruptly, above the elbow. Skywalker had, had started carving pieces off of him, and--

Cody took a halting step towards the tank, rasping out, “Force.”

“Sir,” Crys said, his voice cracking, and Cody swallowed the bile that rose up into his mouth. They’d laid in the medbay. They’d been so weak, he’d allowed Obi-Wan to be subjected to - to whatever Skywalker had done to him. “Sir, we’re really going to do this, aren’t we? Kill him? Get the General out of here?”

Cody hands curled into fists. He stared at Obi-Wan, floating in the bacta, and he could still hear, in his head, the way Obi-Wan had begged for their lives. His life. He turned away, shoulders a rigid line, and said, “Yes. We are.”

He had some time to implement his plan, evidently. He could not move, not with Obi-Wan floating in the bacta, recovering from injuries that hurt to even imagine. He needed to take stock. To find out how many of his brothers Skywalker had murdered while he’d been unconscious. To learn how Skywalker was making them dance to his whims, and to find a better way to free his brothers than waiting for them to give themselves an aneurysm.

And then he needed to get Obi-Wan out of this place, make him safe. And he needed, so badly he could almost taste it, to put Skywalker out of his misery. He’d die. One way or the other. For everything he’d done.

The Kaminoans had bred Cody for war. He planned to wage it.

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Why Protect Them?

AU: Age Swap Au

Words: 1558

Rating: Teen

Characters: Hatake Kakashi and Uchiha Sasuke

Warnings: Blood, Blood Mention, Murder, Minor Character Death.

Summary: Revenge is something Kakashi has been seeking since he left Konoha. For the pain he felt, the life he lives, the hatred he faced. Yet, when he thinks he has finally gotten that revenge he still feels empty. As if there’s something else for him to do. A masked Shinobi shows up to tell him just what it is he’s missing.

The night air was heavy. Fatigue, anger, hurt, all wearing at him. Pulling him down until his knees buckled and he came crashing to the ground. His body ached, but it didn’t matter.

He’d done it.

He had won the fight, and yet the anger was still there. Burning deep inside of him. Tearing at his soul the same as it had before.

Nothing had changed, and it angered him. No matter how much he wanted to cheer. How happy he should be at his victory, he couldn’t even manage a smile.

“Why!?” Slamming his hands down against the ground, he screamed into the empty air around him. No matter what he did it wouldn’t go away. It refused to leave him alone. A curse placed on him from birth that would follow him until he died.

Lifting his eyes, he stared at the bloody, broken corpse of Konoha’s elder.

Orochimaru.

Leader of Root. Corrupt politician. The person Danzo had told him had made sure he had been left alone growing up. With no one to care for him. No one to love him.

No one to even like him.

“What do I have to do!?” He screamed at the corpse, desperate for an answer. For anything that could make the hurt inside his heart go away for just a little bit.

“I thought that much was obvious,” Scrambling to his feet, Kakashi moved into a defensive position and searched the area for any sign of whoever it was who was trying to talk to him. “Surely you didn’t think this was all you had to do. That taking down one person would solve all of your problems.”

Nothing.

No matter where he looked, or how much he tried to sense the enemy, he couldn’t find them. It annoyed him. He was good at telling where people were, even when they didn’t want him to.

He always knew who was around him and where they were, but right now he was exposed. Susceptible to attack.

And he hated it.

“There’s so many others to go after,” hearing the voice directly behind him, he turned to face his enemy. Except, there was no one there. Just empty space. “You can’t just let them get away with it, can you? Surely you want them all to pay for the part they played in making your life as miserable and empty as it was.”

“Who the hell are you!?” Digging his feet into the ground, he prepared himself to lunge towards his opponent as soon as they were visible. “And why won’t you show yourself to me?”

In the blink of an eye, the enemy appeared. Clad in an Akatsuki jacket with a blue swirl mask hiding his face from view and a hand resting on his hip, clearly not recognizing Kakashi as a threat. Which burned Kakashi on the inside.

Even after taking down Orochimaru, a high-ranking Shinobi of the leaf village and the current Hokage, he still wasn’t considered a serious threat? Who did he have to kill to get some damn respect in this world?

“You’re not really going to let them all forget what they did to you, are you?” The man behind the mask taunted. “All of those people that left you alone with no one to care for you. The villagers who hurled insults at you and hated you for something you couldn’t control?”

No. He didn’t want to listen to this.

Taking a step back he tried desperately to put distance between himself and the stranger as if it would help him to ignore his taunts. But his movement was met by the stranger taking a step towards him. Closing the gap that Kakashi had tried to create.

“No,” he growled, turning angry eyes onto the man who had so rudely interrupted his moment of victory. “No! I won’t become that!”

All it would do is prove them right. Show them that they were correct to fear Kakashi. To hate him. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Why are you holding onto mercy?” the stranger drawled, one empty black eye staring back at Kakashi. “Why would you hold any mercy for the people who hurt you? The ones who shunned you and hated you?”

Another step back met with the stranger closing the gap between them once more. This time coming closer. Stepping up right into Kakashi’s space so that he was hovering over him, his one eye spinning to life with a deep red six-pointed star.

The Sharingan.

“Who the hell are you!?” his feet moved to get him out of there, but before he could even hope to escape there was a hand grabbing hold of the front of his shirt. Holding him in place as the stranger stared down at him, his Sharingan staring down at him with a look Kakashi knew all too well.

Disgust.

“They treated you like shit,” the words burned deep. A reminder of things Kakashi had tried so hard to forget since leaving Konoha. Things he could never leave behind him, no matter how hard he tried to press forward. To forge his own path separate from Konoha. “And you’re still angry, we both know you are. If you didn’t care about Konoha you wouldn’t have gone after Orochimaru.”

Looking past the stranger, Kakashi focused on the dead body still laying on the ground. Covered in his own blood, one arm on the other side of the battlefield where Kakashi had chopped it off when they tried to grab him.

He had been so angry when Danzo had told him the truth before meeting his own death.

The fire had burned in his soul having to hear what role Orochimaru had played in ensuring Kakashi had been left alone. With no one to care for him. How he had manipulated all of the higher-ups into believing the best course of action was lying to Kakashi.

Denying him knowledge of his parents, or his family name. Ensuring that he was hated in the village. Shunned for something he had no control over.

“My friends…”

Obito, Rin, Gai. Even after all his time away from them, he couldn’t forget them. Wouldn’t dare to harm them. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and Konoha was their home. The village they would protect with their lives. He couldn’t…

“Are you so desperate to hold onto those few ties you have in that village that you’re willing to ignore the role everyone else played in making you feel unwelcome in your own village? Treating you like trash!” dragging his eyes back to the masked man, Kakashi found himself unable to focus on anything but the Sharingan that stared back at him with a deep burning hatred. “Cut your bonds! All they are doing is holding you back. Keeping you from getting the revenge you deserve. You don’t need friends. They didn’t do anything for you while you were in Konoha, and they’re not doing anything for you now. As far as they’re concerned you’re a traitor to their village. Someone, they will kill if they see again. So stop holding onto a past that you burned yourself, and focus on what matters.”

What matters.

“Konoha…” the anger returned. Violent and heavy in his heart.

All he had ever been to Konoha was a monster. Someone to hate and fear, even as a child. A liability to their quiet peaceful life.

“This is your chance to get the revenge you deserve. Not just against Orochimaru, but all of Konoha. Every single person who yelled at you, called you a monster, threw you out of their shop. All of them are to blame for the life you led, and you’re already a monster in their eyes. Why not show them what a monster you can really be?”

The masked man finally released his grip on Kakashi’s shirt and took a step back.

“Or are you just going to stand by and let them get away with it all?” his voice shifted. Anger subsiding for a taunting tone. “Pretend that none of it ever happened. Maybe you’re right. I’m sure your friends can forgive you for turning your back on them even when they pleaded with you to stay...because you have that bond.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

His heart ached.

Even when he had trained under Danzo he had held onto his friends, but they didn’t care about him.

They would rather put Konoha and the villagers who hated him over him.

They didn’t want the village they loved so dearly to be fixed. To face the consequences of their actions. They just wanted Kakashi to come home and forget anything bad had ever happened. Act like all was fine with the world.

He couldn’t do that though.

Refused to forget the way he had been treated all his life.

“I’ll burn it to the ground.” he met the masked man’s gaze, anger burning deep in his soul. A hatred he had pushed down for so long. Had tried so hard to ignore it no matter how bad it hurt, because that’s what a good shinobi did.

He was done being a good shinobi. It was time for Konoha to meet the anger of a Jinjuuriki.

“Good,” the masked man straightened himself up, a triumphant note in his voice. “It’s what they deserve.”

[angelrider13]

Tears and Blood Make a Peace Hard Won

Title: When Mind and Body Don’t Match Chapters: 1 / ?

Summary: Waking up in a boy’s body is not at all what she expected. Predictably, it sets the tone for her second life.

FF | AO3 | Master Fic List

Her name is Uchiha Itachi and she is the son of the Clan Head Uchiha Fugaku and his wife, Mikoto.

Except that she isn’t.

She isn’t a boy and her name isn’t Uchiha Itachi and she doesn’t want it to be. She watched and read that story and she wants nothing to do with this particular role, thank you very much.

But she doesn’t get much say in the matter.

Everyone calls her Itachi, everyone calls her a boy, and as a toddler, she doesn’t have the right words to correct them. And even if she did, what was she supposed to say?

She doesn’t want anything to do with this clan, with this story, with this life.

She wants to go back.

Back to her family, her life.

At the very least, she wants to go back to being dead.

She doesn’t remember much about it other than darkness and sleep and peace, but whatever it is, it has to better than whatever staying here will lead to.

She knows this story.

Knows the role Itachi plays in it.

And she knows with all her heart that it is not something she can pull off – nor is it something she wants to.

She’s terrified of what this means and in her tiny body, that terror translates the same way her grief does: lots of tears and screaming. She misses her family, still sees that last horrible moment every time she closes her eyes, every time she stops long enough to think. And if she isn’t thinking about them, she’s think about Itachi’s life. Her new life. A life she has somehow been given or taken. She doesn’t know, but she doesn’t want it.

As with many things in this new life of hers, she isn’t given a choice.

Mikoto is worried.

Itachi is already one and he acts nothing like she expected a baby too. He alternates between listless silence and horrible, heart wrenching sobbing.

She’s taken her son to see doctors and specialists and none of them can give her an answer. Physically, Itachi is perfectly fine. They can’t find anything wrong. But Mikoto thinks of bright red eyes glazed with tears and knows better. There is something wrong with her son and she has no idea what.

He’s only a year old and Mikoto knows that he’s already seen too much.

What she doesn’t know is how.

How her little boy could possibly know such horrors when he wasn’t even an hour old. Fugaku had poured over the clan archives for some kind of clue but had come back with nothing. There was no recorded mention of an Uchiha being born with Sharingan already active, let alone the Mangekyō Sharingan.

And yet.

Mikoto had wanted to keep it quiet, but as Clan Head, Fugaku had a duty to report such things to the Elders. So, naturally, the entire clan knows. Her stomach twists uncomfortably at the whispers about her son, about how he is already the pride of the clan, about how he will be the best of them.

He’s a baby.

A tiny, untrained, soft baby.

Not for the first time, Mikoto finds herself wondering at the clan’s priorities. Yes, they are a prominent shinobi clan. Yes, that skews priorities slightly. But this is the first time she’s experiencing it from the point of view of a mother.

She does not like it.

Itachi is in one of his calmer moods at the moment, lying on the floor and staring blankly at the ceiling. She sighs, jolting slightly when her son’s head turns towards the sound. She watches as he blinks, face scrunching up and she braces herself for the latest round of screaming. Instead, Itachi rolls over and pushes himself up on hands and knees and crawls over to her. When he reaches her, he sits back on the ground and stares up at her for a long moment.

Mikoto doesn’t dare breathe, doesn’t dare do anything that will trigger her son’s tears. He’s only a year old and he’s already cried far too much.

Then, to her infinite surprise, Itachi raises his arms in a gesture that – if her son were any other child – means he wants to be picked up.

Mikoto stares at him.

Her son has lived his first year of life shying away from human contact. He screams when he is picked up, squirming and thrashing until he is put down again.

Itachi frowns up at her when she doesn’t move, waving his arms to emphasize what he wants.

Hesitantly, she picks him up, holding him close. Itachi nods to himself and pats her cheeks with tiny hands.

“Kaa,” he says, calm and easy and…pleased?

Mikoto feels tears burn her eyes and Itachi’s face scrunches up in confusion.

“Kaa?”

Mikoto makes a choked sound and pulls her son against her. To her endless relief, Itachi lets her, his tiny arms wrapping around her as best they can. He makes a questioning sound even as he presses closer.

“Everything is alright, Ita-chan,” she says, a helpless smile pulling at her lips, “Kaa-chan is just so happy.”

She feels Itachi nod against her and she wonders how much her son really understands. She doesn’t know what’s caused this, why Itachi has suddenly reached out, but she can only hope it lasts.

Uchiha Mikoto is not her mother.

She already has a mother and she doesn’t want another one. And she doesn’t think that is going to change any time soon. If ever.

But Uchiha Mikoto is Itachi’s mother.

And as far as she knows, her son has shunned her his entire life, spending his time screaming at nothing or lying around listlessly.

She isn’t being fair.

She still doesn’t want anything to do with this life.

But she sees the frown that constantly pulls at Mikoto’s mouth and the worry that shines in her dark eyes.

And she feels guilty.

Mikoto isn’t the one who pulled her into this; she isn’t responsible for what’s happened. And yet she is punishing her. She’s pulled away from every touch, from every comfort, from the moment she woke up here. She didn’t want to be comforted, didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to deal with anything.

She still doesn’t.

But she isn’t the only one involved.

So she promises herself that she will unbend enough to let others in.

Mikoto and Fugaku are not her parents and will never be her parents, not really.

But they are Itachi’s parents.

And she has been so busy grieving for things she knows she can’t get back that she has denied them that.

No more.

Fugaku walks into the living room and freezes at the sight before him.

His wife and son are sitting on the floor playing with blocks. Mikoto is talking to him and interacting and Itachi is responding. They are building some kind of tower with the blocks and Itachi is smiling and participating and babbling nonsensical answers to his mother’s cooed comments.

His breath hitches in his throat and his chest feels tight.

Then the block tower falls over and Itachi goes silent, blinking at the pile of toys. He can see the way Mikoto braces herself for the tears, for the screaming that has plagued this entire year and Fugaku finds himself holding his breath.

But then Itachi claps his hands together and laughs.

Mikoto stares at their son, eyes wet, and laughs along with him. She looks up and catches sight of him and smiles and he can see the relief, the hope in her expression and he feels his heart skip a beat. It’s been so long since Mikoto has smiled.

Itachi notices Mikoto’s look and turns towards him.

And then the most breathtaking, beautiful thing happens.

His son’s face lights up at the sight of him, his tiny mouth pulling into a smile as he scrambles, crawling over to him as fast as his little limbs will allow. Then he sits at his feet and reaches up to him.

“Tou!” he says.

Fugaku goes slowly to his knees before his child and leans down so that they are eye level with each other.

“Hello, Itachi,” he says, not caring that his voice is shaking or that his eyes are burning.

Itachi beams at him, tiny hands coming up to pat his cheeks.

“Tou,” he says again, firmly, nodding to himself before he leans in and wraps his arms around Fugaku as much as he can.

Fugaku freezes, eyes flying over to Mikoto. His wife is watching them with a smile, tears streaming down her cheeks and she mimes a hug. Very, very carefully, he wraps his arms around his son and pulls him into his lap and tries not to weep in pure relief when Itachi goes willingly, leaning into his hold instead of breaking down screaming.

Instead, his son snuggles closer and pats his chest and completely relaxes into his arms with a content hum.

He’s holding his son.

He’s holding his son and his son is letting him.

Mikoto has moved to sit beside them and is watching them both with a smile that he has seen so little of this past year but hasn’t left her face since he stepped into the room. Itachi stirs against him and reaches out to her.

“Kaa,” he says.

Mikoto laughs lightly. “I should hug too?” she asks.

Itachi nods with all the seriousness that an infant can and Mikoto wraps her arms around them both. Fugaku leans into her and basks in the warmth of his family.

His son’s voice, so quiet that he almost misses it, tears him from his thoughts.

“S’rry,” he says.

He blinks and trades looks with Mikoto before they both glance down at their son.

“Itachi?” Mikoto asks softly, smoothing a hand over his dark hair.

Itachi reaches out and wipes at the tear tracks on his mother’s cheek. “Sa’ no,” he says solemnly, “S’rry.”

Fugaku and Mikoto stare at their son in shock.

“Sa’ no,” he says again when they don’t reply.

Mikoto finds her voice first. “We aren’t sad, sweetie,” she says.

Itachi makes a noise of protest. “Sa’ no,” he repeats firmly.

“Okay, Itachi,” Fugaku says, “We won’t be sad.”

Mikoto looks at him helplessly and Fugaku knows that the same thoughts are running through her head.

How can he tell? How can Itachi understand what is happening? Or are they just reading too much into it?

But he thinks of red, red eyes and wonders.

“You won’t be sad either?” he asks, prodding, testing.

Itachi blinks at him in surprise before his face scrunches up in a pout.

“Ita-chan?” Mikoto asks when the boy stays silent.

Itachi looks at her and nods slowly and says very carefully, “Try.”

Mikoto smiles at him and kisses his forehead. “That’s all we ask, Ita-chan.”

And for the first time since Itachi was born, Fugaku hopes.

[meowmeowmessi]

TotA AU where the Score prophesied that Sam will be a Fon Master who will have to sacrifice to save the world, and when Dean is old enough to understand his brother's fate, he promptly says "Fuck you" to the Score and does his best to overthrow the Score even if it means forsaking the world (Sam being Sam only wants the best for the world even if it means sacrificing himself just like what the Score says)

(Later it turns out that the sacrifice the Score meant was Dean's death as Dean means so much to Sam that his death is considered Sam's sacrifice)

OMFG ANON. THIS IS GREAT. I FUCKING LOVE THIS???

I can totally imagine little Dean, who's interested in all things fon-tech, wanting to be a fon-tech expert, just like his dad. When he learns that the Score dictates he must be a Fon Master Guardian, he's so upset that none of the words from his mother and father can placate him.

"It's supposed to be an honor, kiddo-"

"I don't wanna be a stupid Guardian for a stupid Fon Master! I wanna work on Albiores like you, Dad!"

Mary's soft laugh can be heard from the kitchen. "You can't change the Score, Dean,"

Dean stamps his foot, chubby hands clenched into fists. "Well the Score's stupid!"

Once his little brother is born, Dean's petulance at his Score is temporarily put on hold. From that day onwards Mary and John find Dean's bed more often than not empty, Dean having climbed into Sam's crib, arms wrapped tight around the little bundle of wispy brown hair and sunflower eyes that they call Sammy. Dean's fiercely protective of him, cleaning the blood from his scraped knee and wiping away his tears and maybe even beating up his bullies if the situation calls for it. And little Sammy looks at Dean like he hung the Fon Belt around Auldrant. He's Dean's biggest admirer, hanging onto his every word, following him all day around like a lost puppy.

John and Mary think it's adorable.

Few years later, part of Sam's Score is read on his birthday in front of his entire family, and it says he's meant to be a Fon Master. Suddenly, everything clicks into place for Dean.

Sam, the Fon Master, and Dean: his Guardian.

His adamant refusal to be a Guardian seems so ridiculous now. He's been protecting Sam all his life, and the Score says he's meant to be his Guardian. Even before he was born Sam was his.

Why fight fate when fate has been right all along?

Later that night, Sam's standing outside Dean's door, shuffling his feet. He swallows, nervous. No sooner does he raise his hand to knock than Dean opens the door.

"Dean!" Sam says, with a start.

Dean keeps the door open and sits down on his bed, so Sam follows him inside and takes a seat next to him.

"You've been standing outside for 10 minutes now, You have a nightmare?" Dean's voice is soft, and Sam catches the sleepy rasp in it. The covers on his bed are rumpled, his short hair tousled, and Sam feels guilty for waking him up.

"Sammy?"

Same shakes his head. "No, I-" He takes a deep breath. "Dean, I'm sorry."

Beat. Then:

"See? I knew you ate the last slice of pie I'd kept in the fridge,"

Bitch Face Number 34. Dean laughs. Sam lets out a sigh and grows quiet again. Dean feels his heart constrict in his chest at that. He turns toward Sam, knocking their knees together. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"About my Score," Sam blurts out, "actually, it's more about your Score- Dean, I know that you always wanted to be a fon-tech expert. Like Dad. Not-Not a Fon Master Guardian," Sam looks away. "Not my Guardian."

Dean's heart thumps against his ribcage. Sam's Guardian. The words sound good. Right. Perfect.

Meant to be.

What's Sam talking about?

"And I know you hate that you have to be my Guardian because the Score says so" Wrong. So, so wrong. "And for that I'm sorry-"

Sam suddenly finds his face pressed into Dean's shirt collar, Dean's arms wrapped around him, his scent engulfing him. When he says, "You couldn't be more wrong, kiddo," his voice is warm and smooth in his ears, and it makes Sam shiver.

"Listen up, Sammy," Dean says. "My Score ain't wrong, 'kay? I'm happy to be your Guardian. I wouldnt have it any other way."

Sam frowns. Pushing away from Dean's hold, he looks at him. Dean's hands slide down to Sam's hips and stay there, his expression fierce, determination etched in the furrows of his brow.

"But you always say that your Score's wrong," Sam says, and Dean resists the urge to smooth out the wrinkles that appear between his eyebrows with his thumb. Instead, he huffs.

"Okay, so I think the Score sucks -- some times." His parents are always telling him to respect the Score -- it's practically religion -- but Dean can't find it in himself to care. Not until now, that is. "But I can't deny that it's right about some things, like the fact that it says I'm awesome," -- Sam snorts -- "you definitely stole my leftover slice of pie," -- Sam giggles. Dean smiles at that, then pulls him into his arms again and buries his nose in his hair -- "and you're my Fon Master and I'm your Guardian."

That night, they both fall asleep in Sam's bed, Dean's chest pressed to Sam's back and his arms looped around his waist like back when they were kids sharing Sam's crib.

So Sam becomes a Fon Master and Dean his Guardian. They move to Daath, and they're joined at the hip, like always. But the days of peace are over when The Order announces, after making Sam read it aloud from his own Score, that Sam is to sacrifice his life for the sake of the planet. Something about a war breaking out otherwise, something about miasma, somethingsomethingsomething -- but it's all white noise to Dean.

Sam's life. For the planet. For Auldrant.

Even worse: Sam accepts. He bows his head, long brown hair hanging forward, and says, voice soft, "Thank you for the opportunity."

Dean's faith in the Score crumbles to nothingness.

There had always been cracks there, fissures spiderwebbing across the surface that his job as Sam's Guardian -- as said so by the Score itself -- kept from spreading, but this revelation is the pebble that shatters the glass completely.

Fuck the Score, Dean thinks with venom. He's in his room. If he looks hard enough, he thinks he can see the emerald green Fon Belt in the night sky from his window. Sam had once told him that that the green reminded him of his eyes (Dean had scoffed and called him a girl, but secretly, his heart warmed all over). Far past the clouds, orbiting Auldrant, the Belt winks at him, as if in mocking. In victory. Of what it's going to take away from him.

He wants to scream.

"You can't change the Score, Dean," Mary's words from so long ago come whispering in his ears, and Dean swipes the lamp from his desk. There's a paper weight on the desk, made of glass and in the shape of a Cheagle, and he throws it on the ground, too. The papers are next, meeting their demise in Dean's hands, shredded like they're made of tissue.

Blood pounds in his ears; his palms itch. If anyone stands in his way right now he swears by Yulia-

"Dean?!"

Dean stills. Turns. Sam's stood frozen in his doorway, eyes wide, looking aghast. Distantly, he notes that Sam's out of his green Fon Master uniform. He's wearing a snow white tunic and loose black sleep pants, drawstrings tied securely on his narrow hips. Light from Luna casts his face in a silver glow, blurs his edges, makes him look so soft. Out of nowhere, Dean has an insane, manic urge to pull Sam into his arms and hide him away from the world -- the world that wants to snatch his baby brother away from him.

He tamps it down though, on account of the fact that he surely looks like a manic already, a wild animal standing amidst debris and destruction.

"Dean, what's going on?! You're bleeding!"

Dean doesn't notice when Sam takes his hand in his. His fist is still clenched, and Sam gently, gently unfurls it, hissing at the blood seeping his knuckles, as if the pain that he isn't even feeling -- too numb -- were his own.

"What were you thinking- sit down- getting a first aid kit-"

Sam guides him to the bed and gently pushes him down by his shoulder, making him sit, making sure his feet are on a patch of the floor that's not covered in shattered bits of paper weight.

The glass Cheagle paper weight.

That Sam had gifted him years ago.

Dean snaps out of his despair induced fog, looking up just as Sam enters his room with a first aid kit in hand. He bypasses the glass shards and sits next to Dean on his bed, placing the box by his hip. After he's done cleaning the cuts and bandaging his hands, he quietly gazes at Dean. His eyes are soft, but Dean feels like he's pinned down like a butterfly by those puppy eyes, ready to spill his heart out the second Sam asks.

Sam asks.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, Dean?"

Dean spills.

"I'm not letting them do it." His voice is marble hard.

"Do what?" Sam asks, then startles when Dean cups his face in his hands -- bandaged knuckles protesting against the move -- and snarls, "I'm not letting them take you away from me!"

Sam's surprised gaze softens in understanding. "Dean, it's okay," A pause. "I can do it, you know. It's for the world- I can do it-"

"That's not the friggin' point, Sam!" Dean seethes, hands shaking against Sam's cheeks. "Fuck the world" the words are on the tip of his tongue, but then Sam brings his hands up and touches Dean's own, gently prying them from his face. Dean would feel bereft, except Sam's holding his hands now, warmth spreading from Sam's hands to his.

"Did you have dinner?"

"Sammy-"

"C'mon, there's beef stew. You love beef stew!"

Dean groans, leaning forward, resting his forehead on Sam's shoulder. He can already feel the ice around his heart thawing. Damn Sam and his puppy eyes.

"And I've been waiting for you. I'm starving,"

And I've been waiting for you: and that's it. Dean buckles.

Sam can tell he's won, so he chuckles, slapping Dean on the back. "Let's go then!"

Dean catches Sam's wrist in his hand just as Sam gets off the bed. Green eyes bore into hazel. "I'm telling you Sammy, you're not doing it. I won't let you."

Sam purses his lips, then smiles. No dimples. But that's okay, because after they finish dinner, and Sam climbs into Dean's bed and lets himself be wrapped up in Dean's arms, Dean buries his nose in Sam's hair and finally understands.

The Score has only ever been right about One Thing: that he is Sam's Guardian. His protector. And if going against what the Score says means he's doing his job, then who's to stop him?

After all, why fight fate when fate has been right all along?

....

Also here's Fon Master Sam and Guardian Dean bc why the hell not (can I get an F in the chat for my art skills) (and also for Sam's fucked up left leg):

Bonus: Dean as Guy (bc carfuckerdean 🤝 albiorefuckerguy):

[dustofinsanity]

𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟝

Jinyoung / ReaderㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤGang AUㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWords count: 4k

Summary: Even if he was supposed to be nothing more than a friend with benefits, Jinyoung was your first and only one love. But he broke your heart and made you become the cold woman you are now. Seven years later, you meet him again.

Content/Warning: Angst, Strong language, Violence/Blood, Romance/Fluff

Previous part

As Jinyoung told you to do, you ran to his place, without giving attention to your tears, sore legs or the way people were staring at you. You just ran mindlessly and surprisingly, easily found Jinyoung's apartment. You've never been good at finding your way or navigating unknown areas but, this time, your brain was on your side and, after about thirty minutes of running like a crazy woman, you finally locked the door of Jinyoung's behind you.

Immediately, you fell on your knees and realised you weren't crying anymore, you didn't have any tears to shed for now and your eyes were dry and aching. And then, it hit you. This situation, you already knew it, you already had been on your knees in front of a door, eyes red and heart breaking in your chest.

Seven years before.

But, this time, things were different and, most importantly, Jinyoung told you he would be back, that he wouldn't leave. Deep inside, you knew he would do everything he could to keep that promise. There were too many unsaid things between the both of you, so many secrets you wanted to tell him, so many things you still wanted to do at his side. He had to come back.

You didn't know how long you stayed in front of the door but, when you finally got your mind together, you walked to the living room and found the phone with which you called Kangjoon. You told him what happened, letting him know you weren't hurt and were safe now. Like the best friend he was, he proposed to join you with Dohwan and Joohyuk but you said it was better if they stayed at Bad Company. As long as you didn't know if things were over or not, you didn't want to take the risk to let them come here in case people followed them.

Then, you found yourself alone in the apartment, looking all around you and thinking it suited Jinyoung's personality perfectly. It wasn't too decorated, just the strict minimum. Bookshelves were covering a whole wall of the living room, from floor to ceiling. You checked some of them and recognized the ones Jinyoung sometimes read at your former place. A sad smile passed over your lips and you kept wandering through the place, glancing at the door almost every ten seconds.

You knew you should stay in the living room and wait for Jinyoung's return but Jaebeom's words came back into your mind and your curiosity won over you. Slowly, you opened the only closed door, guessing it was Jinyoung's bedroom and glanced into the dark room, your eyes getting used to the obscurity, before cautiously entering. You knew you were alone here but you still tried to be the most discreet and silent as you could, like if you could get caught by someone.

City lights were softly lighting the room and you easily made your way around the bed on which you sat, heart racing and eyes not daring to look at the nightstand. But, once again, your curiosity was stronger than you and you finally looked at the small wooden furniture, your eyes getting wet instantly.

Guess you still had tears to shed.

Jaebeom didn't lie and honestly you didn't know if you would prefer he had or not. The photo was here, leaning against the bedside lamp foot. With a shaking hand you softly grabbed it and all the memories of this day played right in front of your crying eyes.

Exhausted, you put the photo back on the nightstand and laid on the bed, being immediately intoxicated by Jinyoung's scent. You felt bad for falling asleep when the one you loved was still outside but your whole body couldn't stay awake longer.

However, your sleep wasn't restful.

You didn't know how long you slept but, when the intercom rang, you didn't waste any second and rushed to the door, about to open it when Jinyoung's order came back into your mind. You then pressed the button on the intercom and saw Jaebeom, Mark and Bambam on the little screen.

Alive, they were alive!

You hurriedly unlocked the door and ran down the three floors to join the guys outside. They were covered by bruises, scratches and blood that you deeply hoped it wasn't theirs. But, something was wrong and, when you figured out what it was, your eyes went wide and tears started to escape. Softly, Jackson cupped your face and, a warm smile on his lips, made you look on your left side.

Here. He was here.

Before you could realize, you ran to Jinyoung and jumped on him, wrapping your arms around his neck. A hiss followed by an amused chuckle parted his lips while one of his arms encaged you in his strong embrace and his other hand landed on the back of your head.

"Did someone miss me?" he softly teased.

"Every single day of the last seven fucking years," you answered, your face sunk in the crook of his neck.

You heard the guys chuckling behind and when they started to leave, one of them, Youngjae if you weren't wrong, told his friend to take care of the rascal you were, making you grin slightly. Jinyoung nodded and kept you in his arms as long as you needed it.

But you remembered the guys' state and guessed your lover was surely the same. "Are you injured?" you quickly asked, pulling away and checking him.

"Nothing bad, don't worry," he smiled, grabbing both of your hands and kissing them. "Let's go inside, I need to take a shower."

"Right, you stink," you teased him, earning another of his delightful chuckles.

Making him open his eyes wide, you intertwined your fingers with his and went back to his place. Saying he wouldn't take too long, he told you to make yourself at home and left you in the living room after quickly kissing the side of your head.

Now Jinyoung was here, you felt like a little kid in a porcelain shop and didn't dare to touch anything. Now he was here, you felt embarrassed and scared. Scared because you knew the night was far from over and the both of you had to talk. At the same time, it was a relief even if it also felt like a threat. You kind of knew you had nothing to be afraid of, for the last few months, Jinyoung's acts clearly made you understand he wasn't the bastard you thought he was for the last seven years.

But still, you were afraid.

Sat on the couch, you heard the bathroom door open and saw Jinyoung walk to the kitchen, wearing nothing but just a pair of sweatpants. In any other situation, you would let your mind have all the damn thoughts it would want but not this time. This time, your eyes stopped on the scars on Jinyoung's back. When you met him, he already had few but the ones you could see now were bigger and you wondered how he got them.

"Do you want to eat something?" he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts and making you blink while he was looking through the kitchen cupboards. "I don't have a lot here but I can try to cook something if you're hun-"

He stopped, surprised by your arms wrapping around him.

A discreet smile curling his lips, he removed your arms and turned to you just to see your face down and your shoulders moving slightly. He knew you tried your best not to cry, after all these years, he still knew you like the back of his hand. Softly, he pulled you against him and kept you in his arms.

"I guess you have questions," he whispered against the side of your head, feeling you nod slowly.

Without any warning, Jinyoung grabbed your thighs and picked you up, letting you lock your legs around his waist, before walking to the couch and sat onto it, your body still against his.

"What do you want to know?"

"I... I don't know," you admitted without moving, breathing in his perfume and feeling his heartbeat against your chest. "I have many questions but... I don't know where to start."

"I'll do that for you," he smiled, tenderly stroking your head. "I grew up in an orphanage with Jaebeom. But we weren't the kind of peaceful kids." He stopped, seeing you straight up and frown at him. "What? Is it that hard to think I made a lot of bad choices when I was a kid?"

"You, no, but Jaebeom, yes."

"Hey!" he exclaimed, making you giggle adorably. "Anyway," he added, frowning back at you. "Jihoon hyung heard about the two energetic and unbearable kids we were and adopted us. He already did the same thing for Mark a few years before and, later, did it again for Jackson, Youngjae, Bambam and Yugyeom. He raised the seven of us like his real sons and always believed in us. Jihoon hyung knew our life was not the best but he does his best for us."

"From what I saw, he seems to be a cool guy," you whispered, your face back into the crook of his neck.

"He is and it seems that he really appreciates you," Jinyoung nodded, his hand on your back drawing smooth circles. "He also understood why I acted like that seven years ago. I told him you were really different back then but, I don't know, he just understood."

"He told me you disobeyed his orders," you said, feeling Jinyoung freeze and nod against your head. "Why... why did you do that?"

"Because I-" Jinyoung paused, searching for his words, and softly chuckled. "Because I needed you."

You straightened up again, putting your hands on his abs while your eyes were too shy to meet his. You wanted to know more, you wanted to hear Jinyoung say why he needed you, but your heart was racing, echoing in your temples, and your voice was stuck in your throat.

God, you hated being like that! It wasn't you! It wasn't Y/n! But was the Y/n you became really the one you truly were deep inside?

"Hey, where’s the bold Y/n I’ve known for the last few months?" Jinyoung smiled, trying to see your face through the falling strands of your hair, both his hands on your hips.

"This is exactly what I was asking myself," you sighed, looking at every scar and bruise on his torso. You shook your head, like if it could help you to chase your shyness away, and finally locked your eyes in Jinyoung's. "Why... Why did you need me?"

A smirk curling the corner of his lips, Jinyoung raised an eyebrow, liking every second of what was happening in front of him. For the last few months, he saw the bold and strong woman you became but, right now, you were the one he fell for seven years before.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, seeing your cheeks turning red. "God, I missed that so much," he kept going, his grin turning into a warm smile while his thumbs softly caressed the right side of your face.

"So... you were happy with me?" you asked, your fingers languidly running up and down his torso.

"You were the best thing in my life," he naturally confessed, making you widen your eyes. "I never hated my life, and still don't hate it. Even if I grew up surrounded by violence, I never missed anything and never felt alone thanks to Jihoon hyung and my brothers. But," he paused. "But I met you."

His voice was almost sad when Jinyoung said those last four words and you wondered if he ever regretted meeting you. But the way his eyes were sparkling when he evoked that fateful day quickly erased your doubts. Jinyoung never regretted meeting you but he would hate himself until his last day for the pain he made you feel.

"You say that like if it was a bad thing," you still pointed out, your eyes avoiding his again.

"Never think that way," he whispered, straightening onto the couch, his torso now against your chest. "Thanks to you, I knew things, no, I felt things I thought I would never know, things I thought I wasn't deserving of. And... And I would give my whole life to feel them again."

"I'm afraid, Jinyoung," you breathed, trying your best to keep your tears behind your eyes. "What if you leave me again?"

"I'd rather die than leave you again, Y/n."

Swallowing, you looked back at him just to see him move his face closer and softly peck your lips.

Heart hammering in your chest, you said nothing nor moved and just stared at Jinyoung with lost eyes. But he saw. He saw the hidden feeling behind your insecurity and, softly, slid his fingers to your neck, pulling you closer and locking his lips on yours once again.

The kiss was slow, tender, almost shy, and both your minds seemed afraid about what was happening when every cell of your beings was craving for each other. But, as soon as your fingers ran up his torso and stopped their course into his hair, harshly grabbing it to pull him even closer, Jinyoung understood you wanted, needed, to feel what you felt so many nights seven years before.

He didn't lose any second and stood up from the couch, holding you in his strong embrace with one arm and carrying you like if you were as light as a feather. At this moment, the kiss wasn't tender anymore, both of you wanting to show how much you missed each other's lips, touch, body. And you both expressed that by mixing many feelings all together into one ardent kiss.

Love, desire, need, missing but also anger, grudge and violence.

A loud groan escaped from your throat when Jinyoung pinned you against a wall and you wasted no time in paying him back, biting his lower lip as you pulled on his hair.

"Sorry," he whispered, not sure if he really meant it.

"Don't," you replied, crashing back your mouth on his.

You felt his lips curling into a smile and tightened the grip of your legs around his waist as he carried you into his room, his desire getting bigger underneath his sweatpants.

As if you were the most precious thing on Earth, and for him, you were, Jinyoung laid you onto his bed and settled himself between your legs, leaving your lips for your jaw line then your neck, sliding his hands under your tee. Quickly, he took off your clothes and froze, his eyes landing on your black laced bra. It was way different from what you wore in the past but it didn't make a difference to Jinyoung; you were still as beautiful as ever.

It didn't take long for him to reconnect his lips on your skin, kissing, licking, nibbling and biting every inch of your upper body while your fingers were tangled through his hair and moans escaped your mouth. Before you could even realize, one of his hands slid to your back and easily unclasped your bra with two fingers. Not even a second after, Jinyoung was throwing your lingerie through the room, his mouth already sucking on your right breast while his other hand grabbed the left one.

It felt like Heaven. No, it felt even better than Heaven.

Seven years before, everytime Jinyoung made you his, you felt like the luckiest girl on Earth, every one of his gestures reminding you how beautiful you were. But now, you both weren't students anymore, and Jinyoung wasn't only showing you how badly he wanted you but how madly he loved and needed you, his scratches and bites followed by licks and kisses.

"Ji-Jinyoung..." you whined, arching your back when his lips grazed your hips, some tears escaping from your eyes. "Please, Jinyoung."

You didn't need to say more, he knew exactly what this "please" meant, it didn't change, it was the same you already said so many times before. His hands then left your breasts and slowly, brushing over your skin, went down to your stomach, stopping at the hem of your denim shorts. His fingers sliding between your belly and fabric, Jinyoung unbuttoned your clothes and, once you unwrapped your legs from his waist, slid your shorts along your legs, grabbing your black laced panties with them.

"Are you even real?" he whispered, one of his hands going up to your wet core while he took off his sweatpants with the other, letting you see his glorious erection.

"Please," you repeated in the same tone, your whole body already trembling with excitement.

Slowly, Jinyoung looked up at you, the hint of a smirk on his lips, and slightly nodded. He dreamed of this moment for the last seven years, the moment when both of you could be finally together again. Even if his mouth still wanted to taste your body for hours, just to remember how delicious you were, Jinyoung couldn't deny the craving to be inside you was way stronger.

A hand on the pillow to gain some balance, Jinyoung settled himself in front of your entrance and softly, lovingly even, slid inside you, loud sighs parting both your mouths. Once the sensation you secretly longed to feel again for the last seven years calmed down a bit, you adjusted yourself and wrapped back your legs around his waist.

"Nothing’s changed, love," Jinyoung whispered in your ear once his body was over yours and his free hand grabbed your thigh. "If something's wrong, just tell me."

You slightly chuckled. He was right, nothing changed. Jinyoung still wanted to take care of you, to protect you, to make you feel safe, loved and pleased even in this kind of moment, even if he wanted to make you scream his name for hours.

"Don't worry, everything will be alright," you replied, grabbing his head and locking your eyes in his. "I trust you, Park Jinyoung."

"I love you," he told you for the first time since he met you.

"I love you too," you smiled, pulling on his head to bring his lips where they had to be, on yours.

A tear escaping from his eye and dropping on your cheek, Jinyoung smiled against your mouth and finally gave you what you wanted, slowly starting to thrust into you, his groans melting with your moans in a perfect melody.

He kept a slow pace at first, trying to keep control over his feelings and desires, tightening the grip on your thigh everytime you clenched your walls around his member. But, quickly, his hunger took over him and he harshly pounded into you once, making you widen your eyes and yelp at the sudden change and sensation.

"Sorry, I-" Jinyoung murmured, sinking his face into the crook of your neck.

"Did you miss me?" you cut him off, sliding your hands on his back and drawing smooth circles.

"More than you can ever imagine, love," he nodded, kissing the spot where your neck met your shoulder.

"Then show me. Show me how much you missed me."

Like it was an order he dreamed to obey for far too long, Jinyoung thrusted into you once again, and again, and again, more violently and deeper every time, groaning with the skin of your neck between his teeth when you dug your nails into his back and scratched it.

Even if nothing but grunts left his mouth, you could guess Jinyoung tried his best to hold back himself, scared to death of hurting you. So, between every moan, you tried to reassure him, to articulate some words, struggling to say everything was okay, he could let him go, he would never hurt you. You just wanted Jinyoung to understand you trusted him and got the answer you wanted when, moving his hand from your thigh, he slid his arms under your back and grabbed your shoulders, pouding another time into your wet area, even deeper and angrier.

All the insanities both of you were holding back in your throats finally left your mouths and, quickly, the room was filled by sounds of your skin clapping against each other and desperate cursing that neither of you said in a bed.

Jinyoung wasn't the young guy you knew anymore; he was the man who was making you his forever. You weren't the cute student he fell for anymore; you were the woman who wanted to spend the rest of the eternity by his side. You weren't two lovers anymore; you were two souls melting together to become one, every thrust, kiss, scratch and caress sealing your fate.

"Ji-Jinyoung, I'm- I'm gonna," you stuttered, feeling an umpteenth wave of delightful electric shocks washing all over your body.

"I- I missed you so- so much, lo- love," he replied as hard as you, feeling his high coming.

"Tell me you- Ahh! Tell me you won't- you won't leave."

"I... will... never... leave... you... again. Never," he promised, smacking his hips against yours between each of his words.

Another wave, the strongest you've ever felt, overwhelmed you and you immediately reached your climax, eyes rolling back and cries breaking from your lips. Jinyoung followed right away, digging his shaft a few other times and filling you up with his seed.

Seconds later, everything went back to calm in the room, silence being broken by your loud breaths only.

Covered in sweat, Jinyoung carefully pulled away, asking if you were okay when you slightly hissed, and laid down on his back, an arm already sliding under your shoulders and pulling your naked body against him, his free hand removing a few strands from your face. You softly kissed the bare skin of his chest and put your head on it, your hand resting on his abs and following the scars you could feel under your fingertips.

Never in the last seven years had you imagined that you would find yourself back in Jinyoung's arms, smelling his scent, feeling his skin against yours and, even if you hated the idea, you ended up accepting it. But here you were, lying in his bed, wrapped in his strong and comforting embrace, his fingers brushing tenderly your arm.

"I'm sorry," you sighed, slowly looking up at him just to see him frown slightly. "For what I said at Bad Company the night we opened."

"You had every right to say that," he sadly smiled, pulling you closer and kissing your forehead. "Don't worry about it, love."

"Still, I'm sorry," you insisted, lowering your head and running your fingertips along his chest. "I didn't know wh-"

"You're right," he cut you off, grabbing your chin and making you look back up at him. "You didn't know. I broke your heart, Y/n, you suffered because of me, you had every right to hate me. And trust me, I told myself things that were way worse than what you said. But you're here now and we can pick up where we stopped."

At his words, a smirk slowly stretched the corner of your lips, making Jinyoung raise an eyebrow.

"Talking about picking up where we stopped," you purred, climbing on him and digging your nails in the skin of his chest. "What about doing it right now?"

You didn't know if it was the proposition, the sound of your voice, the way you scratched his skin, or everything all together, probably the last option, but Jinyoung's reaction didn't take long and lust filled his dark eyes. Promptly, he straightened up and pulled your body as close as it could be against his.

"Show me how much you missed me, love," Jinyoung smirked, crashing his lips back on yours.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ⁓•⁓ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ Thank you for reading! 💜 ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ⁓•⁓

[rosy-night-sky]

Of Treasure and Adventure

Genre: Treasure Hunter/Indiana Jones AU

Pairing: Ot7 x reader

Summary: Your grandmother gave you a gift that she won in a game, so naturally you are curious as to the origins of it. A decision was then made that you should seek the answers to your questions. However, you never expected your decision to lead you on a treasure hunting quest.

Warning: Suggestive themes, violence, trauma

Disclaimer: Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Tag List:  @sevenincubistolemyheart @xxqueenwxtchxx @technicolor-blues @taevkimchi @youcantbesiriusremus @vannilacake @baby-hobii @catsandstrawberries @izzyisavengersupernaturaltrash @http-lostforever @jhopetypes @seesawsmin-flower @taekookandyoongi @star-gods @asifetch7​ @the-jackals​ @comicnerd557​

(A/N: Ahhhh! It’s finally here! Oh my god, it’s been months! I’m so sorry this took so long. I hope this makes up for it. I tried to make this a little more angsty, but I’m sorry if it falls short. Enjoy!)

Chapter 9

Darkness. That was all you could recall in that moment. All memories and knowledge of yourself were long gone. All you could do was sink back into the comforting, warm pool of murkiness, letting all your senses and thoughts fade away like the sun at twilight. In that moment, you couldn’t remember anything, your identity, your family, your friends. Everything that made you you was washed away in the never-ending waves of blackness and calmness. For a brief moment, you didn’t want to be pulled from the soothing current of peacefulness. Was this death? Were you dead?

Then suddenly, a memory popped into your head. Your name. Then after that came another memory. Your family, specifically your grandmother setting you on her lap when you were a child. With that came a few memories like snowflakes sprinkling down before a snowstorm. The expedition. The boys, your friends. What happened to them? Where were they? You couldn’t seem to recall what occurred just minutes ago. Your mind was still a mess of muddled thoughts and recollections. 

You remembered seeing red. There was a lot of red before you fell into this black abyss. Red… red dress, red tie, red shoes, red… blood… There were also faint feelings of panic and stress hidden in your subconscious. Desperation. You saw desperation somewhere. Where was that…? Were you desperate? Did something happen? Yes, but also no… you saw it in something-- someone, more like. Eyes… you saw it in someone’s eyes. Whose? …. Jin…?

…

…….

Jin!

You threw yourself out of the drowning darkness and awoke with a gasp, as if you were actually in a sea of blackness and had finally resurfaced. Your memories came back in an overwhelming flood. Your eyes stung for a moment as light suddenly pierced them. You blinked a few moments, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness, as your chest rose and fell from rapid breathing. After the bright light died down and your eyes stung no longer, you quickly took in your surroundings. At first, panic rose in your throat because you found yourself in an unfamiliar environment; but after a few seconds, you soon realized that you were back in the safe hotel suite that Jin had booked for the night. 

“Whoa! Whoa there! Calm down, y/n! You’re alright, you’re safe.”

You jerked your head almost violently toward the owner of the voice and found yourself staring into warm, familiar, eyes. Hoseok. Your shoulders relaxed as did your breathing. 

A long, drawn out breath slipped through your lips as you relaxed back into the couch you were laid upon. “What happened? Did I fall asleep?” you asked, although you knew that not to be the case. You had completely forgotten who you were, what happened at the gala, where you were. That wasn’t as normal as falling asleep.

Hoseok took out the stethoscope that was still embedded into his ears and placed it back into his black bag. “Vasovagal syncope.” He smiled when seeing your confused expression. You weren’t a doctor! You didn’t know these medical terms like they were common knowledge. “Basically, you were under stress for a long duration of time, and the adrenaline pumping within you was making your heart beat at a rapid pace. Then, once you were in the van, your body suddenly dropped your blood pressure, causing you to faint.”

You paused for a few moments, taking in all of this knowledge. “So I fainted from too much stress and the rush of adrenaline?” you clarified, leaning back into the couch slightly.

“To put into simpler terms, yes.”

You lifted a hand to your face and began to rub your temples, trying to rub awake the grogginess and exhaustion that still wracked at your body. “Makes sense. I was very stressed out for the entirety of the night, and the whole fiasco really set off my anxiety. I’m surprised I didn’t faint right when the blackout happened,” you remarked, your voice airy from lack of use. “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Hoseok answered, rummaging through his belongings before pulling out a flask of clean water and handing it to you. “I’d say maybe twenty minutes. You kept coming out of unconsciousness for a little bit only for you to fall back into it. You must have really been stressed out.”

You brought the flask to your dry and chapped lips, letting the cool liquid wet your lips before taking a few gracious gulps to satisfy your parched throat and tongue. “I was. I pretty much took the reigns of that whole disaster of a situation.”

Hoseok chuckled before taking the flask out of your hands after you were finished drinking. He placed it down on the table next to you before sitting on the arm of the couch opposite to you. “I agree. Without you there, the whole operation would’ve been a failure. You really pulled us through.” He smiled graciously to you with such warmth and kindness.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a smile of your own. “The whole problem was that everything wrong happened at the same time. Taehyung went on his own without telling anyone. We ran into Mr. Akimoto. Jin passed out. The blackout happened. I needed Namjoon to get the kobae while Jungkook needed to get Jin to safety.” You sighed again while using your hand to pull down the skin of your face in exasperation. “I shouldn’t be talking about this. It’s just going to stress me out again.”

“Good idea,” the doctor chuckled. “We don’t want you to have a cardiac arrest from the amount of stress you’re going through.”

You groaned almost dramatically. “Don’t say that…” After you finished rubbing at your face, you dropped your hand to your lap and looked at the doctor. You had a bunch of concerns and questions that needed answers for. “How is Jin? Is he going to be alright? Because Mr. Akimoto told me that he had Jin incapacitated, and I didn’t know what he meant by…” Your voice trailed off as realization dawned upon you. You sighed again and dropped your head slightly forward. You could be such a twit sometimes. “The champagne… it was drugged, wasn’t it?”

Hoseok slowly nodded, his face suddenly grim. You prodded further and asked, “It wasn't poisoned or anything, right? No cyanide or anything of that sort.”

“No, there wasn’t any poison,” he answered, much to your relief. “He wasn’t foaming at the mouth, his pupils weren’t dilated, and his heart rate was normal. I did a quick checkover and found that he just ingested a sedative. He’ll be fine after he wakes up.” 

You sighed in relief, feeling a weight on your shoulders suddenly vanish. “Thank God,” you mumbled, burying your face into your hand. “I would have never forgiven myself if he died.” You lifted your head up, needing your questions to be answered. “And the others? I haven’t seen Namjoon all night. I was scared something happened.”

“Do you really want to hear the answer to that?”

That sent your heart racing. The familiar feeling of panic slowly bubbled within your stomach, causing a sense of uneasiness to settle upon you. Your eyes widened ever-so-slightly. “What happened?”

Hoseok suddenly burst into laughter at the sight of your panic. He covered his wide smile with his hand and bent over slightly as his laughter echoed in the room. “Oh, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have worded it that way!” He laughed for a few more seconds before adding, “I only meant that the answer was going to make you really mad.”

Okay, now your panic morphed into confusion and bewilderment. What on earth was he talking about? Should you be more concerned since he said the answer would make you angry? 

As you stared at him with a look of puzzlement on your face, he finally explained, “The reason why you couldn’t find Namjoon was because…” He paused to giggle. “... was because a little fan club swarmed him asking him a million questions about his latest book. He barely even got inside the museum by the time the blackout happened! You were really lucky he walked into the room you were in when you said the codeword.”

He… he must be joking. You went through all of that turmoil and panic of possibly dying while he was signing autographs?! Hoseok was right, you were mad. No, you were more than mad. You were furious. You couldn’t believe that you suffered all of that anxiety and strife only for the historian to be off having a jolly good time with his fans! Why, you could just march over to him right now and start strangling him!

“I’m going to kill him.”

Hoseok went into a full guffaw at your comment. He slapped his leg when seeing your now enraged expression. Your nostrils flared slightly as you released a hard exhale. You looked like a bull ready to charge at the matador. 

He wiped away a tear from his eye almost dramatically and slowly wound down. “Hey, he was sort of in your shoes. He also hates socializing at big parties like the gala, and he was swarmed by a whole flock of people the moment he stepped inside.”

Fine, you supposed you could give Namjoon that. He suffered as much as you did in that regard, perhaps even more since all of the attention was focused solely on him. However, you weren’t going to let him off the hook so easily. Once you found him, you were going to box his ears. “I guess… but I’m still going to wring his neck,” you grumbled.

“Fair enough,” Hoseok conceded with a smile, “you did have to deal with a tyrant, I suppose.”

With a roll of your eyes, you moved onto your next question, “What about Taehyung? I couldn’t find him after the blackout.”

Hoseok’s smile quickly faded at the mention of the artist. He flickered his eyes away from your gaze and suddenly took an interest in the intricate wallpaper that adorned the walls. A few moments passed as he carefully chose his words. 

At his sudden silence, you began to fear the worst. An image of Taehyung’s dead body suddenly appeared in your thoughts. You clamped your suddenly sweaty palms and awaited for his response, praying to God that what he was about to say wasn’t what you were thinking. 

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and turned his attention back to you. “Taehyung is alive, and in good condition considering what happened to him.”

You were relieved to hear he was alive, but what followed that sentence only heightened your worries. “He’s hurt?” you asked, your voice drenched with worry.

Hoseok slowly nodded. “How else were you, Jin, and Jungkook able to make your escape without any more of Mr. Akimoto’s men finding you?” 

To be honest, you figured that the three of you were able to slip away without anyone knowing where you were. But now that Hoseok mentioned it, it did seem a little odd that the only person you confronted in the hallways of the museum was that one man you knocked out in one swift punch. Mr. Akimoto seemed like a very crafty and slippery man. Surely he would’ve had men scouring every inch of the place for the three of you, especially after you gave him a speedy kick to his privates. 

“So…” you began slowly. “Taehyung distracted them while we ran out of the museum…”

There was a small pause of silence. “Yes, in a way... luckily for him, it was too dark in the room for anyone to use any firearms or knives, but taking on five men by himself was too much for him,” Hoseok explained, now standing up and wandering over to his bag. “Like I said, he’s very lucky considering the position he was in.”

“Taehyung…” you couldn’t help but let the name slip from his mouth. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been so harsh to him that night. If it weren’t for him, who knows what would have happened to you and the others?

Hoseok lightly chuckled, despite the gloomy atmosphere. “You should’ve seen some of the others. He put two of them in the hospital in critical condition.” You arched an eyebrow curiously at this. “What did he do?” you asked bemusedly.

The doctor merely gave you a small smile before taking out an ice pack wrapped in cloth. “Well, he is the demolition expert.”

After that, you knew you didn’t need to prod any further. You expected those men were in the hospital with fourth degree burns. You wanted to feel some pity for them, considering that they were permanently, physically mutilated now, but a part of you believed that they received their comeuppance.

“What about the kobae? Did Namjoon get it?” you asked him, your fingers playing with the material of your scarlet red dress. 

Huh, it seemed that no one changed your clothes while you were unconscious. You didn’t know whether to be relieved that no one saw you in your underwear or annoyed by the fact that you were still in this godforsaken dress.

“Yes, but it was more like Taehyung first got the kobae after knocking a guard out, saw that you and Jungkook were leaving with Jin, passed the kobae to Namjoon, was seen by Mr. Akimoto’s men, one of his men attacked Namjoon, Taehyung helped defend him, Namjoon got away with only a sore jaw, and the rest… Well, you know the rest.”

You slouched your shoulders very slightly as Hoseok retold the story to you. “At least Namjoon is fine,” you pointed out, trying to find some bright side to all of this. “This whole expedition is taking its toll on everyone.”

The doctor chuckled humorously. “I’d say, we’re only a few weeks in and you guys have almost run my medical supplies through.”

Hoseok then returned to your side and placed the ice pack on your injured arm. It took a few moments before the coolness began to soothe your skin, and you released a small sigh at the comforting chill. You adjusted the pack a little before letting it sit on your arm. Your arm still throbbed ever-so-slightly from exerting it when catching Jin. Of course, that probably meant you injured it even further than before. Great, just peachy.

“I think I may have hurt my arm even more,” you confessed somewhat embarrassed. You expected to receive a scolding for doing the complete opposite of what he told you to do.

Hoseok hummed in thought as his eyes dwelt on the wrappings on your arm. “Yes, I figured you would after all you’ve been through tonight, which is why I prepared a bath with epsom salts to help soothe irritation and soreness in your muscles,” he disclosed. He then wrapped his fingers around the fabric and began to unravel it. 

Your skin was tender and soft after being enclosed for so long. You noticed with a sting of disappointment that your arm was still slightly swollen, despite the care and attention you’ve been giving it lately. Ugh, you wished desperately that you could find some magical cure and just douse your arm in it. However, you knew deep down that such a thing didn’t exist and that you were going to be stuck with this injury for awhile yet. Man, you just had the worst luck.

You quirked an eyebrow at Hoseok’s attitude toward you. It wasn’t unwelcomed, in fact, you loved that he was being so caring and attentive toward your well-being. However, this was a sudden change from the last time he gave you a checkup. You could still remember his skillful fingers dancing on your sensitive skin. Such a memory almost made you shiver. Almost. 

“Someone’s very thoughtful today,” you commented jokingly.

“Oh?” he wondered out loud, draping the discarded arm wrap on a nearby desk. “Aren’t all doctors supposed to be accommodating toward their patients? Or did something change and I didn’t hear about it?”

You shook your head, a soft snicker leaving your mouth. “No, it’s just… last time you gave me a checkup, you were a lot more…” Your voice trailed off as you tried to think of the perfect word to describe exactly what happened that night. Voluptuous? No, no no no, there must be a better word.

“Lascivious?” he offered, his tone still casual and innocent. You never would’ve guessed he was referring to such vulgar acts based off of his tone. 

He then took a few steps over to you, heels clicking against the floor, and bent down so that his face was very close to yours. “If you want, I could give you those painkillers I’ve been meaning to give you now.” The corners of his lips curled into a mischievous smirk.

You cleared your throat awkwardly as your head instinctively drew away from his. Your eyes wavered wildly to anything that happened to be not his face. However, this was rather hard to do given how close he had gotten. “M-maybe later,” you blurted, then internally died once your words finally processed in your brain. Later?! No! Later was the opposite of what you wanted currently.

Even Hoseok seemed surprised by your words. His eyebrows rose just a centimeter in astonishment before chuckling to himself and quickly pulling himself away from you, taking all the warmth with him. “Alright then, I’ll hold you to it,” he replied playfully.

Suddenly you stood up from the couch and took a few steps. To where? Well, you weren’t sure. You wanted to go to the bathroom to take your bath, but you had no idea where the bathroom was to be honest. “I’m… I think I’ll go take that bath now,” you announced sheepishly and started wandering toward a door you hoped led to the bathroom.

The doctor chuckled once more and followed your disoriented footsteps until he placed both of his hands on your shoulders and redirected you toward a different door. You immediately froze under his touch but nonetheless went in the direction he urged you to go. Honestly, you looked like a frightened sheep being herded by the shepherd. 

“This isn’t like the last hotel we stayed at,” he revealed with a wide, impish smile. “Instead, we have one bathroom that we all share.”

And whose bright idea to stay at a hotel with only one bathroom was that? Probably the one who paid for all of this. Ugh, you wanted to be mad at this whole situation, but you then figured that it was better to at least have a bathroom than have none like that motel you stayed at in Darjeeling. Still, you would appreciate it immensely if you had some form of privacy.

“Oh, really?” you responded dazedly, your cheeks still tingling with heat. Hoseok hummed in reply and added, “I’ll even be nice and tell the others not to bother you while you’re taking a bath. After all, your comfort and well-being are my number one priority.”

That was… awfully considerate of him. You were oddly touched by his kind and sympathetic words. Why was he acting so sweet? Well, you supposed he had to be, since he was a doctor. Or perhaps it was because he knew how much you’ve gone through recently. 

You shook your head. You shouldn’t be so suspicious of him. Hoseok has been nothing but kind to you, even if his kisses overwhelmed you.

Hoseok led you down the hallway, its walls were made from sherwood oak wood with a wooden flooring to match. The walls were carved into intricate designs that reminded you of some of the manors you visited for newspaper articles. The velvet blue curtains were drawn back to let the light brighten the atmosphere, the slight reflecting off of brass candlesticks and freshly cleaned, polished tabletops. Dear Lord, this all must’ve cost a fortune to build!

Hoseok suddenly jerked you into another room after opening the door. You released a small yelp before you found your feet padding against tiled flooring. Your eyes took in your surroundings and realized that you were now in the very fancy bathroom. True to his word, Hoseok had drawn a steamy bath for you with bubbles floating gracefully on top of the water. The bath looked very inviting, and you could feel your muscles already relaxing at the sight of it.

The hands on your shoulders abruptly left as Hoseok pulled away from you and stepped outside into the hallway. His hand latched onto the doorknob and began to close the door, but he stopped just enough to let his head poke through, giving you a warm and cheerful smile. “Have a nice bath! I recommend staying in there for at most thirty minutes. Any longer and you risk drying your skin, and we wouldn’t want that.” He then perked up with a bright, wide smile, and said, “Alright, I’ll leave you to it!” With that, he slipped through the doorway and closed the door.

You stared dumbly at where the doctor stood for a few seconds before redirecting your attention back to the appealing bathtub. Steam rose from the water in small, smooth wafts as bubbles slowly popped. Seeing how warm and inviting it was, you then wasted no time and immediately began to strip yourself of your dress, gloves, and jewelry, like a snake shedding its old skin. Once you were stark naked, you slowly slipped into the warm, satisfying water, and for a brief moment thought you entered heaven right then and there.

A small, happy sigh escaped your mouth as you settled into the water. You really did need this. The moment you stepped in you felt all your worries and tensions slip away like dust in the wind. If you did this more often, it would almost make all your frustrations during the expedition worth it. Your head tilted back and rested against the edge of the tub, your eyelids slowly closing from the waves of relaxation that enveloped you.

As you rested there, your mind began to wander toward the recent events of the museum gala. Sure, the objective was made and you managed to get the kobae, but it didn’t seem like a complete success to you. Complete success meant that no one was injured or extremely endangered, and, of course, both of those things happened all simultaneously. Jin was unconscious and could’ve been killed had you and Jungkook not got him out of there, Taehyung was injured in order to provide you an escape and defend Namjoon, and Mr. Akimoto was now searching for everyone’s blood now that he knew that you all were plotting against the Japanese government’s interest. Everything was a mess tonight, and you were extremely glad it was over.

Or was it over?

Your eyes suddenly snapped open when you heard the door open and shot up in the tub. For some reason, you instantly went to the worst scenario and briefly thought that Mr. Akimoto and his men found you, but you instantly shoved that thought away, reminding yourself that you were far away from him and his goons. 

Instead, however, you saw Taehyung slip through the doorway in nothing but a silk, blue bathrobe that stopped above his knees. He didn’t seem to notice your presence until he already stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Once your gazes connected, his eyes widened for a mere second before they relaxed while you squeaked and sunk yourself deeper into the tub, hiding yourself under the deep waters.

Your lips dipped under the water for a few seconds before you slowly pulled them above the surface, your eyes never leaving his. “The bathroom is taken,” you murmured, your arms covering your private areas despite the layer of bubbles already hiding your naked form. What the bloody hell? You thought Hoseok told the others not to come in here!

Taehyung didn’t say anything at first, his eyes trained on you for a few seconds, as if you were a rare sight he would never get another opportunity to see again, which was practically the case. He then gave you an innocent look and clamped his hands together as if to beg. “Can I share the tub with you?”

Was he serious? Was he actually serious? Did he really want to share the bathtub with you? 

You cleared your throat and finally tore your gaze away from him. “I’ll be out in the next thirty minutes. You can wait until then,” you quietly mumbled. 

Taehyung pursed his lips into a tiny pout. “But then all of the warm water will be gone! Please, y/n, it’s just one bath. I promise I won’t do anything!” he practically begged, eyes round with puppy eyes.

Normally you would be stubborn and refuse to let him in for the sake of your poor hear, but tonight you were exhausted from previous events and didn’t have the resolve to. And by God, you couldn’t resist those adorable eyes no matter how much you wanted to. “You promise you won’t try anything?”

He nodded fervently. “I promise.”

You sighed and reluctantly gave in, gesturing for him to get in while the water was still warm. He grinned boyishly and whipped off his bathrobe in a flash for you to see him in all of his naked glory.

You let out an abrupt, panicked shout at the sight of his naked form. You took in his body for only a second before you threw a hand over your eyes. “Oh my God!!!” You couldn’t believe what just happened. You just saw Taehyung naked. You just saw… Taehyung… naked. The image of his tight and rippling muscles appeared in your mind, and, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to get it how of your head. Dear Lord, he must be an Adonis with a figure like that!

A low chuckle snapped your from your alarmed thoughts. You sensed movement from him, but you didn’t dare move your hand. This better not be a prank, or, so help you God, you were going to kill him. 

You ripped your hand from your face once you sensed him dipping his foot into the tub, risking the fact that you were going to see him in naked glory again, and threw yourself back against the walls with another yelp. Taehyung only laughed at you reaction and slid down into the still warm waters with a relaxed sigh. His face tightened into a contortion of pain, probably from moving his abdomen too much, until his jaw went slack and his head was thrown back with a soothed groan. 

Don’t look down! Don’t look down! Don’t look down!

Your face burst into a wave of heat as you stared at the man sitting in the tub across from you. This was a horrible idea. Why on earth did you agree to this?

Taehyung tilted his head up and gave you a lopsided grin with half-lidded eyes that sent your heart racing. “Glad to see you’re alright,” he stated honestly.

You swallowed a large lump in your throat and felt your mouth had suddenly gone dry. “You, too… Hobi said that you got hurt during the blackout.” Your eyes wandered over his exposed chest and saw his smooth skin riddled with black, blue, and purple bruises. Your skin crawled and your stomach churned uncomfortably at the sight. Some of the bruises seemed slightly swollen from the impact and that the slightest movement would send him reeling in pain.

He hummed thoughtfully while arching an eyebrow in a joking manner. “Hm, what gave that away?” he asked rhetorically, readjusting himself into a more comfortable position.

His skin that had been underwater suddenly peaked above the surface, the light glistening off of his shiny muscles and abdomen. You quickly looked away to stare at the wall so that you wouldn’t give him the wrong idea, your cheeks becoming hotter than the water itself. Taehyung instead found your attitude and actions to be rather adorable.

You cleared your throat once more to get rid of the lump still lodged in your throat. “Why did I agree to this?” you mumbled to yourself, ignoring his question.

His lips formed a small pout, although the pursed lips seemed rather mocking to you. A tiny whine rumbled in his throat as he tilted his head to the side. “Aw, you don’t want to spend time with me?”

“We can spend time together later. Not in a tub. Naked.” The embarrassed heat that tingled your cheeks began to travel to the rest of your body. 

You never in your life showed such vulnerability to any other man. Hell, you never showed such vulnerability to any woman before, not even your friends back in London! The most they probably ever saw was you in your knickers! “What if the others came in?!” You knew Hoseok supposedly told the others, but you weren’t sure if he actually came through on that now that Taehyung was in the tub with you.

“Oh, you would love that, wouldn’t you? Which one would turn you on more if they walked in right now? Jimin? Hoseok?” His tone turned mischievous as his eyes began to darken with desire.

You gaped at him with round eyes as your heart sunk to your stomach. Oh God… he knew…

Taehyung’s smirk widened at your flabbergasted expression, seeing how you were at a complete loss for words. “Oh, yes, I saw-- well, more like heard-- your little escapees with those two. You moan really loudly, you know that, right?” he commented with a chuckle.

With that, you sunk even further into the tub, your lips submerged in the warm water. Humiliation and embarrassment filled your very core the more the artist went on. Ugh, you were fine with the fact that some of the others, like Namjoon, knew about what went on between the three of you. But Taehyung? Taehyung was the last person on earth you wanted to know about this! 

“You promised you wouldn’t try anything,” you murmured quietly, your lips peeking above the surface of the water.

Although still smirking, he listened to you and dropped the subject. “Alright, if it makes you uncomfortable, then I won’t say anything, okay?” His smirk ebbed away to give you a normal, gentle smile, which almost gave you whiplash from how quickly this was all moving.

You gave him a tiny nod before shifting uncomfortably in your spot as your eyes flickered down to the side, your arms still wrapped tightly around your chest to cover yourself up. Your feet bounced nervously in the water at a rapid pace that matched your own heartbeat, causing a small ripple effect to spread across the water. Taehyung’s gaze lowered into the water to watch your feet tap against the bottom of the tub before he brought his eyes back to take in your appearance, his mind apparently elsewhere.

“You’d be the perfect muse,” he commented absentmindedly, more to himself rather than to you.

You let out a small noise of confusion, your eyebrows knitting together ever-so-slightly. “Pardon?” you blurted. That was certainly a new one. You remembered your grandmother fondly drawing pencil pictures of you as you played in the English countryside, but never before has ever anyone wanted you to be their muse.

He perked up a little, realizing that you picked up on his mumblings. “You’d be the perfect muse.” His lips curled up amusedly at the new nickname, his fingers now lightly grazing his chin as his eyes stared into your round ones. “My little muse, my little myujeu sin…” 

“Myujeu sin?” you attempted to repeat, finding yourself only able to echo his words. 

He nodded, his smile widening at your effort. “Yes, myujeu sin, it means ‘muse’ in Korean.” He still watched your form, taking in how divine and almost romantic you looked. Your naked body submerged in water with such an innocent expression. He imagined what kind of setting you would be in. Maybe something pastoral like a field surrounded by blooming flowers. “God, the number of paintings I could make of you…  I could make a whole art exhibit with your image…”

Your breath hitched in your throat upon hearing these words. Heat blossomed to your cheeks as your stomach fluttered around with butterflies. Your heart skipped a beat as you mentally repeated these words over and over again. You stared at him as a foreign feeling suddenly flourished in your chest. It was touching how he, an artist who appreciated beauty in its finest forms, admitted that he would paint your appearance endlessly, and you found yourself wanting to engulf in his embrace. However, a wave of self-consciousness washed over you, which caused you to slip even further into the tub.

“Aw, how cute. My little muse is acting so adorable,” he cooed, grinning as your lips pressed together in a thin line.

You shot up in the tub, the water splashing around and threatening to spill out and onto the floor. “Stop saying that! I’m not cute! I’m… I’m not, okay?” you protested, your cheeks now heated from irritation as well as flusteredness. 

Taehyung cocked his head to the side in light confusion. “But you are. Why are you trying to deny it?”

It was then you realized that he was speaking the truth in his mind. Right now in this very moment, he wasn’t trying to tease you. He wasn’t trying to embarrass you. He was being honest about this, which only baffled you more.

You cast your gaze away from him, too embarrassed to remain eye contact with him. “I just don’t think I’m cute is all,” you answered back just as truthfully. 

The smile returned to his lips. “But you are. You’re cute when you get flustered. You’re cute when you look so awkward and lost. You’re so adorable when you make that squeaky noise whenever you’re surprised by something. Your laugh is the cutest thing I ever heard.” He unconsciously moved closer and craned his head down to your level to make eye contact with you. “You’re cute whenever you get that expression on your face when an idea pops into your head. You look so cute whenever you get excited…”

His face was suddenly close to yours. “And you’re so adorable when you give me that look.”

Your round eyes bore into his, your mind a complete mess at his words. Your whole body short-circuited for a moment and as you tried to process what just happened. A comforting warmth bloomed in your chest. What he just said was… sweet. Something was on your mind. A desire. You couldn’t place a finger on what it was until realization dawned upon you.

You wanted to kiss him, by God, you wanted to just kiss his beautiful face until every inch of his skin was claimed by your lips, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You weren’t poetic like the heroines in the books you read. You were an awkward newspaper reporter who never faced affection like this until a month ago. How could you say what you wanted without sounding so pitiful or awkward?

However, Taehyung didn’t need any words to see what you desired. Your eyes bore into his gleaming with need and passion as if he was the only thing that was on your mind. His heart pounded in his chest with emotion, and, before either of you knew it, he pressed his lips against yours full of want and desire You released another squeak of surprise that he oh so loved, muffled by his own lips. 

The kiss was gentle and soft at first until his need for you grew more and more until he could barely contain it. He pushed more force into the kiss, and you nearly slipped and dunked yourself underwater from the sheer force he exerted. You barely had any time to compose yourself as his lips greedily ate you up.

Water splashed around you as he roughly pushed you up against the wall of the bathtub before capturing your lips again, giving you little time to prepare yourself. All of this was a completely new experience for you. It was an experience similar to Hoseok’s, however, in the sense that they were both rough and rather dominating. But while Hoseok was teasing and mischievous with his kisses, Taehyung was very animalistic. He kissed you like his life depended on it, like you were the last person on earth he could lay his lips on.

As your mind swam with a million of hazy thoughts, Taehyung nibbled gently the bottom of your lip, causing your legs to tremble slightly at how nice it felt. A small whimper left your mouth as he tugged on the soft flesh before releasing it. He instantly brought his lips down to your neck and attacked your beautiful skin. You yelped as his teeth bit down on your neck mercilessly leaving behind patches of red and purple in their wake. 

His tongue peaked through his lips and began to lap up the colorful bruises, the pool of desire in the pit of your stomach growing. Feeling his hot breath of your neck made you squirm slightly underneath him as your own breathing suddenly shortened, and your heart rate began racing. 

He pulled back for a few moments to appreciate his artwork, sitting at full height instead of hovering over your naked and suddenly sensitive body. His fingers that had been gripping the side of the tub tightly left their place and began to graze along your neck. A small whine left your throat feeling the paint-like strokes of his fingers on your skin. 

“Such lovely and beautiful colors on your skin, myujeu sin. Perhaps when the night is done, you’ll be my perfect masterpiece, wouldn’t you like that?” A soft, shuddered breath slipped through your now swollen lips. His fingers trailed down your neck and to your chest that was still covered by your arm. His long fingers then wrapped themselves around your wrist, causing your heart to pound in your chest. “In order to make a masterpiece, I’m going to need to use the entire canvas.” He then pried your arm from your chest, revealing your dewy breasts to his eyes. 

Your cheeks exploded with embarrassed and self-conscious heat while his eyes raked up and down your entire, exposed body. His tongue wet his bottom lip as he hungrily ate up your appearance. Your flustered state certainly didn’t fail to decrease his desire for you. “Fuck…” he sighed. “You’re so beautiful...”

You froze suddenly at those words, eyes widening in shock. However, before you could open your mouth and respond to him, his lips attached themselves to the valley in between your breasts while his hands reached for your hips and gripped tightly on the soft flesh, causing a gasp to slip from your lips. 

He bit on the skin relentlessly, making you go into a moaning mess, while his fingers began to knead and massage your tender skin. The water surrounding you sloshed and splashed around from his rough actions. His eyes fluttered shut as he nearly lost himself in the moment of marking your beautiful skin. You were honestly too beautiful for words. Nothing could compare to your loveliness, not even Venus de Milo. 

A low moan rumbled from his lips and vibrated against your chest, sending shocking pleasure tingling down your spine and into your core. He continued to send languid open-mouthed kisses along the plush skin until his lips began to dwell lower and lower. He paused to give your stomach some special care, nibbling on the sensitive flesh until your skin began to sprout blotches of red and purple. Your eyes fluttered down from the ceiling, which you had been staring at during all of this, until you brought your head down to watch Taehyung continue his ministrations, his lips occasionally dipping into the water.

The moment your hazy eyes landed on him, his eyes fluttered open and made contact with yours, his irises dark with desire. Your breath hitched in your throat as your hands gripped the side of the tub tightly. His lips curled up into a smug smirk before burying them back into your stomach. You almost lost yourself in the pleasure that curled your toes.

It was then when his lips suddenly dwelt too low that your eyes flew open with a flurry of panic. “Wait! Wait!” you cried out, suddenly sitting up causing Taehyung to jerkily move back to give you some space. Water splashed between the two of you because of your sudden movement.

He wondered for a few seconds if he pushed you too far. He was certain by the look in your eyes that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. Maybe he read into it a little too hastily. Perhaps you needed a little more time before he could pursue you. “What? What’s wrong? Did I go too far?” he asked, concern flashing in his eyes. 

You were again deeply moved that he still held deep concern for you and tried your best to reassure him with a nervous smile. “No… it’s not that. I just…” Your voice trailed off as you bit your bottom lip anxiously. “I’m a virgin…”

Taehyung blinked a few times before huffing out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s no secret. You look like a deer caught in headlights every time any of us make a move on you,” he replied, a boyish smile stretched across his lips.

You rolled your eyes and whacked his arm as all sense of anxiety momentarily left you. “No, you prat. What I’m trying to say is…” You cut yourself with a sigh. “I’ve never done this before. So I’m nervous…” Your mouth hesitantly closed, as you couldn’t sort through your muddled thoughts to get out what was on your mind.

Taehyung stared at you for a few seconds. The longer he did, the more anxiety began to bubble within you like soup on the stove. You gulped nervously, maybe this was a mistake, telling him your feelings.

“Do you want to?” he asked, eyes searching yours.

The question caught you off guard, to be honest. You sat in the tub, your sight taking in the water that still rippled from your actions from earlier. Did you want to? Did you actually wanted to have sex with Taehyung? In your mind, sex is what you did when you passionately loved someone. So, the question should really be… did you love Taehyung? 

Well, yes and no. You did love him, but you loved him in the sense you loved your best friend, perhaps even a little more considering everything you two have been through. You felt close to him, but there were so many things about him that you didn’t know about him. He was a mystery to you, and perhaps that mystery is what’s preventing you from actually loving him. You could just have sex with him casually, but you couldn’t bring yourself to use him like that. He was a person you’ve come to care about deeply, not someone you could use for pleasure and then act like there was nothing between the two of you.

You knew that he wouldn’t like your answer, but you slowly shook your head nonetheless. “No… I’m sorry. I think it was a spur of the moment. I think… before we just go head first into this, we should get to know each other a little better,” you managed to get out.

A small flicker of sadness appeared in his eyes before it quickly disappeared and he reluctantly nodded in agreement. “Yeah, no, I understand. We should go slow into this. I’m sorry that I rushed you there,” he apologized, giving you a small, sad smile in an attempt to console you. 

You fiddled with your fingers because of the anxiety still churning within you. “No, it’s me who should be sorry. I should’ve told you to stop before you got the wrong message. I just think that we should learn more about each other first before we even think about… you know…”

Taehyung’s smile formed into a more genuine one as he leaned back into the tub while propping his jaw on his hand, eyes staring at you. “God, you’re so innocent, you sweet summer child.” He readjusted himself in the tub into a more relaxed position. “Alright, what do you want to know about the demolition expert of the expedition team?”

Honestly, the first thing that popped into your head was what he revealed to you back at the museum gala. The story of what happened to his sister itched at you, but you figured that was a bit heavy for first really getting to know each other. You glanced to the side as you searched for a good question to ask him. “Um… what’s… your favorite color?” You trailed off into laughter at the ridiculousness of the question that tumbled from your mouth.

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Really? That’s what you ask?” He chuckled for a few seconds while shaking his head. “That’s the question you ask when you have nothing else to say. But… if you must know, it’s green.”

Your eyebrows shot up slightly at his answer. “Green? Really? That… wasn’t the answer I was expecting. You seem more like a red fellow.”

“Red?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Red isn’t bad, but I still like green best. It’s lively and full of so many beautiful shades and can be found almost everywhere in nature. The color of creation. I also like black, white, and grey. What about you, since we’re on the topic?”

You pondered the question for a few moments, trying to ignore the sense of awkwardness settling upon the two of you. “I think I’d have to say y/f/c.” You cleared your throat as you tried to think of better questions to ask. You suddenly blurted out, “Two truths, one lie. Go.”

“Huh?” Taehyung furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, head tilting to the side slightly.

“Tell me two truths and one lie, and I’ll try to figure out the lie,” you explained, realizing that it was too late to take it back.

Taehyung continued to stare at you before he let out a small laugh. “I’ll have you know that I am an exceptional liar.” He sat back and thought over his options. A few long moments went by until he decided on what to tell you. “My hometown is Daegu. I can play the saxophone. And when I was a kid, I had a black and white cat named In-na.”

You smiled broadly with a hidden smugness. “Easy, you never had a cat.” He grinned to match your smile. “Wrong! It’s the-” He suddenly stopped himself and widened his eyes in astonishment. “How the hell did you figure that out?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his dumbfounded expression. He was so certain that he was going to win! “I’m a reporter, remember? I can sniff bullshit a mile away,” you giggled, hugging your stomach as laughter erupted from it. “The left corner of your lips quirked up when you told the lie.”

“Damn…” He sunk back into the tub in amazement and shock. “You’re good...”

Once you finished laughing, you gave him a wide, proud grin. “Thank you, I’ve had years of experience.”

He nodded, slowly grinning back to match yours. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind for future reference.”

Your curiosity grew and soon you found you couldn’t resist asking him, “What’s Daegu like? Is it lovely there?”

His flashed to yours with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. Nostalgia? Sorrow? Regret? It seemed like it was clouded by a multitude of feelings. “Daegu? Well, it was home to me. I was born there, but I eventually moved to Gochang, where my grandma raised me. I have more fond memories there.”

You smiled upon realizing that you two had something in common, your love for your grandmothers. “What is she like, your grandmother?” you asked in a soft tone.

Taehyung shared your smile fondly. “She was very sweet and kind. Always patient with me even when I just wanted to play and ignored my chores on the farm.” He paused to reminisce simpler and happier times and then laughed with his lips spread into a boxy smile. “She always nagged me about eating more. Never liked it when I looked too thin for her eyes. She was happy when she saw how chubby I got from eating her food, not that I could blame her. Her food was always delicious.”

You giggled at the thought of a chubby, little Taehyung and cooed inwardly. He must have been so adorable then. “Aw, how cute…”

“I have to admit, I was an adorable child then, still am.” His smile morphed into a wide grin.

You laughed, feeling the anxiety from earlier ebb away as you relaxed into the tub. An overwhelming urge to splash his face with water overcame, and you couldn’t resist the temptation. You dipped your hand down and flung a wave of water at his face. The water drenched his face and hair, droplets falling from it slowly. He flinched at the sudden contact and froze, eyes slammed shut as he let out a sigh of verging impatience. As his eyes slowly opened, small streams of water running down his face, he slowly grinned mischievously.

“Oh, it’s so on…”

With that, you both started your water fight in which most of the water managed to end up on the ground rather than the tub.

—————————————

Morning crept up to you in a soothing manner. You didn’t wake up at the crack of dawn as you usually did. In fact, you actually got a good night’s rest away from all the drama and stress that had been preventing you from sleeping. It was rather comforting and relaxing, knowing that you actually felt rejuvenated for once in your entire life. You probably weren’t going to feel this good in another few decades, might as well enjoy it now.

As you sat up and stretched your arms, save for your injured one for you didn’t want to make the pain worse, your mind immediately reminded you of the events that occurred last night. Taehyung. You lazily smiled as your memories slowly came back to you. After your water fight, you both quickly dried off and ran back to your rooms before the cold air could really chill your skin, screaming at the cool contact and in laughter. Jin yelled at you both to get to bed, as it was well past midnight. However, you both ignored him and laughed on into the night before finally going to sleep.

As you crawled out of bed, you went to prepare yourself for the day. No doubt some of the others wanted to get together to figure out what the next step was in the plan. You should probably get ready for a spontaneous meeting. You powdered your face with makeup until you were satisfied with your facial appearance and slipped on some underwear before putting on a blouse, making sure the collar covered up the hickies that littered your neck, which caused your cheeks to flare up upon sight, and some trousers. You were extremely thankful that it was somewhat socially acceptable for women to wear trousers in this day and age. You were tired of wearing skirts, especially after last night. 

Once you slipped on your shoes over your heels, you sauntered over to the door and opened it before passing through into the hallway. You closed the door behind you as you made your way to the living room where you noticed some of the others were also awake. 

Namjoon sat on one of the couches reading the newspaper that sat on his lap while his only available hand held a spoon full of vanilla yogurt. He caught sight of you entering the room and gave you a cheerful smile. “Morning, y/n! Look what made the front page.” He momentarily set the spoon down in his bowl and lifted the newspaper up to you so you could read it. 

You couldn’t help but laugh seeing how the whole page was full of an extensive article about the supposed fire at the gala. The picture was a black and white image of people running out of the museum while police instead were running in with batons in the air and whistles in their mouths. This all must’ve happened a little after you got into the van with the others and drove off. You scoffed at how blurry the picture was. The photographer must’ve been moving when he took the image.

“They could’ve used a better picture,” you commented almost mockingly, leaning against one of the armrests of a chair with your arms crossed in front of your chest. 

Namjoon’s smile widened at your remark and pulled the papers away so he could continue reading the article. “I thought so, too. The quality is far too blurry.” He folded the newspaper in half and continued, “Apparently the police believe that the ‘fire’ that placed a few men in hospital was caused by some of the rebels of the Indian Independence Movement and are further investigating suspects.” He then tossed the newspaper onto the cushion next to him and popped his yogurt spoon into his mouth all while waiting for you to reply.

You pressed your lips into a thin line upon hearing this. Of course their minds would go straight to the protesters. “I don’t like how we have to use the protests as a cover-up,” you admitted with a frown, your voice grim. 

Namjoon pulled out his spoon and swallowed the yogurt before releasing a disappointed sigh. “Yeah, it doesn’t sit well with me either, but we really can’t do much about it unless we want to confess that Taehyung lit some people on fire and that we stole a priceless artifact from the museum.”

You shrugged your shoulders indifferently. “To be honest, Taehyung only did it out of self-defense for himself and us, and technically we were only taking back what belonged to your people,” you replied all too casually.

Namjoon quirked an eyebrow at your response and smiled rather bemusedly. “If I remember correctly, weren’t you the one who was so against stealing from the museum in the first place?”

“I was against the high possibility of going to jail,” you clarified, “but now that it’s all over, I’m glad we did it. It would’ve just sat in that building like a trophy won by the British.”

Namjoon’s eyebrow raised even higher, perplexed by your sudden attitude. “A British woman who is anti-British? Never thought I’d see the day,” he lightly joked, followed by scooping up another spoonful of yogurt and popping it into his mouth. 

Your frown deepened at what he said, although it was mostly playful. “Excuse you, I’m very proud to be British. I’m just very against the obsession my country has with colonizing every piece of land that they set their foot on.”

Namjoon paused for a few moments, as if thinking over what you said, and then chuckled. He crossed over his legs before looking back up at your face. “It’s almost ironic, isn’t it?” He then gestured to himself with his silver spoon. “The others and I are from a country that’s being oppressed by another nation.” He lifted the spoon and pointed it at your chest. “And you’re from a country that oppresses other nations.”

“You don’t have to make it sound like I’m some sort of a supremacist,” you quipped, then jabbed a finger of your own back in an accusatory way. “Before I forget, I have a bone to pick with you. Hobi told me that you were stopped by your fan club outside the museum which was the reason you couldn’t get in contact with us.” Anger flared within you like a small flame waiting for enough kindling to explode into a bonfire. “Couldn’t you send some sort of signal that you were preoccupied with things while I was busy trying to make sure Jin didn't die?”

You knew that he had somewhat of a valid excuse. He couldn’t just ignore his fans and come to your rescue. That would’ve posed him in a negative light and possibly make him a suspect of the whole disaster. However, you wished he could’ve wrapped things up with them a little sooner so that you had more than enough time to inform him of the sudden change in plans. That would’ve helped you de-stress immensely. 

Namjoon shifted in his seat uncomfortably and laughed awkwardly, sensing your smoldering anger. “Yes, about that… I wanted to apologize for that slight bump in our plans. I sometimes forget that people actually read my books and didn’t think of the possibility that there’d be admirers,” he confessed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “I heard that you basically pulled everything together, and I wanted to thank you for that. You really did some quick-thinking back there.”

You sighed softly, feeling the anger ebb away at his honest reply. Picking at the arm wrap that still encased your wounded arm absent-mindedly, you responded, “I don’t know if I would call that quick-thinking. It was more like a panic-induced, adrenaline-high judgment call.” If anyone asked you to explain how you felt, you would tell that person it was like trying to manage several children who were all high on sugar who all decided to run off on their own while trying to avoid your ex-husband who was out looking for you. 

“Still, if you weren’t there, we’d either be dead in the sewers or sitting in a jail cell,” he pointed out, scooping up more yogurt before plopping it into his mouth. You visibly grimaced at such a thought. “Thanks for painting such a pretty picture,” you said sarcastically. “It makes me feel so much better about what happened…”

Namjoon’s face split into a bright smile. “Glad I could help. Anything to help you to relax a little bit. I know that you deserve some relief especially because of last night.”

Your heart slightly clenched at that. He was too nice to you sometimes. Sure, he could tease you to the moon and back; but when he was being sincere with you, man, he really knew how to make your heart throb and your stomach flutter for him. Man, in all honesty, he was the perfect man in your opinion. “You’d be the perfect husband, you know that?” It took you a few seconds for you to realize what your mouth just blurted; but when you did, your trembling heart suddenly stopped beating. 

You actually didn’t say that, did you?

Before Namjoon could reply, his eyes slightly round from your random remark, Hoseok suddenly walked into the room humming to himself loudly while attempting to peel open an orange. You sighed in relief that your conversation-gone-wrong was interrupted as you noticed how his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, which made you wonder if he just performed some sort of procedure. Maybe he did a check-up on Taehyung?

Hoseok’s eyes suddenly perked up to you and smiled brightly. “Morning, y/n!” He tossed an orange slice into his mouth before continuing, “Jin is awake if you want to talk to him.”

Jin? He was finally awake? A pang of guilt suddenly shot through you as you realized you almost forgot about what happened to him. Man, you really were a horrible partner-in-crime if you completely forgot about your partner’s sudden collapse. You mentally slapped yourself for being so inconsiderate and replied, “Does he want to talk?”

Hoseok munched on his orange slice for a few seconds before answering, “Yep! In fact, he explicitly wanted you and Jungkook to go talk to him. I already told Kook, and he’s in there right now.” He swallowed and then tossed another slice into his awaiting mouth before wandering off toward the other rooms, probably Yoongi’s if you had to guess. 

Yoongi. You hadn’t spoken to him in awhile, especially with him being nose deep in his wiring maps and entirely focused on the plan. In fact, the last time you attempted to talk to him, he mumbled something about working before pushing you out of his room and closing the door. You quickly made a mental note to visit the mechanic soon and then chew him out for cutting the power at the absolute worst time before saying a quick farewell to Namjoon and walking over to Jin’s room. 

You stopped in front of the sherwood oak door with patterns carved into the wood as if it were some door from a fairytale story. An image of Jin begging for your help moments before collapsing flashed through your mind, causing you to scrunch your eyes shut as if you were in pain. You could still see him so clearly. The hazy eyes. The sweat building on his forehead. His breath on your face. Lips accidentally brushing against yours. 

Your fingers unknowingly touched your own lips, thinking of the way it felt to have his lips on yours. You didn’t know why you remained on that memory so much. It wasn’t like it was an actual kiss or anything. The way he fell just happened to make his lips brush against yours. 

You knocked on the door as a way to snap yourself from such thoughts and waited for a reply. When you heard a soft voice speaking on the other side, you turned the doorknob and slowly pushed it open, poking your head through first. You smiled faintly seeing the millionaire lying in his bed in silken pajamas with a bowl of soup in his hands. His head perked up with slightly round eyes at the sound of your entrance, soup dripping from his lips in small droplets.

A small snigger slipped through your lips at the sight as you slid through the doorway and closed it behind you. “Good morning, Jin,” you greeted pleasantly, “glad to see you’re well.” You made your way to the end of his bed and sat at the foot of it. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jungkook sitting on a small stool placed right next to the bed, as if he were a family member comforting the dying.

Jin wiped his mouth with his hand and placed his bowl on the nightstand sitting next to him, a small smile creeping up onto his lips. “I’m glad I’m well, too. I imagine I gave you quite the scare back at the gala,” he commented, redirecting his attention to you.

You laughed almost bitterly, your laughter on the verge of coming across as a scoff. “That’s the understatement of the year,” you remarked, a few memories momentarily flashing in your head. “I thought you died back there for a good while.”

“It’s going to take a little more than that to kill me,” he chuckled, pulling himself up so that he was no longer slouching. “You were right about one thing though.” When you curiously raised an eyebrow, he continued, “The champagne had gone bad.” You rolled your eyes playfully, wondering how he could be thinking about that at a time like this. “I’m glad that’s the first thing you conclude from this whole disaster.”

“I’ve concluded a few things from what happened.” His expression had turned suddenly serious, as if he wanted to go straight to business. Folding his hands in front of him, he sighed before saying, “I shouldn’t keep you in the dark any longer about my past, now that you’ve done more than enough for all of us and are now on Akimoto’s bad list. You deserve to know by now.” He lightly gestured to the young man sitting next to him, acting as if no one was even there. “I brought Jungkook here to explain a few things about his past you should also be aware of, if he wishes to tell you.” He cleared his throat, suddenly becoming conscious of himself. “Now then, do you have any questions?”

To be honest, you had enough questions to fill an entire book. Last night only reminded you of how little you knew exactly about these boys. Just last night you found out that Taehyung was an artist coveted by the Japanese government to make propaganda for them. Hell, you’ve made out with several of them, and you didn’t even know when their birthday was! Talk about being a strumpet…

Although you had millions of questions boggling in your mind, you didn’t exactly know which one to start with. For Christ’s sake, you were a reporter, and you couldn’t even think of a single question! You then decided to go with the first question that just happened to pop into your head, even if it was completely randomly chosen. “Just who is this Mr. Akimoto? Why is he so bent on finding you two?”

Both of the boys shifted uncomfortably at the mention of that name. They glanced at each other reluctantly before Jin finally began, “Grand Marshal Akimoto Hatsuo of the Imperial Army. His unit focuses particularly on internal security and espionage threats against Japan. Normally I wouldn’t place so much emphasis on how much we need to stay away from him, but with the rise of militarism in Japan…” His voice trailed off ominously, leaving you hanging. “He’s quickly gaining power, and power in the hands of that madman is the worst thing that could happen right now.”

“And he hates Koreans with a passion,” Jungkook added bitterly. “Rumor has it that a Korean servant killed his wife, and now he harbours a great hatred toward them because of it.”

Jin snorted softly with a gentle roll of his eyes. “Lucky woman, if you ask me,” he mumbled with a hint of venom in his voice. “I would want to die, too, if I was his wife.”

You decided to ignore that comment and not dwell on it. Something told you that you would know more about this Akimoto after they explained everything to you. “You said something about being forced to change your name because otherwise you would’ve been executed, Jin. What is that all about?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Jin answered, his brow furrowing deeply in agitation, as if he were reminiscing a bad memory. “The government gave me two choices, if you would even call them that. Either I gave up my family name and adopted a Japanese name or I faced execution.”

“Yes, but why?” you further prodded, getting slightly annoyed that he wasn’t exactly giving you details. “Why go to such extreme lengths just for a name change?”

Jin’s jaw clenched slightly as a long buried anger began to bubble and boil within him. “It may seem like it would be such a fool’s choice to even consider execution, but agreeing to change my name to a Japanese surname is like being branded a slave. I was no longer Korean but rather Japanese by doing so, and, thus, I was now considered theirs. It was a show of dominance on their part, as if I were nothing more than a dog whose very name could be changed at the snap of their fingers.”

You could imagine now how horrendous it would be to be forced to change your name. It would be like a part of your identity, your humanity, was taken away from you. Jin didn’t even have the right to keep his own name. By changing his name, he was basically enslaving himself to the very government that continued to oppress his people.

“I remember when it wasn’t always like that,” Jungkook suddenly butted in, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “The government awhile back set a law saying it was illegal for us to adopt Japanese names, but now… now I wouldn’t be surprised if they suddenly enacted a law forcing us to change our names.” Jin lifted a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t jinx it,” he practically begged with a sigh. “I don’t want our people to have to go through what I went through.”

“But why did they even make you change your name? Why you?” you interrogated, your focus entirely on the topic at hand. “You said that’s what happened when you asked too many questions.”

The hand on his handsome face abruptly fell back onto the sheets, a small thud enacting upon impact. He suddenly looked tired, both physically and mentally. His features looked more worn and drained, as if he just spent all of his energy in these last few seconds. “When I was only seven years old, my father mysteriously disappeared on a business venture and never came back. My mother told me that he found someone else that he fell in love with and eloped with her, but I knew that wasn’t true. My parents were a happy couple. Of course, they disagreed on some matters, but they never continuously fought over it. When I became old enough to take over the family business, I began to make inquiries about what could have possibly happened to my father. It took some digging for awhile, but I managed to find a retired soldier who said he knew what had happened to my father. When I met up with him, he… he told me…” His voice trailed off with an audible crack.

He tried to swallow back a sob, his throat bobbing almost violently as he tried to hold back his tears. His lips parted as a shaky sigh escaped his chest, eyes shining with unshed tears. Your heart clenched at the sight, already knowing where this was going. You scooted yourself forward on the bed and wrapped your arms around his broad, squeezing him lightly in order to provide him some comfort. Jungkook looked down at the somberly before placing a hand on the older’s back and rubbing it soothingly, offering quiet words of condolence. “I’m sorry,” you murmured softly into his shoulder. “No one should have to go through that.” 

“It should be me apologizing,” Jin protested, voice slightly strained from holding back his sobs. He pulled away and wiped the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes with a soft chuckle. “You’d think after years of knowing I’d have grown used to the fact.”

“You shouldn’t even be growing used to it,” you responded, arms tightening around him. “No son should grow used to their father’s death.”

“...Thank you.”

You didn’t say anything in reply, allowing him to finally calm down at his own pace. He released another long sigh and paused for a few moments. Once he had somewhat relaxed, he continued with his story, his voice still cracked. “He... told me that my father was shot and killed for conspiring against the government by audibly protesting the annexation of Korea by Japan and rallying people to the cause and threw his body in a ditch to rot. A few days after I discovered this, the man I went to was found dead in his home... and all the evidence pointed to me. I was arrested and brought to Akimoto, who said that I was to be executed for killing a veteran soldier, unless I changed my name…”

Dear Lord! Things like these actually happened to people? You didn’t know how Jin managed to get through all of it. If you were in his position, you would’ve lie down in some corner and waited for your miserable life to end. You had to admit, Jin was very brave and strong for him to go through all of this and still continue to want to protect his country. You weren’t sure if you’d want to proceed after experiencing all of that.

“That’s… horrible…” You were honestly at a loss for words. To think people were capable of such things. It almost made you give up on humanity right then and there. You wanted to go back in time and just pound your fists over and over again into Mr. Akimoto’s wrinkled, ugly face. 

Jin nodded slowly and solemnly in agreement. “Yeah, it was. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I tried to be strong and not give into their wants, but… they kept me in that cell for so long I lost track of the days. My will grew weak as did my stomach and throat. So… I gave in.”

Jungkook’s lips pressed together in a thin line of subdued anger. “Bastards…”

Jin’s voice remained solemn as he gestured to Jungkook. “What I went through pales in comparison to what happened to Jungkook.”

“Hyung…” Jungkook mumbled quietly.

He continued, completely ignoring the younger’s quiet pleas, “How long has it been? It has to be at least-”

“Two years, one month, and twelve days.”

Jin studied Jungkook’s face, completely stunned by his sudden, and rather precise, answer. His eyes rounded into perfect circles as an awkward silence settled upon the three of you. Then his shoulders sagged in exasperation as did the roll of his eyes. “You’ve been keeping track? You’re gonna end up obsessing over what happened if you don’t let go of your past.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Jungkook retorted, earning himself a slap on the shoulder from the older man. “You know, it’s kinda hard to forget what happened when that day ruined my life forever.”

“Okay, okay,” you suddenly butted in, gaining the two men’s attention. “Can someone please tell me what happened instead of acting all cryptic?”

The playful atmosphere abruptly dropped into a more grim ambiance. The smiles instantly disappeared into more somber frowns as Jin glanced over to the younger man. Jungkook leaned back into his chair, arms crossed over his chest and eyes cast to the carpeted floor. “Y/n…” he softly began, “please don’t hate me after I tell you this.”

You scoffed humorlessly. “Unless you tell me that you secretly worked with the people that oppress the Koreans, I don’t think I’ll hate you, Jungkook,” you lightly joked.

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders and then softly cursed under his breath before finally giving you an answer. “So Jin said that at the gala he told you that if Akimoto ever found me there would be a public execution, right?” You gave him a subtle nod, remembering the comment from last night. “Well, that’s because… The reason why I’m so good at fighting is…” He sighed, as if he couldn’t actually bring himself to admit to what happened, and rubbed the back of his neck. “... On April 11, 1928… I made an attempt to assassinate Emperor Hirohito…”

To say you were shocked was definitely an understatement. It took you a few seconds to process this information, a deadly silence falling upon you. You blinked a few times in a daze until your brain finally clicked, and in that instant your jaw dropped wide open as a weight had suddenly been attached to it. Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline as your eyes became the size of saucers. Your heart suddenly skipped a beat as your throat dropped to the very pits of your stomach.

You were friends… with a would-be assassin…

You let out a long, drawn-out exhale that was seemingly trapped in your chest for God knows how long. You just couldn’t seem to wrap your head around what was revealed to you. Jungkook… attempted to assassinate… the Emperor of Japan…. This young boy… tried to murder… a world leader…

“H-how…?”

Jin was surprised by your reaction. “Huh… she’s taking this better than I thought she would.”

Normally, you would’ve retorted or smacked the millionaire, but currently you were so thrown off your rhythm that all you could do was stare at Jungkook with big, round eyes. You just couldn’t get in your head the thought that this sweet-looking boy, who saved you on multiple occasions, tried to assassinate the Emperor of Japan. This definitely topped the shock and astoundment that rocked you when Taehyung revealed you that he was an artist by tenfold. 

Jungkook shifted himself uncomfortably in his stool, his eyes flickering off to the side as if he weren’t unsure where to begin explaining himself. “Well… I traveled to Tokyo the week before to prepare myself and make sure everything was in place for the assassination. Hirohito was planning to travel back to the Akasaka Palace in a carriage, and I had it set up so that I was in a corner building on one of the upper floors. I was planning on sniping Hirohito in his carriage on his way back to the palace and then slip away during the chaos, but…” 

He ran a hand through his dark locks while a frustrated sigh hissed through his lips. His jaw clenched slightly. “I shot the wrong fucking guy. I shot his attendant who happened to look a lot like him instead. It was too late for me to make another shot as his guards were already scrambling around to protect him and find me.” 

Dear Lord… he actually went through with it. He actually made an attempt to take the life of the Emperor. You slowly closed your mouth, though your eyes still remained wide. You could feel the palms of your hands suddenly become sweaty as you took in this information. God, you just couldn’t actually believe it. A shaky sigh escaped your lungs as you commented, “Obviously… you managed to escape.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, watching your reaction closely, praying silently to anyone who was listening that you wouldn’t hate him, or, even worse, be scared of him. “Yes, the police were still on the ground when I decided to ditch my plan. So I stuck to the rooftops and managed to maneuver myself around the city. When the police got to the rooftops to search for me, I then decided to stick to alleyways and fire escapes. Sometimes I had to slide through random windows and hide in there for a while before I went on the run again. I finally managed to make it to the docks and stole a man’s ticket to Vietnam and took the ship out of the country. Then as soon as I made it to Vietnam, I traveled to a small village on foot and stayed there for a few weeks and then made it back home after the coast was clear.”

“However, the police are still on the lookout for him. They haven’t released this information to the public yet, seeing as how they haven’t arrested JK. After all, they don’t want people thinking that the law enforcement is incompetent, since they can’t even catch one man on the run,” Jin mentioned, mockery and contempt dripping from his voice.

“I’m just extremely lucky that they know it was me by name and not any photographic evidence.” When you gave him a confused expression, he clarified, although reluctantly, “They found documentation of my stay at a hostel in a village nearby Tokyo and managed to eventually piece everything together.”

“Ah ah! Don’t forget that you were lucky that I decided to help you by throwing the police off your trail!” Jin exclaimed, then clicked his tongue agitatedly before mumbling, “I suppose there are some useful things about being Akimoto’s dog.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly as your brain continued to process this new knowledge, a slight headache threatening to appear. “So you did all of this, because why? Did you think that by killing this man that all of your problems would be miraculously solved?” you demanded. Although you could understand his anger, in your opinion, it was an incredibly dumb move on his part. Jungkook was right. He ruined his entire life just by a simple pull of the trigger. 

Jungkook stared at you for a few moments, his eyes focused on you with a dull sorrow. For a solid moment, you thought you were staring into the eyes of someone who spent many years of their life fighting in the war. “I was just… tired and angry and frustrated and devastated and scared. I was so sick of seeing people forced into labor, people begging for food on the streets, daughters and wives being forced in prostitution in order to survive. I was sick of it! I thought that perhaps maybe, just maybe, if they lost someone dear to their nation, they could feel just a fraction of what we were going through. Their eyes would finally open up to the horror of what they were doing to us. But…” 

He paused for a few seconds as his fingers awkwardly folded themselves together. “Now, I know that even if I did kill him, I would only be giving the government the evidence they needed to prove that we were barbarians that needed to be controlled.”

You sat on the plush bed for a few moments, taking in everything you just heard and repeating it over and over again in your head. On one hand, you wanted to smack Jungkook on the backside of the head for how stupid and daft he was for thinking he could pull off something so dangerous on his own, but, on the other hand, you just wanted to wrap your arms around him and comfort him by whispering sweet, consoling words into his ears. You just wanted to tell him that, despite of everything he went through and witnessed, which seemed like a trip to hell and back, that it was going to be okay, that he was going to be alright in the end. 

However, instead of doing either of those things, you just sat there dumbly, your fingers playing anxiously with the quilt of the bed. These boys… what they hid from you… was absolutely horrendous. You just didn’t know how cruel humans could be to each other until that very moment. They were dragged through the mud and then spit on some more by those who deemed them lesser than the dirt that clung to their skin.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you these things before you joined, y/n,” Jin apologized, his mouth suddenly gone dry as sand. “I… don’t really know why I hid my past from you. I don’t know if I was ashamed for rolling over so easily instead of fighting back, or if I was scared you’d run away, or…” His voice trailed off as he couldn’t find the words to continue his apology. He slumped back into the fluffy pillows as his eyes now bore into the ceiling solemnly.

“Well, I could tell you for sure it was both of those reasons why I didn’t tell you,” Jungkook admitted, also leaning back into his chair with a soft sigh of regret. “I was ashamed for being such a failure but yet for doing so stupid, and I was scared you’d run away as soon as you heard that I was almost a murderer.” 

You didn’t notice how deeply you inhaled until your lungs screamed at you to release the oxygen trapped inside. Then you slowly let air out through your mouth as a drawn-out sigh. “Jungkook…” you began, closing your eyes for a few seconds. “I know I’ve only been in the group for a little over a month at this point, but after all we’ve been through, nothing could ever make me scared of you guys. Am I shocked? Oh boy, am I. Am I a bit overwhelmed? You can bet a pound or two, I am.” 

You paused briefly as you tried to organize your messy thoughts into an orderly fashion. “And I’m not mad that you kept these secrets from me. What happened to you both was definitely traumatizing, and I’m just glad to know that you two can trust to tell me these horrible things that you both experienced. I’m… I’m so sorry you two had to go through all of that.” A shaky breath escaped your lips as your throat began to suddenly tighten. These boys didn’t deserve any of this.

“We’re not the only ones that were victims of all of this,” Jungkook informed you, his thumbs twirling around each other to keep them occupied. “The others also went through things that no one should have gone through.”

Instantly, your mind went to what Taehyung revealed to you at the gala. How could you forget? You remembered so vividly the anger that flared in his eyes like a forest fire, blazing without mercy. The fury in his voice as he growled how he would rather die than give into the wishes of the Japanese government. In fact, behind those furious eyes of him, you remembered seeing a hint of hidden agony, as if you ripped off a bandaid to reveal a bleeding wound.

As you wandered through your memories, you murmured in reply, “Yes, I remember Taehyung saying something about his sister.” He came home to find her on the ground crying if you recalled correctly. You lifted up your head to look at both Jin and Jungkook with curiosity in your eyes. “What happened to her?”

The two men gave each other uneased,uncertain looks, as if they wanted to explain everything to you but were unsure if they were allowed to disclose such information. Finally, Jin answered reluctantly, “I believe that is something that Taehyung should tell you himself. It would be wrong of us if we just spilled his secrets without him knowing.”

He cast his gaze to the floor as if merely talking about it was bad enough. “Out of all of us, Tae probably got it the worst. He was continuously bombarded with misfortune-- still is to this day what with the government hounding him to make propaganda for them.”

You had to admit, you really wished they would just tell you instead of making you awkwardly ask the person in question. However, you understood why they believed it was for the best to let Taehyung explain his story. It was personal, and they shouldn’t tell others something so personal without his say in it. You would’ve wanted the same if you were in his shoes. 

“Alright…” you murmured, pausing for a few moments. “What else should I know about? Is Jimin secretly a rebel leader?”

Jungkook scoffed almost humorously. “Jimin? No way, he probably got it the best out of us. The worst he went through was facing school identity fraud.”

“Jungkook,” Jin scolded, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “What did I just say about respecting other people’s pasts? And don’t say he got it easy. He had his own hardships he had to deal with.”

The youngest rolled his dark eyes at the older’s motherly antics. He folded his muscular arms across his chest to match his annoyance. “Yes, mother,” he replied almost mockingly.

Great, now you wanted to know Jimin’s history. Your reporter instincts screamed at you to get the scoop, to learn more about the boys. Although guilt wracked your body because of it, you were awfully curious as to what the others’ pasts were. You wanted to know what made them into the people they were today. However, it seemed that you were going to have to be patient and wait for them to reveal such things to you once they were ready. 

“Thank you for trusting me with this, again.” As you gently clasped your hands together with a faint smile, you changed the subject by asking, “So, what’s next on our agenda? Now that we have the kobae, which is where again?” Now that you mentioned it, you had no idea where the kobae was. You hadn’t seen it at all ever since last night.

“Namjoon is keeping it safe and preserved, or so I’m told,” Jin answered, now making a move to slip out from the bed. The faint light that shimmered through the navy blue, velvet curtains enveloped him in a halo of light. “I’m glad he’s using his skills to keep the kobae intact. I would hate to go through all of this and for someone to accidentally break it.”

“Then why is Namjoon keeping it safe? He’s the one who breaks everything,” Jungkook commented, his eyebrows knitting together in slight concern. 

The image of the kobae shattered on the ground while Namjoon stood next to its remains with a sheepish smile appeared in everyone’s mind in that moment, but the millionaire merely brushed away the thought. “He wouldn’t be an archeologist if he broke every artifact he found,” he pointed out, then began to unbutton his top. “You two go to the living room with the others. I’ll meet you all there to discuss what the next part of the riddle means.”

After murmuring farewells to the leader, you and Jungkook got up from where you were sitting and made your way out of the bedroom. For some odd reason, you felt lighter coming out than you did going in, as if the weights that had been dragging you down were miraculously lifted. Perhaps by talking to the two and knowing that they trusted you with such dangerous secrets, the burdens of working with people you didn’t know disappeared. It made it a whole lot easier working with them knowing this.

And it makes it easier to make-out with them, a kittenish voice whispered in the back of your mind.

Your cheeks faintly flared at the sensuous thought and shoved the voice to the farthest corner of your mind. No, don’t think about that! Focus on the expedition!

You entered the living room where Namjoon was still occupied with his newspaper and now empty bowl of yogurt. You remembered your last words to him before going to Jin and immediately wanted to throw yourself out of the nearest window from the pure embarrassment that coursed through like a rapidly moving river. You really should stuff your mouth with your foot sometimes.

You sat on the couch farthest from Namjoon while Jungkook took a seat next to him. He rolled up his sleeves to reveal veiny, muscular arms, not that you were staring, and kicked up his legs so one was crossed on top of the other. You also crossed your legs and rested your hands in your lap. Well, it wasn’t like things could get any worse, right?

Wrong.

In that moment, Taehyung entered the living room from behind you, and, once seeing that you were also present in the room, broke out into a wide, boxy grin and snuck up behind you. Once he was standing directly behind you, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around your shoulders to pull you into a back hug, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Morning, yeodongsaeng,” he murmured so only you could hear it.

You smiled gently at the nickname, although you had no idea what it meant. You found it to be rather endearing and sweet to call you something in his native tongue. You supposed that bonding time with him last night must’ve really worked, considering he was acting all affectionate to you in a platonic manner. Taehyung pulled away only to swing around and plop in the spot right next to you before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. You allowed this and even scooted closer to him because of the comforting heat that exuded off of him. The cool air chilled you a bit, so you were thankful for some body heat to cling to.

Jungkook rounded his eyes seeing all of this while Namjoon arched an eyebrow in bemusement. “Oh, did something happen last night that I wasn’t aware of?” Namjoon asked, now setting his newspaper to the side.

You gulped deeply after a large lump suddenly lodged itself in your throat, remembering the presence of the other two men in the room. Before you could answer him, Taehyung spoke out with his grin now turned mischievous, “We just enjoyed a nice bath together last night.”

Taehyung! You could’ve strangled him on the spot! Why on earth would he word it like that?! That made it sound like you-- you two--! Ugh!

You honestly wanted to either just crawl up into a small ball and just disappear from the universe or  to beat Taehyung with a crowbar for making your life a whole lot more complicated. Either option sounded wonderful at that current moment. Maybe you could even beat up Taehyung first and then disappear from the universe.

“A bath, huh?” Jungkook echoed, lips curling up into a small smirk, although it was partly hidden behind his hand. “I was wondering who was being so noisy last night.”

Now you wanted to beat Jungkook with the same crowbar. “Hobi said that I needed to take a bath to help ease my sore muscles after exerting them so much at the gala,” you explained, hoping that it would be enough to get rid of those vulgar assumptions that just so happened to be true. “Oh, I bet they were sore, all right,” Jungkook commented, his voice dripping with travesty.

Taehyung chuckled at the younger’s remark and glanced over to see what your reaction was, which happened to be you huffing irritatedly and shooting him a glare before you snapped your head away from him, your face still hot from embarrassment. He softly cooed upon seeing how cutely your face scrunched up in chagrin. 

“Nothing happened!” you cried out in irritation, wanting to wipe away these assumptions from everyone’s minds.

“Besides a small make out session,” Taehyung added slyly.

You whipped your head to face him. “Tae!” you gritted out. “I’m going to beat your arse!”

Suddenly the door leading to the elevator opened to reveal Jimin dressed lightly as if he went for a morning walk, which you guessed must have been true. He smiled pleasantly to everyone before dragging his fingers through his hair as he wandered over to the group. “Morning, everyone,” he greeted cheerfully. He moseyed on over to where you sat and plopped next to you, his thighs snug against yours. Dear Lord, did these boys not know what personal space was? “What’s the news?”

“We’re waiting for the others to come so we can figure out the next part of the riddle,” Jungkook filled him in. 

“Ugh, not this again,” Taehyung groaned with a roll of his eyes. His fingers drummed against your forearm, which did not go unnoticed by Jimin. 

The survivalist shot you a wicked smirk before quickly switching back to a mirthful smile. “Well, now that we have the kobae, hopefully that’ll make the next part easier to figure out,” he pointed out optimistically. 

“Well, aren’t you being such an idealist,” a voice suddenly spoke up. 

You turned your attention to see Yoongi and Hobi entering the room. Yoongi strode over casually before sitting down in a chair and kicking his feet onto the table that stood in the center of everyone. He wiped his oil dirtied hands onto a rag, as if he were just finished working on a car. 

Hobi took the chair next to him and sat down with his signature smile on his face. “Ah, Yoongi, maybe you’re being the pessimist,” he shot back with a short laugh.

“Or maybe I’m just being realistic,” he argued, stuffing his dirty rag into his coat pocket. There were still dark smears on his hands from hours of working, but nothing short of a lot of soap and water was going to get those stains off of his skin. “What even was the next part of the riddle? Something about a lake? There’s got to be at least a hundred lakes in India.”

“Actually, there are only sixty-two lakes here,” Jimin corrected, leaning forward on his knees.

Yoongi rolled his eyes annoyedly. “Sorry I wasn’t being precise, Mr. Tree Hugger. I was being what’s called exasperated.”

“Hey! I was trying to help you out!”

“No, you just wanted to show off.”

“... Okay, touché.”

The little argument was cut short by the sound of a door closing. Everyone looked up to see Jin exiting his room, fixing the collar of his grey suit and then readjusting his blue tie to match. You almost snickered at the sight of him. He never was seen not wearing a suit, even hours after being drugged.  

Jin joined the rest of the team, his leather shoes clicking against the floor as he smoothed out his jacket. He gave everyone a small smile, while everyone else made small comments about how glad to see him awake and walking around. He replied with words of gratitude and nods before finally getting down to business, as was expected. “I’m sure you are all aware that we must figure out the next part of the riddle if we ever hope to find the Dragon of the Stars,” he began, stating the obvious. “Does anyone have any possible ideas of what the next part could possibly mean?”

Namjoon reminded everybody, saying, “Remember, the riddle is ‘give drink with a bowl of stone waters from the lake of the moon’s flower to the Dragon in order to bring it to its homeland’.”

“Lake of the moon’s flower?” Yoongi echoed, arching an eyebrow subtly before turning to Jimin. “Got any ideas, since you apparently are an expert on lakes.”

Jimin’s eyebrows shot up as his eyes widened before sputtering for a few moments. He managed to get out, “I don’t even know what they mean by moon’s flower! I mean, there is a flower called the moonflower, but that’s only native to the western part of the world.”

An idea suddenly popped into your head. “Oh! Oh! Maybe they’re talking about those flowers that only bloom at night time. What are those called?” you suggested eagerly, wanting to help.

“There’s lots of flowers that bloom at night, y/n. Evening primrose. Datura. Brugmansia. None of those flowers are native to India though,” Jimin shot down, folding his arms in front of his chest as he grew more frustrated by the riddle. “Well, except for the Brahma Kamal, but those grow in mountainous areas, not by lakes.”

“Besides, this lake needs to be in Punjab, since that’s where our ancestors ran to,” Namjoon remarked.

“Instead of focusing on the meaning behind moon’s flower, perhaps we could figure out a lake that has a lot of flowers. Any ideas?” Hobi proposed, looking around for anyone who could think of an idea.

Jimin sighed with a soft groan. “This is India, Hobi. There’s lots of lakes with flowers.”

Taehyung raised his hand to gather everyone’s attention before adding his own opinion. “What if they’re not so much talking about flowers so much as the moon. I mean, if you think about it, a moon in the lake would look like a flower, wouldn’t it?” 

“Then wouldn’t the wording be changed?” Jungkook argued, his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. “If that were the case, then it would be worded ‘flower of the night sky’ or something like that.”

“I think Jungkook is right,” you added, your hand cupping your chin as you racked your brain over the riddle. “There must be a specific reason as to why they would choose to place emphasis on moon’s flower.”

“Okay, okay,” Jin interrupted the discussion. “Maybe it would be best if we placed ourselves in the shoes of those who wrote the riddle. If you were writing these clues, what would you include that would throw people off the trail?”

Yoongi scoffed softly at the idea of imagining he were a Korean man in India about two millennia ago; but regardless of how silly he thought it was, he kept his mouth shut and decided to humor Jin by following his suggestion. “Well, I’m trying to make sure the Chinese soldiers wouldn’t be able to figure it out, right? Then I’d refer to something that wasn’t common knowledge to the average Chinese person at the time.”

Jin nodded his head in agreement, eyes drawn to the floor as the wheels in his head were slowly turning. “Right, something the Chinese wouldn’t know, but our ancestors would know, specifically… something that these particular Koreans would know,” he murmured out loud.

“Wait a second…” Namjoon began, his eyes widening just a centimeter as the pieces began to piece themselves together. “These Koreans at the time, they’ve spent months-- maybe even years-- in India. They’ve probably spent a lot of time with the Indians around, so logically they would pick up a few things about their culture, right?” When everyone nodded with his reasoning, he continued, “So maybe moon’s flower refers to something about Indian culture--” He cut himself off and he suddenly sprung up from his seat on the couch in excitement. “Lilies! Lilies! Lilies are the symbol of the Indian moon deity, Chandra!”

“Oh my God!” Jimin yelled as he too lept from the couch and hopped around eagerly, the excitement pulsing through him in large waves. “There’s a lake known for its lilies! Dal Lake!” He bounced up and down like a toddler in a candy store. “Oh my God! We need to go to Dal Lake!”

Everyone broke out in a small celebration with loud cheers and shouting when the next part of the riddle was figured out. You contemplated briefly bringing out some wine to commemorate the occasion. After all, you were just about ready to throw in the towel until Namjoon and Jimin managed to figure out the next part of the riddle. However, there was one person who wasn’t quite ready to start celebrating yet.

“Not to rain on everyone’s parade,” Yoongi suddenly butted in a cool tone, “but what do we do once we arrive at this Dal Lake? The riddle says we need to ‘give drink to the Dragon’, but last time I checked, dragons don’t exist.”

“Well, it has something to do with the kobae, obviously,” Jungkook replied with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe there will be instructions for us once we get there.”

Yoongi snorted almost bitterly at that. “Oh, yes, there will be a little post with a sign saying, ‘If you have the kobae with you, come right this way to the Dragon of the Stars!’.”

“Ah! Don’t be such a Debby Downer, Yoongi!” Hobi cried out, moving behind the mechanic before slipping his arms around his shoulders into a hug. “Did someone not get a good night’s rest last night?”

Yoongi shrugged the doctor’s arms off of him, rolling his eyes although a small smile graced his lips. “No, in fact, I actually slept really well knowing that everyone was alive and that we got away with infiltration and robbery.”

Jin redirected the conversation back to the previous topic, saying, “We’ve got a whole plane ride to figure out what we should do once we get to Dal Lake. I suggest we start packing up right now and get on the plane as soon as possible before Akimoto and his men get the chance to track us down.”

No one argued with him when he mentioned Akimoto and went straight to work packing up and leaving the city.

—————————————

No matter how many times you’ve been in a plane, you will never stop marvelling at how a simple machine could have you flying among the birds. You could spend hours just staring at the blue sky, looking down at the earth that you walked upon just hours before. 

Everything looked so tiny down below, like little tiny ants going about their day. When you weren’t looking down at the small world, you were busy ogling at the beautiful sky full of white clouds that reminded you of the dandelion seeds that littered your grandmother’s lawn. You remembered how you spent your childhood years playing with the fuzzy weeds.

As you were lost in your mind, reminiscing more innocent times, you didn’t notice anyone approaching you until they plopped down on the seat across from yours. You snapped your attention from the pale blue sky to see who suddenly joined you. You recognized it to be Yoongi, his forehead sweaty from working. He released huffs and puffs of air as his hand wiped away the sweat that began to collect itself on his brow.

Now that you thought about it, you recalled that Yoongi had to fix a certain part of the plane, which you happened to forget its name because you weren’t exactly listening, that required lots of heavy-lifting.

“Need a drink?” you offered, already moving toward your bag to grab a glass water bottle. The poor,  young man looked as if he needed about several bottles to quench his thirst.

“Yes, please,” he sighed in reply, his body slouching against the cushioned seat. You reached for the glass bottle and handed it to the mechanic. He weakly took it from your hand and uncapped it before taking large gulps of the cool liquid. 

You smiled faintly before briefly looking back at the view of the sky until he managed to polish off about half of the bottle. Wiping his hand across his mouth to get rid of the excess water, he asked with a raspy voice, “So, how is our heroine doing lately?”

You arched an eyebrow amusedly at what he said, your smile widening as a soft chuckle escaped your lips. “Heroine? Why do you call me that?” you questioned, resting your head in the palm of your hand.

Yoongi merely shrugged his shoulders indifferently in reply. “Lately everyone has been showering you with praise for managing to pull the museum operation through. I thought that I’d join them in that regard,” he answered nonchalantly, as if he were stating an obvious fact. 

Another chuckle left your mouth at how casually Yoongi said this. “Well, aren’t you such a sweet chap?” you remarked.

“You know, I act pretty friendly often, and yet everyone’s always surprised by it,” Yoongi observed, his shoulders sagging a little bit in exasperation.

“Only because people don’t know if you’re serious or not,” you replied.

“... Fair enough.”

Your smile widened as your eyes slowly began to return themselves back to the endless blue sky. You could never get over how beautiful it was. The color that painted the sky was something that could never be made by human hands. Nature was truly a marvel to behold sometimes.

“I’m still a little low-key peeved that you just happened to pull the plug right when Jin passed out. The whole blackout made finding Namjoon, Jungkook, and Tae so much more difficult than it needed to be,” you mentioned, although your jovial expression didn’t match the words that tumbled from your mouth.

Yoongi scoffed almost offendedly by what you said, his eyebrows knitting together and his jaw dropping. “Hey, I was just doing what we all agreed what time would be best for the blackout. It’s not like anyone gave me a signal that Jin just happened to get drugged right before I decided to flip the switch,” he defended himself, then sighed as he sunk further into his chair. “Man… I can’t wait for someone to invent instant communication. That would make my job so much easier.”

You laughed cheerfully at how passionate the mechanic got when defending himself. You couldn’t really blame him for the whole incident. He was right; everything that could’ve possibly gone wrong happened all at the same time. He really had no control over any of that. However, you just wanted to see what his reaction would be if you said such words, and, you had to admit, you weren’t disappointed with the results.

“You know, Hobi and I were hanging out before we got together and decided to head for this lake,” he changed the subject, setting the bottle on the floor next to him. “He told me that Jin was awake and was talking to you and Jungkook. He made a few comments about how long you two were in there. Mind sharing what you three talked about? Was it just those two praising you for your actions at the gala?”

You wondered to yourself what brought on this question for a few seconds. Did he think you all were gossiping about him? You contemplated whether you should mention that you were, in fact, discussing Jin and Jungkook’s pasts. “Jin and Jungkook both told me their pasts. Jin said his father was killed for conspiracy, and then he was basically made into a puppet for the government. Jungkook told me how he attempted to assassinate Emperor Hirohito but failed and is now on the run,” you disclosed, your tone calm as if you were merely discussing the weather. 

Yoongi slowly nodded as you explained everything to him, his eyes trained on you for any form of a reaction. Finally, he brought his gaze to the ground and was silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts together before speaking his mind. “I guess you now know what our world is like. We were considered inferior to them, weak, powerless. Everything that gave us nationalistic idenity meant nothing to them. We were even told that it was illegal to speak our own language. So, yeah, you can imagine that all our lives were pretty shitty,” he described, his fingers tapping against the armrest of the seat. 

You tilted your head slightly to the side as you listened to him go off. Suddenly, you remembered that you knew nearly nothing about the mechanic, except for that he thought this entire expedition to be a fool’s journey and he was only doing this for the money. “What about you, Yoongi? What made your life so shitty?” you asked.

Yoongi stared at you with astonishment written across his face. “What? You want to know more about me?” He pointed to himself, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. When you nodded, he shook his head at lightning’s speed. “No, no. Sorry, doll, but that isn’t something I like to touch on. Believe me, it isn’t as thrilling as trying to kill the Emperor of Japan. Just know that it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows.”

You slightly pouted at that, your reporter mindset upset that you couldn’t get the facts. You wanted to know more about the others, and hearing how horrible their lives were didn’t exactly quell your curiosity. You tried to organize what you knew about everyone into different categories. 

Jin was basically property of the Japanese government after his father was killed, Jungkook tried to kill the Emperor but didn’t succeed, Taehyung currently was being harassed to make propaganda for the government and something happened to his sister, and Jimin apparently faced school identity fraud at some point in his life. That left Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi, who you barely knew about apart from their occupations and some minor details.

“You aren’t going to tell me even one thing about your past?” you sulked, hoping that your pouting would get something out of him.

Yoongi rolled his eyes at your persistence. “Fine, I’ll tell you one thing about my past.” You leaned forward eagerly, excited to hear at least one thing about him. “I learned all of my mechanic skills from my dad.”

Hey, it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Besides, the image of a young Yoongi being taught how to fix a car by his father had you cooing and murmuring fondly. The mechanic, instead, flushed furiously at how you were making cute noises, although his rosy cheeks were masked with a deep frown.

“Hey, what’s with the baby noises?” he demanded, his arms still folded across his chest.

“Nothing, nothing,” you giggled, then confessed, “I was just thinking about how adorable you probably were as a kid.”

Yoongi shook his head but still smiled a bit as you were sent into another bout of giggles. Oh, his cheeks must have been so chubby!

“You have to show me some baby photos of you, when this is all over!” you insisted, eager to see exactly what he looked like in his younger years.

Yoongi stared at you with such earnestness and flatly replied, “I don’t have any.”

Your bright smile quickly dissipated upon hearing this. What? How could he have no baby photos? Your family wasn’t rich either, but even your mother had a book full of black and white photos of you as a toddler. “My family couldn’t afford a camera. Hell, my mother could barely put food on the table. Sometimes I had a small cup of soup and that was my meal for the day.”

Ah… right, now you understood why this was a touchy subject. You cleared your throat awkwardly as a solemn atmosphere settled upon the two of you. Yoongi must have grown up in a poor family, which made sense why the pay of this expedition must seem so appealing to him. You recalled how he talked about giving the money to his parents who needed it desperately. You imagined what kind of financial situation they were in at the moment. No wonder Yoongi was so determined to get the Dragon. He just wanted to get the funds to his family.

Yoongi let out an irritated sigh as he slumped back into his seat. “Shit… I already let it slip,” he grumbled to himself in slight disgust, then redirected his attention to you. “Why are you so curious about us anyway?”

You brought your gaze back to him after sheepishly looking around from the tense atmosphere. “I just want to know more about you boys, is all. I’ve been with you all for more than a month at this point. I guess we’re at the point where we get to know each other on a more personal level now,” you answered reluctantly.

The mechanic studied your face for a few moments, searching for something that you couldn’t quite figure out. His strong stare caused you to awkwardly shuffle in your seat, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your core. “Then I guess it’s only fair that you tell me something about yourself first, since you want to know so much about me. So, tell me, y/n, what is something about your past that was shitty?”

To be honest, in comparison to the other boys, your life up to this point was a walk on a sunny beach while theirs was a walk on sharp, broken glass in the middle of a hurricane. You didn’t know anything that could even be compared to what they went through. Should you talk about how you fell out of a tree and broke your ankle? Perhaps you should mention the time a dog bit you in the arse as a little girl? 

Who were you fooling? You never experienced anything remotely close to what they went through!

“I haven’t really had anything happen to me that was as bad as what you all went through,” you admitted, your cheeks hot with embarrassment. However, this time it wasn’t from any teasing or flirtatious comments. 

Yoongi arched an eyebrow at your confession. “Is that so? Nothing? No dead parents?”

You shook your head. 

“No abusive childhood?”

Again, you shook your head.

“No government officials hunting you down?”

“Well… not in the past-”

“You know what I mean,” he interrupted, cutting you off abruptly. “How about living in hiding for as long as you can remember?”

…

At your silent reply, Yoongi nodded curtly and made a move to get up from his seat. “Then I don’t see why I should tell you my past if you can’t even begin to relate.” He stood up and fixed his clothing before taking a few steps away to leave you all by your lonesome, hands dug deep in his jacket pockets.

You sat there, your eyes glued to the floor somberly. He was right, you had nothing to relate to the boys. Unless…

“I was there when my grandmother died.”

Yoongi abruptly stopped in his tracks at your sudden reply. His head turned slightly to the side as his attention was grabbed by you. He stood there silently, waiting for you to continue on with your story.

Feelings that were long ago buried and forgotten suddenly resurfaced as you recalled the memories that were full of sorrow and grief. You really didn’t want to bring back these painful memories. But if you had any hope of connecting with these boys, then you had to give them something that they could connect with.  

You released a shaky sigh as you began, “My grandmother one day just suddenly collapsed in her home and was found by my mother a few hours later while I was busy playing in her lawn. She managed to get her in bed, but she was already in a coma by then. My mother and I stayed at her side for the next few days, tending to her needs and the needs of the house. Although I was a kid, I remember how she was just… lying there… motionless… just breathing. It was almost sickening to watch her waste away like that. With each day I saw how she had gotten thinner and thinner and paler and paler. She already looked like a ghost.”

You had to pause your explanation to give yourself a moment to cope with your long buried feelings. It’s been years, but the wounds of that event still stung when you looked back on it. It was like ripping off a bandaid that had been stuck on a scab for a while. It might be old, but the pain still hurt like bugger.

You continued after you managed to contain yourself, “There were some days where I just wished she would just die, not for her sake but for mine and my mother’s. I couldn’t handle seeing her deteriorate more each and every day. Every time my mother had to go in there to feed her or clean the room, she always came out in tears. I knew my grandmother was in a peaceful state, even if her body was failing, but watching her in such a state. I couldn’t bear it; I couldn’t bear to watch the grandmother I loved so much as she was dying.”

At this point, Yoongi had returned from where he was standing and sat back down in his seat, his eyes focused entirely on you as you began to blubber. You noticed the sympathy gleaming in his eyes as your throat tightened and stung. Your voice cracked on several different occasions as you told the story. It’s been years, why were you still so choked up over this? Why did it still hurt so much?

“And then, as I was just watching her body failing her one day, she just…” You couldn’t handle it anymore. The tears were too much to hold back anymore. Tears began streaming down your face in small streams as your body slowly wracked from your sobs. 

You briefly wondered if the reason why you were still broken over this decades later was because you never really told anyone your feelings about the whole issue. Sure, you showed your sorrow at your grandmother’s funeral, but no one ever asked you if you were alright. They all were too concerned over your mourning mother to really focus on you. No one ever told you that it was going to be alright like they told your mother.

Suddenly two arms wrapped themselves around your body, pulling you into comfortingly. You realized that Yoongi had pulled you in for a consoling hug, and you buried your face into his chest, letting your tears wet his shirt. One of his hands rubbed your head soothingly in soft, slow strokes, his fingers running themselves through your smooth hair. He whispered kind words into your ears in a hushed tone. “It’s going to be fine. You’re alright now…”

There it was. The words you’ve been dying to hear since you were a child.

You’re alright now… It’s going to be fine....

You cried and cried into his shirt until your eyes couldn’t produce anymore tears. All the emotions that you had bundled up for years flowed out like a cracked dam. Your head lulled heavily from how spent your body was as you slowly pulled yourself away. Man, you hated how tiring it was to cry.

You rubbed your eyes to wipe away any excess tears that still clung to your face, sniffling every now and then to stop your nose from running with snot. Ugh, you must look horrendous from how hard you sobbed. You hadn’t cried like that in years. Your emotions must have been pent up for so long they suddenly exploded from just telling that story.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized with a weak laugh. “I don’t know what came over me…”

“It’s me who should be saying that,” Yoongi replied in a quiet tone. “I pushed you too hard. I shouldn’t have been so cold to you. You definitely went through some hard times, too.”

You gave him a sad smile as you wiped away the last of your tears. “I don’t think anyone has ever lived an easy life.”

Yoongi smiled back to you faintly and lifted his shoulders in a tiny shrug. “Maybe you’re right.”

You stared at each other for a few moments, just appreciating each other’s company. You felt awfully closer to Yoongi after telling him about the death of your grandmother, even if he hadn’t said anything about his own past. It was nice to know that someone was there for you, ready to wipe away your tears and hold you close. You hadn’t really had anyone like that before you joined this expedition. You had to admit, it was nice to have someone you could depend on in that regard.

However, your serene moment didn’t last long, as suddenly the plane shook with such violence that it nearly threw you out of your seat. Your ears rang like a bell was tolling in them as a loud explosion erupted just outside your window. A scream escaped your lungs as you were then tossed to the floor as the plane lurched up and down a few times, boxes and supplies now thrown everywhere from the plane’s jerky movements. Just what on earth was going on?!

Yoongi, who landed on the floor next to you, suddenly shot up and gripped the nearby armrest for support. He groaned quietly in pain from being thrown to the ground and looked outside the window that you have been staring out of just minutes prior from all of this. He squinted his eyes to focus on the problem before they suddenly widened to the size of saucer plates. His jaw dropped rather unceremoniously as a sharp gasp slipped past his lips.

“Oh… no…”

You crawled back up to your feet and stumbled after Yoongi, nearly falling down a few times from how unstable the plane’s flying had gotten at this point. Once you grabbed onto his shoulders to keep your balance, you looked out the window to see what nearly gave you a heart-attack. And, just like Yoongi, your eyes rounded and your jaw went slack at the sight.

The plane’s turbine was currently up in flames, and it didn’t look like it was going to keep you all in the air for much longer…

“Everyone!” Jimin suddenly screamed from the cockpit, his voice full of terror as he struggled to keep the plane somewhat stable.You heard the sirens and saw the red flashing lights from the cockpit going sending terror through your entire being.  “Grab onto something secure! We’re about to crash!!!”

Oh… fuck… you could never catch a break...

[nimsajlove]

Brothers (V)

Not the last part, sadly. I was hoping to finish this thing today but even stuck at home, I can’t do it...

Brothers-AU  Ao3

Part IV , Part VI

*~*

Ahsoka won the one fight. With the help of Aayla Secura, Plo Koon and Anakin, the files against Fives disappeared with surprising speed and Ahsoka managed to cover up the whole thing with words, that Cody and Obi-Wan Kenobi had given her this time, and somehow transfer Fives into her ultimate care. She wasn't quite sure, how she really did it! But she sensed that the voices of Senator Amidala and Senator Organa had been of great support in front of the Senate.

However, she suffered a defeat in another. "And you are sure, that we can't treat more men?", she asked quietly and looked at her feet, she was sitting cross-legged in the bunk under her own. Rex was standing in front of her, on the side of his head Kix had attached a thick plaster. It looked strange, almost unsettling. "I do not think so. We finished our unit and I'm still amazed, that Cody agreed. But we don't know, who would tell the Senate about this if he could.", he explained and his tone softened as he saw her grimace in pain. The last few days had been tough, her nerves had worn out and in the end Rex had taken over her paperwork from the past week. Just to catch up a little. She had to overcome many fears. The fear of the Council, of the Chancellor. Yes, even a little fear of failing herself. None of that had done her any good, and it didn't improve her tired features.

Two seconds passed while she chewed her nails and he watched her, before he dropped next to her with a small thud. She was so tired... She wanted to be strong, really! She wanted to be there, keep an eye on Fives. But she hadn't even found the strength to follow him and his brothers to dinner this afternoon. Was she even hungry at all? "He's in good hands.", it mumbled next to her and she nodded dully. "I know." "Then why are you making yourself even more stressed? He's alive and he'll still be when you restet.", asked Rex and she rolled the answer back and forth in her head for a while. Because she was needed? Or, at least, wanted to be? Sometimes this little fear crept into her mind, that the clones would eventually leave her alone. Like the Council. She knew she would have to accept it, if that day came. But that didn't made the thought easier! His hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled it against his. With a small sigh her head came to rest against his and fingers layed quietly on her temple. She stared into the air for a few seconds, then breathed out deeply and let the warmth drive away all thoughts. 

* ~ * 

"Why are you hesitating?", Jesse asked, looking around searching for what had upset his general. She shrugged her shoulders, her posture so strangely insecure and nervous. "I don't know, maybe a bad feeling?", she mumbled and then climbed into the ship, which would bring her back onto her cruiser. Actually, she couldn't wait to get away! 

The Jedi, especially Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi, had become downright intrusive in the past few days. And even if the two Jedi brought back fond memories in her, it caused enough pain for her to want to avoid them.

Saying goodbye to Cody was short, but she had looked at him honestly and even a small smile had appeared on her face. Despite the problems of the past few days. "I owe you one.", were her last words, his as he had yelled after her: "Definitly!" She was still grinning at the thought of it. 

Back on the cruiser, it seemed as if the bad memories were slowly being washed away. She was cautious for the first few days, although her bad feeling at the departure had disappeared now. But then she noticed more and more how the men laughed and joked together. She was greeted with a smile at any time of day and at some point it passed on to her too. Even Fives laughed again, it was really contagius. She was grateful, that the clones could always, somehow, find something good in every situation. 

* ~ * 

Almost two months passed. The war went on around her and a strange distance had developed between her and the men. She wasn't sure where it came from, but she seemed to separate herself from them every now and then. She spent more time meditating, letting Rex choose which missions to go on next. She was still helping, eating and sleeping with the men. But she still felt this distance and was worried, that it was coming from her side... Maybe she was missing a nice fight after all. She didn't knew if she should have been happy, when Cody called her and jokingly remembered her that she was still owning him something, even if the situation was probably not funny! At last she would be able to do something without putting more blood from the clones on her cap. Because this was something, that still worried her. Maybe it was better, to get away from these men and let them be happy with the small and peacefull missions. 

But when the men heard of her preparations, they surprised her with their anger. Hesitantly and slightly confused, she sat alone while eating and assumed that all the distance had now turned into dislike after all. Rex, Jesse and Kix gave it away as a lie, when the three of them sat down with her and acted as if nothing had ever happened. It wasn't until the young woman chewed on her food for a few minutes in silence that Jesse nudged her in the side. "What is it, did you swallow your tongue?", he joked and when Ahsoka shrugged, the other two fell silent. There it was again, that distance. She felt so incredibly heavy as she watched the men seem to be more relaxed with each new peace mission. "What's stuck in your throat?", asked Kix and she pressed her forearms on the table, she wondered if it was worth sharing her worries with those, whom she had called brothers for years. Finally she spoke up. "The men avoided me today, have I moved so far from them?", she asked quietly and the three clones began to chuckle. She looked up with furrowed eyebrows. "That's not funny!", she hissed softly and put her fork aside. Rex was the first to swallow his amusement and patted her head across the table, earning him another angry twinkle from the general. 

"You know, I think it's more like, that the men are offended.", Jesse finally grinned broadly. "Running into a mission without all of us? Not even you can pull that on us.", Kix agreed. 

Even later, she hadn't quite digested that the men would just follow her. In what would be certainly the death of most of them. She didn't want that! She paced up and down in her office and was nearly scared to death when the door suddenly slid open. Rex and Fives stood in front of her and the ARC just shook his head. "How about some sleep until we get there?", he suggested, she shook her head firmly. “No, it’s not like I could sleep now anyway. And don't even think about calling Kix! You don't want to see my dinner again and neither do I!”, she threatened Rex, before he could open his mouth. Both clones smirked and now entered, their general began to pace up and down again. The two sat on the desk. “Then how about running around on the bridge. At least you have space there.", Rex joked and she stared at him. “How can you joke now? I am leading more than a hundred men to their certain death, with a really high probability!” She started softly and grew louder, until she crossed her arms angrily and wondered if this was a good time for a little scream. Just to calm her nerves.

Fives stood up, his gaze dead serious. “These men follow you voluntarily! You lead them because they want you to lead them. Sooner or later each of us dies, let us at least hope to be allowed to die for the right thing.", he explained and she heard a passion in his voice that has not been seen since Umbara. A lump formed in her throat, but she forced herself to maintain her composure. There had been a time, where she had thought so as well. “With all due respect, brother! I want you to die for the right thing, after all of you have had a chance to live. A real life without the bolts and bombs flying around you all the time. You should be allowed to live, not have to.” Her voice was hard and cold, it was difficult to speak past the lump. Rex got up too and came up to her. “I want to live right here and now. And if we die out there, it will be because we made the right decision to trust you." She looked at him and realized, that at was herself who built this distance. She was so afraid to loose one oft hem! Tears started to form in her eyes und she turned away. 

* ~ * 

She had been standing alone in front of the battle plans for a while now and looked at them, the situation was not only tricky. Fatal was probably the better word and she was still gnawing at Rex's idea, of ​​how they could still save the whole thing. He had gone, alone. She didn't like it, but she also knew that she couldn't run after him always and everywhere. He had Cody with him and Unit 99! It would all go well… She remembered her brief conversation with these clones while telling Rex to be careful. A smile crept on her face, Wrecker reminded her of Hardcase. The two alone would certainly have been enough, to reduce the entire base to rubble and ashes.

Footsteps approached from behind and she looked up, Anakin came up to her and clasped his hands behind his back. She had to grin. "You had a nice conversation? How is she doing?”, she asked softly and he smirked, she hadn't spoken to her master in a long time. Not really after she left Coruscant in such a hurry. But she wasn't blind. "You're clever.", her former master admitted and examined the plans with her. She felt his restlessness and sighed, before loosening her arms and looking at him. "What is it, Master?", she asked and it was unexpected for her, when his worried look met her. 

"I missed you.", he muttered and she smirked. "Sure you weren't just missing Hevy?", she teased and he rolled his eyes before carefully lifting an arm. An invitation she could decline if she wanted.

She swallowed, since the council had expelled her once, she had forbidden the other Jedi from any avoidable physical contact. She knew Plo Koon was sorry, but she couldn't just see past it all. She also knew that every time, Master Kenobi saw her, he worriedly stroked his beard and tried to put his hand on her shoulder. Since then she has consistently avoided him. Now she and her master had never maintained closer contact, except for a deep bond. But it hurt him too, to know her so far away and distant. And that hurt her too ... She might not really always agree with him, but he was her friend and with a small sigh she slipped into the embrace and held him tight for a few seconds before releasing him. 

* ~ * 

She was crouching on the floor and biting her nails, that hideous habit that had only emerged since the Fives-Thing! She had closed her eyes and was thinking, trying not to lose her mind while doing so. Her master and the other two Jedi doubted the captain's statement, she didn't! If Rex said that had to be Echo, it was him! But what exactly should she do now? She had to go there, take him home. That was out of the question. Could she involve his brothers in this? No, the clones were more important to him than she was. In the end she was expendable for her men, even if they were loyal to her. Her brothers would get over her loss, should it occur. After all, they would then have Echo back again.

"Have you made up your mind?", asked a calm voice and she opened her eyes. She had previously included Hunter in her deliberations, and he had told her that Rex was up to the same thing. This, of course, accelerated her decision-making process. "Yes, let me just talk a word with Cody.", she snorted and went into the medical tent. The commander refused to leave the planet, after all he was more or less patched up. He was awake and staring at her. "And?", he asked, and if she hadn't been to bed faster, he might have got up to meet her. “I'll go and look for Echo. The others must not follow me! You can do this for me, right?” The clone nodded, worry darkened his eyes and Ahsoka patted him carefully on the shoulder, trying to calm him down. "I'll take your boys with me, let's see what they're good for.", she joked and saw Cody smile briefly, before she turned around and disappeared. 

* ~ * 

Did these shafts never end? Echo smiled next to her and she looked down at him, had she said something? "Don't look like that, I know where we're going to get out.", he grinned and it actually cheered her up. She was full of bruises and minor injuries, but Echo was alive and she had her arm wrapped around him to hold him up. It was all worth it! 

Wrecker behind her sighed again and she had to smile again. "I'll make sure that you get a few more before we run.", she said and received a comradely push against the shoulder blade. "I hope so!", laughed the massive clone, and Crosshair in front of her just shook his head.

"Here it is. I just don't think, you'll like it.", Echo grinned at Ahsoka and Tech opened a hatch, the wind blew in on them immediately and she stuck her head out. It went down from up here, far down. "No different than jumping into the underworld.", she thought aloud and out of the corner of her eye she saw Echo tilt his head. "You speak from experience?", he asked and she nodded. 

* ~ *

 Every bone hurt her, but it didn't matter! Because Echo was as intact as he could be and she was still alive. In addition, Wrecker was totally amused, to have thrown a Jedi for the first time in his life. She smiled too, she hadn't wanted to take the fun away from him and had given up her other acrobatics. It had been funny, especially when Hunter asked her loudly, if she still was sane to volunteer to do this. It had been easier somehow, now that she wasn't surrounded by the clones that her heart was so attached to. Besides, her brothers got along quite well without the fighting, but these ones...

The gunship started to land and she got up, the ground seemed to sway slightly under her as she braced herself on the wall and Echo looked at her from the side. She had filled in a few of his gaps. "General, maybe..." She held up her hand and cut him off. "I'm fine, I'm standing upright on my own two feet. But I'll send you straight to Kix.", she grinned and Echo returned it, albeit hesitantly.

The ship opened and she could see a whole group of people rushing to meet them. She pulled back a little and let the clones go outside, not at least to get out of the view of all the others, including her former master. She really couldn't use one of his lectures now. She might have underestimated the enemy a tiny bit... Echo was welcomed with open arms by his brothers and they all escort him to Kix, Ahsoka waited a few seconds until Tech stuck his head back into the ship. 

"They are gone.", he announced and she left the ship with a deep sigh, the pain in her body was still dull. But it was slowly growing and she just wanted to get into a bunk and close her eyes for a few minutes. Nothing more. "Thanks, Cody actually didn't exaggerate.", she said to Hunter and tried to drive away the exhaustion. The clone looked her up and down once and then smiled a small smile. “He wasn't exaggerating when he spoke of you either. General Tano, you look awful.” She laughed, it hurt and she held her ribs. "Not everyone can have a genetic advantage.", she joked and said goodbye.

She began to hobble into her improvised command tent as fast as she could and sat on the floor, preferring not to inspect her injuries. Now that all that adrenaline was gone, it hurt like hell. Her right lekku burned like fire and blood was dried on him, her shoulder and forehead. Her head felt like it would explode, her sense of balance seemed to have been damaged. She knew, that blood was still oozing from her left hand. But she just didn't dare to look down. She just sat there and breathed against the sting of her ribs, wondering if she should just allow herself some sleep here on the floor.

She never got to it, three figures appeared in her tent. "Ahsoka?" The question sounded scared and she wondered, how bad she really looked. It wasn't like she had a mirror on hand. She raised her right hand to protect her eyes from the incident light and to identify the people. It was her old master, who immediately turned around and pressed his comlink. Rex, however, came over to her with long strides and pulled her upright again by the shoulders. When had she sunken to the ground? “It's okay. I can sit alone.", she grumbled and fixed her gaze on Obi-Wan Kenobi, he looked at her with an expression of concern and urgency. "Sure.", Rex grumbled ironically, but she braced herself against his attempts to get her to her feet. "Master Kenobi, did something happen?", she asked instead, feeling a slight knot form in her stomach. Something actually happened...

The Jedi hesitated before speaking. “Anakin will kill me, for not dragging you to the nearest Bacta tank right away. But ... Echo just shared some of his new experiences and knowledge with us. He discovered a conspiracy, the clones were actually given a hidden order.” She looked at him with wide eyes and could see in his, what she was thinking. It was finally proven, Fives was right! "We'll be able to help them all?", she asked choked and only felt dully, how Rex grabbed her tighter. Kenobi nodded and she took a deep breath, tears flowed and she knew that all the men would finally have a chance of real, free will. Then it got dark. 

* ~ * 

When she woke up again, she was confused. It was bright, white, sterile. This wasn't a battlefield! Where was she? Where were the men she had to protect? Was Echo still safe with his brothers? Did she really make it? Panicked, she sat up and looked around, she was alone in a room, she identified it as the medistation of her cruiser. Where was everyone? Had she just been sent back and left alone? 

Suddenly, that feeling was there again, that deep fear of loneliness. She gasped, she'd had all of that under control for years, and now… She wanted to get up and noticed the many cables, that were glued and clamped to her skin. The panic overflowed and with a jerk she threw herself out of bed, tearing off the cables and lying there breathless. She was trying to find her legs, to do something before something happened. Her stomach was knotted and it was difficult for her to breathe. There were dull voices and when hands grabbed her, she tried to throw herself against them. Then it went quiet and dark again. 

The next time she opened her eyes, she was sick. Groaning, she immediately closed her eyes and straightened up, one hand pressed to her mouth. She could hardly breathe and suddenly a warm hand was on her back and someone pushed a bucket into her hands. Just in time, whatever had been in her stomach, it just greeted her cheerfully. She hugged the bucket, trembling.

A few minutes passed, before she was nothing but a trembling misery on the bed. She leaned back and more than two hands carefully helped her, there was a cool wall behind her. Before she could drop the bucket, someone took it from her and now she tried again, to look at the world around her. The difference to before was fatal! It wasn't the white ceiling of the medistation, but rather the familiar gray of the quarters. And as she took a deep breath, the familiar scent of her home flooded her lungs. The light had been dimmed and she could now hear and see how crowded it was. Oh by the Force, how many had seen all of this? The first that her eyes could focus on was Echo. He was sitting on one of the lower bunks and when he saw, that she was really looking at him, he smiled widely. That was nice... The next one was Kix and she realized quickly, why he looked so guilty. It was clear, that he had pumped the medication into her body. But did he really had a choice? Jesse sat next to him, arms on his knees and gaze serious, but relieved, fixed on her. Hevy, Droidbait, Cutup, Fives, Cody... she spotted a few other faces and then turned to the nearest one. Rex was sitting on the matress she had been put on and when she blinked at him, he actually picked up a second bucket.

"Please don't say, you need this one too.", he muttered and a laugh escaped her, her ribs no longer hurt. Carefully she sat up properly and rubbed her aching head, her gaze slid back to Echo. He looked so much better... "How long was I gone?", she asked quietly and as if that had been a secret sign, her brothers came closer to the bed and Cody shooed the others away, but kept himself in the background. “Almost two weeks. One of them in the tank.”, Cutup announced and threw himself on her foot end, Driodbait shoved him heartily to the side and climbed next to him. Two weeks? "What did I miss?", she asked still quietly and Echo and Fives had to laugh, she gave them a strange look. What was there to laugh about? "I can lend you a hand, if you need it.", Echo announced and a shockingly realistic prosthesis landed in her hands. Without an arm. She paused, then raised her eyebrows and returned his new hand. "Very funny.", she commented dryly, but was infinitely happy. That was the first joke Fives was involved in for who knows how long! 

"The GAR is dechipped.", Jesse threw in and simply sat down on the floor, in front of the bunk, he had a satisfied grin on his face. "And Skywalker screwed up!", Hevy announced and all the clones laughed softly, that was almost too loud for her head! "Why?" She asked pained, rubbing her temples. “The Senator is even less of a secret now, than it was before. But the men and General Kenobi cover him as best they can.", Cody grinned from further back and she had to laugh again, what a surprise! Her master has never been good at keeping things a secret... 

Kix stared at his hands and she recognized the expression. She got up a little more and tilted her head. "Kix?" He looked up and she grinned widely, it elicited a small smile. She wanted to see that, even if, according to her stomach, she didn't felt like grinning. "What exactly did you find?", she asked in a pretended good mood. He didn't fall for it, but finally began to enumerate.

"Serious head injuries. The right lekku was completely slit.” She raised her right hand and stroked the tentacle, a bulging scar pressing against her fingers. There could have been worse. "Burns, abrasions, grazes, broken ribs ..." The list was long and yet it had to end at some point. "And two fingers of the left hand were torn off.", the clone finished and exhaled deeply, Ahsoka looked at her hands for the first time. The right one was perfectly fine again, but the left one looked so out of place. The ring and middle finger were completely missing and she clenched her hand once into a fist, it was as if she could still feel them. With a shudder, she remembered how she'd faded out the pain, after wrenching herself from the grip of a droid. 

The men around her waited to see, if she would say something.She looked up and carefully swung her legs out of bed. "Where are we?", she asked, waiting for the world to stop turning. That headache would kill her sooner or later! Breathing deeply, she propped herself up on her knees, tried not to gag again and heard Kix start to rummage in his backpack. "Hyperspace, on the way to Coruscant.", Cody replied and she nodded vaguely, why weren't her men there already? The rest of the fight couldn't possibly have lasted two weeks. "Why are you here?", she asked further, when Kix pressed a tablet into her left hand. Without looking for water, she swallowed it. Her brothers moved a little closer, slowly it was getting tight on the bed. Droidbait and Cutup sat diagonally behind her, Rex on her right and Kix on her left. Fives, Echo, Jesse and Hevy were crouched on the floor and Cody was leaning against the opposite wall. "You're kidding, right?", Jesse asked, and she shrugged. "I wouldn't have blamed you, for flying home as soon as possible.", she muttered and massaged her forehead, the pain seemed to subside and the nausea finally went away! She loved Kix, he always had one of the few tablets that she could swallow. 

Someone patted her foot and she looked up, Hevy looked at her with a surprising seriousness. "You took all the fun away from us, but we can't just leave you behind!" She wanted to protest, that leaving her on the medistation wouldn't have been such a big deal. "Don't argue, I won't go anywhere again without anyone of my family, this includes you too!", Echo announced and tears tingled in her eyes.

This unconditional love, that was shown to her here, was so different from her worries in the last few days. She wasn't sure, what she had expected or feared. Maybe anger, that she'd left them all to go off alone? Before she could start crying, however, Hevy rose energetically. "I'm starving, let's get something to eat!" Ahsoka hesitated, food sounded nice. But somehow... "When was the last meal?", she asked and Hevy shrugged. “No idea, 10 or 11 hours ago? Since you decided to throw yourself off the bed.", he grinned and it made her smile. "Then I don't want to stand in your way." But nobody moved. "Your stomach could definitely take something too.", Kix then threw in and stood up, offered her his hand, to help her up. She still hesitated, the pill was good. But she wasn't hungry either. "You haven't had anything real in your stomach for two weeks, do us this favor.", Rex insisted and with a sigh, she grabbed Kix's hand and pulled herself to her feet. "You can have my dessert too.", Cutup said as he pushed past her and his grin made her laugh. Suddenly the faces of all the men in the room lit up and she was a bit ashamed, of having burdened the soldiers for so long. "You are too good to me.", she tried to joke and squealed, as Hevy grabbed her and lifted her onto his shoulders. "Yep, you can really thank us more often.", he laughed and they all went off together.

[oftyrosh]

      [listen here].

      oo1: good apollo, vol 1.: the writing writer - coheed and cambria. i’ll live through this in a manner cursed at my own accord --- only i don’t even think of you. no, i don’t want to think of you anymore.       oo2: relentless - strapping young lad. all it in it’s place. it’s time to lay everything to waste.       oo3: sin & sacrifice - devildriver. old habits die hard, and i’ve lived so fast, and i know it’s a long way down.       oo4: lord gold throneroom - horse the band. she sees him: watching, gazing, leering blankly, vacant, worthless, golden, perfect.

      oo5: personal jesus - marilyn manson. feeling unknown and you’re all alone, flesh and bone by the telephone. lift up the receiver, i’ll make you a beleiver.       oo6: what i always wanted - kittie. i thought i found what i always wanted there with me.       oo7: amarillo sleeps on my pillow - fair to midland. if i had to guess, he’s still making a mess worse than any thunderstorm.       oo8: rowboat - coal chamber. insects in your kiss, you are my sunshine. get out of my rowboat.       oo9: c.o.t.e. - karnivool. so drop me down, let me feel this either way. face me inside: with a broken view, a broken heart. disappear. now i don’t think you like me, now. now i don’t think you’re like me, now.       o1o: i could care less - devildriver. i could care less than for your sickening, pompous ways. every time you speak my name, my image burns away. i could care less.       o11: te quiero puta - rammstein. entre tus piernas voy a llonar. feliz y triste voy a estar. no me tengas miedo, no te voy a comer. dámelo, dámelo.       o12: penetrate - godhead. i wouldn’t know the solution ‘cause this ain’t my revolution. i practice my prostitution and spread the people’s pollution.       o13: ravenous - arch enemy. ritual slaughter, fill up the chalice with the essence of your life. liquid strength’s trapped in your veins. i crave your blood, you must die.       o14: blue monday - orgy. and i still find it so hard to say what i need to say, but i’m quite sure that you’ll tell me just how i should feel today.       o15: entities - job for a cowboy.  over and over repeatedly this relentless process, thousands of speechless bodies pile over each other completely motionless, over again.       o16: rev 22:20 - puscifer. my pulse has been rising, my temples are pounding, the pressure is so overwhelming and building. so steady there, i’m ready to blow. what is she waiting for?       o17: living dead girl - rob zombie. crawl on me, sink into me, die for me. blood on her skin dripping with sin, do it again, living dead girl.       o18: the line of least resistance - sybreed. pretentious fraudster, you deem yourself worthy of reverence, ever craving to be praised.       o19: the black hole - horse the band. i’ll face the stars, or the abyss, but not nothing at all. i’ll face the stars, or the abyss, from nothing i can’t fall.       o2o: deer dance - system of a down. a deer dance invitation to peace, war staring you in the face, dressed in black. with a helmet, fierce, trained and appropriate for the malcontents. for the disproportioned malcontents. a little boy smiled, it’ll all be well. and say a little boy smiled, it’ll all be well. pushing little children with their fully automatics, they like to push the weak around.       o21: slave only dreams to be king - marilyn manson. i’m happy to pull my veins out and braid a rope, i don’t need hope to know that you’ll die slow. you are what you beat.       o22: mannequin - cradle of filth. burning flesh, dripping sweat. abusing them all, like the paralyzing snake. charmed and enchanted by the babylon whore.       o23: one hand killing - twelve foot ninja. up on your feet, darling dear. may the gods guide you right back here. without you here it’s not home. may you find what you’re looking for. an inner peace, the infinite, may it burn through your deepest fear. without punch there’s no show, may you hold them accountable.       o24: the light that blinds - shadows fall. you hide behind the light that blinds. we’ll never find what burns inside. you remain blind behind the light.       o25: closer - nine inch nails. you can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings. you can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything. help me, you tear down my reason. help me, it’s your sex i can smell. help me, you make me perfect. help me become somebody else.       o26: alaska - between the buried and me. yes, creepy, the idea of control. controlling death with alertness. ---- nature can be the death of me, a thing we’ll never overcome.       o27: sonne - rammstein. alle warten auf das licht. fürchtet euch, fürchtet euch nicht, die sonne scheint mir aus den augen. sie wird heut nacht nicht untergehen ... und die welt zählt laut bis zehn.       o28: superbeast - rob zombie. stir the limbs across the wrist, full possession of a memory. bury me as a dog, icy hands surrounding me. ---- hell yeah, i’m the one that you wanted. hell yeah, i’m the superbeast.       o29: bounce - system of a down. unannounced twister games, all players with no names. they lined up double-quick: but just one pogo-stick. everyone gets to play, runaway, exposé. it was so exotic, but just one pogo stick.       o3o: thank god for the sufferings - cradle of filth. love would have conquered all, were we not parted. her splintered loss rekindles rage, the winter frost dwindles across my stage, lit up once more to score finales started. love would have conquered all. love would have conquered hate, hate hate. and in those frozen moments won, from grief that creeps to wreathe the sun, in drapes inwove with deathshed wing: i thank god for the suffering.

[hopeswriting]

FANDOM: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

EVENT: Flufftober 2020 

PROMPT: Playing Games Together

AUTHOR: @hopeswriting​

RATING: G

PAIRING: Adult!Colonnello & Adult!Verde

SUMMARY:

Among Us AU but it’s a free for all where everyone is an impostor, and the game lasts until there’s only one left standing, or the space ship blows up on your face because it’s falling apart.

TAG WARNING: Swearing

WORDS: 725

*

The noises of the space ship falling apart sounds oddly in a rhythmic fashion, like he was swallowed by a breathing living monster.

Colonnello roams its cold, dark hallways, careful not to make any noise. Reborn is still out there somewhere, and god knows what he’s up to after the last devious plan he came up with Lal.

Thankfully Lal was the one to die, but the bleeding gash on his side is a reminder of what a close-call it was.

That evil bastard. Colonnello will enjoy tearing him apart slowly.

A message from Verde pops on the screen.

Reborn might be in the room around the corner. Be careful.

Colonnello grins, and presses himself against the wall. He takes the turn once he makes sure the cost is clear. He swings the door open.

The flight of bullets doesn’t come, but of course Reborn is smarter than that. He peers inside the dark storage room, that smells like a trap waiting its victim if he ever smelled one.

He should wait for Verde before investigating further. But he’s running out of time, and if he’s going down he doesn’t want it to be because of something as lame as blood loss.

The door slams shut behind him, distinctively locking itself. Colonnello whips around.

“Fuck!”

He tugs on the handle, kicks and punches even if he knows it won’t do anything.

Good new is, Reborn doesn’t seem to be locked inside with him.

Bad new is, it means he still needs to determine what kind of trap is about to close on him.

“Don’t bother,” a voice comes from behind the door, “this is where you’re going to die.”

Colonnello gapes. “Verde, you son of a—” He bangs on the door even more vigorously, his wound be damned. “Open the door right now!”

“It has to be done.”

“We were a team, you traitor!”

“You’re only going to be a liability against Reborn. And I don't only mean your wound.”

Colonnello rolls his eyes so hard they could as well have stayed stuck. He kicks the door like a petulant child. “She said she was pregnant.”

Verde scoffs. “And you believed her.”

“Fuck off, we have a really healthy sex life, alright? Don’t make me go into the details.”

“God forbid. Now don’t you worry about a thing, you’ll only suffer a little.”

Colonnello tenses. He scrutinizes the room slowly, not wanting to be caught off guard.

Maybe he can fight off whatever is about to come. And then he could still kick these two’s asses so hard they’ll never be able to sit again.

A splash sound draws his attention, and the time for him to realize what’s happening the water has risen all the way to his ankles already.

Really?

“Really? You’re going to drown me? Motherfucker, you think yourself funny?”

“You were of great use to me Colonnello,” Verde says, in a solemn voice that almost sounds sad. “You’ll join your Not-Pregnant, Not-Wife soon, be at peace.”

Colonnello tries to hold back his laugh as best he can at that. It’s his big moment, he has to go down with style.

“You would have never got that far without me,” he screams. “I hope Reborn will rip your cold dead heart out of your chest.”

Colonnello fights the door as long as he can, which isn’t long at all. The blood loss makes him dizzy, drains all of his strength.

Soon he can’t stand up anymore, and slides down the door.

The water reaches his collarbones, his neck, swallows him under entirely. Colonnello closes his eyes, lets it in through his mouth and nose.

Time to join his Not-Pregnant, Not-Wife, at long last.

His helmet beeps, switches on again, a green screen welcoming him with words written on it.

Game over, you lost. Please join the morgue until the end of the game.

Colonnello huffs. He takes off his helmet, and of course he’s in Verde’s room.

He’d won too if he could trap the others in a technologically improved room. Those two are such cheaters.

Colonnello will get them for sure in the next round.

But for now he feels like bitching about the game with the others in Luce’s room. And takes off this ridiculous, mandatory jumpsuit.

Verde and Reborn always take forever to take each other out anyway.

*

I know exactly nothing about Among Us, except for the tumblr posts that found their way to my feed lol.

Thank you for reading. Any and all review are appreciated ^^.