#tears and blood make a peace hard won fic

[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.

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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.

[chloesolace]

Hi, could you write fic about Aemond House of Dragon where OC is Rhaeyneras “strong” daughter. And if plot could go OC was made Prisoner of Aegon ii during dance of dragons.OC and Aemond Are forced to get Married. Eventually they have kids, feel in love and Rule kingdoms aa king and queen and bring peace to boath sides

𝘽𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣 - 𝘼𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 [𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 1]

summary: You are taken prisoner by Aegon II and kept in a cell until he calls for an audience, during which you find out that your mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen, has agreed to a peace contract between the Blacks and the Greens. You, as Rhaenyra’s heir, are to marry the eldest, unmarried son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent; Aemond Targaryen. This is an unwanted surprise for both of you, and you find it hard to make an effort. But when Aemond takes you to your dragon for a ride, seemingly against his brother’s wishes, you slowly begin to find comfort in his company.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: none 

a/n: Thank you so much for the request, I loved the idea! I made a couple of changes to the canon to make sure this story worked out the way I envisioned it based on the request 💗

Taglist:​​

If you wish to be added to or removed from the character taglist, please comment underneath this post​.

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The material of your dress irritated your skin, and even though you adjusted the lace collar multiple times, it only seemed to make it worse. Dirt covered you where your skin was exposed, and strands of your dark hair were now falling in your face, nothing but a phantom of the beautiful updo your maid had braided your hair into this morning.

For a prison cell, the room was moderately sized, so you did not feel claustrophobic, but it did nothing for the moist stone walls and the dirt that covered almost every part of them. Even doing as much as leaning against them, so that your muscles could relax, covered your back in slick muck. 

A guard had placed a tray of food at the entrance of your cell hours ago, but you had not touched it. Instead, you’d watched as the steam rising from the bread slowly faded and the goblet of water became polluted by drops that had fallen from the ceiling. You averted your gaze, trying your best to ignore the stinging pain in your stomach. 

You should have listened to your mother and not crossed enemy territory, but you had been confident in your and your dragon Zaelix’s abilities. Now, you were in a prison cell and Zaelix most likely laying somewhere in shackles, sedated so he would not fly away. 

The tears you had cried hours before were now dry, making it uncomfortable to move a single muscle in your face. Your gaze dropped to your hands, blood underneath your nails the only sign that you had struggled when they’d taken you. It had happened fast, and you could not recall any details, but you knew that the Greens, your own family, were behind this. 

Cruel were the wars where blood spilled blood, but that was what happened when you were born into royalty, and you had little problems with it. People made their own choices, and ometimes these choices were not the smartest, as you had to learn first-hand.

Your head was so heavy on your shoulders that you stopped caring about your filthy surroundings and rested it against the wall. There was no bed in the cell, unless one counted the piece of animal fur lying in the corner opposite from you. Which you certainly did not. You were Queen Rhaenyra’s first born, a future Queen in her own right if your side won, which it certainly looked like at the moment. 

The Blacks had more allies than the Greens, and in numbers lay strength. Not to mention the army of dragonriders your siblings were raising as you cowered in this cell, consisting of illegitimate Targaryen children with just enough Valyrian blood to bond with one of the feared beasts. 

Capturing you was like serving the enemy a means to exert political pressure on your mother. It did not seem to be enough that many of her own followers doubted your heritage, considering you looked nothing like your late father Laenor Velaryon, with your dark hair and sharp features, all of which were traits not commonly associated with Valyrians. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, cursing yourself about how you had failed on your mission to secure new allies, hoping that your mother and stepfather at least knew you were alive. He had accepted you like his own, after all, and out of your siblings, you were closest with your mother.

A sound coming from the corridor interrupted your thoughts, drawing your attention to the bars separating you from your freedom. 

A man stopped before your cell, keychain hanging from his belt as a hood covered most of his face, but judging by the graying stubble which covered his chin, you estimated that he was middle-aged. “Get up,” he barked, but you only gave him a venomous glare. 

He took a key from his chain and inserted it into the lock to open the door, which your eyes briefly jumped to. To run would have been foolish, considering you had no idea what the building you were in looked like, or where Zaelix was being kept. Without him, escape was close to impossible. But you had always liked to test your luck.

“Are you deaf, girl?” The prison guard said impatiently as he reached out to pull you up by the arm, but you were quicker. You dodged his hand and elbowed him in the temple, using his momentary startlement to run for the door, but were blocked by another man who stepped from the shadows into the doorframe. 

It happened so fast that you could not react, and so you bumped into his chest, which gave him enough physical closeness to take hold of your wrists with his gloved hands. 

“Let me go,” you said, struggling to free yourself, but his grip only tightened. You stared at his chest, and the Targaryen sigil which graced his chest. It was hard to see, since it was just as black as the rest of his leather clothes, but you were close enough to make it out. 

“I would not be very smart to do that, now, would I?” The man responded as the prison guard behind you grunted, presumably trying to stand after receiving the blow to his head. When you looked up at your captor, you saw that he had only one eye, the other one hidden beneath an eye path, and long, silver hair. This must have been Aemond One-Eye, also known as Aemond Kinslayer for reasons you tried not to think of.

You stopped resisting and angrily stared up at him instead, looking directly into his revealed eye while he firmly kept his hands around your wrists. Your chest was rising and falling rather quickly, as you tried to recover from the previous struggle. The man looked at the guard behind you, an amused smile on his lips. 

“Perhaps my brother should reconsider hiring a new prison guard after all, if you are so easily overpowered by a Lady,” he said, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine and his hot breath calming your irritated skin. 

“Forgive me, my prince,” rumbled the guard from somewhere behind you, as the prince turned his attention back to you. 

“Shall we?” He asked with raised eyebrows, as if you even had a choice in what was about to happen. You simply narrowed your eyes and remained silent, not intending to give him the satisfaction of hearing your protests again. 

He let go of one of your wrists and reached behind you, where the prison guard offered him a pair of metal handcuffs. You hissed when he bound your wrists with them behind your back, the cool material not improving the cold feeling you were exposed to. 

Wordlessly, he guided you out of the dungeon, the screams of other inmates, which they let out as soon as they laid eyes on the prince and guard, following you while you climbed the staircase. Each step felt as if someone dug knives into your feet, and you tried your hardest not to let it show. Yours was the blood of the dragon, and you would act like it. 

Stares followed you as Aemond led you through the halls of the castle. Your looks were less than appealing, and you were sure you scared some of the Ladies in the corridors, with your unkempt hair and the dirt that covered your dress.

You had expected to be brought before Aegon II in a throne room, so your confusion was noticeable when the prince opened a door, which led to a council chamber of sorts, and gently pushed you inside with a hand on your shoulder. He closed the door behind you, and you once again gave him an angry look before fixing your eyes on the figure sitting on the opposite side of the room.

“Aegon, I presume,” you said with disdain in your voice, but he only smiled at you. It was a heartless smile, one that made your blood boil. 

“No need for formalities among family, I suppose,” he sighed as he stood from the table he was sitting at, the sound the chair made as it slid across the floor causing the hair on your neck to stand on end. 

“Where is my dragon?” Your voice was only slightly shaking, a huge achievement in your eyes.

Aegon laughed, which sounded just as humorless as his smile looked. “You are captured, with close to no chance of escape. You, Queen Rhaenyra’s heir.” There was mockery in his voice, and you had to raise your chin to avoid succumbing to his insult. “And your first question concerns your dragon? Perhaps your mother should have named one of your siblings heir instead.” 

You tried to free yourself from the handcuffs, but Aemond was still holding onto you, keeping you from leashing at his king, who was studying you closely with his hands folded behind his back. 

“You know you are at a disadvantage. Most of Westeros supports my mother. You will have to slay half of the kingdom to make them accept you as king,” you hissed, and Aemond placed another hand on your shoulder to pull you back, most likely in case you’d try to free yourself again.

Aegon sighed as he walked around the table, tracing its edge with his fingers in the process. “Only a fool would think himself above reason. And trust me, Lady (y/n), I am no fool.” His expression changed for a moment, and you saw a hint of genuine remorse, before his facade returned. “It is why I proposed a peace treaty to your mother, hours after you were found trespassing on our lands.”

You narrowed your eyes, not sure where he was going with this. 

“You see, I never intended for any of this to happen, Lady (y/n). At first, I didn’t even think it right to take my sister’s birthright from her.” You remained silent, curious to see what he would say next. “The crown is the most vulnerable when its succession is unclear, and I intend to end the uncertainty in this realm. So I proposed a marriage contract to your mother, and after some negotiations, she agreed.” 

You stared in horror as the words reached your ear, and you realized that this marriage contract would most likely involve you somehow. You might have been a bit reckless at times, but you certainly were not a fool, either. 

“You already have a wife,” you responded, feeling as though your muscles were paralyzed. The eyeless prince seemed to be just as curious as you, for he took a step forward and let go of your shoulder. 

“Indeed I do,” Aegon said, eyes jumping from you to the man beside you. “But my brother does not.”

“And when, pray tell, was I supposed to find out?” His brother asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“You know now, don’t you, Aemond.” 

You swallowed. At least now, you had confirmation that this truly was Aemond One-Eye, but the weight attached to this information was almost too heavy to withstand. When you turned your head in Aemond’s direction, you saw that his jaw was tense. 

“A warrior does not make a fine husband,” he protested in the most respectful way you could imagine. It was clear he thought highly of his brother. 

“I would disagree,” said Aegon, before resting his eyes on you again. “You will be welcomed as a member of this court to officially celebrate the engagement. But make no mistake, Lady (y/n). You will be watched at any moment. This marriage alliance is important, yes, but not more important than my court’s safety. I hope you understand the precautions we must take.” Aegon exchanged one last glance between you and Aemond, before dismissing you both. 

You looked at the man so boldly chosen for you as your fiance, before a servant came to escort you. Though the handcuffs remained in place for now, you could already feel just how much of a prisoner you would still be, even without these chains around your wrists. 

***

The following days felt like they stretched to infinity, partially because you were left in the dark about what would happen next. Luckily, you were allowed to have breakfast, lunch and dinner with the other Targaryens in the dining room, but always had to be escorted by two guards at least. Especially when you roamed through the castle corridors during the day.

You only saw your fiance during meal time, and he mostly avoided looking at you, which was so painfully obvious that you felt angry just being in his presence most of the time. To Aegon’s credit, he was the only one who tried to break the ice and asked you general questions, such as how you found your chambers, or what kind of food you would prefer for the ceremony. 

You had half-expected to remain in your room with only the company of your two guards until the wedding, when you heard a knock from the other side one afternoon, as you were reading a book to try and distract yourself. Knowing fully well that the guards kept a close watch on your room, this must have been one of the Greens. 

The book you had been reading became less interesting while irritation made it hard for you to concentrate. Sighing, you placed it aside and rose from your bed to open the door, which revealed Aemond standing before you. You threw a glance at both guards who were standing on either side of the door with their backs turned towards you. 

“Princess,” said Aemond, his exposed eye flickering between yours. You clenched your jaw as you let go of the door handle, crossing your arms in front of your chest. So far, he had been the only one to address you with the title you had been born with, even if your conversations had been short and rare.

When you only looked at him silently, he added, “I know this situation is far from ideal, but I wish to make it bearable for both of us.” 

You snorted, which made the guards turn their heads slightly. It was probably not every day that they witnessed a supposedly high born woman react like this. “Oh, so I am not a bearable match, is that what you are suggesting?”

Aemond’s eye narrowed before he exhaled deeply, and you found it amusing how easily he could be irritated. “This does not have to be harder than it already is.”

“Doesn’t it?” You asked, sarcasm dripping from every word like poison, as you took a step forward. He did not move, and you had to tilt your head to be able to look him into the eye. Aemond One-Eye had always been described as rather short in comparison to his elder brother, but you realized that this was far from true. He practically towered over you. 

“Because I’m finding it difficult to believe that marrying my brother’s murderer is anything but hard,” you hissed, staring daggers into the man, who, instead of retreating, lowered his head so it would be even closer to yours, before replying, “This is war, Lady (y/n).” His voice was surprisingly calm, almost sympathetic in a way. “And we stood on opposite sides. So you can continue to hold a grudge, or at least try to adapt to the situation. It’s what rulers do.” 

You hated that he was right, and you hated even more that your gaze dropped to his lips, even if it was just for a second. It had suddenly gotten very hot around you, and you had to put some distance between Aemond and you to be able to breathe again. 

“You speak of ruling, yet you are a second born son, and third born child. Your brother has heirs of his own.” You observed his facial expressions closely, but he was skilled enough not to move a muscle. Still, you could not help the feeling that there was something else these people were not telling you, and your mother must have been aware of it, too. You knew her, and she would have never married her heir off without the possibility of them sitting on the throne. You only hoped she had not decided to choose one of your siblings in your stead. 

“I wish to make up for the past few days,” Aemond said, ignoring your previous comment. You were not sure what exactly he was referring to, but you decided to hear him out. “So I have arranged for you to see your dragon.”

“Zaelix,” you said with wide eyes, and all disdain you felt for the man momentarily evaporated. “Take me to him. Please.”

Aemond nodded and stepped aside to allow you to leave your room, pulling the door behind you shut. When the guards moved, the prince raised his hand, making them stop in their tracks. “No guards are needed in my presence. Continue to guard the Princess’ quarters.”

Without a word, they remained standing as Aemond placed his hand on your back, guiding you through the corridors and away from prying eyes. You observed the walls, trying to memorize the path that would lead you to your dragon. Though you had given up on an escape, mostly thanks to your mother seemingly agreeing to the engagement, you still felt calmer knowing where you could find Zaelix if you needed him.

“I hope your people have not harmed him,” you said as you kept your gaze locked ahead, but you felt Aemond’s hand on your back tense, as if the sheer accusation was an insult to him. 

“I can personally assure you that your dragon has been looked after thoroughly. Despite resisting our dragonkeepers at first. He is very loyal.” You smiled proudly in response. 

All doubts were gone when you saw Zaelix outside the castle walls. He was bound to the ground by his foot so that he could only raise himself a few meters into the air. When he saw you, he let out a scream of joy, which would have sounded like more of a predator’s scream to those unfamiliar with these creatures. Zaelix spread out his tattered wings, the accents on his white scales shimmering iridescently in the sunlight, and you even caught Aemond staring at the creature. 

Zaelix immediately lowered his head to greet you when you stopped before him, pressing your forehead against the dragon’s cheek, both of you closing your eyes in unison. But when you looked up, you saw that he had been saddled. 

“I thought a small trip might do you well. You do not strike me as someone who likes to spend her entire time on land,” Aemond said. You smiled faintly, trying your best to still be angry with him, but Aemond was truly making an effort and you started to feel embarrassed that he was the only one trying. Judging by his reaction when Aegon had proclaimed the marriage plan, he had been just as unaware as you. 

When you looked around, though, you noticed that Zaelix was the only dragon on the field. 

“Are you letting me go alone?” You asked warily, not believing for a second that anyone from Aegon’s court would allow this. 

“Not exactly,” said Aemond, and you saw the hesitance on his face. “Vhagar is still recovering from an injury to her left wing. If you are not against it, I would ride with you.” 

You swallowed, but nodded, knowing that it was your closest shot at feeling the wind in your hair again any time soon. As Aemond opened the shackles and then climbed your dragon to settle in the saddle, you pressed your forehead against Zaelix’s scaly skin again, silently ordering the dragon to be at his best behavior. This alliance was fragile as it was, and you were responsible enough not to try anything that could harm your mother or siblings. 

After giving Zaelix a gentle pat, you followed Aemond into the saddle, wanting to sit down behind him, but he stopped you. “I think it would be safer if you sat before me,” he explained, and you simply looked at him for a few moments more before lowering yourself into the saddle between his legs. 

You could feel his chest in your back, and the warmth of his breath on your neck as he leaned in to whisper into your ear. “Your dragon is very beautiful.” 

You smiled at the compliment, not being able to help yourself since Zaelix was your entire pride and joy. Wanting to reply, you turned your head but accidentally brushed your nose against his, which made you reconsider, quickly turning your attention back to the dragon’s head. 

“Is this alright?” Asked Aemond as he placed his hands on your waist, and you hated how good his hands felt on your body. You hummed a response, not trusting your voice not to crack, before you gave Zaelix the order to fly. 

The wind forced your hair out of your face as your dragon rose higher and higher, until you could see the entirety of the castle below. Your grip around the saddle was strong, like you had been taught, and you let out a cheer just as Zaelix roared, which made Aemond chuckle behind you. 

“Have you ever let go of the saddle before?” He asked, his chin brushing your shoulder as he spoke. You had to turn your head again, this time to hear him better since the wind was almost deafening. 

“You mean… have I ever free ridden?” 

Aemond nodded, but when you replied that you hadn’t, his hands held your waist tighter than before. “If you want to try, I will hold onto you.” 

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, a small part of you telling you that this was a trap and he’d let you fall. Your assassination would not harm your mother’s political standing, since your siblings could easily replace you, but it would weaken her. 

Something about Aemond’s touch, however, made you feel like this was an irrational thought, and you hated how easy it was to trust him, despite what he had done. Against your better judgment, you closed your eyes and slowly extended your arms. Aemond pulled you closer towards him, the sudden contact making you gasp, but still, you refrained from opening your eyes. 

A smile spread across your lips, as you tasted freedom for the first time since waking up in that dungeon days ago. And even though your eyes were closed, you could feel Aemond looking at you, while he squeezed his legs slightly to make sure that you were sitting safely in the saddle. 

Your body reacted to his touch, and you even found yourself leaning against him. Despite the fact that you still did not fully trust this man, you did not want to spend your life married to someone whose touch you didn’t crave, and his attractiveness was evident. 

Slowly, you opened your eyes again and turned to look at Aemond, as Zaelix glided through the air. You met his eye, parting your lips slightly, and he did the same. “Thank you,” you breathed. “For today, I mean.” 

His gaze lingered on your lips as you spoke, and you found yourself wanting to take off his eye patch, to see what he hid beneath it, but you resisted the urge. 

“It was my pleasure, (y/n),” he replied, and you only broke eye contact once Zaelix had landed on the ground again.

[ramzawrites]

requesting an angsty fic where reader is schlatts kid and they have the same features as him, namely the horns so people avoid them because of what schlatt did, it leads to reader hating their horns and cutting them off/ ripping them out and someone finds them crying, covered in blood with their horns just on the ground or smth, set after schlatts death btw

A Painful Reminder - Dad!Schlatt and Reader - Part 1

Part 2

GN

Pairings: none

Characters included: Quackity, Niki, (mentioned) Schlatt, (mentioned) Techno

Warnings: self harm (destroying own horns with a blunt object), mention of blood, abondenment, depression, cursing

Series: an angst request!

Summary: Y/N is the child of Schlatt and after his death tried their best to deal with the grief. Hoping to connect with people only to painfully realize that their horns are a painful reminder to everyone for Schlatt’s rule and therefore try to stay as far as possible from them.

Words count: 2428

Authors Note: I hope this is fine! I struggled a bit with it and I think you can tell, I apologize for that. I’m honestly not that good with angst but if you enjoy it I’m happy!! Please give me feedback on how to get better at angst :o

I love you guys and please take care of yourself 💙

After Schlatt died and Pogtopia effectively won the war against Manberg only for the nation to get blown up by Wilbur, the people tried their best to rebuild with the help of Tubbo as the new president.

There was a new sense of hope that swept through the nation. They all suffered greatly to get to this place but this was a turning point for most. A time for healing. A time for rebuilding what was lost. A time for grief.

While Y/N spent most of their time building up their own home inside L’Manberg, they were struggling a lot with grief.

They mourned for the loss of the only parent they had in their life, Schlatt.

The president of Manburg, the tyrant that died surrounded by his enemies inside a van. The only parent of Y/N.

The relationship between the two was complicated to say the least. Deep inside they still loved their father but he brought so much pain and even bloodshed on people that they couldn’t in good conscience support him.

For the longest time they tried their best trying to persuade him, that he would change his way but he never listened. Either too full with his own ego or too drunk to care. The last straw that broke the camel’s back for Y/N was when Schlatt ordered Tubbo’s execution.

The emotions they felt while they yelled and wailed at Schlatt to stop this madness was still fresh in their mind whenever their thoughts lingered back to that day. Quackity had to  physically restrain and pull them back on Schlatt’s orders.

It was the moment they realized that there was no way for them to reach Schlatt anymore. He was set in his way and nothing could change that.

After their death to Technoblade’s blood lust during the festival, they ran away and spoke with Tommy. Y/N didn’t want to kill Schlatt but they saw in Pogtopia a chance to stop him. Make him see what he has done. Make him responsible for his actions.

Only this never came to pass. Schlatt died inside a dirty van. A heart attack or a stroke. Y/N didn’t know, nor did they care. He was dead either way.

While everyone was rebuilding and trying to fall back into a normal day to day life. Y/N was lost. They didn’t feel particularly close to anyone nor did the other seem to trust them. Their eyes were always drawn towards Y/N’s horns resting on their head.

During Schlatt’s rule they became somewhat of a symbol. A symbol for himself, for pain, for blood, for tyranny. So when Y/N walked around town the others couldn’t help but stare at these oh so similar horns that reminded them of a past best forgotten.

It made Y/N unsure of themself. It was a physical proof of their connection to their father. It was a double edged sword. In the past they loved that they inherited similar Hybrid traits like their father but now it was the reason why everyone seemed to avoid them.

The people wanted to move on but these damn horns pulled them back whenever their eyes fell on them. Y/N wasn’t stupid. They noticed this pretty fast.

Hell, if anything the funeral was the best proof for that. Bad tried his best to keep everyone under control and have a proper funeral but everyone was too busy celebrating. Talking about stealing his bones. Destroying a picture of him.

All while Y/N sat in the back. They had hoped they could use this funeral as a way to finally say goodbye, let go off the pain and regret but all this chaos just made them realize that the people will never properly accept them due to their relation with Schlatt.

Schlatt may have put all of the people through a horrible and unforgivable time but he effectively snuffed out any chance for Y/N to live a normal life between these people. This legacy of his for Y/N stung almost deeper than all the time he insulted them or flat out ignored them. It made them wonder if he ever realized what he did to his own child. Even if he did Y/N wasn’t sure he cared enough to do anything about it.

Y/N wrung their hands as they stood in front of Niki’s and Puffy’s flower shop. The money ready in their hands so this transaction could happen faster but even so they were too nervous to step in.

After some mental pep talk they finally slowly pushed the wooden door open. To their horror it begun creaking which made them wince. There was no way Niki hasn’t noticed them walking in seeing how she stood at the counter but still Y/N didn’t want to put more attention on themself than they absolutely had to.

“Oh.” Was all Niki said. She almost sounded disappointed. Y/N realized that she probably would have happily greeted anyone else coming into the shop but them.

Their eyes were glued to the ground. As they suddenly became overly aware of their horns, it felt like their weight increased immensely. Almost as if they tried to press down on Y/N. It made them feel as small and worthless as possible under the gaze of other people.

Y/N put the money on the counter as soon as they reached it “A full bouquet of purple hyacinth, please.”

“Alright.” Niki immediately moved away in order to make the bouquet ready. Though Y/N didn’t watch, they were now staring at the wood of the counter. Following he natural lines of it with their eyes as they patiently waited.

After a few minutes Niki placed the flowers in front of Y/N which pulled them out of their thoughts and made them look up. Niki forced a smile on but she still looked almost stern. Soft crevices building up as her eyebrows formed a painful frown.

“This is too much.” Niki begun pushing some of the money back towards Y/N but they shook their head.

“It’s a tip.”

Picking the flowers up into their arms they tried to put on a genuine smile before turning around to walk out of the shop.

Before they exited the shop they could hear Niki say a soft “Thanks.”

That was basically how every conversation with anyone went. Only short and the most necessary words. At first Y/N tried to start genuine conversation but they soon noticed how the others wouldn’t react. Just trying to get as fast as possible through this conversation. Their eyes always directed on Y/N’s horns.

After Y/N placed the flowers in front of Schlatt’s grave, like they did every week, they made their way towards the river.

Sometimes they would spend their time there since it’s a bit farther away from the city, so it was rare to see someone else hanging out there. Y/N mostly used this place to fish in peace. If they fished anywhere near the others their stares and frowns weighed too heavy down on them.

As they sat at the bank of the river, preparing their fishing line, their eyes fell unto their own reflection.

Dark circles adorned their eyes from their countless restless nights. Only falling asleep after hours of crying.

They couldn’t help but put the blame on their horns. Their god damn horns. Y/N hated them. Hated them so much. What would their life be like without them? Would the others still eye them so incredibly cautiously? Would they give Y/N a chance? After all Y/N was vocal about the fact that they didn’t support any of Schlatt’s decisions. For the longest time they tried to help the others through the hard times!

Yet, now as he was dead, they only showed Y/N the cold shoulder. If it wasn’t Y/N themself then the reason has to entirely lay on the horns. It was a too strong reminder of Schlatt.

A sob escaped Y/N’s lips. Tears now falling down their cheeks onto the green grass. No one was around so they didn’t mind crying loudly like this.

It was just so unfair. They did everything they could and yet all they reaped was disdain from the people and in a sick twist Y/N couldn’t even fault them for it. Whenever they saw their own reflection, their own eyes would be drawn to their dark horns after all.

Back in the day they were always happy looking at them but now they were the reason for Y/N being abandoned by everyone. They used to be somewhat good friends with Quackity due to his position as Schlatt’s Vice President and even he ignored them as soon as Schlatt was dead.

They had no one and at fault were these stupid, ugly horns.

Y/N let the fishing rod fall to the ground as they continued staring at their reflection. Trembling as they sobbed. Feeling so lonely with no way out.

What could they do? Put on a hat? There is no hat big enough to hide their horns. No, the horns had to go. There was no other way.

Shakily their hand snaked through the grass towards the water. Slowly submerging it into the ice cold liquid as the hand continued searching for something. As their hand landed on a stone that fit perfectly in their palm they held it in front of their face. Inspecting it.

As if to test it they softly tapped the stone against the tip of their horn. Their head moving with it. It felt weird. It didn’t hurt, of course, but it was still a weird feeling as the soft vibration traveled through it.

Letting out a shaky breath they reached back with their arm. The stone in an iron grip.

They hated this.

They hated everything about this but what could they possibly do? What could they do to get a proper chance at a normal conversation with Niki while buying flowers? A proper chance to talk with Quackity again, the man who was right there with them as all the bullshit happened.

All they wanted was a real chance to connect with people.

Y/N let out a sobbing scream as the stone collided with their horn, ripping off a good part of the tip.

It softly splashed into the water. Getting stuck between rocks, slowly rocking with the water stream.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.” They stammered between sobs as they once again pulled their arm back in order to strike the horn again.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Their arm and hand hurt from constantly colliding with the hard material. A huge headache was now spreading through their head as they were sitting between broken pieces of what used to make up their horn.

But they weren’t done yet. The other side had to go as well.

With every new blow their whimpers would increase as well. At first a result of their hopelessness but it soon turned into an expression of pain. But they couldn’t give up. They had to keep going.

They had to get rid off this legacy Schlatt left them with.

After a particularly harsh blow they suddenly felt something warm slide down the side of their head.

Letting the stone fall down onto the ground they frantically stared at their own reflection in the water. It was blood.

Shocked they let out a shaky laugh. As much as it hurt and was horrible to look at, there weren’t any rest pieces of the horn resting on their head. So they picked the rock back up and with a blood curdling scream they slammed it into the other horn again, trying to get rid of the rest properly.

And it worked.

They were light headed from the pain, bleeding and crying but the horns were gone.

They were finally free of the curse.

“Finally.” They mumbled to themself only to finally take the time to rest and cry. They cried their god damn heart out. It was as if all the stress from the last couple of months finally jumped off their back.

Y/N’s back hit the soft ground as they slammed back, staring at the leaves up above them. Dancing with the wind and only occasionally giving away to the sun that was shining down on them.

Dark red blood staining the green grass. Their eyes growing heavier the more they continued to cry and hyperventilate. This pain is nothing. From this point on everything has to get better. It has to.

There was an audible gasp.

It wasn’t Y/N but they were too tired to look where it came from.

“Y/N? What the hell did you do? What happened? By Ender you are bleeding!” it was a male voice. Quackity? They weren’t too sure. Too delirious to tell.

Strong hands fell on their arms and pushed them up in a sitting position. Their head rolled back and they finally looked into Quackity’s pale face. So, they were right after all.

One of his arms went around their back in order to hold the crying Y/N upright as he took a better look at the wounds.

“I have to get you to someone who knows how to make healing pots. Maybe regeneration? Hell if I know. Did you do this? Your hands are covered in blood.” He was frantic.

Y/N shakily moved their hands up in order to grab Quackity’s hand that was holding their head in place and pushed it away from them, smearing his hand with their own blood “Don’t worry. I freed myself. The horns are gone. Now, you guys don’t have to be reminded of him anymore. We can all finally live in peace. No more reminders to him.”

Quackity’s eyes widened. His mouth opened up in an expression of pure shock. He hated that he could tell immediately what they meant exactly. After the war he did avoid them as much as he could. As Y/N said they, or rather their horns, reminded him too much of Schlatt and he needed time to heal but he never imagined this could lead to this.

He felt incredibly guilty. Realizing that he never really thought about what everyone’s behavior did to Y/N.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll find a way to help you.” His arm went under Y/N’s legs and with some straining he managed to get back up, holding them in his arms. Y/N leaned their head against Quackity’s chest, staining it with their blood in the process.

“See. It’s already working.” They whispered just before passing out.

“Fuck.” Quackity had to find someone who knew how to heal them as soon as possible. Jogging back into the city calling frantically out for help.

[mid-weast]

Will you keep it down? | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: You and Jungkook attend the same university and have been neighbors for 3 months now. It drives you crazy that he plays loud music at 2AM, and it drives him crazy that you barely acknowledge his presence.

Pairing: Jungkook x Female!Reader; Black!Reader

Words: 2.6K

Genre: enemies to lovers, student!jungkook, student!reader, fluff, mention of smut, angst? (in the form of bickering back and forth).

Authors note: Hi hi! This is the first fic I’ve ever written so if it’s bad I’m sorry. Also it is unedited so if there's grammar / spelling mistakes I'm sorry again! Also this is catered toward the reader being Black but I hope it can be enjoyed by everyone. Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated ok love u bye!

“Y/N? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??!? Open this door RIGHT NOW!”

Even though you were studying in your room, his knocks were so loud you nearly jumped out of your skin. You had expected a reaction, but not a full-on explosion.

You and Jungkook have been apartment neighbors for about three months now, and a constant problem is that he blares his music hella loud late at night. Of course he’s a music major so he listens to music a lot, but at this point you don’t care. It doesn’t even seem like he’s working on composition homework anyway, just being an asshole with no regard for his neighbors peace. Now don’t get yourself wrong, you're not just some uptight bitch who complains about everything. Well, you do have several pet peeves but over the years of going to school in Korea you’ve picked and chosen your battles very wisely. In most cases you let things slide. You wouldn’t care at all about someone playing the music loudly, but it is 2 AM, and while you’re up studying you know a lot of your other neighbors are trying to sleep.

You tiptoe toward your front door and twist the knob slowly. You only open the door wide enough to be able to see his face. It’s not that you’re scared that you’re in danger or anything, and you rarely back down from people giving you a hard time. But you were tired, wearing a big ass t- shirt and short shorts (your regular sleep attire), and it was late at night. So if anything was going to pop off you felt pretty vulnerable. Even though you’re the same age, he towers over you and you find his size kinda intimidating.

As usual, you have to crane your neck to see his face, and your view of him is limited by the narrowness in which

you opened the door.

“Can I help you, lil boy?”

From what you can see of him, right away you can tell that he is pissed. Dawning his usual attire of a black sweatshirt with the hood up, black sweats, and stomp a hoe boots, he stood extremely close to your apartment door with his arms crossed. His usually wide, puppy dog eyes are now pressed in narrow slits. His normally pouty lips are formed in a hard line, and his jaw is so clenched you could carve an ice sculpture with his jawline.

"Who the hell do you think you are? You called the cops on me? Are you INSANE???" Jungkook shouts.

Obviously he's mad, and despite the amount of times you've gone back and forth he's never raised your voice at you. The old you would have screamed back at him, but over time you've tried to respond to anger with calmness. Also, you were a little scared because this mf is kind of big.

"I already told you if you keep blaring your music at 2AM, I was going to do something about it!" You respond in a hushed whisper, slightly concerned that your elderly neighbors will be even more disturbed by the noise. "I've told you this a million times, and you barely do anything about it. If anything, it's gotten worse like you're doing it on purpose. People are trying to sleep and I'm trying to study, why is this so hard for you to understand?"

He sucks his teeth. "You're such a little snitch. And I've already told YOU that YOU can't tell me what to do."

"I know I can't...but they can," you nod toward the exit, referring to the police officers that most likely just left out that way with a tiny smirk growing on your face.

If it was possible, he clenched his jaw even harder and you think that he's going to pop a blood vessel. He pushes his way into your apartment, which sends you stumbling back and you grab the door handle to regain your balance. This causes you to close the door shut.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're-"

He steps right up to you and leans down into your face.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, seriously??? Why are you such an annoying little brat? Just because you're a nerd with no friends who gets no play doesn't mean you can take your bitterness out on me.”

You have to laugh in his face at this point because hello??? First of all, who is he talking to? Second of all, you have told him a BUNCH of times to turn his music down late at night. You didn't think that was too much to ask. As far as you were concerned, being aware of your noise level when you live in an apartment is the universal bare minimum for being a human being.

"ME? Who do you think YOU are? Actually let me tell you. You're an entitled little rich boy who thinks he runs the world. I don't give a fuck about how popular you are on campus, how many people fall at your feet to be around you, and how many hoes you have, you cant talk to ME like that. And how are you going to try and tell me about myself when it's too much of a task for you to be a decent neighbor? I've never done anything to blatantly bother you, so why can you just.." You started to panic because usually when you raise your voice out of anger, your voice cracks and tears threaten to pool out of your eyes, but you tried to get a grip and not back down..."why can you just be nice to me so we can live in peace? Is that too hard for you???"

He looked kind of taken aback by your question. Being nice to you? It never crossed his mind. Also, you kind of had a point. When the semester started and you both moved in on the same day, you would shoot him a small, friendly smile in passing but you never seemed interested in getting to know him. He always wondered why that was. It's not that he had a problem talking with girls, since all he had to do was breathe and girls would come flocking around him, but you would flat out ignore him. Even at all the major parties at the beginning of the year and on Thursday nights when students take over the clubs in the city, you'd barely even acknowledge him. He KNEW that you had seen him too, since you would make eye contact, but you acted like he was just another guy at the club.

And he'd be lying if he said you weren't fine. You had thick thighs, a beautiful face, nice curves, and always wore outfits that hugged you in the right places. He always wondered what it would feel like to wrap his arms around your body and press it against his own. He would constantly sneak peaks of you throughout the night at the club, but something stirred in him when he saw that you were chatting up other guys. Was he...jealous? Jealous that you were so eager to pay attention to these dudes who, in his opinion, were decent looking but they were nowhere near his level, and you never even gave him a second thought? One night he even saw you leaving with a man he knew through mutual friends, and he had to physically stop himself from breaking the glass he was holding, because that guy, while objectively handsome, was nothing compared to him. Jungkook wasn't blatantly cocky, but he let his talent, charm, and looks speak for themselves. He was THEE Jeon Jungkook, and nothing ever really bothered him....except you.

Was he....interested in you? Nah, that can't be it. You were some random chick who happened to be his neighbor, who also is one of the only girls he's met that doesn't give two fucks about even having small talk with him, and that infuriated him for some reason. So the first time you came knocking on his door in an adorable pink satin pajama set with a matching bonnet complaining about his loud music, he knew the game he had to play.

He's still standing over you, centimeters away from you face, but you notice that his eyes soften a little and so does his jaw. He unclenches the fists he was holding crossed against his chest

You continue, “I don't care what you do, and I'm DEFINITELY trying to run your messy ass life. Believe me," you scoff, "you don't have enough money to pay me to do that. But when your dickhole behavior fucks with MY life is when it's a problem. And it's BEEN a problem."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, little girl, maybe I should call you little mouse now, since now I know that you'll go squeaking to the cops now, don't fuck with me or my music again.”

Without moving your head you look him up and down with a confused expression. "Am I supposed to be scared of you? No seriously, you look like you cry during Disney movies while wearing footie pajamas, and now here you are throwing a fit because I forced you to stop bothering the entire wing with your music?"

Girl...what are you saying??? This man just barged into YOUR place, is in your face, and is strong enough to pick you up and throw you, and you’re insulting him? But you figured if he's going to be rude, you'll throw it right back because you're tired of his bullshit.

Whatever softness he was feeling for a fleeting moment immediately left, and annoyance once again washed over. He straightens up a bit and puts on that annoying confident smirk he wears when he thinks he's won arguments between you two.

"You should be nicer to me, all it will take is for me to tweet one thing about you, and you'll be the most hated person on campus."

At this point, any suspicions that you had about him annoying you on purpose were confirmed. You've concluded that this mf is a bully and you, small and shy but not one to take mess, will put him in his place to-motherfucking-night.

You take a step toward him, now crossing your arms tightly against your chest, but he doesn't even move a hair backwards.

"Clearly you need a rude awakening so here it is. I don't know what type of people you've dealt with all your life, always saying yes to you, letting you boss them around and taking whatever bullshit you dish out, but let me tell you I am not the one. Never have been and never will be. Unlike the other fools around here who cream their pants at the mention of your name, I don't care about who you are. You'll respect ME and MY peace as long as we're neighbors, you get me?"

Now y/n, you have never so boldly stood up to someone, where did that come from, babes? You've tried to not let this entitled little boy get to you this whole time, but with him standing in front of you in the middle of your apartment with that extremely annoying, yet handsome, smirk on his face, and after all the crap he's said tonight, he had you all the way fucked up.

After you said that, he just laughed and looked away. Now you’re standing there fuming and confused...was there a joke you missed? You were being dead serious!

"Something funny?" you ask, narrowing your eyes.

"Nothing, just thinking about how I want to face fuck that annoying little mouth of yours so you finally shut up.”

Your jaw almost dropped to the floor. You've never had a guy say something so blatantly rude and vulgar literally inches away from your face. But again, you weren't going to back down.

"Oh really?" Scoffing and tilting your head to the side a bit while narrowing your eyes even more, "I'd very much like to do the same. Maybe then you'll learn your place."

"Oh please, princess, you probably blanch when someone around you even mentions the word sex." He chuckles and leans down close toward your face again and cocks his head to the side, scrunching his nose and in a pouty voice said, "you're fooling no one, but keep trying, maybe you'll get there.”

You're even more annoyed than you were before, if that was even possible. But if he wanted to play this game, you might as well go there with him. It's true, you were a bit more prudent than more, but it pissed you off that he could tell. Regardless, you do know some things to say that could have him leaving with his tail between his legs.

You pouted your lips and in a babying tone said, “Aww sweetheart you have no idea. You think you're big and bad but like I said, you probably cry watching Disney movies. The same way you'd be crying, begging me to let you cum down my throat as I mercilessly toy with your cock for hours.”

Now it's his turn to go pale. Y/n, his stuck up neighbor who has barely even spared him five seconds of her time just threatened to edge him into submission? He has to pinch himself because he must be dreaming....

“Well I-“

“But I don't even think we’d make it that far, hun” you continue, “because in order to humble your egotistical, disrespectful ass, I'm gonna have to ride your face until you suffocate. And when the paramedics come and I have to explain how you died, I won't even hesitate to tell them that you were a punk ass loser who LITERALLY drowned in my pussy!”

You don’t know who this person speaking is, but it is not you. All of the pent up hostility you’ve held towards him just flooded out of you and you couldn’t stop the words from coming out. To be honest you shocked yourself, but you still stood there with your arms crossed and your face unfaltering, just waiting for him to say something smart back.

He stared at you silently, eyes wider than you’ve seen before and his mouth hung slightly open. He wasn’t expecting you to respond with so much fire, but now he wouldn’t be able to sleep until the image you painted came true. His brain said fuck it, and his lips crashed down onto yours. The kiss is sloppy but passionate, and you swore you heard him quietly whimper.

When he feels you starting to kiss back, he smirks into the kiss. Your lips are moving against each other in tandem, and all thoughts about how much you despise the prick fades away. As you uncrossed your arms and placed them on his chest, you could feel his heart beating wildly. Was he as nervous as you were this whole time? You wonder. You knew he was a player, so he was experienced. But the thought that you made him nervous gave you a tiny confidence boost. His hands slowly slide up the sides of your body to sneak behind your back, to pull you further into his chest. As much as your brain was telling you to resist him and push him away, you couldn't help but fall victim to how soft his lips felt against yours. Suddenly you feel airborne as he swiftly reaches down behind your thighs and picks you up. You instinctively gasp but he doesn’t miss a beat, simply biting your lower lip and locking your lips together again.

“Maybe we should test that scenario of yours, and if it comes true, that wouldn’t be the worst way for me to go” he says, doing that annoying but soul-crushingly handsome smirk he likes to wear as he carries you off to your bedroom.

[misselko]

Got this idea from Dimitri’s conversation with Byleth before Fort Merceus battle with the Death Knight. Put some angst, fluff, and a pinch of smut spices into the dish and let it simmer down! At least, that’s what I want! But it turned out... different ;) Sorry not sorry

This one took me some days to write. I hope you enjoy it! Please feel free to give me some advice and ideas for my next fic! Your warm comments will be cherished very much 💕 Thankies!!

 

RECKLESS

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Mention of blood, violence, smut

Words: 3316

 

POST TIMESKIP

Empire will be the only remaining enemy and to move on to the Imperial Capital, Enbarr, capturing Fort Merceus is a must. Praised as the strongest defense with its fortified military installation  in the Empire, seizing it won’t be an easy feat.

Liberating Arianrhod, calming down Holy Kingdom of Faerghus political issues, winning over the Leicester Alliance and gained their support. Getting a lead on Lady Rhea’s location. Although things were a rough go, but thinking back on it now, Blue Lions sure has really come a long way. Things have been wonderful in these past moons that it almost feels like dream too good to be true.

You don’t know why but you can’t shake your uneasy feelings and dread. War is raging and everyone knows there is a big battle on the horizon.

“We must not falter in our assault. The Death Knight is the enemy commander in Fort Merceus. He’s an unpredictable opponent. A dangerous one. Please proceed with caution, (Y/N).”

“I will, Dimitri. No need to worry.”

“I have not come this far just to lose you here. I’m serious. Do not be reckless out there.”

“Will you save me if I’m in trouble?”

“Of course, (Y/N). You were the heart of the Blue Lions, and the same holds true for the Kingdom Army.”

You smiled at his concern and hold his hands gently.

“I will do my best as well to support you, my Dimitri.” His cheeks turned into rosy blush at your words.

 

“Whoaa!! You’re getting pretty chummy, aren’t you, Your Highness? Go get a room!” Sylvain winks and got punched HARD, dragged away by Ingrid. You make mental notes on giving her a delicious roasted meat from that famous new shop in the town later as your gratitude. Serves him right!! ...But you wouldn’t trade them for anything in this world. Everything will be alright with them. Blue Lions are your precious family. It will be fine. Everything will be fine.

---

Capturing Fort Merceus is a daunting task. Endless enemies are approaching and relentless. Felix and Sylvain are working together cut through the snipers and mages. Ingrid and Ashe are doing their best to handle the pegasi knights. Dedue, Annette, Mercedes, and Flayn makes great combo on cutting through enemy reinforcements while providing healing to everyone. Slowly but sure, you and Dimitri managed to push Death Knight on the corner. But it doesn’t make things less difficult for both of you.

 

“You dare stand between me and my pleasure?”

The beginning of it was barely a bellow that grew steadily to a deafening roar, piercing the air and shaking the ground. Areadbhar crack in deafening clash against Death Knight’s Scythe of Sariel. They raised their weapons, waving them overhead.

 

“Yes. I dare stand against you, Death Knight!!”

 

Dimitri decides to face Death Knight head on as you tried your best to keep his back safe from the Imperial soldiers assaults. Keeping a close eye on him... just in case, following from a few meters back, cover his blind spots that way, look out for any potential danger. You could see them coming around, carefully and quietly trying to find their way to Dimitri.

 

Landing sharp blows, you bring the blade down on the head of another mage. Slashing your way through numerous enemies, you start to feel fatigued. Countless enemies lying dead behind. You looked around, among the sea of red and black, a swordmaster is sneaking his way behind Dimitri, ready to ambush him.

 

But you wouldn’t let it happen!

 

You were fully offensive, rapidly swinging your sword down on the swordmaster. You were able to deflect, parry, and block most of his attacks until his foot swept across your ankles, knocking you hard to the floor. The swordmaster stood above you, ready to press his sword into your chest to end your life. Fatigue made it harder for you to evade his deadly stab completely. Sound of a weapon piercing through flesh filled your ears, followed by an intense pain in your side. He pulled it back out with a triumphant smirk on his face. Despite the searing pain, you made it in time to grab your own weapon and thrust it up to his neck, your arms shaking as you tried to counter the weight of his attack. Grimace crossing your face as he fell, blood painting the earth a sick shade of red.

 

You sat up, wincing at the searing, burning hot pain on your side. The stab wound was way too deep. Your hands trembled, desperately attempting to put pressure on the wound as heavy flow of your blood is trickling through your fingers, colors your skin and clothes. The world had turned blurry, and your body felt weak. Ignoring the excruciating pain, you rush forward to help Dimitri. He has won against the Death Knight. But in his brief reverie, the Tempest King failed to notice two opposing snipers are approaching him, expression intent to kill, aiming their arrows at his back.

 

You acted on instinct, rushing forward, sprinting to intervene. To protect him.

‘We have been through so much together and he’d been through hell and back... I want to ease his pain. Knowing he’s safe... I can be at peace.’

You thought to yourself, launching forward. You barely has energy to stand up, but you tried to muster your last remaining strength to dove in before Dimitri. The arrows managed to easily make it’s way through your armor, landing in your chest and abdomen. ‘I have no regret when it came to protecting Dimitri.’

 

Your body slammed hard on the ground, careening across the battlefield. A sharp cry pained noise escaped you; that was all it took. Dimitri stiffened at the sound. It pulled him from the high of the battlefield down to reality in an instant.

 

“(Y/N)!!!”

 

He turned; filled with horror and rage. The fires blazing around him didn’t give off any heat. The battlefield around him turned black and white. His ears were ringing as if he’d been caught in an explosion. Dimitri went after the snipers and thrust them both at their hearts. After a quick glance to make sure no more surprise attacks happen, he kneels and pulling you into his chest. You looked so small, felt so limp that it sickened him. Broken and battered with littered scars and large wound on your side. Arrows jutting out of your chest, much too close to the heart, and another one lodged deep in your abdomen.

 

Dimitri watched as the blood pooled around you. Blood... there is so much blood. Your blood.

“Goddess... what were you- MERCEDES! FLAYN!! SOMEONE...HELP!!”

 

He pulled himself up, beside you, staring at your face. You were so pale. Oh, Goddess, you were dying. Were you already dead?

“I’m sorry.” There isn’t a reason to apologize, you aren’t sorry, but it still came out like the blood that is on Dimitri’s hands now.

 

“Don’t you dare apologize to me right now,” his voice choked off in his throat feels raw with emotions, barely able to hold back the sob which demands to escape, “not when you are like this. What were you thinking, (Y/N)? You have promised me to not be reckless.” He phrased it in a question, but both know why.

 

“Y-You... haven’t seen the... swordmaster... and those snipers. Y-You...were going to die...if they attack you. I want to protect you.... and I don’t regret my decision.“

 

You opened your mouth to speak but immediately coughed, feeling globs of blood on the corners of your lips. Dimitri gripped your hand, his hold so tight that it hurt, but you wouldn’t waste your breath on telling him. You could barely see Mercedes scurried over to your side as quickly as she could, Flayn follows behind her, leaving the Death Knight behind with tears running down her cheeks.

 

“Please stay awake for me a little longer, please.”

He choked out, pulling you closer if possible as it would keep you from leaving.

 

The chaos around you went mute as your eyes grow heavy. Maybe a quick nap would suffice.

 

“No...no, no, (Y/N)!! You can’t do this to me, you can’t-! Please, (Y/N), I can’t lose you too.....”

 

You felt like you were fading, and the sounds around you faded along with your hazy consciousness. You fell asleep.

---

Every second was filled with anxiety; you’d lost so much blood. The wounds were too deep to heal completely. There was little to no possibility of survival. Not after what you’d been through.

The days turned to one week, then two...then three. The physical wounds had healed, mostly repaired and faded to scars. There was potential for things to return to normal, and you may wake up sooner rather than later.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, your upper body covered in bandages. The first thing you’re aware of is a dull throb radiating throughout your entire body. You were confused, and moved your head, unintentionally shifting your body and sending a wave of pain through your chest and stomach as you tried to get up. You closed your eyes tightly in response to the return of extreme pain, much worse than you had ever felt before. With much struggle, you sat on the edge of the bed shakily trying to stand up. The door creaked open and you looked up to find Dimitri peering inside.

 

”You’re awake,” he said, a look of surprise on his face. You tried to stand up and walk to him but failed, Dimitri ran in and caught you before you fell over. “I thought I was going to lose you, (Y/N),” he said, lifting you up effortlessly, settling you gently onto the bed and pulled up a chair. 

 

As cautiously as you could, you managed to sit yourself up. You kept a careful eye on the young king, noting how dark the circles under his eyes have become and how hollow his cheeks have turned. The fact that rest had eluded him for however long you were unconscious was as plain as day.

 

“You nearly died because of me. I have no right to be... you of all people shouldn’t-!” He managed to say, his voice shaking as his fingers trembled.

His head shot up to look at you, cerulean blue eyes dampened by tears that pooled in them. Your eyes were open, though weakly, looking at him and his disturbed state. You sensed his worry, but also his relief as he hovers next to your bed, engulfing you in his embrace and squeezing you against his chest for all he was worth. He was mindful of your wound, but that wasn’t enough to keep him away. No, he needed you. He needed to be beside you, to feel you, to know you were there.

 

“I’m okay, Dimitri...” You whispered, resting a hand on his chest where his heart thundered. You closed your eyes against him, relishing the feel of his tender warmth.

 

You felt how hard and rapid his heart was beating, almost deafening. Your arms wrapped around his heaving back weakly, rubbing it soothingly. He pulled you closer in response—closer, closer, closer, until every inch of you was smothered by him. Hesitant, trembling fingers graced your tightly wound bandages and you felt something warm and wet splatter onto your exposed shoulder.

 

"I could not stand to lose you,” he spoke slowly, holding your hands so tight that it hurts.

“But I fear that I may if I tell you what is on my mind.”

 

His voice was as quiet as it could be and it made you frown your eyebrows in worry. You were happy to see him alive, that was your goal when you decided to protect him from the approaching enemies. However, seeing him so distraught and afraid twisted your insides uncomfortably. The way he held your hand so desperately, afraid to let go.

 

“Dimitri.” You call him quietly, which makes him look at you with those gorgeous eyes of him.

 

You move your hand to his cheeks, caressing his soft skin, trying to bring him even the tiniest amount of comfort. Leaning to give him a soft chaste kiss on his lips. He reciprocated by open-mouthed kiss you with such fervor. There’s an undercurrent of desperation in the way Dimitri kisses you, as if this is the last moment he’ll ever feel it. It’s almost as if it pains him to be this close to you. You were alive, yet he couldn’t help but doubt it. Perhaps it was once again due to the vicious noises he still heard, though faintly. However, he was glad that they allowed him this moment of happiness.

 

“I won’t leave you, Dimitri.” You promised between ragged breath, your chest heaving.

 

“We are so close to ending this. Please, promise me you’ll stay safe. Rest, for now, my beloved.” Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, holding your hand to his chest. “I promise, I will never let you be hurt for my sake again.” Covering you with a  blanket  and tucking you into bed to retire for the evening.

---

After your awakening, the Blue Lions and Professor began incorporating regular infirmary visits into their schedule. They showered you with kind, encouraging words and occasionally bore small gifts (flowers and snacks), always encourage you to get better soon. But your most frequent visitor of all was your beloved gentle king.

It was two weeks since you have gotten better. Mercedes promised to take care after your bandages this evening.

“Are you ready, (Y/N)?”

You met Mercedes’ warm gaze with your own. With a firm nod, you replied, “Ready as I’ll ever be, Mercedes.”

 

The healer moved closer to you, her skilled hands undoing the set of bandages for the last time. Dimitri averted his frantic eyes to the wall when the dressing loosened just enough for your breasts to peak through. A cold, unforgiving breeze whipped the newly exposed skin, jolting a shiver down your spine. Mercedes sighed, slowly traced the scars your chest and stomach.

“I’m sorry but we will never be able to remove the scars. The wounds all healed, but... the scars will never go away completely. I’m sorry (Y/N).”

 

Your eyes immediately flashed over to Dimitri’s stiffening frame.

“It’s okay. I will never regret such a thing.” You smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Do you need anything else, (Y/N)?”

“No, I’m all good, Mercedes! Thank you for your help.”

“All right, then. Annette said that she needs my help with her baking this evening. We have to finish it before midnight! Should you need anything, please feel free to call me.” Mercedes gave you last smile before excusing herself politely from your quarter.

 

“Dimitri.”

His jaw clenched tautly; his eyes crunched into a pain-stricken wince. Refusing to look at your scar, a harsh reminder of his failure.

“Look at me.”

He stilled and won’t budge to look at you.

 

“I will never regret nor blame you for this. It was my decision and if it means saving you, I’ll gladly do it again in a heartbeat. Or... perhaps.... I can understand if you find that my... scars are disgusting, appalling, even....” you whisper softly, almost inaudible. Your surroundings whizzed right past you before you were unceremoniously slammed into your bed.

“DON’T SAY SUCH THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!!” He growled “I will not allow you to throw your life away for me. If.. If something ever happen to you.. I’ll live a life worse than death itself, (Y/N).”

 

Not a moment later did you feel something warm and soft press against your lips. His mouth moved awkwardly yet full of affection. Hands planted  on either side of your body, ridding any hope of escape from his ravishing kisses. Dimitri pressed his lips further into yours, swallowing your moans. His lips left yours to trail down around your neck, breasts, and stomach lovingly. “This wounds... I cannot lose you again, my beloved.” His body quivered.  The King kissing the scars on your cleavage and abdomen, worshiping them reverently with tender touches, almost like touching a porcelain doll. Afraid to break you with his almost inhuman power. Biting and sucking wherever his heart desired until you were covered in nothing but love bites, leaving you a panting mess.

 

Dimitri held you in his arms, stroking your hair and mumbling whispers of ‘I’m sorry’. Bittersweet smile formed on his lips. He gazed at you, eyes lidded with desires and need, mixed with guilt and love. “(Y/N)... My beloved...” You pulled away slightly to look up at him and smiled.

“Dimitri...” You cupped his cheek in your hand, in which he immediately melted into.

“I love you, Dimitri.”

 

He blushed at your words, then it dawned on his realization. Suddenly becoming very aware of the... intimate position you were in. “Um, w-well...” As he came to his full senses he released his hands from you, as though from fire and stuttered, quickly pulling away from your panting form. He wasn’t making eye contact anymore, and you followed his gaze downwards on your body. Oh. Without the dreamlike stupor a d hazy feeling to distract you, you realized just how naked you are. Nightgown pooled beneath your waist. Feeling an onset of bashfulness, you also brought an arm up to cover as much of your chest as you could; despite what you had just done with him, the reality of the situation was catching up to you.

 

He flinched, breaking eye contact and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ah—Urghh!!! I’m sorry, (Y/N)!! I don’t know what came over me but.. but... P-Perhaps we should... stop... before it escalates any further...” The King unclasped his furred cloak hurriedly and put it over your naked body unceremoniously, hiding his flushed crimson face in his hands again, absolutely brutalized with shame. 

 

“Er.. Be certain to rest for now. We may have undone some of your healing.” Then he said hurriedly, almost inaudibly. “When your strength returns to its fullest, we can pick up where we left off. I promise.”

 

“Fine...” You giggled, finding his attempt at being serious too adorable. The heat and passion was still very visible in his eyes, and it was obvious that anymore teasing on your end would send him over the edge.

“Thank you for this lovely evening, Dimitri.”

You pulled his hand to your lips and give each of his fingers soft kisses, gazing at him lovingly. Dimitri’s jaw and pants tightened, the poor king desperately clinging onto the last thread of sanity and reason which threatened to snap at any moment.

 

“Good night, my beloved (Y/N).” Casting one last glance at you and bashfully looking down when he caught your eye, the Blue Lions Leader left with a haste that was probably unbecoming of a gentleman, his long legs taking the steps to the second floor dormitory two at a time. He somehow,  somehow  managed to reach his room without incident or interruption, locking his door behind him, leaning back against it and covering his burning red face with his hands. His body felt like it was on fire; nerve endings alight with sensations he had long believed were dead.

 

The pit of his stomach tangled in knots when he thought of (Y/N). All he could think about was your pure unadultered love, beautiful (E/C) that is gazing at him affectionately. Goddess, he was such a sinner. It made him want to put his hands on you. All over you. Repeatedly. Savoring the taste of your lips as you moan into his mouth. Feeling your warmth and love. Unclothed. His mind is running wild. This frantic sensation in his blood, while half-forgotten, was not new. It will be another sleepless night for the poor king. And it’s all because of you.

[kevindayscrown]

London 2012

The lights were blinding. Kevin was not sure if they came from the flash of the photographers or from the spotlights that were aimed at them. Or both. The rush in his blood still made it hard to process everything.

Staring up at the scoreboard, he could clearly see it. The US National Exy team had won against the UK team with a two point gap score. The crowd was going wild, their cheers defeaning and loud. Kevin could hardly focus on them, though. They were drawn out by the loud pounding of his heart. He wondered if they had really done it; if Kevin had managed to reach the peak he had been aiming for ever since he could remember himself.

Making it to Court had not been easy, but Kevin had worked hard for it. He had pushed himself past his limits, he had practiced day and night, had dedicated hours from his life. Getting the chance to participate in the Olympic games in London at the age of twenty seven was a thrill that had gone by like a blur.

Actually winning, was almost impossible to register.

A fist colliding with his shoulder was the thing that pulled him out of the daze, forcing the taller striker to turn and glance at his teammate. Neil Josten had been by his side every step of the way; Kevin was not sure if he would had made it this far without him. Or without Andrew.

"We won," the red head said, chest rising and falling due to the intense struggle to catch his breath. The game had not been easy, and there had been many close calls. But in the end, they'd done it.

"We won," Kevin echoed, sounding still unconvinced that this was the reality they were living in. Neil flashed him a bright smile with a hint of mischief behind it, as always.

Kevin felt as if his legs would give out any moment. If he could, he would kneel on the floor and let all these years of pushing and pushing pour into the polished wood of the court until they settled, just like how they had settled inside of Kevin. The only thing keeping him up was the thought that this was far from over. And for the first time in forever, he was not dreading anything. He could only but look forward to what came next.

After exchanging handshakes with the players of the opposing team - accompanied by small echoes of 'good game' - Kevin turned to look for a particular group of people among their vast audience. Somewhere among them were the former Palmetto State Foxes. The original lineup. Dan and Matt were spreading havoc, whistling and clapping with the rest, while Nicky was cheering as loud as he could, as if the three of them were having some sort of competition as to who would be the loudest. Renee was being more polite and quiet, but her smile was big and proud. Allison met Kevin's gaze as she clapped and nodded, flashing a smile at him.

Kevin was quick to look for Wymack as the players were led to proceed with the award ceremony. He spotted his father standing by his Foxes, and the striker felt his chest swell at the look on the man's face. There hadn't been many times when someone had been proud of him. Proud of how far he had come, of how much he had survived and what he had sacrificed to be here.

Seeing that look on the man he had come to admire the most, Kevin started wondering if this was all just a dream that he would wake up from. Perhaps he would realise in a most violent way that none of these had actually happened and that he was still somehow stuck in the Nest.

Eventually, Kevin was pulled out of his thoughts and his eyes were forcefully averted from the crowd as Andrew yanked at his helmet from the grated part, and then removed it, tossing it aside. Kevin stared down at the goalkeeper and could swear that it was the first time he could spot any sort of excitment caused by Exy in the other's hazel eyes.

"Eyes on the prize, Day," Andrew said and then took his place on the line next to him. Number three, like always. Neil stood a bit further away from them but constantly kept stealing glances at them.

When the golden medal was finally around Kevin's neck, everything seemed to go quiet for a moment. The extra weight made Kevin somehow feel lighter than ever. He reached down and gripped it in his hand, running his thumb across the carved surface.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he quickly tried to blink them away. Before he knew it, all the players in the team had received their medals and Neil had found his way back to their side from his spot on the line. Kevin watched him for a moment and then wrapped an arm around his shoulders. In return, Neil pulled Andrew closer and the three of them faced the crowd again.

Kevin held his chin up with confidence that, for once, was not a mask or an act. He held the golden medal above his head and the crowd went wild once again.

He thought at that moment that if he could express his emotions the way he wanted to, he would show all the people that had stood by his side all these years the gratitude that he actually felt.

And most importantly, he would thank himself and be proud of how far he had come.

Then again, he did not really need to express that. Because, right at that moment, he felt as if he had finally found peace with himself. He was number one and he had not only lived up to the expectations that came with the legacy his mother had left behind, but he had also managed to make his own.

He didn't believe in any kind of afterlife, but if his mother was somehow watching over him, he hoped she would be proud.

Because Kevin Day was not a coward or an asshole. He wasn't second.

Kevin Day was a winner. And his life was just beginning.

[Art that sort of inspired the fic by requiemofkings]

[axther]

internal monologue

TW: main character death, disassociation, derealisation, massive angst, accidental murder, dead bodies, overall a lot of traumacore, and jumping off a cliff (but not to aliven’t). 

Beta’d by @reddriot​ HEHEHHE this was your monster, ze 

This is a paired fic with @ererokii​’s “Pretend I Am”. Please go check her story out as we both made each other suffer while writing it. 

 Venti’s memory was unreliable. He rediscovers this the hard way. 

“Do you blame yourself?” 

Venti had been drinking. He didn’t know for how long, why, when, where. It all blurred together, days, weeks, months. Everyone was talking and his head pounded and the lights made him want to hurl. He was still empty. All those years of sleep and drinking and singing and he still could never fill it. 

He glanced to his side. He almost saw her there. And that’s when he heard it. 

The tavern went dark. It fell silent, and the chairs were empty. 

“Do you blame yourself?” The voice rang in his ears like a bell, one that he dreaded to hear. He remembered his voice. He heard it every day, and wished he wasn’t such a coward that he took on a dead man’s skin. 

“What?” Venti’s voice was quiet. It wasn’t his voice anymore, no. It was his, the Bard’s, and Venti couldn’t even remember the poor bastard’s name. He had given his life for Mondstadt, for Venti, and he couldn’t even be remembered. The Bard’s voice echoed in his ears, and the tavern was caving in. The woman next to him was so soft, so sweet. He could almost touch her cheek, and he reached a hand out. She could pull him out of this, and that gentle smile was so close. 

“It’s quite common in this situation for you to feel some kind of...guilt.” The Bard sounded too calculated. Cold. No, Venti’s Bard was good and kind and whole. This Bard was cruel and emotionless. Empty. 

“What situation?” Venti’s voice didn’t leave his body. Nothing was his anymore. It never was, after all. He was no archon. He was no bard. He stole everything for himself. And something bubbled in his gut. He turned to the other side of him, and the Bard was next to him, with a face of pure, smooth skin. The Bard titled his head, and Venti knew there was a sick smile under it all. 

“The accident.” 

The battle was won. 

Vanessa was talking to some of her colleagues about rebuilding Mondstadt. All those alongside here were giants, not in size, but deep within themselves. Venti knew that he would have to go on, wandering Tevyat soon, in hopes of spreading songs and joy. 

And then, he got a tap on his shoulder. 

“Lord Barbatos?” 

The voice was kind, worn, sturdy like fir and pine and all the things that grow tall and strong. Venti turned, almost jumpy, when he saw a young woman behind him. She was in all words, average. Had he seen her in the street, he would not consider her to be much more than a normal citizen. But the large spear strapped to her back said otherwise;it was enormous, taller than Venti and sharper than even Venessa’s blade. 

“Yes! Hello!” he chirped, getting back his cheery disposition. This wasn’t right. This isn’t what happened. WHAT HAPPENED She smiled at him and bowed slightly. When she looked up into Venti’s eyes, Venti realised she had green eyes. No, blue. Brown? And they were wide, and then almond, and quite suddenly, Venti realised that she was changing, her face not one thing for one second. The world around him started melting, and everyone was laughing, staring at him, staring at him, staring! 

You don’t remember what she looks like!  

Venti felt like he was choking, and he took a step back. He brought a hand up to his neck, and there was nothing there-wait! His hands were gone too! 

Just make something up! 

“Stop!” Venti shrieked, and it was his voice, finally, his true voice, squeaky and terrified. It was all acidic, dissolving and crumbling around him. 

“Wait.” Her voice was quiet, and it broke through the sound and the rage and the horror. “Lord Barbatos. What is my name?” “Wh-what?” Venti gasped, the whole mountainside empty. When was this Dragonspine? It was Windrise before, green and beautiful and now it was just cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. 

“What was my name, Lord Barbatos?” She tilted her head, and now she was panicking, face distorting into nothing but unadulterated fear. “I-I can’t remember, Lord Barbatos! Oh, gods! Help me!” 

“No! No!” Venti tried reaching for her, the world disappearing until all that was left was a pair of the most gorgeous eyes Venti had ever seen. They sat in the snow, lifeless and cold. 

“YN! No! Wait for me!” 

Venti was choking on his own drink when he came to. 

Diluc was shaking him, red eyes wide. Jean was there, the Traveller was there, and Barbara had her healing at the ready.

“Oh my gods,” Diluc whispered, pulling away before sighing and crossing his arms. “We thought you had a stroke.” “What?” Venti’s head felt like it was full of cotton. “I...did I pass out?” “We don’t know.” Jean’s voice was soft, and it reminded Venti of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It made his back shiver, but it felt almost like it was being contorted. He was being crushed under the weight of something, something he didn’t know. “You...it was like you were zoning out, or daydreaming...like a nightmare.” 

“Nightmare…” Venti looked down at his mug, seeing his reflection in it. But his heart leapt to his throat and the clock stopped ticking when he saw the Bard behind him. This time, he had a mouth, too wide and filled too full with razor-sharp teeth. Something in his inhuman heart began to quake.

“I need to go.” He stumbled out of the chair, feet hitting the floor too soon. 

Too soon? Like her? 

Venti tumbled out of the bar, almost face planting on the sidewalk as Jean and Diluc called out behind him, barely catching himself before running as fast as he could. The night felt warm, the air was muggy, and he was choking. He ran out the front gates, ran past the birds, the bridge, the rolling hills. His feet ached and his head spun, and nothing could stop him. He closed his eyes, wheezing and praying to whatever god above he could. 

Oh, wait. He was the god people prayed to. 

His running slowed, soft as the air began to cool. A breeze picked up, ruffling his hair, and in the distance, he heard laughter. His eyes were still shut, and for once, he felt...peaceful. He was still walking, but if he listened closely enough, he could hear people walking next to him, chipper and sweet. 

“Well, I think the festival should be called Windblume.” The Bard huffed playfully, skipping a bit in his step. “It’s got a ring to it!” “What do you mean?” YN’s voice was soft, and Venti could almost see her tilting her head. “It’s always been called that.” “Oh.” The Bard’s voice dropped with Venti’s stomach. “That’s right.” “We never met,” YN sighed. 

“We were thousands of years apart.” The Bard finished her sentence. 

“We both…” she began. 

Venti opened his eyes, overlooking Starsnatch Cliff. 

The wind was rougher here, tugging him over to the edge and making his cape whip over his shoulders. There was the taste of blood on his tongue and the smell of it in his nose, and he felt sick. 

“Look down,” The Bard put his hands on Venti’s shoulders, holding roughly and putting his thumbs in the front. “I dare you.” 

“No.” Venti’s heart hurt like it was being squeezed by a vice. “I don’t...I don’t wanna.” “But she’s down there,” the Bard whispered. “All alone.” 

“What?” Venti blinked, taking a sharp breath in. 

“You left her down there.” The Bard sighed, almost sounding like he pitied Venti. 

“No?” Venti felt confused. “She’s...she was…” “She’s dead, Barbatos.” The Bard breathed out, letting go of Venti. “You’re really sick, you know.” 

“What? No!” Venti spun around, feeling lost in the midst of a storm that he couldn’t control. “What are you talking about?” “She hated heights.” Now, the Bard had eyes—deep, like sockets of coal instead of real eyes. No, they stared right through Venti, bore through whatever shadow of a man he once was. “Can you imagine? Her falling in love with the god of the winds?” 

“Stop…” Venti whimpered, and just for a second, when the Bard blinked, she stood there, ominously smiling. Her smile was always so sweet, Venti thought. Sweet, like flowers and the ocean breeze. She loved him so much. 

“And you betrayed her trust, just like that.” The Bard murmured and shook his head. 

“What do you mean? She…” Venti wanted to say that she grew old, and died in Springvale surrounded by their children and grandchildren. But something on the tip of his tongue split his thought in half, making him freeze. 

“She what, Barbatos?” The Bard tilted his head. “Say it.” 

“She…” 

It was a windy day. 

Venti stared over the edge of Starsnatch Cliff with a giddy grin, holding the top of his hat. The drop below was enough to make any mortal man shiver, but he turned to the love of his eternal life and grinned. 

“Hey! C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun!” He jumped up, grabbing YN’s hand and humming. “I swear, nothing bad will happen!” “I…” YN glanced at the cliff’s edge and gulped, slightly pulling away from Venti. “It sounds really dangerous…” “Nah! It’s just gliding for two, after all!” He kissed the tip of her nose, smiling softly. “You trust me, don’t you?” “Always!” Her voice was soft and pleading, looking down to meet his eyes. “But you know how much I hate heights.” “Don’t worry! I promise it’ll be a great experience!” “But what if I fall…?” “You won’t! I won’t let you go!” He was on cloud nine, floating above everything and everyone. YN was right before him, and everything felt right in the world. But then YN sighed again, and pulled away. 

“But…” “But I did.” Venti’s voice was hollow, even to himself, and he watched her spark and pop, a figment of his imagination. 

“You did, my love.” YN sounded so sad, eyebrows furrowing. “Why did you let go?” 

“I…” Tears welled up in Venti’s eyes, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“But I’m gone, Lord Barbatos.” YN sobbed, covering her eyes with her hands. “I’ve been gone for so long.” “They never found…” Venti choked on his own words, eyes wide and brimming with tears. “They never found your body.” “You told them I ran off, remember?” YN softly wept, before the Bard appeared behind her. He grabbed her hands with a tenderness that only lovers had, and gently pulled them away. YN’s eyes were gone, nothing more than gored out holes in her head. Venti nearly screamed, taking a step back in alarm before realising he was at the edge of the cliff. The wind picked up behind him, and when he turned on shaky knees, he saw a gruesome sight underneath him. 

YN’s corpse was upon the sand, blood staining the grains and flowing out into the ocean. Her blood was so dark that it was almost inky, dispersing into the water without a trace. But it stained Venti, stained his clothes and his hands and his heart. His eyes felt like they were bleeding with her, staring at the rocks that gouged her eyes out when she landed.  Her skull was the worst—split open like a nut and spilling everywhere. The sight was terrible, horrible, heartbreaking and earth shattering. 

“You loved her, Barbatos! You loved her and you killed her!” The Bard cackled. “You let her fall! How useless can you be to kill your own girlfriend?!” 

Venti felt himself swaying. The mocking was too much, and he could hear laughing behind him. Laughing! Laughing! The whole of Tevyat was laughing at him, laughing and weeping and pointing their gnarled hands at him. 

“You should’ve joined her!” the Bard howled above the din. A storm from the sea swept in, nearly blowing Venti away with the wind as he tried to hold on to anything he had left. “You can’t protect anyone! Join her, little god! Join her, and watch her rot in the abyss!” 

It was too much, it made Venti’s ears ring and when he tried to cover them, his hat blew off his head and into the sea. He closed his eyes, praying to get away from whatever waking nightmare this was, but when he opened them, YN’s corpse was right at his feet, blood soaking into his shoes as she blinked and her face contorted into a huge, toothy maw. Everyone’s yelling became one, with the Bard and YN yelling louder than all the others. 

“Don’t leave me, Barbatos!” “Don’t leave her, Barbatos!” 

“Please don’t leave me!!” 

And Venti fell. 

Venti’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

He woke up to the sea lapping at the top of his head. He had a splitting headache and the sun shone right in his eyes, making him glower and sigh. For the briefest, holiest moment, he couldn’t remember what he was doing or where he was. He just wanted a nice drink at Angel’s Share and maybe play a nice song for Aether. 

But then he heard the sea, and he remembered. 

A feeling of dread began to overcome him, and when he sat up, his hair was damp and made water run down his back. He knew his cloak was positively soaked and that he had no way of knowing how long he was out for. He just remembered falling, thinking so long as she isn’t alone before passing out. 

He stood up on shaky legs and knew that YN wouldn’t be there. 

Her corpse was only a hallucination, or something of the sort. He knew it, he knew it so well, but the night she appeared, it felt so real. 

Venti hated his relapses. 

He slowly made his way up the beach in haze, and then past Windrise, and he realised without thinking much about it that he was simply making his way to Mondstadt, without truly knowing the way. There was a magnetic pull, one that he almost hated had he not cared so much. His heart bled, oozed, spilled everywhere. But if it bled for Mondstadt, for the Nameless Bard, for YN, then when would it bleed for him? When would he get his turn? 

He stumbled into Angel’s Share and sat on his usual stool. He glanced to his side. He almost saw her there. He looked to his other side, and the Bard stared into an empty mug. He had no face, no eyes, no smile. He was mundane again, with no memory and no song. Venti couldn’t remember YN’s face again, and he wondered, should he look into his drink, if her eyes would be floating there. Someone shuffled next to where YN was sitting, and when he glanced, he saw a young woman in YN’s perfect visage. She was perhaps a little less muscly, and a little more dainty, but when she glanced at him with an annoyed eye, Venti’s blood froze. It was humiliating, and he wondered if somehow, YN’s ghost had come back, reincarnated, to torture him for his sin. 

“Do you have a problem?” The young woman asked. YN turned her head, and Venti could just barely make out her tilting her head before she seemed to quite suddenly disappear. The Bard laughed under his breath, and all of Tevyat mocked Lord Barbatos, the Anemo Archon and Windborne Bard. 

Venti had been drinking. 

[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 

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

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. 

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

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.”

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

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.

[chanelsebbie]

𝗪𝗵𝘆 𝗗𝗼 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗛𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗠𝗲? | 𝗽.𝗽.

➵warnings: Substance use, language, Endgame spoilers, angst. 

➵masterlist

➵summary: Peter just wants to know why you hate him. 

➵a/n: Hee hee, I’m still trying to break in my new blog so feel free to send in requests and follow or reblog :)  ((THIS IS A STARK!READER FIC))

You never really liked Peter Parker. 

But you didn’t hate him. You couldn’t. Everyone on the Avengers team tolerated him, and some even liked him. And he was talented at what he did. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to like him. 

After the events of Thanos, you were finally brought back, and so was Peter. And Tony was happier than ever to get you home, and in his arms again. You went in and kicked ass. And the good guys won. 

But at the cost of your father’s life. 

Now that he was gone, everyone is asking who the next Ironman would be. You would think people would have been gunning on you, his own daughter, but instead, everybody looked to the boy no older than yourself. 

And jealousy raged through you, feeling put off to the side, along with trying to grieve and mourn your fathers death, all while trying to keep the world at peace. And with the Captain in retirement, along with Natasha gone, that left the team struggling to stay together. Some of the strongest members were gone, and Thor was still trying to lose that weight. 

So it all fell down to you. And sadly, also Peter. You were struggling to finish your studies in high school, as was Peter, the both of you attending the same school. While Peter had all sorts of friends, you preferred to be alone, and get through school, so you could take on more missions and important callings. 

Just like today. But today was going to be slightly different. 

“Come on, y/n, it’s just one party! It won’t kill you,” he protested as you walked into the common area of the Avengers headquarters. 

“Yes it will,” you grunted, plopping down on the couch and telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to turn the TV on.”

“No- F.R.I.D.A.Y., turn the TV off- It’s a big party and I know you’ll have fun! Flash is throwing it but I know you can still enjoy it,”

That made you not want to go even more. Flash was arrogant, snooty, and always took your detesting glares as playing hard to get. All you knew is that he didn’t like the word ‘no’, which set up multiple red flags for you. 

“No. I said no.” you huffed, taking the remote this time and turning the TV back on, flipping through the channels was Peter let out a defeated sigh, sitting right next to you, pulling out his phone. 

But secretly, Peter didn’t want to leave the living room. And even if he was on his phone, he just wanted to be near you. 

◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

“Come ooonnn, y/n, please??” Peter begged over the phone, pleading with you as he tried to get you to come to the stupid party that he was already at. 

The loud music could be heard in the background, along with some masculine cheering, which you were sure was the captain of the football team. 

“Peter, no, I’m already in bed,” lie “and I’m in the middle of a book. I’ll see you when you get back to the compound,” you tried to negotiate with a clip to your voice, and the truth was you were at the compound, sitting on the couch in a pair of fuzzy socks and you really didn’t wanna get up. 

“Fine. Yeah. Fine, have fun at home, square.” he dramatically replied, obviously also not a fan of the word no.

You hated when he did that, when he tried to guilt trip you, because no matter how cheesy it was, he almost always succeeded in making you feel like shit. 

“Good night, Peter,”

And with that, you hung up. 

◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

You found yourself dozing off to the sound of the movie playing on the screen, the large blanket covering you making you never want to leave for the rest of your life. 

But your blissful state was halted by the sound of your phone ringing, making your eyes shoot open and lazily grabbing your cellular device and mindlessly pressing the answer button without looking at the contact name before letting out a groggy “Hello?”

“Y/n!!! Heeeyyyyy,” Peter’s loopy voice sounded off, and if you weren’t full awake already, you certainly were now. 

“Peter??” you scolded, “Are you...?”

“Having the time of my life?? Abbssolutelyyy!!” 

“Shhhhh, just-” you pinched the bridge of your nose, trying not to panic, “Where are you?”

“At the party you were too scared to come to,” he chastised, making you let out a silent sigh in annoyance. 

“Just stay there, okay, I’m coming,” you finally spoke, flipping the blanket off of yourself and getting up with get some real clothes on.

“I like it when you say you’re comi-”

And with that, you hung up the phone. 

◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

If there was one thing that your father had good taste in, it was his automobiles. He had many he took pride in. Especially the red ones. And if anything, the memory of your father might keep you sane. 

You punched in the address for Flash’s house, and even brought a pair of your father’s glasses, the only two E.D.I.T.Hs left. Ever. 

The drive there was speedy, and when you pulled into the driveway, your stomach dropped. A flood of teenagers crowded the house, and that was just the outside. You couldn’t imagine trying to find Peter in that mess. 

“E.D.I.T.H., find Peter for me, will you?” you spoke to your glasses. 

“Of course,” the voice responded, pausing a moment before continuing, “He’s in the living room. His alcohol levels are high.”

You groaned. You should’ve known, you shouldn’t have let him go out on his own to a party with Flash, that prick has alcohol up the ying-yang thanks to daddy’s money, shit-

Standing up out of the car, you slam the door, glasses still on, “E.D.I.T.H., show me Parker’s vitals, please,” you continued to storm towards the front door and making your way in. 

“His heartbeat is quick and his blood pressure is high, and as I said before, his alcohol levels are irrate.”

“Peter??” you called out, watching as his head popped up like a weasel’s, eyes bright as he recognized you. 

“[y/n]!!” He gasped, running over to you before wrapping his arms around you, “You came! I knew you would!”

“Yeah,” you pulled him off of you, “I came to get you. You’re drunk, Parker, we’re going home.”

“Aww, come on,” he pushed before hanging on you. 

“Peter. No. Come on, let’s go,” you pushed him off again, obviously more annoyed than before. You hated the way people were starting to look at you. 

“[y/n]! Please, don’t push me away again! Just let loose and have fun,”

Your anger brewed. And this was supposed to be the next Ironman. 

“Peter.” you scolded in the most dominant voice you could muster, making a few people around the two of you look their way, “We. Are going. Home.”

Without another word, you grabbed his hand and dragged him out, Peter protesting like a toddler, trying to pull back, but he was so drunk, he seemed weak, and unable to truly fight back. 

You reached the car, opening the door for him as he sat down, folding his arms and glaring at you as you got into the car, starting it and pulling out of the driveway and back to Queens, where hopefully you could get Peter out of trouble. 

A few good 3 minutes passed, (it felt longer thanks to Peter’s glare), and you finally spoke up. 

“Are you done staring at me like a child?” you breathed like a disappointed parent. Which was worse, acting like a mother or a child?

“I’m waiting for an apology. When I sober up, the guyyss are never going to leave alone about what you did to be back there.” he grumbled, obviously going to hold his grudge. 

“I don’t have to apologize for anything,” you gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, trying to suppress your thoughts that made you quick to anger. 

“Like hell-”

“I wasn’t the one breaking the law and underage drinking,” you growled back.

“I can’t wait till I sober up so I can show you what for. That was mortifying. You’re embarrassing.”

Out of everything you’ve been called, embarrassing was never something you were dubbed. 

Peter paused and held his breath, realizing he was blowing it with you, “Wait, [y/n], I’m sorry, I’m just-”

“It’s fine,” you dismissed, trying to keep tears from welling up in your eyes. 

“No, it can’t be, because I read somewhere that if a woman says she’s fine, she’s really not actually fine, and-”

“Peter! Just shut up, please!!” you scolded, trying not to sob, just wanting this night to go away. 

Soon after you hit a red light, and Peter just stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched, trying to think of something to say. Something to do. Anything at all to try and fix it. But thanks to the alcohol limiting the filter between his brain and his mouth, the next thing that came out of his mouth was:

“Why do you hate me?”

Your world seemed to stop for a second as you tried to compose yourself. This was the last thing you wanted him to think, no matter how vulnerable he made you feel. 

“I don’t hate you, Peter...,”

“Then what is it? Why do you push me away? Can you see that I like you? Like really really like you?”

You swallowed hard at his words. You closed your eyes and swallowed, “Peter, I don’t know what to tell you-”

“Then tell me something, please, anything-”

“I love you, Peter-” your outburst made him wince as he tried to focus and piece together your words in his drunken state, “I love you, Peter. And whenever I look at you... I see him, and I just...,” you took a deep breath to prevent the tears welling in your eyes, making you seem weak in your opinion, “I’m supposed to be the next Ironman, but the press says differently. I’m jealous of you Peter,” you shook in embarrassment as you pressed down on the gas, your cloudy vision making you swerve to stay on the road so you didn’t crash a priceless car. 

“You love me?”

“Y-yeah, I mean, I guess, I wouldn’t...,” you paused, “You aren’t going to remember this in the morning anyway,”

“No. I’m not gonna forget this. Not even if I tried,” he laughed humorlessly, leaning back in his seat. 

“Well... I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” you thought out loud, wanting to take your rant and stuff it back down your throat. 

You didn’t mean for him to find out. Not like this at least. 

◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

When you two got back to the compound, he gipped onto you like a kid, clinging to you and refusing to let go. At this point there was a mutual understanding between the two of you. That both of you had feelings, but it wouldn’t be discussed until the morning. 

The elevator ride made Peter look sick, the alcohol finally starting to catch up to him, and right as the doors opened, he ran inside, finding the closest bathroom. 

That poor toilet. 

You caught up to him and sat next to a sickly Peter, rubbing his back as he let everything out. He held you the best he could, not wanting you to leave his side. 

You brushed the hair away from his forehead as he leaned over the side of the toilet, groaning in discomfort as he continued to cling to you like you would slip away. After a few more times of the repeated pattern of ejecting bile, he turned to you.

“I’m tired,” he mumbled like a child. 

“Come on, Spidey, let’s get you to bed,” you gave a small smile, picking him up as you dragged him out of the bathroom and into a guest bedroom, getting him an extra shirt and sweatpants from the closet before turning around while he got changed. 

But a wrapping of arms around your waist told you he was done. You waddled him over to the bedside before sitting him down and getting him off your back. He was like a damn koala. 

You finally laid him down, pulling the covers over him snuggly, not failing to notice the longing stare coming from Peter. You gave a smile, and he smiled back. It made your heart flutter in spite of yourself. 

You shook yourself out of it, the only thing on your mind now was getting to sleep, trying to forget the conversation that was supposed to be had the next morning. 

“Goodnight, Peter.” you began to walk away, but before you could get too far away from the bed, you felt someone grab your hand. 

“Please stay,” he begged, unspilled tears in his eyes, the fear of you leaving his side the greatest concern on his mind. 

You paused. You were about to go to sleep with Peter Parker, and yet your hesitation was the only thing that was stopping you from what you had wished you had been doing for as long as you had known the boy. 

Despite the voice screaming in the back of your head to put the wall back up and your foot down, say no, and leave, your body opposed, slipping under the covers with the sniffling teenager. 

He immediately smiled and embraced you, and you knew that you would have to get used to the physical contact. He was behind you, his arms around your waist, his breath gently fanning over the nape of your neck. 

You covered the both of you up, Peter sighing. And as much as you hated to admit it, he looked adorable. 

“Parker, if you barf in my hair, you aren’t gonna wake up with eyebrows,” you were half-joking, half-serious. 

“Will do.” he laughed sluggishly, sniffling before you finally felt his breaths steady and slow, passed out with you in his arms. 

You never really liked Peter Parker. 

You loved him.

[lakesandquarries]

Tangled Up - Chapter Two

oh, i’m gonna mess this up

Benrey’s spent 26 years living in a tower - 27, tomorrow. When a thief breaks into his tower, he finds his chance to escape and takes it.

Alternatively: Tangled, but the AI is self aware.

(featuring art by @kenas-artstuff​ )

Notes: check ao3 for warnings and tags! “kane radio” is just gordon using a fake name. fic title from “tangled up” by caro emerald, chapter title from “shots” by imagine dragons.

AO3 Link

It’s nice to be back at Black Mesa. Well, mostly nice. Gordon shuts the door behind Benrey only to immediately spot a wanted poster, the only thing making it unrecognizable a bizarre mullet. Do people seriously think he looks like that??

“Hey, Mr. Radio!” a voice calls from behind the counter. Kane rips the paper off the door, rushing across the room. 

“Hi Darnold it’s great to see you shut the fuck up please -”

And that’s when he gets grabbed from behind. He barely sees Darnold’s eyes widen before he’s spun around, now facing an absolute mountain of a man. Behind him, he hears Darnold slap something - his forehead, probably - and mutter a quiet. “oh, right.”

He loves Darnold, he really does. Being friends with someone since you were kids will do that. Right now, though, he kind of wants to throttle him.

“Kane Radio, hm?” the main holding him says, ripping the wanted poster out of his hands. The thief glances around awkwardly, his eyes finally falling onto Benrey struggling to pull his hair back into his possession. 

"H-hey, he'd appreciate his hair not being touched, guys!", Kane exclaimed, to help his partner as well as pull away from his attention. It works for a moment, as Benrey tugs the last strands of hair away and marches up to the guy holding Kane, unintimidated despite the height difference.

“Hey,” Benrey says quietly as he walks up next to the man. “Put him down? Please and thank you?”

Mountain man snorts. “Not likely. I need the reward money. Hey, you! Go get the guards!”

One of the other men nods, slipping out of the tavern as an argument breaks out. Kane is pushed and pulled, various thugs grabbing him and insisting they need the money, they deserve it most, as the bar descends into chaos.

A loud, meaty thwack! breaks up the argument. Kane’s dropped on his ass, and when he looks up, Benrey has his crowbar against Mountain man’s arm. “I said put him down.”

Kane rolls off to the side, dodging another man’s grabbing hands, and stands up so he can dart back over to Benrey and push him out of the way. “Hey, appreciate that, don’t get me wrong, but - Benrey, what the fuck?”

Behind the counter Darnold is glaring, grabbing a cup and a spoon to try and get everyone’s attention. Black Mesa housed a fighting ring once upon a time, but that got stopped when Darnold took over. It doesn’t matter now - even with Darnold yelling, everyone’s too riled up. Kane has to duck down to avoid a punch, only to immediately get kicked in the face. A hand grabs his arm and he swings instinctively, stopping at the last second when he realizes it’s just Benrey, pulling him off to the side.

“What the fuck,” Kane repeats.

“Being polite didn’t work,” is Benrey’s only explanation.

Darnold is still yelling, trying desperately to get some sense of calm as the crowd beats the shit out of each other. And then - just as quick as it started, it’s over. Screams dissolve into laughter as the assembled patrons dust themselves off, seemingly satisfied with the amount of violence they've had. 

"It's been too long since we've had a fight like that," Mountain man says. "Nice job."

Benrey blinks up at him. "Whuh?"

Gordon agrees with him. Wiping blood from his nose, he mutters a quiet “What?” as well.

“Should’ve been longer,” Darnold complains. “You know I hate this kind of behavior! I have half a mind to throw you all out.”

"We'll clean it up, Danny, don't worry,” another, very skinny guy cheerfully responds, followed by a roar of laughter.

“Darnold,” the bartender corrects sharply as he sets to cleaning the place up, picking up overturned chairs and mopping up spills and sweeping up broken glass. 

Turning back to Mountain man, Kane asks, "Just to be clear. Does this mean you won't tear me and my friend apart anymore?"

“Are you kidding? That’s the most fun I’ve had in years! Darnold never lets us do stuff like that. Real shame, considering how this place st -“

He’s cut off by someone slamming the door open. “I brought the guards!”

Apparently ten seconds of peace is the max he’s allowed. “Shit shit shit,” Kane wheezes, grabbing Benrey’s arm as Darnold directs them behind the door. The massive dog from earlier, the one who had chased him through the forest and up Benrey’s tower, is here. And it’s pissed. Kane’s heart drops as he watches it sniff around, following the trail of his footsteps.

Darnold pulls on a lever, revealing a ramp down into a stone tunnel. “You’re lucky you’re my friend,” he says as he ushers them through it. Benrey hesitates, but Kane pulls him through anyway, into some kind of cave system. The walls are dark stone, rough and natural. This is something old, and hopefully, it’ll cover them. 

He exhales slowly, adrenaline still rushing through him. “Shit,” he mutters again. “That was close.”

“Who were those guys?” Benrey asks. The raccoon on his shoulder chirps.

“Guards. Royal guards. They, uh….they don’t like me much.”

“You stole something?” 

“Big something.”

Benrey nods, apparently satisfied with the answer. The raccoon chirps again, and Benrey mumbles something in response to it. Because his day is just going so normally, he needs to listen to his weird...escort mission talk to his fucking raccoon as they run from guards.

Metal clanks behind them, and Kane picks up the pace, until he’s running down the tunnel. It opens into a cliffside, with no way down. “Fuck!”

“There’s a guy down there,” Benrey points out, and Kane bites back another string of curses when he realizes it’s fucking Forzen. He’d abandoned him after stealing the royal helmet. Betrayal’s nothing new between them, but this is recent enough that Forzen’s probably still pissed.

“That’s Forzen. He doesn’t like me much either.”

It’s then that the guards burst out of the tunnel and several things happen all at once. Benrey shoves his crowbar at Kane, and before he can question why Benrey is giving him his only weapon, he’s tossing his hair across the canyon like a grappling hook and running off the ledge.

Before he can even ask why Benrey would possibly give him his only weapon, he watches in horror as his partner takes flight. He doesn’t have time to check if Benrey’s alright - the guards are on his ass. The crowbar makes a satisfying thwack! as he swings it, taking down the guards in barely an instant. “Fuck, this is handy. Need to get me one of these!” Kane comments to himself, looking to see who’s left. One opponent remains - the dog, who is now holding a sword.

Because his day just cannot get any fucking weirder.

“You should know this is the weirdest thing I have ever fucking done!” Kane yells to Benrey, as he battles the dog, sword to crowbar, until the dog knocks it right out of his hands and down the cliff. “Two out of three?”

A lock of black hair wraps around his hand. Kane grins, giving the dog a salute as he’s pulled into a free fall. “Ha! Get fuc - hhhh.” His words dissolve into a wheeze, as his trajectory slams him into an exposed beam, knocking the wind out of him.

Kane, struggling to get a grip of himself, only just manages to hold on to Benrey while he swings down with his support. His feet connect with the water pipes, sliding down unsteadily as they collapse underneath him, and then the entire dam breaks. It happens in a flash, an enormous amount of water - it feels like the whole ocean when Kane glances back - pouring down into the valley. Rocks fall, the last of the wooden constructions collapsing. With a couple of leaps, Kane reaches an already running Benrey, and scoops up the last bit of his hair flailing behind him. "Benrey! Benrey, into the cave!" he shouts, hoping the other would get understand the general direction they have to run.

---

Benrey grabs the crowbar as he darts after Kane, barely avoiding getting crushed by the massive rock that comes crashing down and seals them into the cave. The walls are stone, not like the bricks of his tower but a random arrangement of rocks and boulders forming a lumpy wall. There’s a puddle of water on the floor, only as he looks it starts to grow, up over Benrey’s feet, his legs, creeping higher and higher. He looks around the cave frantically, spotting the trickles of water coming in past the rock that sealed them in. The only obvious opening, but the water is like another force behind it, pressing it shut like Benrey used to try and hold his door shut. The rock is stronger than him. No matter how hard he slams with his crowbar, there’s not even a dent. He turns his attention to the rest of the cave, alternately smashing and prying at the walls, but they hold firm. There’s nothing. Not a single loose rock, nothing resembling a weak point, not even a crack he can widen into an exit. 

The water’s at his waist now. His breathing sharpens, small panicked inhales as he realizes there’s no way out. They’re trapped, with water climbing higher and higher. The water is murky, making the already dim space feel smaller and darker with each second. 

Zeki was right. Kane’s gonna die here with him in this stupid fucking cave, all because Benrey wanted to see some lights.

“This is all my fault,” he mumbles, tugging on a strand of hair. “I never should’ve - she was right, this whole time, I just -“ 

Kane’s hands grip his shoulders, firm but gentle, forcing him to look at the thief’s face. "Benrey, don't blame yourself. Sometimes things go bad...that's how life works. It's - it's gonna be ok." In a different context it might be comforting. Right now, they’re about to die, and Kane’s voice is shaking.

Benrey’s voice is choked when he responds. “I’m sorry, Kane.”

"Gordon.” Benrey tilts his head, and Kane drops his hands from his shoulders with a sigh. “It's - my real name is Gordon Freeman. I made up Kane. You might as well know it now."

“Feetman?” Benrey asks with a shaky smile.

“If we weren’t trapped in a cave I’d hit you with your crowbar,” Kane - Gordon? - Gordon says. For the briefest of seconds, he smiles at Benrey. 

“I, uh. I have magic hair that glows when I sing,” he says. Keeping a secret doesn’t matter when they’re both about to die. Gordon furrows his brows, looking questioningly at Benrey, and a sudden burst of inspiration hits as he repeats himself. “I have - oh shit!” He starts singing, voice shakier than normal as he races through the song. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine -“ The water is still rising, and maybe it’s his imagination but it feels even faster. “Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine -”

The last line gets cut off as the water fills the cave completely. He’s never tried singing underwater before, and for a moment he’s terrified it won’t work - and then his hair lights up, a bright neon teal, illuminating the cave. Gordon swims down to the bottom, pushing aside rocks desperately. He finds one that’s loose enough, dislodging it, and the rest follow suit. The wall starts to crumble before collapsing completely, launching the two of them into a river, the current quickly sweeping them downstream and onto a grassy bank. 

Benrey drags himself out, flopping limply onto the grass, taking deep breaths as he stares up at the sky. “We’re alive,” he breathes, looking over at Gordon. He likes that name better, now that he has a spare moment to think about it. Laughter bubbles up out of him, along with bright yellow-green. Olive means I’m glad to be alive.

Beside him, Gordon is less chill, elbows on the grass and hands in his hair. “His hair glows,” he’s mumbling. “He - hhh - his hair? Glowing - glowy shit - people don’t glow!” From there his words just get more and more incoherent as he stares at the ground.

With a huff, Benrey stands up, starting to squeeze the water out of his hair. Jefferem shakes himself dry, splashing water onto Gordon. “You good?” Benrey asks.

“Am I - are you good?? What the fuck was that? How long have you been - ow, fuck -” He pulls his right hand close to himself, and when he holds it out again Benrey sees blood, bright red against the brown skin. He must’ve cut himself on a rock or something. 

Benrey offers a hand to help Gordon get up, so he doesn’t put pressure on the injured one. “Lets, uh. Find somewhere to dry off first and then we can play 20 questions?” Or, maybe, if he stalls long enough, Gordon will forget whatever he wants to ask and Benrey can keep pretending like he’s a person.

[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.

[mediocre--writing]

Hey! I just read a couple of your drabbles and I LOVE THEM!💙💙

So if you don't mind, could you please do a Harringrove drabble/ficlet based on either of the two (or a mix of both, if you can) Twenty One Pilots songs "Tear in My Heart" and/or "Smithereens"?

Because, for me, Tear in My Heart is very Billy and Smithereens is very Steve👉👈

Thank you!!💜

Ok so love this and you have an amazing mind, just so you know.

This is like a 2 in 1 fic post so :))))

So smithereens and steve work so well together, like

“I go step to a dude much bigger than me/ for you I know that I would get messed up, weigh 153/ For you I would get beat to smithereens”

Like this is just Steve's personality. He got into a fight every season and barely ever wins without intervention. And like i could see him just being so overcome with emotions that he just does what he knows, which is self destruct.

Like with his fight with Jonathan, he almost accepts that Nancy was too good for him and thinks that he might as well take other people with him.

Then with Tommy in the parking lot, it’s not really a fight, but it shows that he has a conscience and fixes his mistakes.

Then with his fight with Billy, he only tries to protect the kids, even if he’s losing miserably.

I could 100% see steve having snuck into billy’s room during the night once (before he really knew about neil), not to do anything nefarious, but just that he had a really bad nightmare, because there was a small power outage, and billy is really good at helping him sleep afterwards.

And let's just say that Billy's alarm clock (which is always set for 5:30am, half an hour before Neil wakes up just to give him peace of mind) doesn’t go off because of the power outage.

And Neil comes to wake up Billy for school because he hasn’t woken up yet, and sees Billy spooning Steve and both boys are snoring and pressing bare chest to bareback, and so deep asleep that Neil lets them sleep, letting them wake up on their own.

And they do. Billy wakes up around 8am, feeling insanely well rested. He smiles and squeezes Steve before turning to sit up from his bed to look at his alarm clock, that’s blinking on and off and reads 3:18am, but the sun’s up and… the house is quiet.

Billy feels the dread settle deep in his chest, and swears he could cry if he were .000000001% more worried.

He hears the creaking of work boots walking around the house and knows, just from the tension lingering in the air, that it’s just an angry Neil pacing in the kitchen/ dining room and waiting for Billy to wake up.

He doesn’t know whether to wake Steve up and tell him to escape out of the window and run or just let him lay there anyway, it’s obvious that Neil already saw.

He let’s Steve sleep and throws a shirt on and slowly walks out of the room into the pits of hell, seeing Neil turn to him with an angry face a brighter shade of red than a firetruck.

As slurs are screamed and Billy is thrown into the walls and has family tchotchkes launched at his face, Steve wakes up after a particularly painful shove makes the wall shake, pushing a single picture frame fall off the wall on the other side.

Steve shoots up after that loud bang and hears a wail and muffled yelling before something else hits the wall. He grabs his shirt and puts it on as he walks out the bedroom door, seeing glass shattered on the hardwood leading to the family room, but what he sees around the corner is so much worse.

Billy’s bleeding in about twenty different spots, body curled in a ball in the corner of the kitchen, Neil standing over him, but turning to Steve with a grin.

Steve feels his blood boil as dots connect and loose ends are tied up, making the connection between Billy's bad nights and the new bruises he’ll sport under his shirt. The way he tries to hide it when he flinches at loud, authoritative men who are bigger than him. Why he told Steve to never call his house and why he is the way he is.

So Steve doesn’t think for another second before launching himself at Neil, slamming him into the floor, but that’s about as much as he wins that fight, because Neil is slamming him back and beating him the same way he did his son.

And billy, let’s admit it, is probably much stronger and a better fighter than his dad, but it’s so hard to fight back against an abuser that has controlled your life for so long. Even when you know you could win and that they deserve it, neil hargrove is still his dad and he could never get it into his head to hit him back.

But Steve was trying too hard to take him down because he was doing the wrong thing and losing terribly, never having won a fight once in his damn life.

Billy’s sitting up against the wall, ribs in excruciating pain and vision blurry, but he sees Steve getting up and kicking Neil once before backing up, and Billy sees his camaro keys in the dish by the front door.

So he stands up as fast as he can, ignoring the dizziness as if that would make it go away, grabs steve’s arm and shoots to the door, grabbing the camaro keys and shooting outside

He takes the driver’s seat, despite his dizzying head, just knew that he’d have to drive for a few miles then they could reevaluate, and Steve was clumsily getting into the passenger side.

Billy had only just started the car when Neil came rushing out the door, screaming threats and slurs as if that would make them stop their escape.

The camaro backed out of the driveway and shot down cherry lane in record time, going to the center of town, the least likely place Neil would cause a scene.

It isn’t until Billy puts the car in park that he can bear to look at steve.

He’s got a bloody nose and his shirt sleeve is torn off, hair disheveled from both sleep and the fight.

But billy looks so much worse.

He’s still hunched to the left from his ribs, he’s got tons of cuts along his arms, legs, and face from, what steve suspects, the broken glass on the floor. He’s also got this wild-animal-look in his eyes. One that screams, I escaped alive, but at what cost?

“Bill-”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Why-- I’m sorry are you asking me why I attacked your dad when he was kicking you while you were, literally, on the floor?”

“Ye--no, I-- but you got hurt, why’d you do that?”

“Billy, what did you expect me to do?” a shrug is all he gets in response--”If you saw my dad doing that to me, can you honestly expect yourself to stand there and watch it happen, or walk away and let it happen?”

Billy turns to face the grocery store--Melvad’s-- that they were parked in front of.

“It’s all weaving together in my head. All the bruises, the jumpiness, how you like to control things, it all makes sense, but what doesn’t make sense is why you wouldn’t just tell me, Bill,”

“And what exactly would you have been able to do about it, huh? You gonna take care of the situation or some shit, Steve? Trust me, I’m used to it and--”

“But you shouldn’t have to be ‘used to it,’ Bill, that’s abuse, and you don’t deserve that shit, not ever,”

Their conversation is halted by a tap on the glass by Steve's window, and the boys turn to see Joyce Byers looking more motherly than ever.

Steve rolled the window down.

“The hell happened to you boys?” she asked but corrected herself with a shake of her head, “Doesn’t matter, just come in to clean up, we’ve got bandages and antiseptic, free of charge,”

Billy wiped away the tears he didn’t know had formed and nodded to her, “We’ll be out in a minute, Mrs. Byers.”

“Joyce, please,” she demanded softly.

“Joyce, of course,” Billy offered a subdued smile.

She walked off and Steve rolled the window back up.

“Thank you,” Billy spoke quietly after a moment. “I’m glad he didn’t hurt you worse,”

“Billy, for you I would get beat to smithereens,”

“Well of course you would, you weigh like 100 pounds, not like you could put up much of a fight,”

“Hey! I gave him a black eye, thank you very much!”

“Oh, well, my bad, baby, then maybe you weigh 150, huh?”

Steve grumbled from the passenger seat, “153,”

Billy chuckled and grabbed Steve's hand over the console, locking eyes and smiling at each other, enjoying their small moment.

“We should probably get in there before Joyce comes out herself?” Steve sighed as he moved to take his hand out of Billy's.

“One more minute, please,”

Steve just tightened his grip on Billy's hand and moved towards the center of the car to rest his head on Billy's shoulder, Billy's head falling onto his.

-

Billy and Tear In My Heart thooooooooo

Like it fits him so well, again this is amazing.

I also see billy as a resident hater of america and it’s fucking government becuase, well, they have a history between his myriad of speeding tickets and, oh what was it, oh yes, the tentacle monster that impaled and possessed him.

And in California, there’s no cold weather where he lives, so there’s not exactly potholes to avoid.

The first time he drives into the cooler states and has to avoid potholes, he decides that his car deserves a vacation after this.

But the potholes become the biggest issue after he and Steve start dating.

He’s absolutely enamoured by this boy, because who wouldn’t be. He respects Billy's limits and can hold his own in arguments, and they fit together like missing pieces of a puzzle.

Steve has changed Billy, not that he’d admit it, but he’s softer now and all of his sharp edges have been baby-proofed. They’re still there and dangerous, but they’re more difficult to be stabbed by.

All the cracks in his heart have been filled with gold, like Kintsugi (a Japanese technique of repairing broken pottery with gold).

And Billy can complain and complain about Steve's clinginess, about his intrusion into his life, and his persistence to stay, but deep inside Billy's never felt more loved or cared for in his life.

But these damn potholes might just make him lose it.

Because billy is anything but a bad driver, he can control the car even when it’s going 45 over the speed limit, but now that steve falls asleep after their movie dates or when they’re coming back from barbeques with the party, Joyce, and Hopper, he’s driving the speed limit.

Which is just appalling.

But some of these potholes are so deep you could dive into them and not hit the bottom.

Like what the fuck, Indiana?

And, one time, Max is with them after a barbeque when Steve falls asleep and Billy slows the car down to what feels like snail speed, but is just the speed limit.

“Why are we going so slow?” Max asked as she leaned forward from the backseat to whisper to billy.

“Steve’s sleepin’,” he said, as if it was the obvious reason.

“You’re whipped,”

“Shut up, Shitbird,”

Max leans back into her seat with a grin on her face at the absolute mush her big, tough brother has turned into for Steve Harrington.

[misselko]

Got this idea from Dimitri’s conversation with Byleth before Fort Merceus battle with the Death Knight. Put some angst, fluff, and a pinch of smut spices into the dish and let it simmer down! At least, that’s what I want! But it turned out... different ;) Sorry not sorry

Please kindly leave some of your comments or ideas for my next fic! Your warm and loving words gives me energy to write more!!

RECKLESS

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Mention of blood, violence, a little smut

Words: 3316

 

POST TIMESKIP

Empire will be the only remaining enemy and to move on to the Imperial Capital, Enbarr, capturing Fort Merceus is a must. Praised as the strongest defense with its fortified military installation  in the Empire, seizing it won’t be an easy feat.

Liberating Arianrhod, calming down Holy Kingdom of Faerghus political issues, winning over the Leicester Alliance and gained their support. Getting a lead on Lady Rhea’s location. Although things were a rough go, but thinking back on it now, Blue Lions sure has really come a long way. Things have been wonderful in these past moons that it almost feels like dream too good to be true.

You don’t know why but you can’t shake your uneasy feelings and dread. War is raging and everyone knows there is a big battle on the horizon.

“We must not falter in our assault. The Death Knight is the enemy commander in Fort Merceus. He’s an unpredictable opponent. A dangerous one. Please proceed with caution, (Y/N).”

“I will, Dimitri. No need to worry.”

“I have not come this far just to lose you here. I’m serious. Do not be reckless out there.”

“Will you save me if I’m in trouble?”

“Of course, (Y/N). You were the heart of the Blue Lions, and the same holds true for the Kingdom Army.”

You smiled at his concern and hold his hands gently.

“I will do my best as well to support you, my Dimitri.” His cheeks turned into rosy blush at your words.

 

“Whoaa!! You’re getting pretty chummy, aren’t you, Your Highness? Go get a room!” Sylvain winks and got punched HARD, dragged away by Ingrid. You make mental notes on giving her a delicious roasted meat from that famous new shop in the town later as your gratitude. Serves him right!! ...But you wouldn’t trade them for anything in this world. Everything will be alright with them. Blue Lions are your precious family. It will be fine. Everything will be fine.

---

Capturing Fort Merceus is a daunting task. Endless enemies are approaching and relentless. Felix and Sylvain are working together cut through the snipers and mages. Ingrid and Ashe are doing their best to handle the pegasi knights. Dedue, Annette, Mercedes, and Flayn makes great combo on cutting through enemy reinforcements while providing healing to everyone. Slowly but sure, you and Dimitri managed to push Death Knight on the corner. But it doesn’t make things less difficult for both of you.

 

“You dare stand between me and my pleasure?”

The beginning of it was barely a bellow that grew steadily to a deafening roar, piercing the air and shaking the ground. Areadbhar crack in deafening clash against Death Knight’s Scythe of Sariel. They raised their weapons, waving them overhead.

 

“Yes. I dare stand against you, Death Knight!!”

 

Dimitri decides to face Death Knight head on as you tried your best to keep his back safe from the Imperial soldiers assaults. Keeping a close eye on him... just in case, following from a few meters back, cover his blind spots that way, look out for any potential danger. You could see them coming around, carefully and quietly trying to find their way to Dimitri.

 

Landing sharp blows, you bring the blade down on the head of another mage. Slashing your way through numerous enemies, you start to feel fatigued. Countless enemies lying dead behind. You looked around, among the sea of red and black, a swordmaster is sneaking his way behind Dimitri, ready to ambush him.

 

But you wouldn’t let it happen!

 

You were fully offensive, rapidly swinging your sword down on the swordmaster. You were able to deflect, parry, and block most of his attacks until his foot swept across your ankles, knocking you hard to the floor. The swordmaster stood above you, ready to press his sword into your chest to end your life. Fatigue made it harder for you to evade his deadly stab completely. Sound of a weapon piercing through flesh filled your ears, followed by an intense pain in your side. He pulled it back out with a triumphant smirk on his face. Despite the searing pain, you made it in time to grab your own weapon and thrust it up to his neck, your arms shaking as you tried to counter the weight of his attack. Grimace crossing your face as he fell, blood painting the earth a sick shade of red.

 

You sat up, wincing at the searing, burning hot pain on your side. The stab wound was way too deep. Your hands trembled, desperately attempting to put pressure on the wound as heavy flow of your blood is trickling through your fingers, colors your skin and clothes. The world had turned blurry, and your body felt weak. Ignoring the excruciating pain, you rush forward to help Dimitri. He has won against the Death Knight. But in his brief reverie, the Tempest King failed to notice two opposing snipers are approaching him, expression intent to kill, aiming their arrows at his back.

 

You acted on instinct, rushing forward, sprinting to intervene. To protect him.

‘We have been through so much together and he’d been through hell and back... I want to ease his pain. Knowing he’s safe... I can be at peace.’

You thought to yourself, launching forward. You barely has energy to stand up, but you tried to muster your last remaining strength to dove in before Dimitri. The arrows managed to easily make it’s way through your armor, landing in your chest and abdomen. ‘I have no regret when it came to protecting Dimitri.’

 

Your body slammed hard on the ground, careening across the battlefield. A sharp cry pained noise escaped you; that was all it took. Dimitri stiffened at the sound. It pulled him from the high of the battlefield down to reality in an instant.

 

“(Y/N)!!!”

 

He turned; filled with horror and rage. The fires blazing around him didn’t give off any heat. The battlefield around him turned black and white. His ears were ringing as if he’d been caught in an explosion. Dimitri went after the snipers and thrust them both at their hearts. After a quick glance to make sure no more surprise attacks happen, he kneels and pulling you into his chest. You looked so small, felt so limp that it sickened him. Broken and battered with littered scars and large wound on your side. Arrows jutting out of your chest, much too close to the heart, and another one lodged deep in your abdomen.

 

Dimitri watched as the blood pooled around you. Blood... there is so much blood. Your blood.

“Goddess... what were you- MERCEDES! FLAYN!! SOMEONE...HELP!!”

 

He pulled himself up, beside you, staring at your face. You were so pale. Oh, Goddess, you were dying. Were you already dead?

 

“I’m sorry.” There isn’t a reason to apologize, you aren’t sorry, but it still came out like the blood that is on Dimitri’s hands now.

 

“Don’t you dare apologize to me right now,” his voice choked off in his throat feels raw with emotions, barely able to hold back the sob which demands to escape, “not when you are like this. What were you thinking, (Y/N)? You have promised me to not be reckless.” He phrased it in a question, but both know why.

 

“Y-You... haven’t seen the... swordmaster... and those snipers. Y-You...were going to die...if they attack you. I want to protect you.... and I don’t regret my decision.“

 

You opened your mouth to speak but immediately coughed, feeling globs of blood on the corners of your lips. Dimitri gripped your hand, his hold so tight that it hurt, but you wouldn’t waste your breath on telling him. You could barely see Mercedes scurried over to your side as quickly as she could, Flayn follows behind her, leaving the Death Knight behind with tears running down her cheeks.

 

“Please stay awake for me a little longer, please.”

He choked out, pulling you closer if possible as it would keep you from leaving.

 

The chaos around you went mute as your eyes grow heavy. Maybe a quick nap would suffice.

 

“No...no, no, (Y/N)!! You can’t do this to me, you can’t-! Please, (Y/N), I can’t lose you too.....”

 

You felt like you were fading, and the sounds around you faded along with your hazy consciousness. You fell asleep.

---

Every second was filled with anxiety; you’d lost so much blood. The wounds were too deep to heal completely. There was little to no possibility of survival. Not after what you’d been through.

The days turned to one week, then two...then three. The physical wounds had healed, mostly repaired and faded to scars. There was potential for things to return to normal, and you may wake up sooner rather than later.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, your upper body covered in bandages. The first thing you’re aware of is a dull throb radiating throughout your entire body. You were confused, and moved your head, unintentionally shifting your body and sending a wave of pain through your chest and stomach as you tried to get up. You closed your eyes tightly in response to the return of extreme pain, much worse than you had ever felt before. With much struggle, you sat on the edge of the bed shakily trying to stand up. The door creaked open and you looked up to find Dimitri peering inside.

 

”You’re awake,” he said, a look of surprise on his face. You tried to stand up and walk to him but failed, Dimitri ran in and caught you before you fell over. “I thought I was going to lose you, (Y/N),” he said, lifting you up effortlessly, settling you gently onto the bed and pulled up a chair. 

 

As cautiously as you could, you managed to sit yourself up. You kept a careful eye on the young king, noting how dark the circles under his eyes have become and how hollow his cheeks have turned. The fact that rest had eluded him for however long you were unconscious was as plain as day.

 

“You nearly died because of me. I have no right to be... you of all people shouldn’t-!” He managed to say, his voice shaking as his fingers trembled.

His head shot up to look at you, cerulean blue eyes dampened by tears that pooled in them. Your eyes were open, though weakly, looking at him and his disturbed state. You sensed his worry, but also his relief as he hovers next to your bed, engulfing you in his embrace and squeezing you against his chest for all he was worth. He was mindful of your wound, but that wasn’t enough to keep him away. No, he needed you. He needed to be beside you, to feel you, to know you were there.

 

“I’m okay, Dimitri...” You whispered, resting a hand on his chest where his heart thundered. You closed your eyes against him, relishing the feel of his tender warmth.

 

You felt how hard and rapid his heart was beating, almost deafening. Your arms wrapped around his heaving back weakly, rubbing it soothingly. He pulled you closer in response—closer, closer, closer, until every inch of you was smothered by him. Hesitant, trembling fingers graced your tightly wound bandages and you felt something warm and wet splatter onto your exposed shoulder.

 

"I could not stand to lose you,” he spoke slowly, holding your hands so tight that it hurts.

“But I fear that I may if I tell you what is on my mind.”

 

His voice was as quiet as it could be and it made you frown your eyebrows in worry. You were happy to see him alive, that was your goal when you decided to protect him from the approaching enemies. However, seeing him so distraught and afraid twisted your insides uncomfortably. The way he held your hand so desperately, afraid to let go.

 

“Dimitri.” You call him quietly, which makes him look at you with those gorgeous eyes of him.

 

You move your hand to his cheeks, caressing his soft skin, trying to bring him even the tiniest amount of comfort. Leaning to give him a soft chaste kiss on his lips. He reciprocated by open-mouthed kiss you with such fervor. There’s an undercurrent of desperation in the way Dimitri kisses you, as if this is the last moment he’ll ever feel it. It’s almost as if it pains him to be this close to you. You were alive, yet he couldn’t help but doubt it. Perhaps it was once again due to the vicious noises he still heard, though faintly. However, he was glad that they allowed him this moment of happiness.

 

“I won’t leave you, Dimitri.” You promised between ragged breath, your chest heaving.

 

“We are so close to ending this. Please, promise me you’ll stay safe. Rest, for now, my beloved.” Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, holding your hand to his chest. “I promise, I will never let you be hurt for my sake again.” Covering you with a  blanket  and tucking you into bed to retire for the evening.

 ---

After your awakening, the Blue Lions and Professor began incorporating regular infirmary visits into their schedule. They showered you with kind, encouraging words and occasionally bore small gifts (flowers and snacks), always encourage you to get better soon. But your most frequent visitor of all was your beloved gentle king.

It was two weeks since you have gotten better. Mercedes promised to take care after your bandages this evening.

“Are you ready, (Y/N)?”

You met Mercedes’ warm gaze with your own. With a firm nod, you replied, “Ready as I’ll ever be, Mercedes.”

 

The healer moved closer to you, her skilled hands undoing the set of bandages for the last time. Dimitri averted his frantic eyes to the wall when the dressing loosened just enough for your breasts to peak through. A cold, unforgiving breeze whipped the newly exposed skin, jolting a shiver down your spine. Mercedes sighed, slowly traced the scars your chest and stomach.

“I’m sorry but we will never be able to remove the scars. The wounds all healed, but... the scars will never go away completely. I’m sorry (Y/N).”

 

Your eyes immediately flashed over to Dimitri’s stiffening frame.

“It’s okay. I will never regret such a thing.” You smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Do you need anything else, (Y/N)?”

“No, I’m all good, Mercedes! Thank you for your help.”

“All right, then. Annette said that she needs my help with her baking this evening. We have to finish it before midnight! Should you need anything, please feel free to call me.” Mercedes gave you last smile before excusing herself politely from your quarter.

 

“Dimitri.”

His jaw clenched tautly; his eyes crunched into a pain-stricken wince. Refusing to look at your scar, a harsh reminder of his failure.

“Look at me.”

He stilled and won’t budge to look at you.

 

“I will never regret nor blame you for this. It was my decision and if it means saving you, I’ll gladly do it again in a heartbeat. Or... perhaps.... I can understand if you find that my... scars are disgusting, appalling, even....” you whisper softly, almost inaudible. Your surroundings whizzed right past you before you were unceremoniously slammed into your bed.

“DON’T SAY SUCH THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!!” He growled “I will not allow you to throw your life away for me. If.. If something ever happen to you.. I’ll live a life worse than death itself, (Y/N).”

 

Not a moment later did you feel something warm and soft press against your lips. His mouth moved awkwardly yet full of affection. Hands planted  on either side of your body, ridding any hope of escape from his ravishing kisses. Dimitri pressed his lips further into yours, swallowing your moans. His lips left yours to trail down around your neck, breasts, and stomach lovingly. “This wounds... I cannot lose you again, my beloved.” His body quivered.  The King kissing the scars on your cleavage and abdomen, worshiping them reverently with tender touches, almost like touching a porcelain doll. Afraid to break you with his almost inhuman power. Biting and sucking wherever his heart desired until you were covered in nothing but love bites, leaving you a panting mess.

 

Dimitri held you in his arms, stroking your hair and mumbling whispers of ‘I’m sorry’. Bittersweet smile formed on his lips. He gazed at you, eyes lidded with desires and need, mixed with guilt and love. “(Y/N)... My beloved...” You pulled away slightly to look up at him and smiled.

“Dimitri...” You cupped his cheek in your hand, in which he immediately melted into.

“I love you, Dimitri.”

 

He blushed at your words, then it dawned on his realization. Suddenly becoming very aware of the... intimate position you were in. “Um, w-well...” As he came to his full senses he released his hands from you, as though from fire and stuttered, quickly pulling away from your panting form. He wasn’t making eye contact anymore, and you followed his gaze downwards on your body. Oh. Without the dreamlike stupor a d hazy feeling to distract you, you realized just how naked you are. Nightgown pooled beneath your waist. Feeling an onset of bashfulness, you also brought an arm up to cover as much of your chest as you could; despite what you had just done with him, the reality of the situation was catching up to you.

 

He flinched, breaking eye contact and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ah—Urghh!!! I’m sorry, (Y/N)!! I don’t know what came over me but.. but... P-Perhaps we should... stop... before it escalates any further...” The King unclasped his furred cloak hurriedly and put it over your naked body unceremoniously, hiding his flushed crimson face in his hands again, absolutely brutalized with shame. 

 

“Er.. Be certain to rest for now. We may have undone some of your healing.” Then he said hurriedly, almost inaudibly. “When your strength returns to its fullest, we can pick up where we left off. I promise.”

 

“Fine...” You giggled, finding his attempt at being serious too adorable. The heat and passion was still very visible in his eyes, and it was obvious that anymore teasing on your end would send him over the edge.

“Thank you for this lovely evening, Dimitri.”

You pulled his hand to your lips and give each of his fingers soft kisses, gazing at him lovingly. Dimitri’s jaw and pants tightened, the poor King desperately clinging onto the last thread of sanity and reason which threatened to snap at any moment.

 

“Good night, my beloved (Y/N).” Casting one last glance at you and bashfully looking down when he caught your eye, the Blue Lions Leader left with a haste that was probably unbecoming of a gentleman, his long legs taking the steps to the second floor dormitory two at a time. He somehow,  somehow  managed to reach his room without incident or interruption, locking his door behind him, leaning back against it and covering his burning red face with his hands. His body felt like it was on fire; nerve endings alight with sensations he had long believed were dead.

 

The pit of his stomach tangled in knots when he thought of (Y/N). All he could think about was your pure unadultered love, beautiful (E/C) that is gazing at him affectionately. Goddess, he was such a sinner. It made him want to put his hands on you. All over you. Repeatedly. Savoring the taste of your lips as  you moan into his mouth. Feeling your warmth and love. Unclothed. His mind is running wild. This frantic sensation in his blood, while half-forgotten, was not new. It will be another sleepless night for the poor king. And it’s all because of you.

[padfootagain]

Hold Me Till It’s Over (II)

Part 2 : Sweetest Fall

 Here is the second and last part of this story! Lots of angst at the beginning again, but then it gets better, because… you know me!

Still warning for angst and themes of war, so be careful if you're sensitive to these themes.

I hope you like this story!

Gif not mine (I know I’ve used it before for other fics, but I don't care, I just love this one so much…)

Word Count : 4432

Obi-Wan looks like himself, but he isn't. He's calm and instructs the soldiers around him to secure the conquered town, and his voice is firm and unfaltering. Of his tears are left no signs. Except for Anakin. He notices that the Jedi master is not wearing his gloves anymore, and his hands are shaking. When Cody and his men leave, spreading across the streets as instructed, Anakin slowly walks to join his former teacher. He's stern, and if his blue eyes look kind, they are sadder than usual too.

"Obi-Wan? Are you alright?"

"Of course. I am unharmed."

"That's not what I meant."

They're standing in the daylight, the dust has settled on the battlefield. The fires have died, and Obi-Wan wonders if that's why he feels so cold. It's quiet despite the rumbling of the transports flying back and forth across the town. After the chaos of battle, it's almost silent. In the distance, the city hall still stands. There are traces of blood on the pavement before the building.

Obi-Wan sighs.

"No, you did not."

"Is she going to make it?"

"I don't know."

Anakin rests a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. He's shaking.

"You should stay with her."

"My place is here, Anakin," Obi-Wan sternly answers.

"I can handle it. Ahsoka and I will handle it. You should go to her. That's where you belong, isn't it?"

Finally, Obi-Wan turns to look at his former Padawan, and he feels proud of this man he is lucky enough to call a brother. After all, Anakin is right, he and Ahsoka can handle the rest, there is little more to be done anyway. The battle is over, and has been won… oh, but at what cost?

"Very well, then. But try not to… 're-deploy' yourself while I'm away."

Anakin chuckles, but he's impressed most of all. He's always admired Obi-Wan's capacity to take pain in and act like nothing has happened. It's only because he knows the Jedi so well, only because he is so sensitive to the Force, that he can see and feel Obi-Wan's grief and fear. It's not the first time Anakin witnesses Obi-Wan's strength. He reckons that it's truly what a Jedi should be made of, what ought to differentiate them from the Sith. Pain makes them kind, not hateful.

The wounded have been transported to the medcenter of the town that, by some miracle, still stands. It's a short walk from the city hall, but it feels incredibly long to Obi-Wan. He can't run though, there are troopers that may be watching. And he is still their commanding officer. So, he walks through the destroyed streets instead, making his way through the broken walls and torn out homes. Deep down, he's grateful he can't hurry. He's torn apart between his need to see you, and his fear to learn a terrible news…

Every corridor and room is packed up with wounded. The medcenter smells of chemicals and blood and sweat, and the stench makes Obi-Wan's nose wrinkle. He looks for a droid and is soon guided to your bed. You're lying on a narrow mattress in a cupboard with two clone troopers. Your eyes are closed, a sheet pulled up under your chin.

"How is she?" he asks the surgical droid.

"She is stable for now, but needs to go through surgery again. She will need to be transported to Coruscant or an equivalent medcenter though, we are not equipped here. She'll take off in the first ship."

"Will she…"

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, struggling to let the question out. He's so afraid of the answer…

"Will she make it?"

The medical droid seems to think, or well, calculate, for a moment.

"Her chances of survival on this planet are below 10%. There will be an increase up to 55% if she is transported to a larger medcenter before the end of the day."

Obi-Wan's breath is caught in his throat, and his head starts spinning. But he merely clenches his fists and jaw, and nods with sadness oozing from his whole frame.

"I will see to it that she reaches Coruscant as soon as possible. Thank you for your help."

The droid exits the room without another word, and the Jedi walks to stand by your side.                                                                                                                                  

Your breathing is harsh and irregular, he can hear you struggle to gather the strength to force the air in your lungs and push it out again. You look so tired…

"Y/N?" he calls softly, but you don't answer.

He rests his hand upon yours. This time, he's not wearing his gloves, and it's a soft touch, skin against skin. Your blood oozed through the gloves, and he still has traces of the red liquid on his fingers, but he tries to forget about it. His thumb is gentle as it grazes across your knuckles. He wants to cry again, tries to hold the tears inside, manages for now, but his voice is shaking as much as his entire frame when he speaks again.

"I do not know if you can hear me at all, but if you can… please… please don't leave…"

That's it. He's failing again. The tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he can't hold them back. And you're dying, and there's nothing he can do…

"Please, don't leave me. I… I don't want to lose you too."

It seems that he keeps on failing. Qui-Gon, Satine, and now you… Was he made to see the people he loved so deeply die? It feels like it now. He wishes it wasn't. If it could be different just this one time. Just once. Just for you…

He brushes a strand of your hair away from your forehead, his fingertips lingering on your skin for too long, but he doesn't care.

You told him that you loved him. And stars, he loves you so deeply, so completely… But he can't let the words out. It's not right, not like this. And the confession will bring so much out of him, he's not sure he can speak the words more than once, they're too meaningful, for a million of reasons. Because he's a Jedi, because it's forbidden, because he never thought that he could feel this way, because he can't be with you for now, because he can't ask you to wait for him, because he is not sure he deserves you, because he loves you so deeply it hurts…

It might be his last chance, but he lets it pass. It's a risk to take. He bets that you will live, and that he will have another chance. Besides, he knows you've read the truth in his eyes already before you went unconscious. Or at least, he hopes so.

He sniffs, and dries his cheeks. He can't be weak like this now. Is it weakness though? No, it's not, and he knows it, chooses to use another word. Drown. Yes, that's the word. He can't give up and lets himself drown. You would keep on fighting, and so needs he.

"I'll make sure you get to Coruscant as soon as possible. Keep on fighting, please. For me. Besides, you wouldn't let me have the last word, would you? You're too stubborn for that."

How many times has he stopped himself before? A thousand times, maybe more. He's got nothing more to lose now, though. So he leans down to drop a chaste kiss on your forehead. And it's soft and tender, and he wishes he did it these thousand previous times, every chance he had, he wishes he seized them all. There's a voice in his head repeating he couldn't, but he doesn't listen to it now. For now, all he sees is you, and him, and all these chances he let slip through his fingers to show you he loved you, and if there is one thing he regrets, it's wasting them all.

Maybe he's too late. He doesn't know. What if he can't bring you back? What if you're too far gone…?

The door opens on the surgical droid again.

"I need to tend to her."

Obi-Wan nods in silence, gives your hand one last squeeze, and strides out of the room in silence. The best he can do for you now is to make sure you get some space on that transport and leave as fast as possible. The rest is out of his hands, and to the will of the Force, or so he repeats to himself, at least.

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

 It's almost 1am. Obi-Wan is exhausted, but he can't sleep. Instead, he's sitting by your side in an uncomfortable chair, watching clouds hiding and revealing the moon through the windowpane. You've been moved to another part of the medcenter, you're not in that tiny cupboard anymore. But you're not on Coruscant just yet.

The transports can't leave before the morning, the Separatists blockade around the planet was reinforced during the day, and no ship could take off and reach a Republic cruiser. The battle is still raging on up there, beyond the lazy clouds. The Republic forces seem to be winning, but it is pretty obvious that no one would be going anywhere before dawn.

Once again, there is nothing he can do, and despite his stern expression, it drives him mad. You're dying, right before his eyes, and he can't help.

It's quiet tonight. No shots, no explosions. It's almost like the war has stopped, for a little while. The world is peaceful as it rests, asleep and silent.

You're still unconscious in that bed. He still holds your hand. You asked him to keep on holding you till it's over, and he will. He will stay with you. He gave you his word.

The droid said 10%. If there is one person to make it through these 10%, it is you. At least, that's what Obi-Wan keeps on repeating to himself. It's hard to convince a rational mind of a fool's hope.

He's been listening to your breathing, monitoring any changes. Nothing has changed for the passed few hours, but now, there's something… different.

He listens more closely, turning to you. Your breathing becomes shallower and shallower, it seems harder for you to breathe…

He merely has time to frown, before your body spasms, and you start coughing, and coughing, and coughing…

Obi-Wan jumps to his feet, and tries to steady you, help you calm down, but there's little he can do. He calls for help, but no one answers.

You keep on coughing, but now… there's blood… you're coughing out blood…

"HELP! I NEED HELP IN HERE!" he shouts, turning you to your side to get the blood out of the way and stop you from suffocating.

"Y/N? Calm down. Please, stop… stop…" he whispers, begging.

He's so scared, he's near panicking, he doesn't know what to do. And why is no one coming?

"Y/N, please. Calm down. Come on…"

Finally, hurrying footsteps down the corridor, and a couple of seconds later, the surgical droids appear.

"Please, leave the room and close the door," a droid requires, but Obi-Wan doesn't move.

There's still more blood being coughed out of your lungs, and he doesn't know what to do to stop it, all he can do is watch the dark liquid stain your pillow, and the sound of your cough and how you struggle to breathe and…

"Master Jedi, you must let me through."

Let him through? The droid… yes… yes, he can't help, but the droid can. He needs to move, take a step back, but your hand, he has to keep on holding onto it, he gave you his word…

"Obi-Wan?"

Anakin's voice? Yes, he's there, by the door, but what is he doing here?

It doesn't matter, Obi-Wan finally realizes that the droid is by his side, waiting for him to step away, and finally, he shakes himself out of his stupor, and lets go of your hand before striding to the door.

He rests his back against the door as he closes it behind him. Anakin is there, before him, in the corridor, looking at him with worry.

"Is she…?"

He doesn't finish his question, but he doesn't need to.

"I don't know," is all Obi-Wan can answer, and it's the truth.

He doesn't know if you'll make it through the night. Perhaps not…

10%...

Under any other circumstances, he would have asked Anakin what he was doing here, why he wasn't with the troopers, would have joked about 're-deploying' himself again. He doesn't. Instead he stares right at Anakin, as if he could get an answer from him, but his former Padawan has none to offer.

It's always strange to Anakin to see fear on his mentor's features. He who appears so calm and strong, it's hard to face the cracks about to destroy something one would have thought unbreakable. Yet, Obi-Wan seems lost now. Just like Anakin was, so long ago, after Qui-Gon died. Lost, and cold, and silently asking for someone to help him.

Obi-Wan has been here for him, always. And looking back, Anakin has to admit that he has not always been the most obedient student, and yet, Obi-Wan has always been there for him. He has done his best. Anakin would not fail him now that it is Obi-Wan's turn to be in need for a friend.

Without a word, he wraps his arms around the crumbling Jedi before him. It's not what Obi-Wan was expecting. But as he starts crying again, he finds out that it helps.

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

  You hate being in a hospital bed. You hate it. You hate lying down like this, idle. You keep on asking when you can get out of the medcenter for good, but you can feel that you're not ready anyway. It's been two weeks, and you can barely take a walk in the garden.

Still, you're breathing, alive. You're going to make it. It's enough of a miracle, you reckon. You can't exactly complain, given the circumstances.

It is not only your active nature that keeps you restless though. You've learned that Obi-Wan is back on Coruscant, has been for four days now. And he hasn't come to see you yet.

What if your confession pushed him away?

You thought, then, on the battlefield, that you could read in his eyes that he felt the same as you did. But then, you were bleeding, right after being shot… you guess that your mind wasn't at its clearest. Perhaps you misread the signs, maybe that day, when he held you so tenderly, he was just trying to be kind. Perhaps it didn't mean what you thought it meant, and he was just being a friend. Maybe you imagined things, given the circumstances, it would be plausible.

You want to go to the Jedi temple and see him, explain everything to him. You can't take your words back, but you can reassure him on your intentions. He's a Jedi, and your worlds are so different… you were a fool for falling for him in the first place. Still, you don't regret falling at all, it was the sweetest of falls.

And if he can't be your lover, you still want him to be your friend. As long as you keep him into your life…

You look by the window to the speeders flying across the gigantic town. It's twilight already, the sky is red and feverish, shining upon the windows of the glass buildings. The clouds are like flames drawing crazy forms through the air. You wonder where Obi-Wan is now. You wonder if you can make things be the way they were before.

You don't know he's been standing before the door to your room for the past ten minutes. You don't know that he's scared you've changed your mind, that you back away and decide that you were just saying whatever crazy thoughts were twirling in your head then. It's silly, his reason denies it, but he can't help but fear all the same. Doubt is not an enemy easily defeated once it's settled in one's mind and heart.

He has to see you though. He's almost lost you, and he needs to see you now.

He knocks on the door, barely breathing. He doesn't wait for an answer to step inside, he knows you're alone.

You can't control the way your heart jumps in your chest as you see him. He gives you a warm smile as he walks to your side.

"You look better," he says softly.

"Not hard to do, really. I was told I looked terrible when I was on the verge of dying."

Your voice is still a little weak, a little hoarse, but it's steady too and he finds back that humour he adores. You sound like you, a tired you, but you nonetheless.

"I'll be fine," you add as you see that he hesitates. "It'll take a little while though."

Obi-Wan nods, wondering how to bring up the subject he so desperately wants to mention, but instead, he decides that this is not the place.

"I heard you didn't have any time outside today. May I volunteer to take you for a walk? If you're not too tired."

"Oh, you can't imagine how much I want to get out of this bed!" you answer, already sitting up, and you make him chuckle.

He helps you get up and walk across the medcenter until you reach the gardens set on the rooftop. Grass and trees and brightly coloured flowers are cut by a winding path. You don't walk for more than ten minutes before your wound becomes painful again and you and Obi-Wan sit down on a bench, watching the burning sky bathe with red and gold the leaves of the trees.

At this hour, the garden is almost empty, and despite the distant humming of the speeders, it's quiet and peaceful out here. None of you have said a word since you've walked out of your room, but you reckon that one of you has to be the brave one and start the conversation, it might as well be you.

"Any news? From my homeplanet, I mean."

"The city is secured, Anakin and Ahsoka stayed there. It will take time to draw their forces away further, but we will."

"Thank you, for helping us."

"There is no need to thank me for anything."

Silence tries to settle between the two of you again, but you can't let it. It will be too hard to speak again if you do.

"Thank you… for staying with me… when I was wounded," you stutter a little, tripping upon your own words.

When he looks at you, you seem nervous. You push some of your hair behind your hair, fumble with the blanket you've kept wrapped around your shoulders.

He's imagined this conversation, played the scenario in his mind before coming to see you. Now, he's at a loss for words.

"I heard you, you know?" you go on, a little smile on your lips, although you're still terrified by this conversation. "I know when you were there. I asked you to stay, and you did, as much as you could. Thank you for that, thank you for keeping your word."

But Obi-Wan shakes his head.

"I've failed you in more than one way that day."

You shake your head with an amused smile cracking through your pain.

"No, you did not. You never have. I don't reckon you ever will."

"I've let you get hurt," he answers with anger in his voice, but the harshness is directed towards himself, not towards you.

"This wasn't your fault. I'm the one who took the risk."

"I should have done something."

"What could you have done? There was nothing to be done, Obi-Wan."

"I… I thought… I really thought you were going to die out there."

Anger has left his tone, replaced by a fragile sadness that cracks on the edges, vulnerable and lost and scared, like a child left in the dark.

It's strange to see this side of him. You feel like he must trust you deeply to let you see him like this.

"You need more than that to get rid of me."

He lets out a breathy laugh, and stares at you. You exchange a sad smile, both of you looking for the right words. You don't know how to come back to your confession, how to start discussing it. He doesn't know how to tell you how he feels. Words seem aimless, as if they would just been thrown in the space between the two of you, as if they would pull you apart.

Instead, Obi-Wan takes your hand.

It's a soft and tender hold, thumb brushing against the back of your hand, soothing. You can guess the truth in his eyes again, but you need more than a guess with this. He sees this is your own gaze. So, he does something absolutely mad, and surely he has lost his mind. That's what you think as he leans forward to reach your lips. You don't move away though, you don't stop him, you don't even blink. If anything, you're afraid he'll come back to his senses and stop. But he doesn't. He falls forward and forward, and he's happy to lose control, it's the gentlest of falls.

His lips linger on yours for barely a few seconds, as if he's scared he's done something wrong. But as he pulls away, he realizes, it's not out of guilt for the Order, not because he's a Jedi, he's just scared he's done something you didn't really want him to do. So he looks at you with eyes filled with a thousand questions, and your grin answers them all.

"I never thought you'd do something like that," you admit, your lungs short of air for the best of reasons, your heart beating so fast.

"Neither did I," he admits with a smile. "And yet, here I am."

He hesitates before asking the question that burns his tongue, but he needs to know the answer, so he asks anyway.

"Did you mean it? What you said when you… when you were hurt?"

He looks so fragile again, and yet you feel so safe with him. It's crazy how he makes you feel, like nothing bad can ever happen to you as long as he holds your hand.

You intertwine your fingers together, and give him the sweetest of smiles.

"I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Somehow, it feels like I always have, and always will. Like I was meant to fall for you."

It's his time to smile, bright and happy and unreserved, and even his eyes are smiling, sparkling. He gives your hand a tender squeeze.

"Well, that's fortunate."

You can't help but laugh, despite how it makes your wound painful.

"That's all you've got to say?"

But he shakes his head.

"No, no it's not all I have to say. I should say that… something that would get me in a lot of trouble if anyone else heard me speak so…"

Your expression saddens a little.

"It is forbidden to you, isn't it? To… be with someone."

"Yes, it is. But… maybe… when the war is over, I won't have to be a Jedi anymore."

You look at him with round eyes.

"It's your life. I could never ask you to do this for me."

"Yes, you can. You already did, once. And I have no hesitation."

"Obi-Wan…"

"I love you," he interrupts you, his hand rising to caress your cheek. "I have lost so much, I will not lose you as well. I love you like I've never loved anyone in my life and…"

He pauses, takes a deep breath, bites his lip in search for the right words.

"When I was very young, merely a Padawan, I fell in love with someone."

He takes his time to breathe, and you patiently wait for him to continue. You wonder how many times he's told this story before, and somehow, you know he hasn't. Somehow, you know you're the only one to whom he confesses the whole story.

"We were on the run for a year, a dissident group wanted to kill her… it's a long story. Anyway… we were in love. But we were young, and I was a Padawan, and she… I figured out that if she really loved me and wanted me around, she would ask me to stay. She didn't. She loved me too much for that. And we were so young… I've spent many hours wondering how my life would be if I had done chosen her then."

"Where is she now?"

He shakes his head.

"She died."

"I'm sorry…"

"This moment had passed. But ours has not. And I will not make the same mistake twice. I thought… that night, I thought that I had wasted my chance to tell you the truth, and there was nothing, looking back on my life, that I regretted more in this moment than to have not seized all these chances I had before to tell you the truth. To show you how I cared. If you want to be with me, after the war, if you want to wait for me, I will leave the Order to be with you. Just… ask me to stay."

You're crying, and haven't noticed. You want to tell him how you feel, but the words won't form on your tongue. You could tell him that you love him more than anything, but you've already told him how you felt, and it doesn't feel right to say it again. The moment is too powerful for a mere 'I love you'. You raise your hand to run your fingertips through his beard, and he leans in your touch, craving, eager, and you can see he needs you as much as you need him.

You've chosen him, no matter what. You reckon, it's his right to choose you as well. All you can do now, is ask him to stay, and so, you do.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you hold me till it's over?"

He smiles, but doesn't trust his voice to answer. His throat has tightened too much. Instead, he draws you close, and holds you against him, until dusk turns into night and the burning clouds leave in favour of the cold stars. He doesn't need to say it, you know what he means by holding you like this. It's a silent promise you both take.

Always. Always…

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

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[iflostreturntosteverogers]

I Promise

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam, John, Azazel, Bobby (Mentioned), Callum (OMC Mentioned), Grace (OFC Mentioned)

Warnings: Weechesters, John’s an ass, Fluff, Angst, Character Death

A/N: Sam is about 3-4 years old and Dean around 7-8 years old in this. This is the longest fic I’ve ever written with 2,454 words. 

Header by: @sorenmarie87​

Beta’d by: @cloverhighfive and @mariekoukie6661

      No one raised your blood pressure like John Winchester. He was always such an arrogant prick when he dropped his boys off at your house. You kept Dean and Sam as a favor to Bobby, so he could keep John from doing something stupid and because you loved them. They needed some normalcy and love in their chaotic lives.

You had been mentally preparing yourself to deal with him after Bobby had called to tell you the boys were coming your way and just be ready because John was already in a mood. “A mood,” You snorted. “When isn’t he in a mood?” You made one last pass through the house, double-checking you had removed anything the boys could get in. You’d have to go to the store for food, but you didn’t mind taking them with you. They were good kids. 

John’s Impala rumbled down your street, making you groan. Here we go. You give him a moment to park before you open the door in and lean on the frame. “Hi, boys!” You smile and wave at Sam and Dean, climbing out of the car. Sam grins, and all but tackles your legs. “Hi, Ms. Y/N.” Dean smiles as he walks up with his bag over his shoulder. He grabs Sam’s hand and goes inside. You watch them race up the stairs to your bedroom. Probably to jump on your bed. You think to yourself. The trunk of the impala slams, startling you. 

“Princess.” John nods at you, a smirk on his lips. 

“Winchester.” 

“What? I don’t get a smile and peppy hello like my boys do?” He tosses Sam’s bag at you, chuckling as you almost miss it. 

“I like your children, you not so much,” you quip, pulling the strap over your shoulder. 

“I’m hurt, princess,” he says, placing his hand over his heart. “And here I thought you loved me. You’re always so warm and friendly.” You roll your eyes and flip him off. 

“Not your princess, Winchester.” 

“You sure do act like one.” John crosses his arms and leans against the impala, a smug look on his face.

“Excuse me?! What is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you sit here in your cushy little house, living off your dead husband’s money and letting Bobby do all the dirty work in finding who killed him and your kid.” You push off the doorframe and stomp down the porch stairs to be face to face with the man. Without thinking, you slap him as hard as you can, the sound echoing. 

“First off, get your fucking facts straight! I never asked Bobby to do that. Second, I work my ass off to pay for my shit. I don’t need to forge credit cards or have aliases. Third, don’t you ever mention Callum and Grace. Ever. At least I learned to cope and live a normal life instead of dragging two young boys into the hunting business on a revenge mission. Get the hell off my property.” You don’t look at him as you turn and walk back into your house. Closing the door, you sink to the floor.

      “Having fun?” You grin as Sam and Dean freeze, pillows poised to hit each other. 

“We’re playing pirates,” Dean tells you, climbing down from your bed. “These are our swords!” His eyes are bright as he explains their game. The boys giggle when you tell them you’ll be the beautiful princess they’re fighting over. 

“You need a cwown, Pwincess Y/N,” Sam tells you. 

“You’re absolutely right, Captain Smelly Feet, and I think I have just the thing!” You walk over to your dresser, opening the locked jewelry box on top and revealing a sparkling tiara. You place it on your head and turn towards the boys. “What do you think?” Dean’s mouth drops open in shock. 

“Where did you get that?” 

“I got to be a princess for a day a long time ago, and they let me keep my crown.” 

“Cool!” Dean jumps back up on the bed. “The princess is mine, Smelly Feet! You can’t have her!” Sam screwed his face up into something that was probably supposed to be mean and scary but just looked adorable to you.

“Noooo! I’ll save you from Captain Gween Toes, Pwincess!” Sam wails Dean with a pillow. Dean pretends to fall on the mattress, holding his side.

“You’ve won this time, Smelly Feet. Remember me, Princess. Bleh.” You giggle at his fake death sound and turn to the 4-year-old standing proudly above his brother.

“You did it, Captain Smelly Feet. You defeated Green Toes and saved me. However, will I repay you?” Sam grins as you pick him up and swing him around. “Oh, I know! How about a kiss?” He squeals when you blow a raspberry against his cheek.

“‘Top! ‘Top!” Sam pushes your face away from his, giggling. 

“Well, I hate to stop all the fun, but we have to go to the store or we’re gonna starve to death.” You gently put Sam down and fall to the floor with your hand on your forehead. “So hungry, not gonna make it.” Dean laughs at your dramatics and whispers something to Sam. Sam nods with a mischievous grin on his face. 

“I’ll save you!” Sam yells, before jumping on top of you. 

      Sam tugs at your sleeve from the seat in the shopping cart, pulling you down to his level. “Bean likes bacon and eggs and waffles for bweakfast, but Dad never makes them for us. He just buys ceweal because it doesn’t have to be cooked.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes and say something nasty about their father. 

“You know what? I think eggs, bacon, and waffles are great for breakfast.” You right yourself and smile at the small boy. “What do we want for dinner? Dean, what’s something you want?” Dean looks a little startled at your question. Of course, John never asks what the boys want. It’s always a matter of convenience. 

“Can we do burgers?” His eyes light up when you nod your head, and he hugs your waist. “You’re the best.” 

       Sam sits on the counter, watching you teach Dean how to make burgers. “The first rule of cooking, wash your hands. Did you wash your hands?” 

“Yep, smell.” Dean smiles and holds his hands up to you. You lean in and sniff, the smell of Irish Spring prevalent on his hands. 

“Good job. Sammy, what about you?” Sam smiles and nods his head.

“I helped him,” Dean says proudly. 

“Okay, we’re going to make the sauce before we cook the burgers. I laid everything out for you while you washed your hands. The little cup is mayo and the measuring spoons have sriracha, honey, lemon juice, and garlic in them. Dump all that in and stir it up.” Stepping back, you watch as Dean dumps everything into the glass bowl you had set out before handing Sam the spoon to stir it up. 

“All done!” Sam shouts, tipping the bowl forward for you to inspect their work.

“That’s perfect! You can set that to the side until we finish the rest of it.” You bend down and pull a cast-iron skillet out of the cold oven. “This is your new best friend for cooking, boys. A cast-iron skillet. They’re heavy, and you have to take good care of them, but they will last a long time and give your food good flavor.” 

“And you can hit monsters with it and hurt them!” Dean pipes up, a proud smile on his face. 

“That’s right,” you return his smile, but the fact that he has to know that breaks your heart. Dean hops up onto the counter on your right, and Sam scoots closer on your left to watch. You turn the stove eye on medium-low heat and pour a small amount of oil into the pan. “We have to let the pan and oil heat up before we can start cooking.”  

      Dean’s eyes are huge as he watches you plate burgers. “They’re beautiful,” he mumbles. 

The boys hop off the counter and help you carry the plates to the table. Sam takes small, careful steps, his little tongue poking out as he concentrates. 

“As much as you love food, Dean, you should be a chef when you grow up.” Dean looks up at you curiously, like the thought had never crossed his mind. It probably hadn’t, all the kid knew was hunting. Damn John. 

“Do you really think I could be a chef?” 

“Of course, I do! You can be anything you want. You’re a smart little boy.” Dean blushes and takes a bite of his burger.

“This is so good! You were right; the fried egg and bacon make it even better than regular burgers!” 

“After we eat, do you guys wanna watch a movie? I have Scooby-Doo.” 

“YES!” The boys both yell excitement, making you laugh.

      You walk through the house, checking that everything is turned off and locked up. Sam had fallen asleep during their movie, and Dean hadn’t been far behind. You hadn’t wanted to disturb them when they looked so peaceful, so you let them stay in your bed for the night. 

As you make your way back upstairs, you hear glass shattering. “Shit,” you whisper, hurrying to the boys. They’re both still sound asleep. You shake Dean awake and pick Sam up from the bed. “Dean, listen to me, baby. You gotta come with me and be quiet, okay?” He nods, still rubbing at his eyes and trying to wake up. You can hear loud voices and footsteps coming from downstairs. You have to hurry. 

Leading Dean into the spare bedroom you pull a panel away from the wall of the closet. “Dean, go in there.” He follows your orders and you lay Sam down next to him, stroking his hair before you lean over and kiss Dean on the forehead. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

“Don’t go, Y/N. Hide with us.” Dean’s eyes shine, his little voice trembling. It breaks your heart. 

“Baby, I can’t, that space is too small. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you, Dean and I love Sammy, too. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Dean watches as you close the panel, leaving him and Sam in darkness. He can hear the voices coming from downstairs and each banging footstep sends a shiver through him. “Please be safe. Please be safe.” He whispers to himself over and over, a silent prayer for you. You hadn’t told him to watch out for Sammy, hadn’t ordered him to be brave. You told him how much you loved him and that everything would be okay. A tear slips down Dean’s cheek as he lays down next to Sam and closes his eyes tightly. 

      “Wanna tell me why you’re in my house?” You swing your arm around the first man you see, holding a knife to his throat. He freezes, calculating his next move. 

He slams all of his weight backward into a wall, knocking the breath out of you but you hang onto the knife. “Stupid bitch,” he spits at you and reaches up to wipe at a trickle of blood on his face. You must have cut him when you hit the wall. You take advantage of him being distracted and launch yourself into him. He stumbles back and falls on his ass, his head bouncing off the floor. You move past him only to be met with a gun to your face. 

“I don’t think so,” a familiar voice says, coming from around the corner. Your stomach drops when yellow eyes meet yours.

“Azazel.” 

“The one and only. It’s been a while, Y/N.” His smile is arrogant, taunting. “Look, I’m sorry about your old man and kid. More so about the kid. I needed her.” You ball your fists at your side, anger rippling through you. “I’m here because a little demon told me you had the Winchester brats.” 

“You’re too late actually. I put them on a bus to Sioux Falls a few hours ago.” You willed yourself to stay calm, to look him in the eyes, and give no indication of a lie. He growls and wraps his hand around your throat. 

“What a pity.” You scream as pain erupts through your body. Blood trickles down the side of your mouth. You defiantly spit in Azazel’s face. 

“Fuck you.”

       Dean hears your scream and slams his hands against his ears. “No, please no.” Sam rouses and mumbles your name. Dean pulls him into his lap. “Shh, we have to be quiet. Okay, Sammy? It’s going to be okay.” Sam whimpers but nods his head. 

They stay that way for a while, waiting for you to come back for them. Dean silently rocks Sam in his lap, occasionally humming a song to him in the dark crawl space. “You stay here. I’m going to look around.”

“No, Bean, don’t go!” Sam grabs onto Dean’s sleeve. 

“Sammy, stay here. I’ll be back. I swear.” Dean moves the heavy panel and crawls out, the light coming from the window making him squint. He listens at the top of the steps for the voice and footsteps from earlier, but all he hears is silence. The silence scares him more. 

He tiptoes down the stairs, peeking around the corner into the kitchen. You’re there on the floor, not moving. “Y/N?!” Dean shouts and races to you. His hands hover over you, unsure of what to do. “Y/N, please. You promised,” he chokes on the last word, a sob bubbling up. 

“Dean?” You rasp out his name and reach a weak hand up to his face. “It’s okay, baby.” 

“It’s not okay!” He shouts. You guide his head down to lay on your stomach and run your fingers through his hair. 

“You’re gonna grow up and do amazing things, Dean. You are so smart and so good. I love you so much.”  You wince as you try to breathe. Dean can hear how faint your pulse is becoming, how shallow your breaths are. 

“Please, don’t leave me, Y/N. Please,” Dean cries.

“Shh, baby, listen to me. Go in the library, the number for your dad’s motel is there. Call him and then take Sammy to my room and watch Scooby-Doo until he comes. I love you both, Dean so very much. Now go.” He crawls up and kisses your cheek. 

“We love you, too.” He does as he’s told, trying his best to get himself together. 

He dials the number you had written down in a notebook on your desk.

“Hello?”

“Dad? Something’s happened.”

Tags: @fictionalabyss, @leave-me-2-rot-among-the-flowers, @hobby27

[clan-sayeed-fic]

Do you love the blood on my hands? (Kamilah Sayeed & MC)

Reposting because of the issue with tags.

Book: Bloodbound (property of Pixelberry Studios)

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed & MC: Amy (I do not own those characters, they’re the property of Pixelberry Studios as well)

❗ Warnings: angst, strong language, illustrative descriptions of situations full of violence and brutality, might cause distress ❗ Rating: Mature (no doubts about that) Author’s note:  I’m not a native English speaker, I’m sorry for any mistakes (feel free to correct me).

As usual, I might have exaggerated a little bit in the warnings, but I want you to think twice before reading, rather than be responsible for your anxiety later.

This whole one-shot is focusing on Kamilah Sayeed. My main goal was trying to understand the work she had to put in herself and struggles that she faced along with it. To show her transformation from a person that was under Gaius's influence, to the one we get to know when our character meets her in Bloodbound for the first time. Pixelberry Studios showed us our MC's impact on Kamilah throughout the story, but the question remains, what was before that?

I mean, who else would try to write a whole character development in the one-shot fic haha geez, I'm a joke to myself. But at least you have the answer to why this story is so long, and I hope it'll keep you interested from the beginning to its end 💕

~ 3000 words

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

Do you love the blood on my hands?

"You never talk about it."

Words slipped out, getting caught by the air in a flash. As if the world feared that the owner would change her mind, trying to take them back.

The sentence managed to fly ahead, led by the wind in this marvelous evening. Finally, it reached the woman in a burgundy suit standing on the shore. She turned her head a little on the sound of the hushed tones. The brightness of the sun hit behind her, making her figure cut out in comparison to the picturesque sky. She was like a goddess captured by the artist with brush strokes on the background of a peaceful ocean.

"Have you just read my mind, love?" corners of Kamilah's mouth curled up hardly noticeable, her posture full of dignity.

She didn't get to hear the answer, because at that moment the sky absorbed their full attention. Rays of sunshine won their fight between the clouds, reaching the Earth as they desired it all along. The intensity of the light made water shine as if it was covered in millions of diamonds. Both women got lost in that view, admiring it in silence.

Admiring it together.

"I..." Amy smiled, her cheeks took one of the colors straight from the sky. "Sometimes, your thoughts scream so loud, it's hard for me to not listen to them."

The woman turned around fully, facing her beloved one. Warm shades of sunset brightened the dark brown tones of her hair. Her skin shined along with the ocean, making the view truly breathtaking.

"Care to tell what do they scream?" Kamilah sent the girl a soft smile, trying to ease the tension.

They were scratching the surface of her past like the sun that was teasing their skin. It was their favorite part of the day since Amy was turned into a vampire. And that weekend, they were grateful to admire it on the beach while listening to the soothing sounds of water.

"How badly you hate yourself," Amy whispered in response.

Kamilah sighed slightly at those words, at the issue she was avoiding for a lifetime. The one she was keeping inside, not showing her true feelings to anyone. But something about this scenery made her lower her guard as her mind escaped to former times.

"One thought keeps coming back to me since the day I've refused to follow Gaius's orders," Kamilah's stare was empty.

She made her way toward the girl sitting on the ground. Blond strands of her hair were gleaming on top of golden tones of the sand. Her green eyes were standing out among this refined game of colors.

"What thought?" Amy asked, watching her wife closely.

"That there is a huge difference between creating a monster..." She sat down and looked at the clouds as if she prayed that they would cleanse her soul. "And letting someone make a monster out of you."

The guilt took over her body as the words were spoken aloud for the first time. The moment she wanted to close inside herself again, she felt a hand on her back. It was moving slowly up and down, easing woman's pain and adding courage at once. She turned her head at this gesture to look at the girl sitting beside her.

The most powerful ray of sunshine locked in the form of a person.

"I killed people, Amy," her tone was speaking by itself as if she already passed herself a death sentence. "I killed innocents... men and women... old and young... adults and... children."

A single tear flowed down her cheek. And before anyone could catch it, it fell on the sand, burying itself between grains, ashamed of the world to notice it.

To spot this sign of absolute vulnerability.

"I know," Amy's voice cut through the silence. "I know you did all of that, Kamilah," she placed one of her hands under woman's chin. "But I chose my side a long time ago," their eyes met.

The sky above them was slowly losing all the values. As if along with the tones of pinks, blues and brighter, oranges and yellows, all the hope disappeared.

"Amy, don't..." her voice broke. "Don't act like you see the chance for redemption for me," she moved her face away, avoiding her wife's gaze.

"Why not?" Amy's voice was like the opposite of Kamilah's, full of faith.

"Because I don't deserve it," a whisper in response with growing outrage in her tone. "Because you can't possibly comprehend what a cruel person I was back then," she looked at those green, light eyes, with the darkness inside her own.

They were left alone on the shore. But there was much more to both of them than to the entire crowd of people.

"Exactly, so let me see it by myself," Amy lifted her hand for the woman to take it.

"I can't," Kamilah shook her head in despair. "I can't take you there."

Her voice grew weaker with every word. As if the last piece of her spirit was shying away from her body. It was making its way on the sky, resting there in the form of stars, gleaming from above.

"Just let me in," Amy said, keeping her hand lifted, the offer still open. "And I'll do the rest."

Despite the previous hesitation, the moment her eyes met again with Amy's, Kamilah had no doubts left. It felt so natural. To entrust her memories and darkest secrets with the love of her life.

So she placed her hand on top of hers. And a spark traveled through both of them right after their skin grazed.

Some indefinable power took them inside Kamilah's mind. On a journey, leading them toward the darkness that was impossible to avoid there.

***

Taste of blood.

Liquid of the intense shade of red was slowly running down from the corner of the woman's mouth. She pulled back from her victim, just to admire the sensation for a tiny bit longer. To cherish the feeling of his mortal body weakening in her embrace.

She felt more powerful than ever. The life of innocents in her hands. The same ones from which the blood was dripping on the ground at her feet.

It was up to her how many of those villagers died that night. How much pain they did suffer before that happened. How loud their screams were when she was ripping them apart.

Her creator Gaius enjoyed them screaming loud. He absolutely loved performing a show for those who dared to enter the village during the attack. Who considered themselves strong enough to fight back.

And finally, for those who ended bowing before him and begging for mercy.

Mercy that they were never about to get from this man. Because hope was like a toy in his hands. Known as the greatest weapon of all times.

"How does it taste, my queen?" man's voice echoed behind her.

But the woman that Amy was observing on the side didn't answer. Instead, she dipped her fangs in the neck of the young man, sucking the life out of him. For a second, his body moved in convulsion, just to lay down still on the ground after she was finished.

Just to join the rest of the dead bodies that were spread all over the village.

"It tastes like fear," Kamilah stood up, looking at the victim with disgust. "I hate drinking the blood of cowards."

Amy lifted her hands to her own mouth, trying to hold back a scream. The scenery around her seemed to be cut out straight from the horror movie. And yet, it was the past of her beloved one.

The intensity of the pain that she sensed from this place outgrew her worst expectations. The whole memory was filled with darkness and cruelty, which she was able to experience by watching the death of innocents.

"I'm aware that's not up to our standards," the man moved closer to Kamilah. "But we will get what we deserve," he cleaned the blood around her mouth. "We will take over the world," a sly smile appeared on his face.

"Together."

***

"No, please," Kamilah cried out, trying to push the girl away. "You were supposed to look at this, not me."

"Kamilah," she kept her eyes closed, trying to maintain the connection. "I don't want to force you into seeing this, but I really think you should."

The woman was drowning in the ocean, filled with guilt and embarrassment. The walls she built around herself for hundreds of years were slowly falling apart as she was left with no other choice than to give up.

"I can't face him. I can't meet the people I've murdered," she wept in desperation once again.

"Trust me, please," tears started flowing down Amy's cheeks as her own feelings linked to Kamilah's. She managed to keep herself focused when the command left her mouth, "now, we're going to walk."

They stood up slowly on the sand, while their spirits jumped into the next memory.

***

Bloodshed.

A stranger flew over the tables, landing on the other end of the bar. Loud coughing filled the room along with the pungent scent of blood, which hit Amy's nose rapidly. She looked around, taking in the surroundings of the scene.

Wooden chairs and tables were broken, spread all over the floor in the place she found herself in. She spotted an enormous amount of shattered glass. Alcohol was flowing down of the broken bottles, dripping on the floor.

Getting mixed up with the blood that once was running in the veins of those people. Humans that were stiff on the floor in unnatural positions, lacking any form of life.

"Just get it over already!" a loud scream echoed inside the building.

A throaty voice was coming from a middle-aged man, probably a bartender. He was the owner of this cursed place that unluckily happened to be the next destination of a Vampire Queen's crusade.

The woman moved forward, getting rid of the tables on her way with just one hand as if their weight meant nothing for her. Her eyes were flashing with the intense shade of crimson at anyone who dared to look at her directly.

"What are you?!" the bartender managed to lift himself up with difficulty, spitting out blood. "Who the fuck kills so many people in just a few seconds?!"

He was staying upright in front of her. As if the image he witnessed, the woman with red eyes and fangs, made no impression on him. As if seeing the death of his friends and customers was enough to make him believe in anything.

To make peace with the upcoming end.

"I believe it should be the last of your concerns," Kamilah whispered in her icy tone.

Amy watched the woman moving closer to the victim. She quickly recognized her fully prepared for attack posture.

"You kill me, and then what?" Thoughts escaped to his family, "you will deprive my wife of a husband, my children of a father," his voice broke along with his spirit. "You will be the one to bear the guilt of this for eternity."

Amy noticed a tiny difference in the expression on Kamilah's face. At the same moment, she sensed the change that occurred in the whole memory. The darkness associated with it seemed to fade away as the lightness peeked into it.

Her wife's features softened like those words moved something inside her. As if Kamilah didn't even consider this possibility before. As if the idea of suffering the consequences wasn't meant for her.

But as soon as the metamorphosis appeared, the equally fast it vanished into thin air.

"Maybe I will," she said, tilting her head to the side, licking her lips. "But as you so rightly pointed out," she reached the man, tightening the grip on his throat. "You're going to be long dead until then."

***

"I can't," the woman kept begging, sweat on her forehead.

Their feet touched the water that appeared to be salvation at that very moment. The ocean was cooling them both down, strengthening the connection as they were falling further into its grasp. The sky above them became dark far sooner, and the moon stayed as their only companion in this journey for forgiveness.

"One more," Amy's voice slipped away, wandering on the surface of the water.

It was fading away little by little, the same as her presence until darkness fell on them this one last time.

***

Blood lust.

She tried her best to regain control, to follow Adrian's rules. To cut down drinking blood to just from those who agreed on it. And never to the point of killing a person.

Humans are our priority, we need to protect them.

Those were Adrian's words that kept flashing back as she was holding the woman pinned against the wall in the dark alley. All weak and miserable, not able to struggle, to fight back. The only thing left was to kill her, to take the sip of the blood she desired so badly.

Kamilah lost her battle once more.

She remembered going outside for a walk as she always did after the sun went down. And it must have happened again, she must have blacked out. And as every time before, she snapped out of it right before causing another death.

At the very moment, she wasn't able to control herself anymore.

She needed to feed, she wanted to kill.

Amy was standing on the other side of the alley, watching her in silence. She was so sure that this memory was crucial in the journey on which she took Kamilah with herself. She wanted to believe that it was the moment of her change.

An actual call for redemption.

"Mommy?" a faint voice reached them from behind.

"Sweetheart..." the woman managed to cough up, her vocal cords were struggling under the grip. "Don't...please...run...away!"

But her attempts went to waste since Kamilah turned around immediately, facing the little girl. She let go of her previous victim, not bothering about the intensity of the fall that fractured her ribs. The vision went blurry before the woman's eyes, but she gathered all the strength she had left and focused on saving her daughter.

"Stay away from her!" a heartbreaking scream traveled through the alley.

But Kamilah kept getting closer to the child, moving smoothly and quietly like a predator approaching its prey. But this time, something seemed wrong. With each step, thirst for blood was weakening, along with the realization that was forming itself inside her head.

"Mommy?" the same word, followed by growing fear.

The little girl in front of Kamilah might have been six years old at best. She was too young and innocent to understand what was happening there.

But at the same time, old enough to stay by her mother's side. Old enough to show loyalty and understand love.

Love...

"Please, don't harm her," the woman cried out, unable to move.

That's when something moved inside Kamilah's heart.

The guilt spread all over her chest. Years of killing... thousandths of victims...

It all hit her at once, forcing her legs to bend. Her body to fall on the knees before this little human being.

She got lost in the view of those teary eyes of the child. The ones in which she saw something she had never considered before... a future.

A life that she had the power to end,

to step on,

crush it completely, leaving nothing behind.

And this power frightened Kamilah for the first time.

For the first time, she showed mercy.

***

"It's over," Amy held the woman sobbing in her arms.

The ocean was reflecting the beauty of this starry night in its smooth like a mirror surface. Accepting all the tears, letting them mix with the water, to pass into oblivion.

"You saw me there," Kamilah said, pulling back. "You saw what a monster I am," she swallowed, feeling the blood of the people she killed in her throat.

The girl moved her hand slowly to Kamilah's face, choosing silence. She caressed her cheek with tenderness, feeling the tension leaving her wife's body under her touch.

"I saw much more," Amy's voice was shaky, but she knew what needed to be said. "I can't deny the truth, Kamilah. You caused the suffering of many people," she found woman's hands under the water. "But their deaths must not be in vain. You can make them mean something, and you're already doing that."

"How..." Kamilah's eyes were letting go of all tears that she held back for such a long time.

"You've changed," Amy lifted their hands above the water, fingers entwined. "You've saved a lot of people, you've saved me. And those hands," she lifted them higher. "The blood will keep showing up, reminding about itself," their eyes met, shining like stars. "But I'm here to help you wash it off every single time it happens."

Amy kissed the knuckles of her wife's hands. She moved on the top of it, leaving the path of soft kisses on her skin. Her tears were flowing down as if they were the key to wash away all the guilt.

To bring peace, even for a moment.

"We can do this," Amy looked at her with eyes full of understanding and patience. "Together."

Kamilah took in what she had heard hundreds of years before. The letters that preached to be the beginning of her dream life but in the end turned out to be poisonous.

That time she knew it would be different. She trusted with all her heart that her wish would be fulfilled.

So a single word slipped out, drifting on the surface of the ocean to reach her beloved.

"Together."