#you never know how many times i cried to this series | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onlyswan · 4 months

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summary: in which for you, jungkook would commit crimes and his mother would peel oranges.

idol!jk x reader | fluff, angst | word count: 9.5k

warnings/content: oc passes out in the shower / jk does something crazy i’m literally insane about this / baby bam cameo 🥺 / stitches >:( / blood draw / mention of speeding / jealous not but rlly jealous oc is pissed owfffff at the nurse who has a crush on jk lmao / jk and his mom loves them to death tho so obv who wins / love is beautiful let’s all cry <3

> in which masterlist!

note: *sitcom sound effect of crowd cheering* I’M BACK 🥰 hope u enjoy the product of my madness during finals season hehehe. and special thanks to my cutieful proofreader rio!! you’re one of my most favorite people i’ve ever met 🥺💕 + my beloveds who came to the rescue when i had medical questions !! i didn’t expect to receive help from soooo many and i’m so freaking grateful i could cri :")

—

“i ordered it the other day. how did it arrive so early?”

jungkook walks back inside the apartment, arms occupied by a stack of boxes that arrived in the mail yesterday.

he arrives at the living room, head tilting to the side in confusion when he realizes that the netflix show he was watching on the television is no longer playing. instead, there is the news channel.

he gasps.

“baby, you’re alive!”

your swollen eyes flicker up to him.

you’re lying on the sofa with your legs lazily dangling on the edge. there’s a toothbrush in your mouth, foam of bubbles between your lips, but your arm barely exerts the energy to make it do its job.

“you were asleep from afternoon to morning. do you know that? you’ve never done that before!” he exclaims, carelessly tossing the boxes on the floor. “i was getting scared!”

you only hum to acknowledge his existence, pushing yourself up from the sofa and unknowingly dodging the hug your boyfriend wanted to greet you with.

he ends up collapsing face first on the empty space you left, hurt and offended.

the bathroom door opens and closes.

he flips over, whining. “yah, we didn’t see each other for a day. didn’t you miss me?!”

still not a single word from you. sleeping that long must not have cured your exhaustion, jungkook surmises. you tend to be glum and cranky when you’re feeling unwell, as is usually the case when you wake up as unrested as before.

he doesn’t always know how to make you feel better, but he always tries anyway.

“our new bedsheets arrived!” he announces from the other side of the bathroom door, making himself loud so that you can hear him despite the shower running. “do you want to unbox them with me?!”

he allows the seconds to pass, but with his hands on his hips, he eventually begins to tap his foot on the floor.

“baby? may i go in?”

he turns the knob, just to be prepared incase the answer is a yes, but it doesn’t turn. a sad pout forms on his face.

huh? why is it locked?

you must genuinely don’t want to be bothered today.

“guess that’s a no.” he mutters to himself before calling out to you. “okay, i’ll wait for you!”

with a crestfallen sigh, he begins to walk back to the living room.

he doesn’t go far, however.

only several steps later, a series of loud crashes is heard from the bathroom and his heart thunders in his chest with a combination of numbing shock and fear.

“____, what was that?! did you fall?!”

he aggressively pounds at the door, extremely desperate this time around. he has no plans on leaving until he knows that you’re safe and sound.

“baby! open this! are you alright…? are you hurt? you’re scaring me. please, answer!”

he pauses, catching his breath as his mind runs a thousand miles per hour.

“____!”

he strikes the door with an open palm one more time, more so to express his frustration that is only growing worse with every tick of the clock. he only ends up hurting himself in the process.

“that’s it! i’m opening the door!”

he frantically whips his head around, racking his brain for the location of the key. there are two copies of it somewhere in the apartment, but in his panicked state, he is unable to pinpoint either of their specific spots. and he can’t fucking afford to waste any more time.

“ah, fuck!” he curses, left with no other choice but to give in to the instinct of breaking down the door with the strength and durability of his body alone.

he would most definitely break his shoulder first before the door.

only after the first try, that much is clear.

and so, with madness inconsiderate of his agony, he resorts to kicking it over and over again.

the repeated loud collisions rattles poor bam from his slumber. not long after, the dog’s barking creates a booming dissonance with his grunts and kicks at the door.

when it finally swings open, the force of his own body sends him stumbling on the bathroom floor, but he doesn’t waste time in bouncing back to his feet.

the twisting of his stomach is instantaneous.

there lies your naked, unconscious figure behind the glass— surrounded by bottles of hair and body products that must have fallen when your hands were searching for something to hold on to.

his voice cracks, breathless.

“baby, no… no, no, no.”

he kneels on the floor, and despite the strong urge to carry you out of there, he tries to calm down. it’s the first rule in every emergency case; professionals reiterate in seminars and news channel segments.

keep calm. keep calm. keep calm.

he won’t be able to forgive himself if he ends up causing more harm than good.

“____, can you hear me?!”

his instinct tells him to inspect every inch of you for any sign of injury, but then his vision becomes too blurry. he curses at the hindrance and forces himself to turn off the showerhead that was left running.

he harshly wipes his face, rushing back to you.

“please, please, please. wake up.” he begs.

he has a feeling that it’s futile. you can’t hear him and he’s wasting his breath. the thing is he doesn’t know what else to do.

“baby…”

he carefully turns your head over, almost relieved because he hasn’t seen blood so far.

almost.

at last, he gets a full view of your face, and he finds blood dripping. this has always been one of his most paralyzing fears— seeing you get hurt. now that it’s become a reality, there’s a part of him that wants to believe this is some kind of twisted dream.

“how- how did this even happen…?” he cries out, his own blood running cold.

for everything that happens after, his body acts on its own. bam is a constant presence in his peripheral, but he is barely in his right mind to acknowledge the presence aside from, “bam, move. daddy might step on you.”

he carries you out of the bathroom, kicking aside the beaten up door. he has made up his mind about bringing you to the hospital, but he can’t bring you like… this.

he lays you down on the bed, all that gentleness switched off in a split second so he can sprint to the walk-in closet. he hastily grabs whatever is on top of your neatly folded stacks of shirts and pants; and then a fresh towel on the way out. the gentleness returns as he pats your face dry, the pure white stained with dark red. he flips the towel and uses the other side to wipe the rest of your body, in a race against time but mindful of treating you like fragile glass.

once that is over, he dresses you in a pair of gray sweatpants, and with some difficulty, an orange t-shirt.

any person with functioning eyes will be able to tell that the shades don’t go together.

if you were conscious, you’d definitely berate him for making you wear this outfit.

but you’re not.

jungkook effortlessly swoops you in his arms— dripping wet hair, his and yours, leaving behind a trail of raindrops from your apartment floor to the cemented parking lot.

—

your body feels like it’s floating.

are you dreaming…?

you must be dreaming.

you hear an uncoordinated symphony of voices, but you can’t comprehend a word. in pursuit of clarity, you force yourself to open your eyes.

the voices grow a little louder. faceless figures hover you; a bright light shines over your face.

your senses must be playing cruel tricks. now it feels like you’re drowning, sinking into the unknown, and your body has succumbed into numbing defeat.

you want to sleep a little more.

you must truly be exhausted. it’s okay.

you’ve fought hard until now. you’ve done enough… has anyone tried in life as much as you did?

just as your eyes flutter shut, you regain sensation of your hand; a soft squeeze and a call of your name.

—

jungkook gently strokes your hair, sighing for the nth time since you got transferred to a private room. he’s relieved that all the scans came back clean so serious head and brain injuries have been ruled out. the doctor also asked him questions and ran some other tests before concluding that electrolyte imbalance caused you to pass out; the culmination of stress and fatigue from work, as well as your strong period, most likely being the main reasons. he didn’t even know about the latter until you stained the white sheets with blood.

it was fucking frightening being in the sidelines as they rushed to check on your vitals and to administer oxygen. even now, it’s unbearable to see you with a needle in your hand and a few stitches above your eyebrow. he already anticipated you not being pleased with having to get stitches specifically either; gasping and sitting up as soon as you heard the word come from his lips post-consciousness. consequently, the dizziness hits you. the doctor wasn’t happy about that.

“this is so annoying. i don’t want a scar.” you whine as you study your face on the camera of jungkook’s phone. “did i have to fall on my prettier side?”

“what are you saying? you’re pretty from any angle.” he interjects. “be careful. the wound might open up.”

you jut out your bottom lip, looking up at him with glassy eyes. the sight instantly tugs at his heartstrings, and he pulls you in for a hug. maybe he’s a little sad that you don’t appear concerned about the fact that you passed out, but god is he relieved to finally hear your voice again.

“ah, i should call the doctor.”

but his face remains buried in your hair.

“they told me to do so.”

“you should-”

“why?!” he abruptly reacts, drawing back. “does anything hurt?”

“chill. you said that they told you to.”

“oh, that’s right.” he sheepishly smiles. he can’t help but to overreact; he hasn’t turned off the alarms in his head. “i’ll go tell the nurse to get her.”

he starts to walk towards the door, but a tug at his shirt holds him back.

you shyly look at him with a scrunch of your nose. “i’m nervous. hug me for five more seconds.”

fuck, he would move heaven and earth to protect you from everything that can cause you harm.

“why would you be nervous? i’m right here.” he scolds you lightheartedly, not hesitating to seize the chance to hug you again. “i love you.”

“i love you more.”

you pull away after five seconds, and he’d be disappointed about you being too true to your words if you didn’t kiss him on the cheek so ardently.

his heart almost jumps out of his chest when you gasp out of nowhere as if you just realized that you left the gas tank open at home. your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

“bam!”

oh, right. your child.

“my brother’s house!” he eases your mind.

you breathe out in relief, the heel of your palm pressing against the left side of your chest where your heart lives. “good… i was worried. he was probably more scared because he didn’t understand what was going on. i feel bad.”

you love bam so much; it makes him so happy. you’re so concerned about him even when you’re the one on the hospital bed. you make pretty good parents, huh?

“that’s right. he was worried about you, too. that’s why you need to recover quickly so he won’t be sad!”

—

the doctor kindly asked jungkook to give the two of you some time alone, so he’s been idly sitting at the lobby after buying a bottle of water. he’s pretty much used to visiting the hospital for routine checkups considering the nature of his job, but it always feels strange to be here for the other different purposes of the place.

is there any other building sadder than this?

if you heard him utter this question, he could easily predict what you’d say: but is there any other building with more love?

if he tries hard enough, he could listen to your voice and paint you in his mind.

you see love in every place that you step foot into.

his curious eyes continue to wander around. he spots people carrying flowers, baskets, and containers of food. there’s also a teenage boy in his high school uniform, carrying a teddy bear larger than him.

not that he wants you to stay longer, but if you have to, he writes down a mental note to bring one of your favorite plushies.

he eventually gets tired; considers scrolling on his phone again, but he decides against it when his gaze lands on a little boy sleeping soundly on his mother’s lap. suddenly, he is reminded of his childhood before he moved to seoul.

how simple life can be when you’re innocently sleeping on your mother’s lap, trusting that everything will be alright.

“ah, i miss my mom…” he utters absentmindedly. “i miss my mom so much. i should call her.”

his reminiscing is interrupted when a wheelchair rolls by infront of him. it is leisurely being pushed by an old man who wants to bring his wife outside for some fresh air.

in a parallel universe somewhere, jungkook can imagine them as you and him.

he sits up straight, looking back at the clock on the wall.

how long has it been? he wants to be by your side again.

—

“jungkook!” your face lights up as soon as your boyfriend steps into the room. “what took you so long?”

“i know. sorry, baby. i got a little distracted outside.”

“i’ve been waiting.” you pout. “why? were people bothering you?”

“not at all. don’t worry.”

you pat the empty space beside you. “here.”

“i think the bed is meant for only one person- damn, okay, okay-”

he swiftly gives in upon seeing the hurt on your face, occupying the space you reserved for him. “i love you. don’t be sad.”

you’re aching too much to wait for him to get settled. you wrap your arms around his waist like you’re a magnet attracted to steel, clinging to him for comfort.

if you’re being honest, you don’t know how you feel about being in this situation. overwhelmed? maybe a tiny bit relieved. in the past, it didn’t matter whether you were sick or not. you needed to work or else it was guaranteed that you wouldn’t survive. life is easier now. you have the luxury to use this as a reason to take a break. you have someone who takes care of you as naturally as he breathes.

“how was the doctor?”

“she’s nice… she just asked me about the things i remember before i passed out. then about my work, diet, sleeping schedule… stuff like that.”

you pull away a little, just enough so you can see each other’s face. you squint at him suspiciously. “did you have to get an expensive room?”

he chuckles. “how did you know? they didn’t tell you that, did they?”

“i literally have the perfect view of the fountain from here!” you point at the large window behind you. “i just passed out. i would’ve been fine downstairs.”

“don’t say it like that. it could’ve been so much worse.” he says with knitted eyebrows, palm cupping the back of your head and caressing softly.

he heaves a sigh.

“i was so scared that you injured your head. seriously, i thought i’d go insane if i lost you! i went past the speed limit driving you here!”

the distress he was under is apparent. you can’t help but to be racked with the guilt. you always do this, making him worry himself to death. you don’t usually do it purpose, and that only makes you feel shittier.

“you’re right. i’m sorry.”

“well, i…” he sighs. “it’s okay. i know you didn’t want this either. it’s not your fault.”

you press your lips into a thin line. “it kind of is.”

your lost eyes meet, and a connection is established like it’s a constellation sending a secret message. your heart flutters when he giggles, dimples and starry eyes and crinkled corners.

“stop it. it’s impossible to scold you when you’re so cute and self-aware.”

“then don’t scold me.” you sniffle sadly to kindle pity in him. “i’ve had enough of it from the doctor.”

your brain still works well enough to help you escape from trouble. that’s a good sign, right?

“my poor baby.” he coos, cradling your cheeks.

his hands are warm. you put yours over them; a wordless signal telling him you don’t want him to go away.

“let’s not get hurt again, please. we need to stay healthy and take good care of ourselves so this won’t happen again, alright?”

you nod in obedience. your eyes are fixed on him but you’re not certain if you’re registering what he’s telling you in your pitiful, shaken brain.

“the hospital already did me many favors. if we go back, i might have to build them another fountain as a gift.”

and knowing jungkook, with his golden heart and his black card, jokes become half-meant.

“what do they need that for?!”

he bursts out laughing, yet again, after you chide at him for his ridiculous and unnecessary expenses.

“nothing, i’m just grateful! i was really so scared but i’m relieved now thanks to them. i can’t remember the last time i felt that way.”

“you’re not scared of a lot of things.” you point out.

“that’s right.” he agrees. “only you scare me these days.”

you grimace. “am i scary?”

“you are, sometimes.” he laughs, squishing your cheeks together. “but i mean the things that could hurt you.”

as if on cue, your stomach grumbles and bellows like a monster stuck in an empty cave. your eyes grow twice its size in bewilderment, which then morphs into embarrassment.

“my stomach hurts.” you say quietly.

your nostrils flare as jungkook miserably fails to hold back his laughter. one of his hands leave your face, rubbing your tummy over the thin hospital gown.

“oh no, what are we going to do? where does it hurt? here?” he pouts. “should we go feed you now to make it go away?”

“what is wrong with you?” you slap his shoulder in annoyance. “i’m not a baby!”

“yah, be careful!” he yells, wincing as if he is the one in pain. “be gentle with the one with the iv!”

—

“you know one good thing that came out of this?” you gush out of nowhere.

you’re mixing up the ingredients of your bibimbap bowl with a spoon and a pair of chopsticks.

jungkook noisily drinks the final sips of his banana milk. afterwards, he makes a game out of shooting the box in the trash bin.

“what could that be?” he asks, doubtful.

he sits on the chair beside your bed. you greet him with a delighted grin, licking your thumb stained with gochujang.

“you proved your love. you committed a crime for me.”

he gasps to humor you, body freezing as if he’s currently processing the newly-learned information in his brain.

“oh? you’re right- i did! and you know what? i’d do it again!”

with a mouthful of rice, you shake your head in disagreement furiously. “you’re cute. but that’s the first and last.”

“but how are you sure that it’s the first?” he raises an eyebrow quizically.

silly enough, you envy him for being able to do so.

you hum in thought. “i guess you’ve stolen a few things for me, too.”

“few? you mean a loooot?”

“you’re the one who brings home food and random things.” you roll your eyes. “i never ask you to.”

“you told me you wanted the service bell!”

you feel yourself become flushed with sheepishness. he’s not lying. you’ve always found the object fascinating as a child, so you couldn’t help but to tell him to sneakily take one home after filming a competitive run bts episode.

did you have a silly phase where you and jungkook used it to summon each other just to laugh together about it?

perhaps.

“well, you’re rich. you could’ve bought me one instead.”

“but it was already there.” he reasons with a wide grin, gesturing infront of him. “i wanted to give it to my lover right away.”

his lover?

jungkook has successfully replaced your frown with an enamored smile.

“i made your heart flutter just now, didn’t i?”

a hospital stay has never felt this comfortable— not terrifying. you have stitches on your face and to add to that, this hospital gown feels super unflattering. somehow, your boyfriend’s loving gaze remains steady and you are melting.

“shut up,” you mutter, flustered, handing him the pair of chopsticks. “please eat with me. i can’t finish this on my own.”

—

“why would you let them put the needle in my dominant hand?”

you stomp your feet on the ground as jungkook squeezes some toothpaste onto a newly-bought toothbrush.

“i’m sorry! i was too stressed out so i just pointed! i think i got confused with- with left and right.”

you didn’t realize this while you were eating; that you were unconsciously holding the spoon with your non-dominant hand because the other felt uncomfortable. maybe because it was a simple task, scooping food and bringing it to your mouth. brushing your teeth, on the other hand… can be quite an arm workout.

“eeeee!”

he shows his complete set of teeth, urging you to do the same. you stare at him blankly.

“eeeee!” he repeats with heightened enthusiasm.

left with no other choice— you copy his awkward smile.

“there we go!” he praises you with an over-enthusiastic beam.

he carries on to brush your teeth, gingerly holding your chin to keep you steady as he does his job.

this is the first time jungkook is doing this for you. today is definitely not one of your finest moments. it feels a bit silly to be in this situation, and you feel bad for putting your boyfriend in this position in the first place. you can see that he’s trying his best—unnecessarily focused—and that he loves you, but you just hate giving him a hard time.

with a soft smile, he wipes the bubbles that overflowed past your lips.

“okay, spit.”

you spit out more of the bubbles on the sink. you assume that he’s finished, except he’s making another vowel sound for you to mimic the mouth shape of.

“ahhhh-”

“this is embarrassing!”

“baby, really? this is where you draw the line?” he playfully squeezes your cheeks together. “it’s almost over! ahhhh!”

and you let him do this thing, but not without a glare that is masking the embarrassing truth: you might be enjoying this more than you care to admit.

“see? was that so bad?”

as he tenderly pats your face dry in the aftermath, he says: “i’m sorry. bear with it a little more. let me take care of you so you’ll be healthy again.” and you feel every ounce of his sincerity pierce through the barriers surrounding your soul.

“stop it…” your voice suddenly comes out broken.

you want to put all the blame on your period for the tears that are now brimming your eyes, but jungkook is your biggest weakness of all and that is an explanation enough.

“why are you crying?” he panics. “what did i say?”

“it’s your fault.”

you break down into loud sobs, incapable of even keeping your eyes open. you never understood why we close our eyes when we cry, but right now, you know that you can’t bear to witness his reaction.

“you’re so sweet.”

the towel that was wiping the water from your mouth is now drying the tears from your stained cheeks.

“am i making you sad?”

you furiously shake your head. how could he say such a thing? he is the greatest joy of your life.

“no?”

“no!”

“okay, come here then.”

he wraps his arms around your trembling figure, caging you in the solace of his entire existence. a sense of calmness washes over your system, especially as he runs his hand across your back in gentle strokes. this isn’t his goal though, it seems. you hear none of his quiet shushes beseeching you to stop breaking his heart. he hopes you let go of everything that has been weighing on you, but he has already eased all your pains by loving you.

“ugh, i probably look horrible right now.” you force a chuckle to lighten up the mood, wiping your face with the back of your free hand. “i feel gross.”

“that’s not true.” he gazes at you fondly, brushing your hair with his fingers. “it’s actually infuriating how you look so beautiful still.”

“i know. i’m nice to look at; that’s why you tolerate my attitude.” you conclude in jest.

“yeah, sometimes.” he rides on the joke.

“what…?”

“i’m joking!” he rushes to take it back with a laugh. “of course i’m joking!”

you pout. “are you really?”

“oh, come onnnn.”

he coaxes you with a kiss on the lips— a good morning kiss long overdue. you’ve been spoiled rotten with affection; he knows you need more than one. he interrupts himself several times to kiss you.

“you know i’ll love you until our hair turns white and our skin all wrinkly.”

to be brutally honest, you’re not fond of imagining that far ahead. it’s daunting. you doubt your capability to age with grace. you’re horrified by the thought of having the majority of your life behind you. nostalgia has always been more bitter than sweet. but maybe this memory could be the sweetest of all, if jungkook truly stays by your side until then. in a cottage at the countryside like he said once, or a cabin by the ocean.

you’re both so young; so arrogant when it comes to making promises that are a shot in the dark. so fucking in love.

“me too.” you half-smile, scrunching your nose— a telltale sign of your joy. “now, get out. i really need to pee.”

his face becomes drained of blood. “but you’re st-”

“i won’t lock the door this time.” you cup his cheek, looking at his eyes reassuringly. “we don’t need property damage added to the bill.”

—

“did you not hurt yourself?”

“me?”

“you broke down the door. that’s not easy to do.”

you and jungkook make the best out of a bad deal. you’re squeezed together on the bed, browsing through television channels that seem to never end.

“it was easy because you were on the other side of it.”

that is what he claims confidently, but you are not fully convinced.

“wow, why do they have more channels than we do at home?”

“you didn’t answer my question.” you pout. “did you hurt yourself?”

“i didn’t hurt myself. i’m totally okay. i promise.”

he maintains eye-contact as he speaks. given the assurance, your tight chest unrestricts. jungkook is not a good liar. it’s a trait that causes him inconvenience every now and then, but it helps you to sleep soundly at night.

“should we just watch funny animal videos on youtube?”

“i guess that’s fine.”

it doesn’t show but you feel excitement run in your veins aside from the iv fluids that feel peculiarly cold.

from under your cheek, his chest vibrates with a giggle. “okay, hold on.”

as he pulls up the application, you tangle your legs together beneath the thin blanket. you hear the rapid tap tap tap of the remote control navigating the keypad while he types on the search bar, but your attention is someplace else. you’ve found the crook of his neck to sneak into, lazily kissing every inch of his exposed skin. your lips eventually trail up to his jaw. he smells so nice. you’re addicted.

“baby, someone can enter any minute.”

“i’m not doing anything.” you mumble.

you smile against his lips when he gives you a kiss as sweet as honey anyway.

“i’m curious about another thing.”

“what’s that?”

“did you cry?”

he comes to a still. the answer to that question requires a little time and thought.

“almost…”

“why almost?”

“no time. i had to bring you here, of course.” he replies.

you huff a laugh, exhaling a twinge of melancholia. “don’t cry.”

“i won’t. i’m happy now because you’re awake and fighting with me.”

“ow-”

your cry of pain is silenced when he squeezes you in an embrace that makes it nearly impossible to breathe.

“red panda!”

a squeal assaults both of your hearing as soon as your eyes land on the wide screen infront of the bed.

“i want one so fucking bad.”

the enunciated curse makes your boyfriend crack up in amusement. “that much?!”

—

jungkook opens his eyes to a nurse lightly nudging him awake.

“i’m sorry, i had to wake you up. i need to check vitals and draw blood.”

“shit, i’m sorry.” he panics.

his brain is foggy from the nap, but he still carefully sits up on the bed, wary of the iv line connected to your hand.

“i… was tired and i fell asleep.”

“it’s no problem; don’t worry.”

she smiles at him, but he doesn’t see it.

“you look adorable sleeping.”

“ah, really?” he awkwardly responds, absentminded. “it’s embarrassing.”

he stands on your side, about to disturb your peaceful rest much as it makes his heart ache with guilt, but you’re already stirring due to the absence of his warmth.

your heavy eyelids blink at the nurse in curiosity. “oh… do you need my blood?”

“yes, but i’ll take your blood pressure and temperature first.”

“okay,” you mumble, offering your arm. “it might be higher now because i’m scared.”

she chuckles at your joke. jungkook tries to share an endeared look with her and non-verbally communicate adorable, right?

“i promise i’ll be quick. although we definitely want it to be higher than earlier’s.”

you wince as the cuff around your upper arm goes as tight as it could, and you sigh at the same time that it begins to deflate.

“good, good, good,” she chants with a mumble. “it’s back in the normal range again…”

she brings out a digital thermometer from her pocket.

“you know where this goes.”

she hands it over to you, and you awkwardly place it in your armpit, holding it in place. it’s quiet as you wait for the device to make the beeping sound, except for her pen creating friction with your chart as she takes down notes.

“how’s your stitches? do you feel any discomfort?”

“it’s fine. thank you.”

not long after, you hear the beep. you return the thermometer to her, but not before taking a peak at the numbers displayed on the tiny screen. 36.8°C. you think you’ll live.

“i’ll draw your blood now.”

the nurse’s voice is sweet and reassuring, but it doesn’t quite ease the nervousness evident on your expression. your pupils shake as you watch her disinfect the area, and then comes out the long needle.

another one, jungkook laments inside.

“____, i’m right here.”

you crane your head, whimpering out his name. “jungkook,”

“it will be just a pinch. i’m inserting the needle now, alright?”

you take a sharp inhale.

if only he could switch positions with you, he would do it in a heartbeat. unfortunately, all he can do is caress your hair and whisper that it will be over soon.

“it hurts.” your damp eyelashes flutter, face twisting in discomfort. “i don’t like it.”

really, just a pinch? obviously a lie.

“hey, baby. look at the tv.”

the autoplay was left turned on after you fell asleep together. inside the screen is a puppy rolling around a snow-covered lawn. the wagging of its tail, the wide smile, and the pupils as big as boba balls: they all scream the happiness of an innocent.

“it’s so cute… i miss bam already. can we go to a dog park again?”

“of course!”

that promise sparks your smile. you turn to your side, and jungkook also catches a glimpse of the cotton taped to where you were poked.

“all done. you can go back to resting.”

“thank you. will you need to take blood again?” you inquire at the nurse.

“hm, probably. it depends on the doctor based on the results we get from this one.”

“can’t you just do it while i’m asleep? or is that not allowed?”

“baby…” jungkook snorts, hiding his face behind the palm of his hands.

the nurse laughs at your desperate suggestion. “that is honestly not a rare request, but the thing is… you might wake up in the middle of it and injure yourself. we can’t do that.”

“that won’t be a problem!” you passionately argue your case. “i’m a deep sleeper. seriously!”

“ah, thank you so much for your hard work!”jungkook intervenes, bowing to the nurse out of respect and gratitude. “i’m sure you’re busy. i will handle this!”

“oh yes, yes- thank you. please don’t forget the medicine for after dinner.”

“i won’t!”

“if you need anything, you know where to find me again.”

“yes,” he nods, chuckling. “thank you.”

“then i should leave…? but you’ll see me again later! bye!”

the door shuts, and his attention lands on your unimpressed form: a blank stare and arms folded infront of your chest.

uh-oh.

“did she seriously wink while saying that?”

“what?” he freezes, genuinely clueless. “i don’t know. i didn’t see anything. i was looking at you.”

“i’m right here- i’m the patient. why would you need anything from her? huh? why is she so excited to see you again?” you ramble angrily.

“right?!”

he climbs on the bed, reclaiming his spot next to you.

“that was weird.”

“what if she made it hurt on purpose? that…” you frown, glancing at your arm. “that didn’t really feel like a pinch to me.”

“ey, calm down. she wouldn’t.” he makes a doubtful face, laughing off the accusation. “…i don’t think so?”

you blink, exhaling in disbelief. “are you taking her side now?”

“of course not! baby, i’m just saying… a professional won’t do that.”

“why not? she’s still human. humans do stupid things when they like someone. she obviously likes you.”

“and so what?”

he grins with a spark of mischief, leaving an inch of a distance between your lips.

“i’m obviously yours.”

but you turn your cheek and your eyes fall on your lap, a pout highlighting your downcast mood.

“it’s so annoying.”

the regret sinks in after. he should’ve stuck to the golden rule: agree with everything that you say. there’s no point in having an argument no one will win. does it matter who’s right and wrong if each other’s sadness is contagious in addition to their own? your gut has almost always been right, and he’s old enough to be conscious of not allowing a stranger to put a dent on your relationship.

“are you serious? are you uncomfortable?” he tilts his head to try and get a better look at your face. “should i request for a different nurse?”

it’s quiet for a beat and he feels inclined to fill the silence with whatever enters his mind.

“i love you.”

almost immediately, your features soften and he knows your heart is also melting. the two of you bite the inside of your cheeks to hide a smile.

“no, there’s no need for that.”

but he still can’t help but to be worried. your peace of mind is his top priority. he doesn’t want you to be more stressed out, especially by things that he has the power to solve.

“are you sure?”

“she pissed me off. i need to piss her off too.”

of course, his ever stubborn and competitive lover. he sits up properly, amused and curious.

“and how will you do that?”

“i don’t know,” you nonchalantly shrug. “i’ll come up with something.”

—

“come up with what?”

to your surprise, a voice you haven’t heard in weeks echoes from the door.

“mom…?”

you’re stunned after only hearing yourself react to jungkook’s mother’s unexpected entrance. your head whips to his direction; your eyes wordlessly interrogating him.

“i need to go to work so i called her to watch over you.” he explains.

“why would you do that?” you argue with him as quietly as possible, lips barely moving as you try to hide your face from your mother-in-law. again, not one of your finest moments. “you didn’t have to. i can take care of myself.”

“but you don’t have to because you have us.”

jungkook marks the conversation finished with a kiss pressed to your temple, leaving you dumbfounded. he jumps off the bed and for a split second, you make eye-contact with his mother before he towered over her for a quick hug.

her kind smile is embroidered in your memory; a memory that wraps your heart in a type of warmth only a mother can provide.

“mom! i’m sorry. i really, really, really need to leave now. but! i’ll try to come back early so you can go home early too.”

“aigoo, stop stressing yourself out.”

jungkook receives a slap on the back, somehow more loving can scolding.

“i can stay the night so do what you need to do. you don’t have to worry.”

“it’s not only because i’m worried!”

she sassily puts a hand over her waist. it takes everything in you not to laugh out loud.

“then what else?”

“mom! what else?” he cheekily smiles. “of course i’ll miss ____ too much.”

did your boyfriend just…? to his mother? your jaw becomes slack from the shame.

“i missed ____ too!” she contests. “go to work and give us our alone time.”

you shyly smile when she transfers her attention from her son to you.

“hello, my baby. are you hungry?”

—

“does my son feed you well?”

“he does! but it’s funny- other mothers ask the opposite. are you feeding my son well? do you make sure he’s comfortable?”

you think out loud, transfixed on how she peels oranges with ease. your hands would always be stained by the juices, (and eyes red and teary from accidental splashes) (it’s too embarrassing to even think about) but hers are still magically clean.

“is that so?”

you graciously accept the slice she feeds you. she laughs when your face lights up like a christmas tree one more time. it’s way sweeter than you anticipated. you can’t get over how delicious it is.

“mhmm!”

perhaps you relied too much on dramas when it came to your expectations of what a relationship with your in-laws would look like. you imagined yourself running around like a dog trying to prove yourself worthy of their son, yet for some reason, it looks like they adore you for simply existing. it makes you feel extremely grateful, but you don’t understand.

“mom, i have a question… i know it’s probably too late to ask this now, but…”

“what could that be?”

“are you really not against me and jungkook living together?” you swallow your fear of the possibility of an unpleasant truth. “are you not… worried… that i’m receiving too much from him?”

because you would understand the apprehension. as a parent, one’s main concern would be their child. to outside eyes, it’s easy to come to the conclusion that jungkook is being taken advantage of and he’d be better off dating someone with the same status. sometimes you wish you were that someone too.

she utters your name sadly.

“he receives happiness and love from you. those are the most valuable things you could give to a person.”

she caresses your hair like she wants to erase the anxiety poisoning your mind.

“my dear, how come you’re worried about that until now? haven’t we told you? you’re part of the family. forget about my sister! i don’t welcome her negativity in our house!”

“living together is different. it’s a big deal. it normally happens in a relationship after…” the following words feel foreign in your mouth; they come out quieter than the rest of your sentence. “getting married.”

“then tell me. why did you agree to live with him?”

because you’re selfish. because you want more time that you can have him all to yourself. because you want to be accessible— the first person he runs to when he’s seeking comfort and stability. because you want goodnight and good morning kisses. because you were afraid of the risks but you’ve grown addicted to the thrill of love.

“he said… no matter how hard i push him away, he will stay within my reach.”

you hear your own shaky breathing. that moment— it’s still burned into your memory. you’re still holding on to it. it’s a promise he is yet to break and you pray that he never, ever does.

“i don’t want to push him away. i want to be within his reach too.”

you’re two people loving each other with everything within your means. after the endless pains and the deafening noise, you like to think that’s what makes this relationship worth fighting for.

“does my opinion still matter knowing that? will you let me stop you?”

“no, i won’t. i’d make you change your mind.”

if you had a machine connected to you, she would see how your heart rate has gone off the charts. but you’re known to say whatever’s on your mind and that, much to your dismay, isn’t switched off despite sitting infront of the woman who birthed and raised the love of your life.

you sniffle, pursing your lips nervously. “but i feel like there might be a right answer to that one.”

what you didn’t expect was her to laugh until her belly hurts; placing a hand over her mouth in an effort to calm herself down and keep grace.

“mom! stop, i’m so embarrassed!”

“no, ____, don’t get me wrong!”

she is teary-eyed as she gathers herself together.

“the more time i spend with you, the more i realize why jungkook loves you so much. i’ve seen him show incredible commitment twice. do you know that? first, when he went to seoul to become a singer. second, when he told us he got an apartment because he wants to be with you… of course, as his mother, i’ll admit that he’s young when he made those decisions, but he always proves to me that he’s smart and responsible.”

the urge to cry returns and strengthens as she speaks. you feel your eyelashes become damp with unshed tears. you don’t know how to act. you fiddle with your fingers. you stare at the strings and peels of the oranges you can still taste.

“i believe we both know jungkook’s personality well. he wouldn’t have let me stop him either. i’m happy to know that you’ll fight for him too.”

“thank you…”

“tsk, tsk, tsk- what is there to cry about? jungkook will get angry at me if he discovers that i made you cry.”

she wipes away your tears; however, the unmistakable scent of oranges that has clung to her hands and the affection in her tone bring forth a waterfall.

“seeing this makes me sadder.” she laments, referring to the stitches on your face.

“me too,” you babble in the midst of quiet sobs. “it makes me sad. it’s so ugly.”

—

you can’t remember the last time you felt this alone. perhaps it’s the effect of staying in an unfamiliar building of complete strangers. without your mobile phone, may you add. you managed to persuade jungkook’s mother to leave an hour ago because you didn’t want her to sleep on the uncomfortable couch.

the lights are turned off except for the lamp beside your bed, and with the television muted, you could hear a hairpin drop.

you’re alone and you can do whatever you want.

you dragged the visitor’s chair infront of the window to admire the garden like it’s a painting in motion. you watched people converse, stroll, and drink coffee. you watched them run for shelter when the clouds became too heavy and the sky began to fall. oh, so that’s why you couldn’t see the stars.

at this moment, there’s nothing left to amuse yourself with but the trembling of the leaves and the raindrops forming temporary rings when they fall in the water fountain.

your senses crave for more. you reach over and crack open the window, just enough to allow the sound of the rain and the scent of it permeating the earth to enter your room.

“this is kind of peaceful.” you whisper, amazed by the new lightness carried by your heart.

you close your eyes and you breathe in the petrichor deeply. you want nature in your lungs as a reminder that you’re alive. you welcome the cold wind kissing your face. you can feel your hair touching your neck. you always do, but for once, you’re choosing to acknowledge it. your thumb slowly brushes across the palm of your hand, perceiving the texture of your skin, the softness, and the lines. and your feet, they’re in the clouds, the fluffy slippers jungkook’s mother bought outside because she knows they’re your favorite to wear.

you’ve loved and despised this body for a million different reasons. your mind and heart have accepted defeat countless times, but your body wakes up to every brand new day without fail. your body implores you to live. did it finally give up on you today?

“baby!”

you look behind to search for the source of the sound.

you get your answer from the kiss planted on your lips.

you only saw his face for a split second, but even if you had your eyes closed, you’d know it has to be jungkook kissing you.

you can smell him. you’ve memorized the way the shape of his lips fits with yours.

oh, the sounds of his kisses too. you like to call them the butterfly call because they make butterflies appear in your stomach.

you could trace the scar on his cheek with your finger if you want to.

god, what a privilege it is to experience life in this vessel.

a knock on the door forces you to part too early. the same nurse from earlier enters and you internally scream all the curse words in your dictionary. jungkook acknowledges her with a bow and a quick ‘hello’ before squatting down infront of you.

“i committed another crime for you today.”

“huh?”

your wide, confused eyes take a glimpse at the nurse who is doing something with the controls of your iv line.

hahaha… she knows he’s not serious, right?

“what did you do?”

his smile is so big that his eyes have turned into little crescent moons. you’d make a guess but there is an infinite amount of things jungkook could possibly be this excited about.

…apparently, one of them would be strawberry cake.

you gape at the transparent box he was hiding behind his back all along.

“did you steal somebody’s birthday cake?!”

“it’s a producer’s birthday and he received lots of cakes, so he told me i can take one home.”

“how is it stealing if he allowed you to take it?”

he tosses his backpack on the couch as he sets down the box on the table. he rummages through the bag his mother left behind, successfully bringing out a spoon. meanwhile, you get your blood pressure taken again.

as he opens the box, he sends a smirk your way.

“no. i hid the strawberry cake because there’s so many who wanted to eat it.”

“are you crazy?!”

the nurse clicks her tongue. “don’t talk and stay still, please.”

“oh,” your hand flies to your mouth on instinct. “i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry.” jungkook also apologizes.

you and your boyfriend secretly share a look, exchanging a smile that is stifled laughter inside. your lips remain zipped as the nurse restarts the process of taking your blood pressure. on the other hand, jungkook eats a spoonful of cake, teasingly wiggling his eyebrows at you. you roll your eyes and he tries harder to laugh without a sound.

seconds later, he grumbles about the room being too warm. he wipes the beads of sweat on his forehead using the back of his hand, and he does the worst thing he could possibly do at this moment. he reaches for his back, pulling his sweater over his head. naturally, his inner shirt rides up and allows wandering eyes a peak at his glorious toned abdomen.

passed out in the shower. busted your eyebrow open. front-row seat for a woman flirting and ogling at your boyfriend.

how fucking great.

“hello? i think it’s done.” you snap.

“a-ah, yes.”

you hear her swallow as she removes the cuff from your arm. she may be wearing a mask but she’s hot and red all the way to her ears. you’ve only read about it in books. you didn’t even believe this could happen in real life until now.

“i will check your temperature too.”

“go on.”

you repeat the same process from hours earlier, drumming your fingers on your thigh as you wait for the beep.

“yah, why is the window open? you’ll catch a cold.”

jungkook, yet again, steals the attention of every person in the room when he rises to his feet. his shadow casts over you as he closes the window.

“i wanted to smell the rain.”

“is the room getting too stuffy for you?”

you shrug. “i just wanted to smell the rain.”

you feel the nurse’s stare. you offer her a smile and her nameplate briefly gets caught by your vision. kang ji-woo.

“ji-woo; that’s a pretty name.” you pay her a sincere compliment. “it’s healing, don’t you think?”

“yes? uh-uhm, y-yes…” she replies, unsure and confused by the sudden small talk. “actually, it’s been linked to a reduction in stress and anxiety levels.”

“thank you! babe, did you hear that?”

“uhuh, think about my stress and anxiety levels.” he leans against the window with his arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at you.

so now he’s flexing his arm muscles. cool, cool, cool. you know he’s not doing it on purpose and his entire existence is just naturally hot and it’s infuriating.

“i’ve been worried sick about you all day.”

his statement makes you frown for a new reason. at the same moment, the thermometer beeps.

“could you please tell him that i’m fine?”

“37.3, uhhh- that’s slightly above normal. how do you feel? does your head hurt? are you cold?”

“i feel fine though?”

“okay. please take a lot of rest and stay warm…” her gaze lingers at jungkook who is blocking the window. “keep the window closed. hopefully it won’t be higher when i check again later.”

seriously?! you could cry. you want to go home where it’s comfortable. where it’s only you and jungkook and bam.

but you bet somebody would be happy if you had to stay longer.

“i’ll look after ____.” your boyfriend sighs, pulling out a jacket from his backpack.

“you shouldn’t have kissed me. what if you get sick?”

your blatantness causes the nurse to pause in updating your chart. she awkwardly clears her throat. “yeah… that… that isn’t currently advisable.”

“i’m sorry. i’ll control myself.”

you earn a glare from jungkook, then he fakes a smile which you gladly return.

“before you go, may i request for a new blanket? sorry, i spilled something earlier.”

“sure thing! i’ll come back with that right away.”

—

“she seemed happy to leave.” jungkook remarks. “i can’t tell if you were actually being nice or being passive aggressive.”

you smile innocently, taking a bite off the strawberry you stole from the top of the cake. “i’m a fucking angel.”

damn it, why is he suddenly turned on?

were you serious about the no kiss rule?

“would you rather i be the type to pull their hair?”

he shakes his head with a laugh. “but you did slap someone once.”

“you want to see me that furious again?”

“never in my wildest dreams.”

he kisses the top of your head, producing an exaggerated ‘mmmwah!’ sound that makes you giggle happily.

“here, have some more cake.”

he offers you a spoonful of cake.

no, it’s bigger.

as a matter of fact, the piece could probably pass off as a cupcake.

you gawk at it as if you’re figuring out the logistics of putting it in your mouth. his heart does a flip when you tilt your head and do your best to take in the whole thing. however, in the middle of it, you decide that you can’t, and you end up biting it off a little more than halfway.

oh my god, he loves you. he loves you. you’re so fucking cute.

your cheeks are full as you struggle to chew. you cover your mouth with your hand but they don’t touch. you’re so elegant in your ways and sometimes he wonders how you’re still attracted to him after he acts stupid.

also, plain white nails? that’s new. you always want colors.

“your nails look pretty.”

he is so focused on you that he fails to take notice of another presence occupying the room.

“your mom did them for me.”

“i figured. she wants to do mother-daughter things with you.”

the short break of silence speaks volumes. you look at him, blinking with eyes hinting at a type of joy you’re lost on how to express.

“did you choose white?”

“no. we were watching a drama and it was the couple’s wedding.”

oh, that makes total sense.

“let me guess,” he trails off with a half-embarrassed, half-entertained smile. “she asked when we will get married?”

“why would she ask me that? how would i know?” you scoff.

his heart starts at a thousand miles per hour. fuck, are you hinting at him? are you messing with his feelings again? with you, he always needs to remind himself to be rational.

“i need more time to prove to you that i’m husband material.”

“what? stop it. i don’t care. i don’t need a ring.”

your unpredictableness pushes him to the edge of his seat.

“don’t pressure yourself. you already treat me way better than most husbands do their wives.”

the pride painted on your face is unmistakable. he feels his heart swelling in his chest. has he been doing a better job than he originally thought? after what happened today, he was terrified that he hasn’t been paying enough attention to you.

“i’m so happy with what we have.”

you offer him a delicate smile before eating the rest of the cake that was left on the spoon. he swears there’s a glowing halo above your head.

could your temperature have magically dropped in the past five minutes? would you kill him if he kissed you right now?

“is there anything else i could assist you with?”

and then he is rudely snapped out of his hopeless adoration and daydreaming.

“that’s all! thank you for your hard work!” you chirp.

he turns to the nurse with a lovesick grin.

“please come to our wedding.”

the unforeseen wedding invitation earns him a slap on the chest. he clutches the affected area, wincing in pain.

he hears you mutter. “don’t invite strangers to our wedding.”

the irritated glare he predicted to face isn’t there. rather, you’re wearing the flustered smile he only sees when he knows that he did something to make you fall for him all over again.

before ji-woo left, she tried to subtly reject the invitation by jokingly saying that she’d die to go, but most probably, she’d have to work that day. you know… being an overworked hospital employee and all. you caught her glancing at you with bitterness failed to be guised as indifference. you get it. you’d hate it if another person was in your place. frankly speaking, you could be miles pettier.

your boyfriend wipes the corner of your lips, thoughtless as he licks off the cake frosting from his thumb.

damn it, you wish she was also here for that.

“you haven’t stopped smiling.”

“you love me and you never let me forget that.”

you give an answer despite the lack of a question mark.

you just made his world stop spinning on its axis and you’re not even aware.

jungkook knows the heavenly feeling of knowing that he is loved, but he has never deeply considered the joy and relief when the person he loves believes that he loves them.

“i’m so lucky. i love you.”

you push yourself up to plant a kiss on his forehead. it’s a rarity he treasures and keeps.

“i love you too.”

he cries infront of you.

almost.

he excuses himself to the bathroom and cries in there a little.

you’re so easy to love— that’s why it makes him want to do difficult things for you. like commit more crimes?

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut

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azrielbrainrot · 7 months

Text

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: You're back home right when Azriel was starting to lose all hope, but is the person standing in front of him the same who disappeared all those years ago?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, injury

Word Count: 6670

Notes: The original plan wasn't to write more of this story but I had a few ideas of where to take this and decided to turn it into a mini series, don't think it will be longer than 3-4 chapters. Also I don't know if the HoW has cells in the books but it does here and they're normal, not dungeon-y like, and the story is set after acosf but Amren never got turned into fae because I like her better like this. A lot of people liked the first part so I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 ○ Part 3

Azriel was at the townhouse before he even fully realized what was happening. Didn't even give anyone an explanation, simply letting his shadows take him, barely hearing the questioning cries of his name. He didn't need to hear anything else aside from your name to know that's where he should be, his body moved before he even had time to formulate the thought.

Your sweet scent invaded his brain before he even arrived at the house. He'd be able to recognize it anywhere, he'd longed for it for so long after all. Every day when he opened his eyes, he hoped he would wake up to your scent floating around this house as it once did, as it did right now. He's not one to go into anything blindly, to run head first and only think about the consequences later, but this felt like his last chance. The loneliness that had settled deep in his soul had been replaced with hope with one word.

His shadows move to different corners of the room as soon as he's dropped off, leaving him uncharacteristically naked, unguarded. Even the shadows that would form naturally from the faint glow of the moon seemed to move off his face. They wanted him to enjoy this moment in full, this was his and only his.

In truth he barely noticed them leave, too preoccupied with the figure in front of him. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. How many times had he been haunted by this exact vision in his dreams? There you were standing in the sitting room, shining like a goddess under the moonlight filtering through the windows. You hadn't changed since the last time he saw you, only had gotten even more mesmerizing if anything.

Your hair was a bit shorter than you usually wore it, the tight pants a contrast to the usual short skirts you preferred. Then there was a scar running across your neck, even with the distance and darkness in the room he could tell it ran from ear to ear. It was a painful reminder of what you've been through, of the night he couldn't protect you. But it meant this was real. You were actually standing in front of him. This was something he had dreamed of many times, almost every night since you've been gone.

He calls your name and it feels amazing. Just the sound of your name leaving his lips, not in mourning or wistfulness but as a greeting, is enough to bring a face splitting grin to his face. Gods, he missed saying your name without almost feeling suffocated by the weight that formed in his chest.

You startle at the sound, seemingly not expecting company at the house. He has no time to study the strange expression on your face though, he needs to touch you first, to feel your skin against his, your warmth against his body, your heart beating behind your ribcage. He needs to make sure this is real and not some cruel dream or hallucination his mind thought up to torment him. He needs you to be really back.

As soon as your eyes meet his form, he clears the distance between you in two hurried steps, but, before he can hug you, he feels your hand reach out to him. He doesn't even have time to realize you're reaching towards his thigh, to Truth Teller. He doesn't know if it was confusion holding him back, the strangeness of the whole act or if he's simply willing to take anything as long as it comes from you, but he makes no movement to stop you from grabbing his knife, allowing you to pierce it through his stomach, never so much as looking away from your beautiful face or even flinching at the blade.

He can feel every inch of the dagger inside him, can feel the blood quickly seeping through his shirt. Still, the pain in his gut can't hold a candle to the relief and joy running through his veins. You're real. The knife went through, so you have to be real. He can clearly hear your heartbeat now as well, it sounds strong aside from how fast it's going.

Azriel reaches a hand out to you again, slower as not to startle you. He can't help the fluttering of his own heart as you finally let him make contact with the softness of your skin. You haven't moved your hands from the knife, your wide eyes staring at your now blood covered hands. He caresses your cheek lovingly and tilts your face up so he can meet your eyes at last.

He can tell something is wrong, as if it hadn't been glaringly obvious by his favorite knife currently stuck in his stomach. Your eyes seem unfocused, a bit panicked, maybe even angry. But he can't bring himself to care in this moment.

He doesn't know if this is your revenge for letting you die, for not finding you, or even if this is what you had wanted out of him from the start, maybe your whole relationship had been a lie. It doesn't matter. He'll gladly die at your hands if that's the fate you chose for him. At least he'd spend his last moments with you, a privilege he didn't think he would have the pleasure of experiencing.

His heart threatens to stop altogether when your eyes meet, it feels like time stopped around him. “You're home, my love,” he breathes out, letting out a soft disbelieving chuckle, “You're finally home.” He raises his other hand to your face, caressing both your cheeks with his scarred thumbs, he almost forgot how soft your skin felt against his rough hands. He's been clutching at faint memories for decades.

His smile falters when his thumb moves down, stroking down your jaw to the column of your throat, where a scar runs across your neck. He watches his thumb following the clean line, his scars had always been awful reminders of what was done to him, it ate at him even five centuries later, but seeing yours hurt even more. You should have never known this kind of pain.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, confusion and fear holding it hostage. He looks back up into your eyes, seeing the same emotions swim in your gaze even more heightened. He didn't like that, you would never have any reason to be scared of him. He goes to tell you as much when he feels power surging into the room.

“Azriel?” Cassian's voice cuts through the moment and he has to close his eyes to keep himself calm. He wanted more time with you, wanted to talk to you before they got here, before they saw the blood but had gotten too distracted. His mind wasn't working properly, his thoughts were all over the place, he wanted nothing more than to hug you but was too aware of how strangely you were acting. He couldn't keep you and his family in check, not with every instinct inside him screaming to just pick you up and winnow you to the other side of the world.

He calls his shadows to him, a desperate attempt at hiding his injury. He knows it's in vain when he feels Rhys let go of the damper on his power, letting the suffocating night fill up the room. You look positively terrified now, he can even smell it mixing in your sweet scent. Letting go of your face, an act that takes more effort than he could imagine, he turns around slowly, trying to be mindful of keeping you covered, protected from his family.

Your hands don't stop holding onto the dagger, as he moves away from you, the force of it is enough to pull it out of his stomach and let the blood run free with no resistance. The pain was getting worse, it didn't look like you hit any vital organs but his healing wasn't fast enough to keep it at bay on its own.

Feyre is the first to move towards him when she sees the blood, but he simply holds up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Trying to keep a leveled head was proving to be a near impossible task as he saw the anger in everyone's faces, it was directed at you. He holds onto his abdomen, the pain was making itself known.

Seeing Azriel stop his mate from approaching, Rhys walks closer to the shadowsinger himself. His face was a mix of regret and fury as he spoke up. “What happened here, Azriel?” If his mind was in the right place he would have noticed the restraint his brother was showing at seeing him bleeding out in his house, restraint only present because of his own feelings towards you. Unfortunately, Azriel's instincts were winning against logic.

He hears you finally drop Truth Teller behind him, your body must have started listening to you when Rhysand got too close, recognizing him as a threat. He makes the mistake of looking back at the knife, not hearing the snarl that curls his brother's lips in time. Rhys winnows behind him in that moment and you had gotten too close to the window for him to reach you.

“Don't touch her,” he warns Rhys viciously. He doesn't want to think what he was capable of if anyone hurt you again, even if it was his own brother.

He sees you fall to the floor before he registers what happened. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, letting out an anguished cry of your name as he runs to you, pushing his brother out of the way and holding you up from the ground. Searching for a pulse frantically, he finds you were only unconscious. A breath of relief escapes him as he pushes your hair out of your face, it almost brings tears to his eyes. You will be fine. Rhys had only entered your mind to keep you asleep and stop you from escaping. You will wake up. You will not leave him again.

He hugs you closer to him, too focused on making sure you were alright and keeping his breathing leveled to hear what they were saying behind him. He felt as helpless as when he was still a child being subjected to his father's cruelty. It takes him a while before he finally calms himself down enough to hear the argument behind him.

“Let's talk to him first,” Cassian says, the emotion clear in his voice.

“He put up a shield around them,” Rhys was sounding less like a High Lord by the word, “He's not in his right mind.” A shield? He checks the air around them to find that his brother was right, there was a shield around them both, even his shadows had moved to cover them, separating them from the world.

“Neither are any of you,” Nesta's voice cuts through everyone, finally silencing them.

“We already called for Madja,” Feyre uses the silence that settled to speak, “We can get him treated and hold her somewhere until she wakes up.”

“No,” he drops you gently on the ground, letting his shadows cover you, protect you, before turning to face his family.

Feyre hesitates before continuing, seeing something on his face that makes her choose a different approach. He never mentioned being married to her but your name had been brought up before, he knew Rhys had filled her in on what happened, still she couldn't understand what he was feeling. Even he couldn't.

“The cells under the House of Wind are safe. It's just for-”

“You will not put my wife in a cell,” the words came out clipped, slipping through clenched teeth, the shadowsinger was barely holding on to a sense of restraint against his High Lady.

“She stabbed you,” Rhys yells, looking down at the wound in his brother's torso, thankfully already starting to heal, “it doesn't matter that she used to be your wife.” The growl Azriel lets out at his brother is nothing short of vicious, a feral and lethal thing rising straight from the center of his being.

“She is still my wife,” Azriel says behind a snarl, “And you will not hurt her.” Even if it was in the clean cells of the House of Wind, he could never bear to see you caged. He was ready to go to any lengths necessary to make sure of that. If helping you escape the Night Court was what it took he knew of a few ways not to get caught.

He could see Rhys' shoulders tense up, his own face morphing to match Azriel's fury. He didn't know if his mental shields were down or if his intentions were just uncharacteristically clear on his face but he was sure that his brother knew what Azriel - his spymaster - was thinking.

“She can stay in one of the rooms up in the House,” Cassian offers quickly, trying to settle the rising tension between his brothers, “She can't winnow out because of the wards and we can watch her until she wakes up.” Deep down he knows they don't want to hurt you either, that they're only worried but it's difficult to pay attention to the voice of reason within him during this whole situation. His greatest wish had just been answered. So why does everything seem to be falling apart with it?

Mor winnows in with Madja before he can give them a response which is a good thing because anything he could come up with would probably only put you and him in a more precarious situation. There were too many emotions warring inside him, the same going around almost everyone in the room if only more intense. The healer's presence seems to dissipate most of the tension automatically as Rhys even turns to look out the window and allows his mate to hold onto his hand, probably telling him soothing words in his mind.

Madja moves to Azriel with no hesitation, only stopping briefly when she senses the shield. She merely gives him a look before he drops it so she can reach him. He knows she wouldn't hurt you, knows he needs the wound in his stomach taken care of so he can focus on you, think about what to do when you wake up.

“You need to sit down so I can treat you,” she tells him while inspecting the wound.

“I will not leave her.”

“You can trust her with us, Az,” Mor tries to reassure him, but with the way the last minutes have played out he wasn't trusting you with them, or anyone else for that matter. He'd just gotten you back, no way is he letting you out of his sight for a second, he could bleed out for all he cares.

Suddenly, he sees Nesta walk to the table and grab a chair through his peripheral. She appears to be mumbling something to herself but he can't quite hear her to understand. She walks to him and drops the chair in her hands on his right, before giving him a narrow eyed look and returning to her mate's side.

He's not sure how much she knows of the situation. The three sisters probably all know by now that he used to be married but none of them has mentioned you to him, warned by whoever told them of the consequences of doing it.

He sits on the chair and lets Madja work on him. The wound wasn't too bad, even if he didn't have access to a healer it would close in a short time. You stabbed it cleanly through, just like he'd taught you. If he hadn't been the practice dummy he might praise you for it. By the Mother, he thinks he still might. He wonders if you'll grace him with a bright smile and flushed cheeks for it like you used to.

Azriel looks over to your sleeping form under the moonlight. He's calming down enough that he's starting to feel the uncertainty bubbling inside him. Truth Teller still laid on the floor beside you, covered in his blood just as your hands were.

“Is she…” What did he want to ask? Is it really her? How did she survive? There was so much blood on the ground that night. He didn't need to be a healer to know it was too much for someone to survive with no immediate help and an absurd amount of luck. “Is it really her?” He whispered the question, not bearing to look away from you as he does.

“You know that better than me,” the healer answers calmly. He can sense some emotion in her voice. You had asked her to make tonics to help him sleep and relax many times, to teach you basic healing and how to put on bandages to help him when he was too stubborn and not gravely injured enough to go see the healer. She probably missed you as well. “She's healthy.”

He feels a rush of relief at the words. You're healthy. The confirmation allows him to relax further. Finally looking away from you to see part of his family still watching the scene before them. He knows they too were thinking about the blood, the sleepless nights they spent searching for any sign of you. His eyes meet Rhys' briefly, knowing they'll need to talk about what happened.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting out a soft sigh. You're back. He never thought he'd see you again but you're right here next to him. You're not a dream or a hallucination. You're healthy. The thought almost brings a smile to his lips despite the situation. Anything else can be dealt with now that you're by his side again.

“Are you sure you don't need to rest, Az?” He looks up from the familiar ring, still twisting it around his finger. It felt right putting it back on, he was almost giddy at the sight of the silver in his finger, but it also left him with immense guilt eating at him for taking it off in the first place. He studies Nesta's face for a second, giving up on trying to decipher what she was thinking in favor of looking back at you.

When everyone calmed down enough and Azriel was treated, it had been decided that you couldn't be left alone even in the room, they needed someone to keep an eye on you. It had also been quickly added that Azriel wasn't enough, his brother had seen right through him, he knew Azriel wouldn't try to stop you from killing him or trying to escape if you put your mind to it.

Cassian and Mor refused to stand watch unless it was truly necessary. He knows they wouldn't want to be put in a position where they had to stop you, knew they would not only feel guilty for hurting you but also wouldn't forgive themselves for hurting Azriel.

Even Rhysand, used to the weight and impartiality of the High Lord's title, looked hesitant in keeping him company, he had already forcefully invaded your mind to take your consciousness away, something he had vowed never to do to his friend. He could definitely stop you both from any of the worse case scenarios but at a cost he couldn't bear to pay.

That had left him with the two trained Archeron sisters and Amren. They set shifts to make sure Azriel was never left alone with you, he thinks they might not even trust him not to take you away from the room himself and help you escape. He can't really be sure himself if he wouldn't do exactly that if you asked. He'd follow you to the end of the world and beyond just to hear you call his name one more time.

“The wound is healed,” he whispers, keenly aware of your sleeping form, a habit that came to him naturally after seeing you. You always liked to sleep in and waking you up before your time was close to a death sentence.

“That's not what I meant.” Nesta walks closer to the chair beside your bed, the one he hasn't gotten up from since tucking you into the bed carefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder and studied you for a moment, something she's been doing since her shift started. “She stabbed you,” she says in an usually hesitant tone coming from her, “Are you sure it's her?”

“I would sooner forget my own name than mistake my wife for someone else,” the words came out clipped even with him trying to hold back his anger. It wasn't her fault for being suspicious, Nesta never got the chance to meet you, barely even heard about Azriel's marriage. She just wants to protect him, protect her friend.

“Why would she hurt you then?”

“Maybe it's my punishment,” the words leave him before he can think them through. It doesn't matter anyway, they all saw the state he was in at the townhouse. No point hiding now.

“Punishment?” She took a step back from the chair to be able to face him, her perplexed face coming into view. “You didn't do anything wrong.” The notion was almost laughable. Azriel had done plenty wrong in his life.

“I didn't find her,” he whispers, facing away from his friend in favor of watching you, “She's been out there for almost a century, on her own,” he clenched his fists at the thought, “and I didn't find her.”

“I know you looked for her as best as you could. I know you all did.” And what good did his best do?

“You don't understand, Nesta,” he says as he looks down at the ring once again, closing his eyes briefly at the burn he felt in his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to explain his feelings to any of them.

“I do,” she starts, “If something happened-”

“If,” he cringes at how he raised his voice, immediately looking over to your sleeping form to make sure he didn't disturb you, and then added more quietly, with the same conviction in his tone, “If something happened to Cassian you would understand. But it hasn't and so you don't.”

Nesta lets out a defeated sigh, moving back to her original seat by the window, patting his shoulder comfortingly on her way. His eyes are focused on you once more and he has no intention of letting them stray until you wake up, and long after you do.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

You wake up slowly, your mind aware of your near consciousness before your body can follow. It feels like you've never been this deeply asleep, even the dreams that usually haunt you were quiet. Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to remember your current situation, it could also be the strangeness of it. You keep your eyes closed as your body and mind slowly come to.

You didn't expect to be lying on a bed, an unbelievably soft bed at that, after being caught stealing from the High Lord's home and then stabbing someone from his so-called Inner Circle. You're not sure when you lost consciousness but, in the split second the High Lord stood in front of you, you were more than certain you wouldn't be able to escape death again.

The sun is high in the sky, meaning you failed your mission, not only because you had been caught but also for not getting to the meeting point on time. Whether at the hands of your captors or your employers you were already as good as dead. The thought has heat burning behind your eyelids and your throat threatening to close up.

You don't even know what happened. This whole mission had seemed above your expertise from the start. You had never been sent on a mission to Prythian and the fact that you were sent to steal from a High Lord's home, the strongest in history at that, had sowed doubts inside you from the moment you heard about your mission from your handler. That and the sinking feeling in your gut as you listened to their descriptions of the city and people working for the High Lord. Every cell on your body was trying to reject this idea.

Deciding to trust your gut, you even brought up your doubts to your superiors, going as far as asking why you were being sent to retrieve some book when there are other fae more experienced in working there. There wasn't even any time to study the place or come up with escape routes. You had never been sent into any mission like this. Your worries had been quickly dismissed. They seemed completely convinced you wouldn't be caught, that you were the only member capable of this job.

Sneaking into the city had been simple enough, there seemed to be some celebration happening since so many fae were drinking and dancing around bars and even on the street. Your uneasiness only got worse as you walked through the streets. Something was wrong, every single one of your instincts was screaming at you, but you couldn't figure out why.

You walked to an alley close to the High Lord's house and surveyed the perimeter, making sure your intel was correct and the house was truly empty. After postponing the inevitable long enough, you took a deep breath and winnowed straight into the house, and, just like your handler told you, there were no wards or shields stopping you from entering. You thought this was peculiar for a High Lord but many powerful fae think themselves invincible to the point of arrogance and at the sacrifice of their own safety.

As you walked quietly through the hallway, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying you into a big room with sofas and a fireplace instead of the office you were supposed to be already searching through. You had the same feeling of deja vu as when you were walking through the illuminated streets before, something about the portraits on the walls and the peculiar chairs had your heart sputtering in your chest. It was an intricate design but you could swear you'd never seen anything like them before.

You moved closer to the window, far enough that no one could see you through it, and looked down at the city once more. Taking in the lights, the colorful houses and the fae cheerfully walking around the streets despite the late hour. There is no place like this in Montesere, not even close, so you don't understand how you could be confusing it, you really feel like you've been here before. Everything down to the names of the stores and smells wafting through the air look strangely familiar.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you had completely forgot about your mission. Letting your guard down, enough so that you didn't hear or feel anyone's presence in the same room until you heard them call out someone's name. The sound had goosebumps traveling through your entire body, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What scared you the most wasn't even the fact that you had just been caught but that voice, that name, almost brought tears to your eyes.

You stood frozen for a moment before turning around slowly and your entire body went still at what you saw. The male in front of you was the same one that haunted your dreams ever since you could remember, you would recognize that figure, those wings, those eyes anywhere.

You almost doubted you were awake at all but when he moved closer to you, standing in front of you before you could even blink, your body moved to protect yourself on instinct, to do as you had been taught at the guild. Your movements were a lot slower than usual, almost like something inside you was trying to stop you from hurting him but you had still managed to grab the long knife strapped to his thigh and stab it through his stomach in one clean movement.

The knife went in smoothly and he simply took it without trying to stop you or even letting out a sound. You've taken countless times before, killing was part of your life, of your job, but watching his blood run and coat your hands had made you feel incredibly guilty. You couldn't move, couldn't even let go of the knife.

When his hand reached to touch your face - a movement you didn't even register until his rough skin came in contact with your cheek - your wild eyes had met his and, suddenly, it felt like the world was spinning. The bright hazel was so familiar you could cry. He'd been starring in your dreams for so long but you'd never seen him quite this close. As you slowly let your mind catch up to you, you noticed he was smiling.

“You're home, my love,” he whispered softly. Your heart had felt like it was going to beat out of your chest at that point. You were missing something, a piece of information that felt like it was swimming right on the edge of your brain, but you couldn't quite reach it. His hands had both moved to cup your face by the time you found your voice.

“What?” What is going on? Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why is your touch so familiar? My love? Your brain was filled with questions but you couldn't even find it in you to ask them. Couldn't look away from his eyes, the former joy seen in them giving way to something else.

“Azriel?” Both of you had tensed at the voice behind him. It seems he didn't hear anyone else arrive either, too caught up in each other and whatever mysterious tension was tying you together.

Your hands had tightened around the dagger on instinct, you could feel the power rippling through the room. You should have ran away while it was only him, he had let you stab him so maybe he would let you run away as well. But, as night incarnate filled the room, you knew every chance you had at an escape was lost.

The rest of the events were a blur, one moment you were watching more and more people winnow into the room, sending your heart further into disarray, and the next the High Lord himself stood in front of you with fury and what looked like disappointment etching his features, and then everything went dark.

As your memories from the night before fade, you become more aware of your surroundings. You could hear two separate breaths close to you, could smell two distinct scents, you suppose it was lucky enough that they had let you sleep on a bed, it's only natural they'd have someone keeping watch.

If they'd been watching you this whole time they would have to know you were awake by now, so you open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the room. You study the intricate gold designs on the dark navy ceiling. Why did even the ceiling seem familiar? It feels like you are losing your mind.

Your head turns to the nightstand, where a cup of water sat over a flower shaped lace coaster. You almost gulped at the sight of it, your throat was so dry you weren't sure you could speak, but you were in a stranger's house, one you had tried to rob the night before, there had to be a catch somewhere and you didn't want to end at the cruel hands of poison.

Two pairs of eyes burned into you, and since you're not going to drink anyway, you decide that there's no delaying this confrontation any more. You turn to look at them, not surprised at finding the winged male sitting close to your bed, but he was accompanied by someone else, something else.

You sit up in bed slowly, not wanting to appear as a threat and startle them into thinking you had intentions of escaping or attacking you. You really didn't know why they hadn't just dumped you in a dark dungeon - you heard about their less than kind reputation before coming here - but you wanted to keep in their good graces if you could help it. They're probably keeping you to know more about who sent you, shame you can't tell them anything, maybe they'd even let you go if you could.

When you sit up against the headboard, your eyes meet the male's immediately, as if you were called to do it. Some of the same emotions you had seen last night were still shining in his eyes, but today there was so much more, so much so that you couldn't even begin to pick them apart even with the difference of a calm mind.

Your captors don't move so you take the moment to study the male before you. He always showed up covered in shadows in your dreams, you had barely caught glimpses of his face in the almost century of seeing him. Which was a real shame if you dared to admit it. He has an exceptionally beautiful face, the sun filtering through the window was giving his tan skin an ethereal glow, his eyes shine brightly, allowing you to make up the different tones of green and brown within them. His hair was stark black, curling slightly at the ends.

You had noticed the large wings that stood at his back the first time you'd seen him. You've never met any species of fae with wings but his were definitely peculiar. You always thought they were black but, with the brightness in the room and his shadows away, you can see they lean more to a crimson and gray-ish color. Trailing down to his torso, you notice that there doesn't seem to be any blood or sign of injury. He had already gotten healed then. For some reason, your heart calms at that and you try telling yourself it's because it might lessen the trouble you got in.

A shadow moves across him to reach up into his ear, almost like it was whispering something to him. You knew the Night Court's Spymaster was a shadowsinger, the only of its kind, but you didn't know what his shadows could do, what they could see and tell him. The hair on the back of your neck raises as his eyes watch you intently while listening to his shadow's words. They had to be talking about you. Could they read through your thoughts?

“Leave us alone, Amren.” Your eyes finally stray from the male when you hear her name, finally taking in the short creature behind him, and you almost regret it when her bright silver eyes meet yours. She was nothing short of terrifying, you think even the older assassins in the guild would feel unnerved under her gaze. You weren't even sure what she actually was but it had to be something other, something ancient and powerful. She seems displeased at the look you give her, though you doubt she's unacquainted with seeing fear on people's faces, or bothered by it.

Amren narrows her eyes slightly before looking at the male. She studies him with an intensity that could make most fae run for their lives, makes you consider it, but the male doesn't seem to care, his eyes never leaving yours. “I hope you know what you're doing, boy.” She walks out of the room with no hesitation, leaving you alone with the male that walks your dreams once again.

You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. Neither of you seem to find the right words. You know why you're having trouble finding them. Between getting caught stealing in his house and the turmoil going on inside you, you're surprised you've been managing to keep your composure at all. But you can't understand why he'd be in the same position as you. Could he also be haunted by dreams of you the same way you were of him?

Leaning forward in his chair, he says the same name you heard last night, the one who made your heart tighten painfully in your chest. You had been too confused and scared last night to even consider it but now you can clearly see he's using it to call you. He seems to think that's your name.

“That's not my name,” you manage through your dry throat, the words coming out so rough and low that you're sure he wouldn't have heard you if it weren't for the quiet in the room. Your answer seems to hurt him, his face drops, the sunlight that was shining through his skin seems to vanish, and you see his wings tighten behind him. Your own body seems to respond to it. You want to make him feel better but you don't know how or why.

He nods almost imperceptibly, as if accepting a fact he was unwilling to, and rises up from the chair, tensing slightly when you press yourself further into the headboard. He seems to try to ignore it as he moves to the nightstand, picking up the glass and handing it to you.

You eye the glass sitting in his brutally scarred hands, momentarily wondering what could have done such a thing if he healed up from a stab wound in mere hours. He senses your hesitation but simply holds it closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes again.

“It's not poisoned,” he offers, “I promise.” You're not entirely sure why but you trust him, or maybe you were just in desperate need of water, reaching up to take the glass from him and almost drinking it in one go. He seems at least pleased enough with this, moving back to sit in his chair. As you observe his movements, you almost miss the way the glass refills on its own. You blink at it, deciding it's not worth considering, and take another slow sip.

Since he doesn't start asking you questions, apparently content enough with watching you drink, and you start to get unusually shy under his intense gaze, you start asking them yourself, seeing this as your chance to know the male of your dreams.

“What's your name?” You play with the glass as you ask, trying to appear nonchalant despite your perilous situation and the tension between you.

“Azriel,” his deep voice cuts through the silence. You repeat it, goosebumps spreading over your body at the act. Nothing is making sense anymore but his name feels right on your tongue.

You say it one more time, letting it linger in your mind. There is something inside you trying to claw its way out at the sound. You can feel it now, can feel how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. There was a growing pressure inside your head. You let go of the glass and watch it vanish into thin air before it has the chance to make contact with the covers.

The sensation that you've forgotten something really important is back. You look up at the male one more time, seeing he has moved closer to you and noting the worry in his gaze. He wasn't supposed to be worried about you, he's a stranger and you had just stabbed him a few hours ago. So why does it feel right for him to care? Tears line your eyelids, your hands shaking slightly at the strange feelings building inside you.

“I don't know you,” you whisper, more to yourself than him, “I feel like I should.”

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lemonlover1110 · 10 months

Text

Double Trouble

Dad Series

Toji Fushiguro

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“I want a baby sister!” Koemi randomly spurts out one faithful morning. It makes Toji choke on his breakfast, hitting his chest a couple of times to cough up the bit of food that’s in his throat. There’s no way that Toji will agree to that, especially after he got them into a preschool and he has his life back.

Toji has never glared at Koemi before, but for the first time in his life he does. You agreed you don’t want more kids because twins are more than enough. Toji looks at you, and you’re taken back just as he is. You shake your head, and Toji says, “Never in a million years.”

“It’s not fair! Kisho has Megumi and I have no one.” Koemi yells, and Toji decides that he won’t start his day by arguing with someone that still has their baby teeth.

“You have your brothers, honey. You don’t need a baby sister.” You assure her, but that isn’t enough to convince her tiny brain. She’s stubborn, just like her father.

Koemi is smart, she knows how to convince you. She sneaks and takes the photo album that you have for the twins, leaving it on the coffee table. She runs to you when you notice it and pick it up, looking innocently as she asks, “What’s that, mommy?”

“Oh, nothing, baby. Just photos from when you and your brother were babies– When you couldn’t properly talk since you two are still babies in my eyes.” You tell her, and you decide to take a seat on the couch and look through the album, making Koemi join you.

You look at pictures of the twins from the first ultrasound to their first steps. Newborn babies aren’t all that cute but you had the cutest babies. They cried a lot, but you always managed to take pictures because they were too adorable. The biggest smile comes to your lips seeing a picture of Megumi with the twins, he holds Kisho while Koemi is on the couch, trying to reach her twin brother. Then a picture of Megumi who manages to hold both of the twins on the couch, who look to be around five months old.

You keep going back to this one picture that’s three pages in, it’s what gets you. Toji smiling at his newborn babies. Toji has many more pictures in the book, but that has to be the best one because you had never seen Toji so happy before. Sure, he was over the moon when he married you, but this was a level of happiness that only his kids could achieve.

“What are you–” Toji approaches you, and his eyes fall on the photo album. For the second time, he glares at Koemi. Given the tears that are welled up in your eyes, she’s convinced you. She’s a sly one. She’s his daughter after all. He has to think of some way to get her to back down. What’s something that’ll make her stop wanting a sibling? And then it dawns on him.

“Koemi, since you want a baby sister so bad, you’re going to learn how to share your toys. Mommy and I will call the stork if you’re willing to share all your toys.” He says, knowing that Koemi hates sharing. Toji makes sure to get two toys each for the twins since it’s a never ending fight with them, because of her. That’s something he doesn’t bother correcting because Toji also hates sharing. “Even with Kisho.”

She furrows her brows and ponders on it. She shakes her head, and Toji takes it as her backing down. She’s not willing to share her toys. “I don’t want a sister anymore.”

She ends up standing up and walking away, but that doesn’t fix the mess that she caused. Toji doesn’t have to think much about convincing you though, he only has to mention, “Morning sickness.”

“She’s right, she doesn’t need a sister.”

#[dad series]#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji fushiguro #jujutsu toji #toji zenin #dilf toji #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro x you #daddy toji #toji imagine #dad toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #jjk toji #toji fluff #toji x reader

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 3 months

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What is Broken IV (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) FINALE

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: traumatic childbirth, blood, semi-suicidal thoughts, Aemond is fantasizing about murder again, all the angst

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: I don't understand why, but thanks so much for all the support I've gotten from this horribly angsty fic! This is my first go at angst so I really appreciate it. I'm gonna work on two happy-ish fic chapters before I get started on When It Breaks, but it's coming...

And a huge, enourmous thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ripdragonbeans for being my betas for this! I was so anxious about getting this absolutely right and they were so kind and encouraging. Love yall forever 💜💜💜

Taglist is done via reblogs

Series Masterlist

What is Broken

She was so light, his ābrazȳrītsos.

Even while carrying their children – their sons – Aemond swore she was lighter than when he left. He held her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder and her legs draped over his forearm. With every step, he could feel more of the liquid that had spilled from her womb - now mixed with small, hateful tendrils of blood - dampening his sleeve.

Gods, how much blood had he seen in the past year? How much had he spilled himself? There had even been times when he reveled in its metallic tang. But the sight of her blood was nothing less than abhorrent.

He ran faster, until he could not make out the faces of those he passed, shouting for a Maester to be sent to their chambers immediately. One of them must be a servant. With luck, the Maester would already be there when they arrived.

She cried out as he began to ascend the stairs, wincing with each step, her weak grip on him tightening. “It hurts, Aemond.”

“I know, my love.” He slowed down, though his pounding heart urged him to do just the opposite. “I’m so sorry. The maester will be here soon, and he’ll help you feel better, hmm?”

“He has to stop it. It’s too early,” her voice cracked, and Aemond’s heart with it. “They’re not ready!”

But it couldn’t be stopped, not by man or gods. Their children would be born today. The only question was whether they would survive. If their mother would survive. Her poor body was so weak, and her heart… he had broken that, too.

If any of them died today, that blood would be on his hands, and he would gladly accept his damnation to the worst of the seven hells.

“Come now,” he chided gently as they reached the corridor to their chambers. “Our sons are dragons – they will be strong. And so will you, ābrazȳrītsos.”

“Sons?” She lifted her head, her entire body trembling with the effort it took. Her eyes – those beautiful eyes now gilded by the setting sun outside the windows – locked with his. “How… you sound so sure.”

Just one more lie. One more, and then he would never lie to her again.

Besides, this lie was small, nearly inconsequential. Many fathers insisted that their children would be sons until the child itself proved them wrong. It would be so easy for her to believe. The truth would hurt her – perhaps weaken her further. Aemond did not want her to hear Alys’ name. She should never have to even think of that witch ever again.

But he could not bring himself to do it. He could not sully the birth of his sons with yet another lie. He pushed their door open with a shoulder, never breaking her gaze. “Alys told me after you left. Before… she had a vision of us holding our sons. I’m so sorry, love.”

She slumped again, her face dropping into the curve of his neck. Once, she kissed him there, slept with her head tucked there. Now, it was simply where her head lolled. “I’m glad it’s sons. You’ll have two heirs…”

Her words were cut short by a gasp of pain, but Aemond heard it clearly. It echoed in his very bones. So if I live, you’ll have no more need of me. The gods had just crumbled the ground beneath him, his heart and soul with it. He was falling, falling, falling…

“I am glad, too.” He set her down gently in the bed, brushing away several tangles of hair stuck to her sweaty brow before arranging the pillows around her, hoping he was adequately managing to hide his devastation. For he could not bear to be without her, could not bear to love her only from a distance. He would go mad. Yet he would happily accept that horrible fate if it meant he would not lose her to the Stranger. “Mother will be, as well.”

“Mother!” She tried to rise, but he held her softly to the bed. “I can’t do this without Mother, Aemond. We must return home immediately!”

“I am afraid that is not an option, Princess.” Maester Artos stood just within the doorway, maids and Septas streaming in behind him. He was a mountain of a man, better suited to the battlefield than the birthing bed. But he was good at what he did – very good. Aemond had seen him work miracles on men who should have never survived their injuries.

The moment the women began attending to his wife, he approached the Maester, speaking quietly so as not to frighten her. “Something is wrong, Artos, she is bleeding. And she’s very weak.”

Artos hardly acknowledged him, looking only at the princess lying in the bed. “The blood is not the problem. She is distressed and too thin.” He stated, as cold and clinical as all other Maesters.

“Yes, I know that already.” Aemond took a shaky, calming breath. He did not like the way Artos observed her, as if she was a thing to be studied rather than a woman – a princess. Perhaps when it was all over, he’d kill the man for it. “I fear she is not strong enough to survive this.”

She cried out behind them. Two maids were pressing damp cloths to her forehead. Another was hastily braiding her hair back. A Septa had begun cutting away her dress, leaving her only in her chemise as two more maids removed her slippers and stockings. Two other Septas knelt by the windows, praying, while one woman who seemed to be neither maid nor Septa laid metal and wood instruments atop a tall, thin table.

It took every ounce of Aemond’s self-control not to go to her. To shove away each woman because it should be him – and him alone – to touch his wife while she was so vulnerable. He should be the one to protect her, but he couldn’t. He could only hurt her, it seemed.

“Artos!” Aemond hissed.

“Is her spirit weak as well?” There was suspicion in his dark eyes. The same he’d shown when he confirmed Alys was carrying a child. If he hadn’t been so proficient a healer, Aemond might have killed him then.

But for now, Aemond was glad Artos was alive. He swallowed, avoiding looking back at the bed as his wife continued to whimper and moan. “Yes.” The maester just hummed before approaching the bed. Aemond followed, kneeling at the bedside, the maids immediately clearing away.

“This is Maester Artos, ābrazȳrītsos.” She stared wide-eyed at the hulking mass of the man who now knelt between her legs. Aemond tugged on her hand, her gaze snapping back to him. “I know him well. He’s going to take very good care of you, I promise.”

She shuddered, her eyes closed tight as she squeezed Aemond’s hand so hard he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He delighted in it. She was not as weak as he thought, thank the gods. If she needed to break every bone in his hand – in his body – to live through this, he would let her do so without complaint.

“Are you going to stay with me?” she asked, her voice already ravaged by screaming.

Aemond blinked. When they first learned they were to have a child, he swore he would. But now, it seemed impossible for her to want him there. Not after what he’d done. “Do you… want me to stay?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but another moan of pain. Her eyes darted all over his face. The longer she stayed silent, the further Aemond’s stomach dropped, and his heart ached.

“I believe it wise to have the prince wait outside,” Artos said decisively.

Aemond felt her hand slide out of his, the sensation the same as if he were falling from Vhagar’s back—her answer.

He nodded, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned over her and kissed her forehead, trailing a hand down her cheek. “I love you.”

As he walked to the door, he still held a little shred of hope in his heart, waiting to hear her say it back.

It never came.

The moment the door shut behind Aemond, she regretted sending him away. She wanted to call him back so she wouldn’t be alone with so many strangers. But panic began to set in as the maids pulled her gently down the bed, and her voice failed her.

“It won’t be long now, princess,” the maester said, but she found no comfort in it. She couldn’t even remember his name. Alton? Alyn? Amos? Aemond had said he trusted him, but…

But that meant he had been here when Aemond was with Alys. And that glint of pity in his eyes, not just for her conditions, but for what he knew. He knew. Seven Hells, he’d probably been the one to care for Alys and her pregnancy.

Alys. Alys, Alys, fucking Alys!

She did not know what to think of the woman who had stolen so much from her. Had she stolen it, or had Aemond given it? She could hardly make sense of what she’d learned in that dreary little room.

Alys was not the evil, scheming witch she had first imagined. But neither was she innocent in the affair, not wholly. She was not remorseful for her actions, but she apologized for hurting her. She had been kind.

Blinding pain shot through her, and she screamed. Wordless and desperate, her only outlet for release. She needed to scream, needed to roar, needed to breathe fire. Anything to distract from this. Gods, she even wished for a moment for Alys to be there, holding her hand. At least then, she could return some of that pain.

“Princess,” the maester said, though he sounded far away. Though it was more likely that her shouting was drowning him out. “Very soon, I will ask that you push. Do you know how, your highness?”

Push. That’s what the septas had instructed Helaena to do at the birth of her twins and for Maelor. She even had vague memories of the word from when she peeked through the open door to her mother’s chambers when Daeron was born. But what it meant and how to do it?

Her confusion must have been apparent, for the maester continued. His voice was frustratingly calm and steady. “It is fine if you do not, princess. You must simply follow your instincts. When you feel the urge, push the child outward with all your might.”

“I have no might.” She heard herself laughing through tears and only then realized she was crying. Someone took her hand – she didn’t know who. But the feeling of another’s skin on hers was heavenly.

“You have carried these babes for months,” the maester – Artos! that was his name – said gently, “while your husband and the realm were at war. In my estimation, you are the mightiest woman in Westeros.”

She felt nearly every muscle she had tense, turning her answering grateful smile into a grimace. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have weathered her pregnancy as well as a paper boat in a storm. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not still love her husband after he betrayed her. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have let her emotions weaken her or put her children’s lives in danger.

She was far from the mightiest woman in Westeros, and she could not do this. She wasn’t strong enough. She was only a weak and broken little girl.

A maid approached, a fresh cool, damp cloth in her hands. The princess had not looked at any of their faces, too absorbed in her pain and panic. But now, she caught the eyes of this girl—deep, rich brown, so similar to her own – to her mother’s.

“I want my mother,” she whispered to the maid, even knowing it was impossible. “I can’t do this without her.”

The maid gaped at her as if she could not fathom a princess ever speaking to her. She looked to her companions for guidance, but the princess only looked into the maid’s eyes and thought of her mother—the scent of the rosemary oil she used in her hair, the warmth of her embrace, and the soothing tones of her voice.

“Please, I want my mother,” she begged. A new surge of pain gripped her, radiating into her legs. They were coming faster now; she barely had time to breathe between each wave. “Please.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” The maid’s voice was high and breathy, nothing like her mother’s. “The queen is not here.”

She cried, turning away from those false eyes. She was alone – entirely and utterly alone.

“Princess, I need you to be strong now.” Artos’ sweaty brow was furrowed with half a dozen creases, his eyes wide and mouth a firm line. He looked more like a commander on a battlefield than a maester. The Grand Maester would have smiled at her, but he was not here, either. “Your labors are progressing quickly. It is nearly time to push.”

“I don’t know how,” she cried. She refused to open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could almost imagine she was home.

Artos wrapped his hands around her ankles, pushing them upwards and further apart. “You do, princess. The Mother wove the knowledge into your body. Listen to it, and all will be well.”

“I – ”

Her next scream rattled the room, the keep, the entirety of the Riverlands.

Fire, ice, steel, and claw seemed to rake down her spine to her thighs. But Artos was right; her body reacted to the pain, her muscles moving near-unconsciously to force the babe out of her womb. She followed the instinct, pushing it harder, harder, harder.

“Very good, princess!” Was that Artos or Orwyle? She couldn’t tell anymore.

It was never-ending.

Pain, pushing, and a brief moment of reprieve.

Again.

It lasted hours, days, perhaps even years.

Was a child – a son – even worth this pain? How could she love someone who had tortured her so? Would she ever be able to look at him without remembering how she suffered?

Pain.

PAIN.

Then –

“Stop, princess!”

She went limp, vaguely beginning to feel other sensations creep in: the coolness of the water on her forehead, the slight scratching of the sheets beneath her, and the hushed whispers of the maids and midwives.

The pain was still there, but softer. Less insistent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice nearly unrecognizable, even to her.

Artos emerged from between her legs, relief painted over his harsh face. “Nothing is wrong, princess. It is simply time to be gentle and allow your body to do its work.” He smiled, chuckling under his breath. “I can see your babe’s white hair – quite a bit of it.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Deep, joyous laughter. Another slight wave of pain passed through her, but she didn’t care at all. She was thinking about her niece and nephew, how Jaehaerys was born with nearly a full mane of silver frizz while Jaehaera had not a single hair on her head until she was over a year old. “He has hair?”

“Yes, although I do not know yet whether it is a boy, princess.”

“It is. He is.”

There was one more brief surge of pain, and then she heard her son cry.

It was torture to wait outside while his ābrazȳrītsos screamed with pain. At first, Aemond stood leaning against the wall, as Aegon did when Helaena began her labors, but his knees failed him when he heard a scream that rattled the world.

He’d been on the floor since, resisting the urge to cover his ears. But he had caused her this pain, so he must listen.

He would be in that room with her if he hadn’t been a weak, damnable fool. He would have held her hand, letting her release her pain onto him. She had only squeezed his hand once, yet he still felt the ghost of her touch on his skin. He would savor that pain for the rest of his life.

It seemed to be never-ending, the torture his son was inflicting upon her. How could he ever forgive the child for doing this to his own mother?

Then, it stopped.

Aemond leaped to his feet, panic infecting his blood like a disease. Why had she gone quiet? What was wrong? Was she dead? He couldn’t face –

A babe cried—his first cry, with his first breath.

Their son.

He tried to push the door open, but it was locked.

“Let me in!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door. “Artos, let me in!”

There was no answer, but he could hear soft voices inside. None sounded like hers. Oh gods, had she brought their son into the world at the cost of her own life?

Aemond slammed himself against the door again and again, not caring for the damage he was doing to his own body. “Open the door now, Artos!”

He threw himself against the wood again and again. At some point, it had to yield. Either it would, or his body would.

It opened just before he launched himself at it again—not all the way, but it was open. Then, Artos stared at him through the gap with his hateful, disapproving gaze.

“Let me in,” he growled. Trying to force the door open was useless, as the maester was practically a giant and, apparently, throwing all his strength into holding it closed. “If you don’t let me see my wife, I swear I’ll – ”

“Your wife has not finished her labors yet, my prince.” Damn him, the mountainous bastard. “But I am pleased to inform you that she has borne you a son.”

Though he knew it was to be a son, the words still shot through him. A son. His son. Their son.

“Is he healthy? Is she?” There was no more fight in his voice. The warrior prince had vanished, replaced only by the husband and father. By all the gods, he was a father.

Artos nodded. “The boy is small but healthy. Your maester may have miscalculated the date of conception. He is remarkably healthy for being born so early.”

“And my wife?”

“She is tired, but well. The second babe is not quite ready to emerge, so she is resting.”

The weight of all the world was lifted from his shoulders. He felt like the little boy he had once been on Driftmark, wanting nothing more than to see his zaldrīzītsos and take comfort in her embrace. “May I see her? Please.”

“I’m afraid not, my prince.” Artos at least had the decency to sound genuinely apologetic. “She needs this rest. With the first birth, she was wonderfully strong, more than I could have ever imagined. But I fear she has depleted her strength. She fell asleep the moment it was done.”

“Is… is it bad that she fell asleep?”

Artos sighed, his eyes turning to the floor. “Ordinarily, no, but with how thin she is, how weak… it worries me.”

No. No, no, no. “Is there anything you can do? To help strengthen her?”

“I am afraid not, my prince.”

“Well, do something. Do whatever you can.”

A soft moan came from behind the door. Ābrazȳrītsos. Aemond pushed against the door, opening it as far as he could to try and catch the barest glimpse of her.

Her eyes were nearly closed, her reddened cheeks making them appear as dark as night. Her chemise was soaked through with sweat and whatever other fluids came out with their child. But no blood beyond what he already knew to be there.

“Ābrazȳrītsos! I’m here!” He shouted. It took a moment for her to look his way. He could have sworn she smiled. “I’m with you! You must be strong, my love. I know you can be. I love you! I love you so much, ñuha zaldrīzītsos!”

Artos pushed against the door, forcing Aemond back. “That is enough, my prince. Upsetting her will only drain her strength.”

Aemond knew it was true, that his presence would likely upset her rather than comfort her. So, he stopped resisting and allowed the maester to close the door. Just before it closed, he whispered one final command, “Take care of her, Artos. She is my world.”

The pain returned, worse than before. The lightning crept down her spine again, but it was now accompanied by a great force set on tearing her body apart at the seams. Pushing brought no relief, nor did it seem to move her son any closer to the world.

Artos came to her bedside, resting the back of his hand against her brow.

“It’s worse this time,” she confided in the maester when it finally ebbed. “It’s so much worse. Why?”

He sighed and sat on the bedside, his massive hand nearly eclipsing her head as he stroked her hair. It made her feel remarkably like a kitten. “I cannot say, princess. There are many possibilities. This child could be larger, in a slightly different position, or…” He hesitated. “As I said, there are too many possibilities for me to be sure.”

His pause unsettled her, but it soon faded away when another wave went through her. “Is he nearly ready? I can’t do this much longer.” At least she knew what to do this time, so surely it would be better.

“Ah, another son, is it?” Artos stood from the bed to examine her spread legs. Several maids gently moved her to replace the sheets beneath her. “Not yet, but soon. Your motherly instincts will tell you when.”

Motherly instincts. Gods, she was a mother now. There was a child on the other side of the room that she had given birth to, that she had grown within her. A son who would depend on her for his entire life. Her, and his father.

Aemond would be a good father, she knew, even if he were decidedly lacking as a husband. But as a father, he would be attentive, kind, and loving. He would give their sons all the love he was denied by their own father.

They would not repeat the mistakes of the past. They would love their sons. They would not ignore them, speaking to them only to scold them. They would teach them the language of their ancestors themselves instead of relying on tutors. As soon as they were old enough, they would teach them how to be compassionate and fair rulers. They would not force them to marry for political advantage or the continuation of the bloodline but let them fall in love, as they had.

She could see them now. Both with white hair and unruly curls. Bright lilac eyes. The elder would take after her, but with Aemond’s determination. The younger would take after their father but with her gentle temperament.

As if the vision was summoning her second son, she felt her body constricting, muscles tightening. Without fear, she began to push.

“Princess, stop!”

Artos screamed as if someone was holding a sword to his throat, desperate and panicked. His eyes were wide and bulging as he looked from her face to where her second son should be emerging. “You mustn’t push now, princess. Not once. I…”

He stood, pulling one of the Septas aside. Others followed, and their frantic, poorly hushed whispers grew louder. She knew the sight should frighten her, but she forced herself to remain calm. Aemond said he trusted this man and had seen him work miracles. Whatever was wrong, Artos would fix it.

She was sure.

Artos burst out of the door without warning. Aemond pushed away from the wall. “Is it over?”

The maester sighed.

Shit. Seven Hells and all the Gods.

“Your wife is strong, my prince,” he began. Holy gods, he sounded as if he would cry. “Enough so that I would have little doubt that she could deliver your second child, but…”

“What’s wrong?” Aemond felt his heart race, his blood surge, his finger twitching for his sword. He was going into battle, but this was not a battle he could fight with steel or fire. This was not a battle he could fight at all. “Artos?”

“The babe is not in the right position.” He moved his hands as if it would somehow make Aemond understand what he was saying.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the babe cannot be born, your highness.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything she had suffered and survived.

“If she were to continue her labors, neither she nor the child would live.” Artos put a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort. “I can save only one. Who survives… that is your decision, my prince.”

The gods were cruel to force this upon him – the very choice that had damned their family decades ago when Viserys chose to sacrifice his wife and queen for the chance at a son. That was where the seeds of destruction had been sown.

Aemond could not repeat the mistakes of the past. He would not be like his father. He had his son and heir. A second would be preferred, but not at the cost of his ābrazȳrītsos.

His ābrazȳrītsos, whose heart would break to lose her son. Who would never forgive him if he decided to –

He couldn’t choose. He couldn’t let her die, and he couldn’t let their son die.

He couldn't live without her, and he couldn’t take away her will to live.

He tore himself out of Artos’ grasp and stormed into the room.

Aemond threw open the door, his eyes wide and wet, and suddenly, she was not so sure that Maester Artos would fix whatever was wrong.

He ran to the bed, not sparing a glance at their new son. She burst into sobs the moment he took her in his arms. “Oh, ābrazȳrītsos,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed her temples. She entwined her fingers with his, desperately squeezing. “I’m here now. Everything is going to be fine.”

Liar. Sweet Liar. Beloved Liar.

“I want Mother. I want Helaena.” Her voice crackled with tears and exhaustion. Everything hurt. Someone – most likely her – was crying, though it sounded distant. And if Aemond was here, not waiting outside…

If Aemond was here, holding her hand and stroking her hair, it meant something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“Mother is not here right now,” he said, squeezing her hand tighter. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. “And Helaena… she can’t be here. I’m so sorry.”

“She told me she would hold my hand like I did for her. She promised!”

“I know. I know, my love, but it is not possible.”

Because Helaena was dead. So were Daeron, and Jaehaerys, and Jaehaera, and Maelor, and Otto, and Ser Criston, and nearly every other person she loved. Aegon would be dead soon, too, then she would only have her mother and her husband.

Her mother, who had begged her to forgive the husband who betrayed her and broken her heart.

“I can’t do this alone, Aemond. I can’t.”

“You can, I know it. You are so strong, dearest.” Yet there was no confidence in his voice.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear his hair out just to make him hurt, too. “I can’t! I’ll die if you make me, Aemond, I know it. I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.”

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. “My love, I…” his voice faded, leaving them in total silence, save for that distant crying.

Then, he kissed her—not the soft kisses on the temple or head of the past fortnight, but the way he had kissed her when he said goodbye all those months ago. His lips slotted against hers perfectly, and she opened for him on instinct. She knew she should stop, push him away, and scold him, but she couldn’t.

Everything felt wrong—her entire body felt wrong. But this, kissing Aemond, felt right. Her desperation for comfort far overpowered her anger and resentment. Her trembling hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers bunching in his shirt. She pulled him closer, wanting more—more rightness, more connection, more feeling.

More Aemond.

But he pulled away, resting his brow against hers as she chased his lips again. He placed a hand on either side of her face, holding her still. “I’m going to fix this,” he rasped, his voice shredded by fear and desperation. “I will fix this, I swear.”

Then, he let go.

He stood from the bed and turned away from his wife.

He was leaving. He was fucking leaving her.

She screamed his name, cursed him, begged him to come back, hurled insults, and cried for him. He couldn’t do this to her, not after everything he’d already done.

This was not love. The heat that burned in her chest was not love.

It was hate.

For the first time in her life, she truly hated Aemond.

“Alys!” Aemond bellowed as he descended the stairs to the servant’s quarters, taking the steps two, three at a time. No one dared approach him. Not even Artos had tried to stop him as he ran away from his ābrazȳrītsos.

She may hate him forever for this, for leaving her when she was so weak and scared.

Fine. It would be worth it.

“ALYS!” The door snapped from its upper hinge as he tore it open. The witch was precisely where she’d been when Aemond left, her hand on her chin as she looked into the fire. What vile hell did she see in her visions now? “Alys!”

“I heard you, Aemond.” She did not look at him, only staring at the flames, those green eyes flitting around as if she were reading a book. “The entire continent heard you.” There was no humor in her voice, no hint of a smile on her face.

He swallowed, panting. He was crying – weeping like a little boy. That didn’t matter now. Very little mattered now.

Aemond fell to his knees before the witch with whom he had destroyed his life. He would do whatever she asked, destroy what little was left of his pride if necessary. “I need your help, Alys. Please.”

“She’s dying?”

“Yes. The maester said I had to… that I had to choose who to save.”

“And you can’t choose between her and the child.”

“No, I – ” he swallowed as his voice shattered. He was going to vomit. “I can’t, Alys. I can’t. Please.”

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?” She was colder than the Wall, than the entirety of the lands beyond it.

“Save them, both of them.”

Alys’ eyes narrowed. Her face was painted with an expression he had never seen. He had no clue what it meant. “What would you sacrifice,” she asked flatly, “to ensure your wife and her children – your true heirs – live?”

“Anything,” Aemond croaked, “Everything.”

One corner of her sinful mouth lifted in a way that did not bring him comfort. She sighed as if taking the time to thoroughly consider his plea. The wicked bitch was gleefully stalling when the lives of his wife and child could end at any moment.

“Please, Alys,” he begged again, desperation crawling through his veins like spreading ice. “I cannot live without her, and she will never recover from her grief if she loses the babe.”

Something passed over her face, and she smiled fully. “You have always been a man of loyalty and nobility, Aemond.” Her grin sharpened as she laid one delicate hand upon her belly. “Almost always, at least.”

“Alys,” he growled in warning.

“Oh, don’t be a beast about it,” she scoffed. “I will do it – save them. If only in memory of our time together.”

Aemond sagged as relief swept through him, but it did not last long. She was still dying. The babe was still dying. Whatever Alys would do, she needed to do it now. He opened his mouth to command her to start, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I promise it will be done.” She flung her hand to the door in dismissal. “You should be there for her. She is still so very frightened.”

He needed nothing more to run back to his wife.

She was alone. Even with Maester Artos and the dozen women hovering around her, even with her son cooing softly from the cradle by the window, she had never felt so alone.

Aemond was gone.

He’d left her. Without even a goodbye, he’d left her. He had not even stopped to meet his son.

Artos murmured something to one of the Septas, who quickly gathered the other women on the far side of the room. He approached the bed, again seating himself upon the edge, and pressed the back of his fingers to her brow briefly before petting her hair. “How are you feeling, princess?”

“Am I going to die?”

He hesitated in answering. “I cannot say for certain…”

“I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.” Her heart constricted as his fingers brushed against a spot where Aemond had kissed her. “You told him, now tell me.”

“Very well,” he sighed. His harsh face fell, and she swore she could see his eyes glistening. “The babe is breech. It should emerge head-first, but it is not. It’s… the way it is attempting to come out is nearly impossible. Should I not intervene, one or both of you will die.”

No. No, no, no, it wasn’t fair. To suffer for this long, to endure what she endured, only for her child to enter the world wrong? In a way that would kill them? She had always been good and devout. She prayed and studied holy texts, listened to her Septas and the Maesters, and avoided sin at all costs. Then why was she being punished?

Unless… the gods had not sent this to punish her.

Aemond had abandoned her and their marriage – their holy union – when he slept with Alys. It would be fitting, and very like the gods, for him to lose that which he had forsaken. She and her second son were merely instruments of punishment. But it wasn’t fair.

“There is nothing you can do?” She felt hollow as Artos continued to look at her in pity.

The warrior-maester looked as if he were about to cry, as well. “In these situations, it is usually asked of the father whom he would rather save.”

So that was why Artos left the room – to ask Aemond whether to save her or the child.

“Who did he choose?” Either answer would devastate her. He would either prove the fragility of his love for her, or he would willingly break her heart by killing their son. Whatever he chose, he would become a kinslayer thrice over.

“He… he did not, your highness.”

“What?”

“I explained the situation, and he stormed in here – to you. When he left, he said nothing. He just ran. I presumed he had…” But he hadn’t. Had not said a word about the peril she and their son were now in.

A coward. Too frightened to maintain his vows of marriage. Too weak to admit his wrongdoing. Too cowardly to even make this most crucial of decisions. The gods damn him.

If they hadn’t already.

“So… what will you do?” If she had to be the one to make the decision, so be it.

“There are three options.” None of them were very good, she knew, simply by looking at his forlorn face. She had thought him a grave man when she first saw him. Now, he looked mournful – a reluctant harbinger of death. “I can forcibly remove the child, more than likely killing it in the process. I can attempt to save it and, in so doing, certainly kill you. Or we can proceed with the birth, risking killing both of you and pray that the gods may be merciful.”

Such a choice – a decision of life and death – should be difficult. It should tear away at the soul to condemn another. It should be far beyond the limits of the heart or mind.

But it was easy.

“Save him,” she whispered. “Let me die.”

Artos frowned deeply, shook his head, and said something in return, but she did not listen – she could not and would not hear his words. She only vaguely saw him move to the end bed, ripping away the sleeve of his robes as he barked orders at the maid and midwives. Perhaps the gods were merciful to dull her senses now so she could pass peacefully.

What did it matter if she died now?

She will have fulfilled her duty and given her husband his heirs. Finding a new wife would be easy – what woman would not want to marry him? Even if news of Alys spread beyond the walls of Harrenhal, surely it was nothing in exchange for a crown. Aemond would have everything he needed to be king.

If she lived, what sort of life would it be? To raise one son while constantly mourning the other. To be the wife of a man she could no longer trust. To remain empty, a shell of her former self. She would be alive, but she would still be a ghost.

“Save him,” she said again, her voice fading.

It was easier this way. Hadn’t she already learned that it was easier not to fight? Letting Aemond take care of her was easier than fighting him. Perhaps it would be easier to let him care for the children, too. He would love them enough that they would not feel her absence.

Distantly, she felt pressure between her legs, then heard her firstborn son cry out to echo her own screams.

Her son.

Oh, he had no name.

She couldn’t leave him motherless and without a name.

Months ago, she had decided on names, but they were hard to remember now. What was it? She could grant him this one last gift. She just needed to remember…

“Daeron.”

Yes. It had been her brother’s name. Her kind, brave, daring brother. He died some months ago. There had been a battle. Why was her little brother fighting? He was too young for that.

Tendrils of pale mist crept into the edges of her vision, playfully willing her to sleep.

Once she was gone, Daeron—her Daeron—would have a little brother, too. He would need a name as well—a strong name, a courageous name. When she was dead, he would need courage.

“Aenar.”

A strong name. With courage enough to forge a new beginning.

There. Names for her sons, the little princes.

With that last parting gift, she could close her eyes at last.

Goodbye, she tried to say.

I love you, my children.

Be kind to each other.

Love each other always.

Goodbye.

The mist filled her vision, illuminated by a distant light. It was cool, like a late spring morning. She did not hurt anymore. Did not feel anything but an overwhelming sense of peace.

The distant light faded.

The mist darkened.

Through it, she swore she could see grass-green eyes and hear the faraway cry of a babe.

She was still screaming. Good.

Screaming meant she was still alive. Screaming meant Alys was fulfilling her promise. Screaming meant that Aemond was racing back to his wife – his living, breathing, beloved wife – and not her corpse.

The door was still locked when he arrived—one final obstacle between him and his family.

No, not final. Far from it. The door was the only tangible thing keeping him from his wife and children, yes, but there was far more beyond it. The pain he caused her, the hatred his ābrazȳrītsos now surely felt for him, and the third child that would soon be born still kept them as far apart as the earth and stars.

They would get past it. They had to. They were siblings, husband and wife, now destined to become King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They were meant for each other. The gods or fate or whatever else had made her for him and him for her.

They were two parts of the same whole, cleaved.

“Prince Aemond.”

Cregan Stark, the man who humiliated him and his wife mere hours ago, stood behind him. Aemond snarled. “Leave. Now.”

Stark stood strong and still. “You have been my enemy. You may be still, I have not decided. I have no admiration nor respect for you, my prince. In short, I do not like you.”

“Do you want me to kill you?” Aemond asked. He did not wish to greet his sons with blood-soaked hands, but if Stark didn’t close his fucking mouth –

“To lose the woman you love so dearly in this way… it is a pain I know all too well and one I would not wish on anyone. I have instructed all my men to pray for the Princess and the child, and I will join them soon. Negotiations will be postponed indefinitely.”

“I…” Perhaps Aemond had underestimated the brute, if he was a brute at all. And though he knew the prayers were unnecessary, gratitude still dulled his rage. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

He simply inclined his head and walked away, leaving Aemond leaning against that godsdamned door, listening to nothing but the sound of his own panting breath.

Oh gods.

He froze.

The screaming was gone.

It was silent.

Was she dead?

Had Alys betrayed him?

He would kill her. He would tear her apart with his own hands and –

A child cried.

Then…

Oh, thank each and every god a thousand times over.

For then, Aemond heard his wife laughing.

“Princess?”

She always expected that the voice of the Father would be deep and smooth, but shouldn’t it be the Mother to greet her, given how she died? And shouldn’t the gods greet her by name, not her title?

“Princess, it is time to wake up,” the voice said again. “Open your eyes for me.”

Oh, her eyes were closed. She should open them.

The Heavens were not as bright as she imagined, nor as golden. They were dark and sparsely decorated and looked very much like –

“I am not dead?”

Maester Artos looked down at her and smiled. It reminded her of the few times she had seen her father smile at her, sparking a warmth in her chest she had not felt for years. She had not known she still remembered those smiles. “I am very happy to say you are not, your highness.”

“But, my son – ”

“He lives, too.”

It couldn’t be. After all the suffering of the past year, she could not believe it could be true. Loss had become a certainty, as sure as the sun rising each morning.

A babe cried, and she turned toward the sound. A young maid was wrapping an infant boy with a shock of white curls in a cobalt blue blanket. Daeron.

A different, softer cry came from the other end of the room. There, another boy with only a smattering of silver wisps atop his head was being gently cleaned by a Septa. Aenar.

Her sons – alive and well and here.

She threw her head back against the pillows and laughed.

She laughed with joy and relief, with eight months of eager waiting and sickness. She laughed with a body nearly dead, saved only by some miracle she did not understand. And she laughed with a heart that was both shattered and overflowing.

This was the moment she had dreamed of since she learned she was pregnant, since the moment she married Aemond. She had dreamed of this all her life. It was her destiny, even if it was vastly different from how she had dreamed it. For she was not at home in the Red Keep but within the cursed stones of Harrenhal. Her mother was not by her side but miles away. The family that was supposed to crowd around her and coo over the children were nearly all dead. And her husband…

“Let me in!” he shouted through the door, the wood pounding against stone as he threw himself against it. He had been doing that before, but she did not notice until now. It was so like him, the impatience and need to act, that she laughed again. “Ābrazȳrītsos! Is that you? Tell me you are safe!”

Taking her laughter as permission, Artos opened the door. It was mere heartbeats later that Aemond was upon the bed, his eye flitting over every inch of her, his hands roaming to try and locate something wrong, to stem blood that did not flow or relieve pain that did not exist.

“I’m fine,” she said, breathless. “I did it, lēkia, and I’m fine.”

“You did it?” He looked down at her in utter disbelief and joy before his eye drifted to the Maester. Tears slipped from his eye and caught the light of the setting sun. “She did it…”

Her gaze went to the maid that held her firstborn – the girl with eyes like her mother’s. Fitting, for her to be the one to hold him. But it was her turn. “Bring Daeron to me,” she ordered,” some strength at last returning to her voice. “I want to hold him.”

Aemond stared at her. “Daeron?”

Was he angry that she named their sons without him? She couldn’t quite tell. Her mind was still fuzzy, like the mist she had seen still lay over her, casting everything in a sweet, happy light. She shrugged. “There are already too many Aegons, so…”

He laughed. She had missed that sound – she loved it so dearly. He settled into the bed next to her, their bodies fitting together perfectly, like two halves of a broken plate. So many familiar feelings – the warmth of his arm around her, the rhythm of his heart, his lips kissing her temple in the gentle way that always sent shivers down her spine. Hadn’t her spine hurt not long ago? “Daeron is perfect.”

Indeed, he was absolutely perfect. So tiny and precious as he was put in her arms, looking up at his parents with wide lilac eyes. Neither she nor Aemond said anything as they beheld him, taking in each tiny, perfect detail. The wild curls of his silver hair. Each and every eyelash framing his bright eyes. The pink of his lips. Fingers and toes so wonderfully soft and small. A toothless smile that lit the world.

“He’s going to be king someday,” she realized aloud. How could someone so tiny rule an entire kingdom? He had a lot of growing to do before the Conqueror’s Crown would fit.

“A great king, I think,” Aemond mused. He held out a finger, and Daeron instinctively wrapped his hand around it. “Wise and strong. Daring, like his namesake.”

“He must be kind, too.”

“He will be,” Aemond assured, brushing out her damp, tangled hair with his fingers. The feeling was so familiar, but each touch had her flinching slightly. “We will raise him to be kind. His brother, too.”

“Aenar.”

Aemond stiffened. Had he forgotten they had another son, or did he not like the name she gave him? He pulled his finger back from his son’s fist to touch the babe’s hair. “The Exile?”

“I just thought…” Perhaps it had been a foolish name. But it had felt right when it came to her, when she was on the brink of death. “Our family needs a new beginning.”

“Yes… I suppose it does.” He kissed her again with slightly too much pressure. “Another fine name.”

She looked at the Septa that had been cleaning him. Maester Artos stood with her now, along with several other women, crowding so much she could not see the babe. “I want to hold him, too. Bring him to me.”

None of them moved. The room fell silent.

“Allow me just a moment longer, princess,” Artos said. His voice shook, and he would not look at her or Aemond. “I am still finishing my assessment of the boy.”

He’s dead, her mind insisted. They saved your life at the cost of his. He died because of you.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Daeron began fussing in her arms, disturbed by how she began to tremble. She failed one son by killing him, and now she was already failing as a mother to the one who survived. Aemond tightened his arm on her shoulders, pulling her closer as his free arm gently lifted their son into his own grasp.

He hushed her, ducking his head to press his cheek to hers. “Lykirī, ābrazȳrītsos. Izūgō daor īlo bēvili gō.” Calm, little wife. Do not panic before we have reason to.

“Kostan daor,” she whimpered. If Aenar was dead…

“Is he alive?” Aemond’s hand moved to shelter Daeron’s head as if to shield him from whatever danger or heartbreak lurked. She turned to press herself into him – into the safety of his arms.

Brother. Husband. Protector.

Why did the feel and scent of him no longer make her feel safe?

“Yes, my prince,” Artos answered.

“Will he remain that way?”

“Yes…”

“You could tell me he’s green-skinned and winged for all I care.” His arm curled protectively around her, but it did not comfort her. Rather, she bristled against it, the possessiveness of it. He did not notice. “He’s alive, and that’s enough. Bring him.”

Artos hesitated but obeyed, hastily wrapping the babe in a dark blanket.

He looked whole – unbroken. Aenar’s eyes were closed as the Maester placed him in her arms, but she could feel his warmth, his little heart beating, and the faint rise and fall of his chest. He only woke when a tear fell from her cheek onto his.

Even then, he did not cry. He only looked at his mother with bright eyes – the same shade of violet as his father's and brother’s. “Ñuha trēso,” she whispered, and he smiled. My son.

“Taobosa sylvȳse,” Aemond added. “He already recognizes the language of his ancestors. He will serve his brother well. Dārys sepār Ondoso zȳhon.” Wise boy. The King and his Hand.

They had two perfect sons. So why did Artos still look like that?

The Maester’s frown deepened. “I am afraid…” he cleared his throat. “It appears that the younger prince was injured during the birth.”

She examined him again but could find nothing wrong. He was perfect. Surely, Artos was mistaken.

“May I?” His large hand hovered over the edge of the blanket.

Her instinct was to pull away, to not let this man touch her son. Yes, he had saved both their lives, but he must be wrong now. Why should she let him make a problem where there was none?

She suppressed that instinct and allowed him to uncover Aenar’s right arm. Artos’ demeanor had made it seem as though something was horribly wrong – that the arm would be missing or deformed. But it was just an arm, small and plump and pale, with a splotch of reddish-purple covering the shoulder like a pauldron.

“It… is it a birthmark?” She brushed a thumb over it, the skin smooth but slightly raised. A birthmark wasn’t an injury, nor was it exceedingly unusual. There were several families where such a mark appeared on nearly every child born.

“Explain yourself, Artos,” Aemond hissed. He looked ready to tear the man to pieces. If he did, he would likely do so without even setting Daeron down.

With a sigh, Artos ran a finger down the length of Aenar’s arm. “Note how he gives no reaction.”

“So he is calm,” Aemond spat. “I fail to see the injury.”

“Do the same to the elder.” He repeated the touch. “Gently, my prince.”

Aemond obeyed with a scowl. The moment he touched the babe, Daeron squirmed and flailed his arm.

“But he looks fine.” She looked down at her second son, her wise boy, and held out a finger, as Aemond had with Daeron. Aenar’s left arm squirmed within its wrappings, but the right was still. She touched the arm, silently pleading with the gods for it to move, for that tiny hand to reach for her.

It remained still. A desperate noise escaped her. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond and Artos said in unison. Her husband attempted to pull her into his chest, but she pushed him away. An embrace could not fix this. Nothing could. He did not pursue her again.

“It is not uncommon among children born breech.” the Maester explained. “I have seen many such injuries and many even worse.”

Artos offered no sympathy or apologies, and she was thankful for it. There was nothing he could say to ease the pain of knowing that her son would never be whole, just like his father. But unlike Aemond, he was never even given the chance, wounded from his first breath. What would the people call him? ‘Prince Aenar One-Arm, son of King Aemond One-Eye?’

“What do we do?” She asked her husband, the Maester, the gods. Anyone who may have an answer.

Aemond’s face was drawn with grief – for his son and for himself. “He will adapt, as I did. I will ensure it. He will be stronger for this. I promise.”

I cannot trust your promises.

The thought was a sudden gale of icy wind scattering the lovely mist coating her mind into oblivion, leaving her with only stark, wicked reality and the faint memory of green eyes.

“How did I survive?”

Too quickly, Aemond turned to her, taking hold of her chin and pulling her close to him. “It does not matter, ābrazȳrītsos. All that does is that you are still with me. You and Aenar.”

If he wasn’t holding her firstborn, she would have shoved him from the bed.Liar. Liar. Liar.

I will fix this. he’d said before he left her. The pure, unrelenting anger she felt as she watched him leave had prevented her from considering what those words meant. Now, she could think of nothing else. What could he do? He was no midwife nor Maester. He had no knowledge of childbirth, beyond the few questions he’d asked of Orwyle months ago. What could he have done for her and Aenar except beg the help of another?

Of Alys.

Alys, who had eyes the color of fresh grass and possessed a dark magic that allowed her visions of the future. Was she also able to influence that future?

How?

At what cost?

What had Aemond promised her in exchange for their lives?

“No Maester wants to admit to ignorance,” Artos smiled sadly as Aenar continued to try to wriggle his left arm free of his blanket, “but I cannot explain it. All I can think is that the gods are kind to you, princess, and for that, I am glad.”

She could not look at him or any of the others in the room who watched her as if they could see the Mother’s hand upon her shoulder.

The gods weren’t kind. They were cruel to allow her to now owe her very life, and that of her son’s, to the two people who had destroyed her. Would she ever be able to look upon Aenar and not remember? To not feel her soul torn between unyielding hatred and infinite gratitude?

Yet, she had her life – and her sons. Surely anything was worth that.

Wasn’t it?

“I’m tired,” she said. The day had seemed to last a year, and the sun had not even set. “I want to rest now.”

After what she endured, no one argued.

His ābrazȳrītsos fell asleep mere moments after Daeron and Aenar were settled into their cradles. She did not even wake when Aemond lifted her so the servants could replace the soiled bedding. Just as she had so many times before, she tucked her face into his neck as they sat in the window, sighing contentedly. Now, he lay beside her in the bed, trying to memorize how it felt to have her in his arms.

When she woke, he knew she would never allow him to hold her like this again.

She knew. Somehow, his wife knew what he had done to ensure she and Aenar survived, and she would never forgive him for it for as long as she lived.

But she would live.

Aenar would live. Though he would bear the wounds of his father’s sins forever.

After his wife had fallen asleep, Maester Artos had told him that it would likely be necessary to amputate Aenar’s arm. The purple mark on his shoulder had grown, apparently indicating further bleeding within the limb. If it grew much more before morning, the arm would be removed before midday.

It was his fault, Aemond knew.

Alys had told him that in her visions, both boys had been healthy. But that was before his ābrazȳrītsos knew that he betrayed her. Before he brought her to this cursed place. Before he failed to stop her from meeting Alys and learning the full extent of his sins.

He only hoped Aenar would not grow to hate him for it.

For now, the boy slept in his crib, limp arm hidden beneath the dark blanket he was swaddled in. Aemond rose from the bed, moving closer to his son.

How peaceful he looked now, with the redness of his skin finally faded. He did not have as much hair as his older brother, but his was wilder - more reminiscent of his mother’s curls than his father’s straight locks. At least he had that part of her, if not the warm brown eyes Aemond had hoped for.

In the other cradle, Daeron fussed slightly, though he did not wake. It seemed he resented being confined within the tight swaddle of his blanket. The thought made Aemond smile, remembering how his younger brother once did the same. It faded quickly.

He had to go to Alys. To thank her for giving him his family - a kindness he did not deserve. To say goodbye to the child he would never meet. Another cost he would force himself to pay.

He had to go now, while his ābrazȳrītsos slept.

“Before our wedding,” he whispered, careful not to wake her as he approached, “I promised to hold you every night I could, that I would do anything to return to you when I was away. I have failed to uphold that promise, and for that, I am so sorry.”

When he stroked her cheek, she turned into his touch, a small smile upon her lips. Seeing that some unconscious part of her still reacted to him with love warmed his heart, even as the knowledge that her conscious mind would never allow her to do so felt like a dagger buried in his gut.

Aemond knelt at her side, basking in her beauty, memorizing her peaceful face. “Now, I swear my devotion again. I know you no longer wish for me to hold you, and I promise I will not try to persuade you otherwise. But I swear I will always be with you, to love and protect you, even if I must do it from a distance. I will never fail you again.”

It did not matter that she could not hear his vow. Even if she did, she would not believe him. But he made it anyway, for his own sake, and so the gods, wherever they may be, would hear him. It was to them he spoke next.

“Should I ever harm you again, I pray that the gods will strike me down where I stand. And if they do not, I shall do so myself.” He kissed her brow - the sealing of a promise and a farewell - and left.

A maid shrunk away as she passed Aemond in a corridor deep beneath Harrenhal, cradling the bundle of cloth she carried closer to her chest. It was one of the same maids who had tended to his wife—the young girl with deep brown eyes. She did not wear the clothing of a midwife, but the colors of her linen dress were similar. Perhaps a midwife in training.

Strange, then, for her to be here. Stranger still for her to be seemingly performing the duties of a laundress.

He glanced down at the bundle of cloth she carried and froze.

There was blood. Too much blood.

A young midwife, carrying bedlinens soaked with blood.

What would you sacrifice? Alys had asked.

Aemond ran.

He knew what he would find. There was no other explanation. Yet he still hoped and prayed he was wrong. Loss had followed him like a loyal dog for so long, but today it was banished. It must be.

Alys stood in front of her fire. One hand rested on a stomach that was not as distended as it had been only hours ago.

His wife’s stomach now looked very much the same.

“What did you do?” His voice shook with fear and guilt and shame. Gods, he felt so weak.

Her eyes, cold and distant, slid to his. “What you asked.”

“I didn’t ask you to…” This blood was on his hands - the blood of his child.

The word that had haunted him for more than a year - the word that had nearly led to the death of every person he ever loved - echoed in his mind.

Kinslayer.

Killer of his nephew. His uncle. His child.

Aemond looked back into the corridor, hoping to see the young midwife again. Had he not looked closely enough? Had she been carrying the body of his child within those bloody linens?

“I only wanted you to save my wife and son.” His words were a justification, a plea. It fell on the deaf ears of the gods and the dead child’s mother.

“And you thought there would be no cost?” Alys laughed, cruel and cackling. “No god in the world is so generous as to save a life and ask for nothing in exchange, boy.”

“I didn’t think – ”

“You never do.”

Grief morphed into anger. Reckless, aimless, dangerous rage. “You should have told me!”

“What would you have done?” She faced him fully now, her hand falling to her side. There was no trace of the woman who had once comforted and reassured him - who had kept him sane amidst the insanity of war. There was only annoyance and derision. It reminded Aemond of his dead half-sister and her bastard sons. “If I had told you?”

“I –”

“Would you have left your wife to die? Let her son die?” Alys’ lip curled in a hateful sneer. “You could not choose between wife and son, yet you believe you could have chosen between two sons?”

The world stopped. Only Alys’ flickering fire and burning eyes remained.

“I… it was a boy?” Aemond leaned against the wall, sliding down to his knees, savoring the scrape of the rough stone against his back. He deserved every bit of pain. More.

Alys let a single hint of sorrow slip through her cold façade. “It was. Three sons within a year. What your father would have given to have had the same.”

The last thing Aemond wanted to do was to think about his father. The king who had nearly destroyed his throne by choosing one child over another.

Gods, was he any better?

Did his ignorance of his son’s sacrifice absolve him of blame? The guilt?

It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Alys sighed. “Better for his death to mean something than for his life to be spent destitute and fatherless.”

“I would not have allowed that to happen,” Aemond said. It was a reflex, a reassurance he’d grown used to giving since he learned he seeded a bastard.

“Wouldn’t you? Perhaps if my visions had not changed. But now…” She shook her head, more exasperated than sorrowful. Did she mourn the child at all? “No. You’d have wanted us as far away as possible and done anything you could to not think of us.”

“I would have ensured your comfort.” The words felt as hollow as his chest.

“Your wife would, yes.” Alys smiled fondly, just as she had when his ābrazȳrītsos sat across from her earlier that very day. She had never smiled that way for Aemond. Never truly cared for him. He should have known. “She is kind-hearted. But not you. Your resentment of me, of us, would have festered until you found some way to be rid of us.”

He wanted to deny it. To say that there was nothing that could drive him to do what she insinuated. Once, it would have been true. But now, with the man he’d become in the war and how close he’d come to losing his heart itself, it would be a lie.

If he had killed Alys along with the rest of her cursed family, would he have become this man? Would he have learned to cherish the metallic tang of blood and its warmth as it coated his hands? Would he have become so proficient a liar that false words rolled off his tongue like a Valyrian lullaby? Would he have grown so accustomed to violence that it now came as naturally to him as loving his wife?

Would he have broken his ābrazȳrītsos’s heart?

He’d trusted her visions. It had been a mistake.

One mistake that led to thousands more, and it was all her fault.

Alys was the one who lied, who deceived him. Who had pulled his strings as if he were no more than a puppet, knowing that he was married and his wife was lonely and infirm.

His failure as a husband. His wife’s pain. The death of his third son.

Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

Aemond’s heart slowed, his breathing becoming deep and steady. No longer the heart of a broken boy or a desperate husband. Now, it was the blackened heart that had carried him through countless battles and raging rivers of blood.

“I will be rid of you now,” he hissed as he stood. “And I will be rid of you forever.”

The bitch had enough sense to look scared.

“In memory of the son you killed, I will allow you to live. But no more than that.” She didn’t even deserve that, this woman who did not mourn her own child. Perhaps it was good that the babe was gone, for surely he would have suffered with a witch as his mother.

He approached Alys, sneering down at her and the false bravery on her wicked face. “As Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I banish you from these lands forever. You have ten days to leave Westeros. After that, if you are ever seen here again…” He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, holding just tight enough to steal a bit of her breath - just enough to make her fight for it.

“I will kill you myself,” he promised. “Without hesitation or remorse, I will kill you. Slowly. And I will savor every moment, for it will bring me far greater pleasure than that withered cunt of yours ever did.”

She fell to her knees when he released her, clutching at her throat as she coughed and gulped for air. He didn’t care. He only turned on his heel and left, not sparing a single glance at the woman who had only hours ago been carrying his bastard child.

Only one woman mattered now, had ever truly mattered to him.

His ābrazȳrītsos was still asleep when he returned to their chamber, as were their sons. They had no idea where he had gone - that he had even left at all. No inkling of the fact that a moment ago, he had again become the man who wiped an entire bloodline from the earth, slaughtered tens of thousands, and delighted in the suffering he had wrought.

Now, as he leaned down to gently kiss his sons’ brows and muss their soft hair, he was a mere man of twenty, his heart bursting with love and affection for his family. How could a heart overflow with such love at the same moment it was fracturing with grief and regret?

It was a question far beyond him at that moment. Perhaps forever beyond his reach.

He was so tired. Too tired to consider the heartbreak that would come when he woke in the morning and his wife pulled out of his grasp. He could face that pain when it came. But now, he needed to feel whole, if only for a few hours.

So, Aemond climbed into bed with his wife, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her into his chest. He remained awake only long enough to kiss the top of her head and whisper, “Jāla tetan, ābrazȳrītsos. Īlon lentot selagon kosti.” It is over, ābrazȳrītsos. We can go home.

She woke to the sound of Daeron fussing. Strange how quickly she was able to tell them apart, even just by their little noises of discontentment. Although, considering she had been with them every moment of the last seven - near eight - months, it may not be strange at all. Perhaps that was why she felt so sure that it had been Daeron who occupied the top of her belly, constantly pestering her with his tiny fists pounding against her at the most inopportune times.

“Hush, little prince,” a soft voice said. “You’ll wake up your mother, and after what you and your brother put her through, I dare say she needs her rest.” A maid was speaking to him, a slight, old woman leaning over his crib. She had not seen the maid before, and somehow, it comforted her.

Daeron continued to grumble. She moved to stand but found Aemond’s arms wrapped around her waist. Thankfully, he was still asleep. Quite deeply asleep, apparently, for when she untangled herself from him, he did not wake.

The maid curtsied when she saw the princess approaching and stepped away from Daeron’s cradle. His fussing had now roused Aenar, but the younger prince made no sound, only glaring at his brother in what seemed to be intense displeasure at his sleep being interrupted.

“Is something wrong with him?” she asked the old maid. Daeron quieted slightly upon seeing his mother but still fussed.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, princess.” The old maid had a kind, soothing voice - that of a wise grandmother. She looked at the babes with fondness and a hint of apology. “They are simply hungry.”

“Where is the wetnurse?” She immediately regretted asking. In her sleepy haze, she had forgotten that Alys was the wetnurse at Harrenhal. Why wasn’t she here? Did she even want Alys here? No, of course she didn’t. Had Aemond requested another be found so she would not have to see Alys again?

The old maid looked away, sighing. “I’m afraid she’s left us. No wonder why, poor thing lost her babe again. Such a shame. We all thought she’d had a miracle with this one. But not to worry, Maester Artos sent some men to find another girl from the closest village.” She shook her head and again leaned over Daeron’s crib. “You’ll be fed soon, darling prince, don’t you worry.”

Alys’ child - Aemond’s child - was dead?

It was a good thing, wasn’t it? There would be no bastard son of the new king, no living reminder of what he’d done. This was good news. She should be happy, shouldn’t she?

But she wanted to cry.

“Mother, forgive me,” the old maid looked horrified as she clutched her pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star. “I should not have said that, princess. Not when you’ve only just finished your own labors. Please, forgive me.”

She glanced at Aenar, now peacefully asleep once more. How close she had come to losing him. It had devastated her. Made her willing to forfeit her own life if only he could live. If she had lost him and had to live with that loss… it would have driven her mad.

“How…” she licked her lips. “How many children has she lost?”

The old maid dropped her pendant. “I do not know, exactly. Enough that we all stopped counting.”

Oh gods. She blinked to clear her eyes, wiping away an errant tear with her thumb. “You said she’s gone?”

“Yes, princess. She left in the night. Didn’t say where she was going, to my knowledge.”

It made no sense. If Aemond had struck a bargain with Alys to save her and Aenar’s lives, why would she leave? Had whatever he offered her not been enough to keep her in the place where she’d lost so many children?

Daeron cried again, his face reddened and wrinkled. He was so hungry, she could nearly feel it herself. She… she could feel it. When she looked down at herself, she saw two dark stains on her chemise right above her breasts. Her milk had finally come in, which meant -

“I can feed them.”

The old maid looked aghast. “Princess, there is no need - ”

“I want to do it.” She was their mother, why shouldn’t she be the one to feed them? It was her body that made them, that brought them into the world. It made sense that it would continue to care for them even now. “Can you show me how?”

It took a moment for the maid to close her mouth before she smiled gently. “I’ve raised nine children myself, princess. I think I know a few tricks.”

The maid had gone by the time Aemond woke.

Daeron was still suckling at her left breast while Aenar had fallen asleep using the right as his pillow. She had not realized how heavy and uncomfortable they had felt until the boys had drunk from her, easing the pressure that she’d become accustomed to.

“You should not be doing that yourself,” Aemond muttered as he raised himself on an elbow. His eye darted from son to son, only ever glancing over her exposed breasts. Once, he loved to worship them, quite similarly to how his sons fed from her now. “Where is the wetnurse?”

Did he not know that Alys had left? Had no one told him of the death of his child?

No. Those were the faint remnants of tear tracks lining his cheeks, and there was a deep sadness in his eye that was not there when he held his sons for the first time. He knew. He knew, and he was grieving, though he was fighting to hide it. She still saw it.

Perhaps that was the real reason he never returned to King’s Landing during the war - he knew she would be able to see the guilt on his face.

“There is no other wetnurse,” she explained gently. “Alys left. They’re looking for another woman now.”

Aemond froze, his gaze growing distant. She could not decipher his expression. Rage? Guilt? Sorrow? Grief?

“I’m sorry, Aemond.” He frowned and shook his head, but she continued. “Truly, I am.”

“It’s better this way,” he whispered. He didn’t believe it. Neither did she.

He reached out to her. No, not to her, but to Aenar, gently stroking his hair. She allowed him to take the babe and hold him against his own chest.

Aenar opened his eyes and looked up at his father. Then, he smiled.

Aemond took in a deep breath. “That boy should never have existed,” he said, letting Aenar take hold of his thumb and mouth at it. “I already had what I needed. And wanted.”

So it was a boy. Another son. A brother for her own. Would he have had his father’s nose, as Daeron did? Or his stern brow, like Aenar? Gods, why did she care?

“You are allowed to mourn him. He was innocent. I bear him no ill will.” Bastard or no, a babe was a babe, blameless of his parents’ sins. Deep in her heart, she mourned him, as well.

Again, Aemond shook his head. “I cannot mourn what never should have been.” He turned his head to face her, face open and pleading. “And I am mourning too much already.”

“I am alive. Aenar is alive. There is nothing to mourn.”

“You know that is not what I mean, ābrazȳrītsos.”

She did. He mourned not for the loss of a life, but for the loss of their life. The life they should have shared, and would have, had Aemond not strayed. In truth, she mourned for it, too.

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Daeron finally finished feeding, stretching his little arms to push her breast away. She pulled her robe closed again to combat the chill.

Aemond raised a hand to help her. She flinched away. He winced in response.

“Ābrazȳrītsos, please.” His voice was already breaking, his eye watering. The sight should have tugged at her heart. His begging should have fanned the flames of her anger. But looking at him, she felt very little of anything, save a small seed of pity. “Alys is gone. My… the bastard is gone. Can we not return to the way we were? Pretend none of this ever happened? Can’t you forgive me at last?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“No, Aemond.”

Within her, there was no longer a grassland, barren with loneliness and despair. The never-ending field of raging fire had also vanished. In its place was a small, lush garden, safely contained within tall stone walls draped with flowers and a polished iron gate – locked firmly, but perhaps not sealed forever.

“I shall always be your sister, your blood, and the mother of your children.” Daeron cooed, as if he knew she was talking about him, and she could not help but smile down at him. “I will remain your wife in the eyes of gods and men. And when Aegon dies, I will be your faithful queen.”

Aemond shook as his breath quickened, failing to keep the heartbreak. “You will be a wonderful queen, ābrazȳrītsos. I know it.”

She pulled away, taking Aenar from him and into her empty arm. “But I will never again be your ābrazȳrītsos.” She forced herself to ignore the whimpering, broken cry that escaped him, the breath that carried it echoing like a death rattle. “I will not share your bed. And I will no longer allow you to hold my heart.”

Between desperate sobs, Aemond raised his head to face her. Utter devastation lay in his eye, but so too did acceptance. Anguished surrender. “My heart is and always shall be yours.”

I don’t want it, her mind told her, even as her heart cried, I will cherish it forever.

But her decision was made. In all but name, their marriage – their once legendary romance – was finished. A few fragments of love remained but would never be repaired. Could never be.

Slowly, she rose from the bed, her sons still in her arms. Aemond began to reach for her, but when she did not even acknowledge him, he covered his face with his hands and wept. Though it tugged at her heart, it was the same she would feel for any man weeping so, no longer the instinctive pull of a wife. She did not comfort him.

The soft, pitiful sounds of Aemond’s grief faded as she walked toward the eastern window, settling herself in the cushioned seat just beneath it.

Daeron smiled, watching the trembling branches of an oak tree dotted with the first tight green buds of the season. Aenar angled his head just so, until the sun warmed every bit of his fat, pink face, then promptly fell asleep. She sighed, taking in the sweet scent of spring on the wind, and realized she had not breathed so easily in months.

It was a lovely morning in Harrenhal.

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jgracie · 6 months

Text

HOW YOU GET THE CURL

masterlist | rules

❝ idk if you’d do percy but with curly blonde hair (like pjo series ver perce) but if you do, i’d love a fic where he teaches y/n how to maintain curly hair (she doesn’t have curly hair) cause he loves the idea of her taking care of him ❞ — anon

in which percy teaches you how to take care of curly hair

pairing percy jackson x fem!reader

warnings none

on the radio . . . romeo & juliet (peter mcpoland), san fransisco (be sure to wear some flowers in your hair) (scott mckenzie), sunflower, vol 6 (harry styles), slow dancing (aly & aj), our house (crosby, stills, nash & young)

an can someone pls tell me the titles sooo smart and funny 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

“Honey, I’m home!” As soon as you heard Percy yell those words from your front door, you left the comfort of the couch and ran into his arms. He immediately put his bags down and picked you up, twirling you around before peppering kisses all over your face.

Life in New Rome couldn’t be any better. After the two of you got into the same university, your parents bought you an apartment to share so you wouldn’t have to be separated in university dorms, knowing all too well how you were attached at the hip. You had cried at the gesture, and Percy held you in his arms as he, too, held back tears.

A wide grin on his face, he asked, “how’s my favourite girl?” As he unpacked everything he’d bought that day, you gave him a rundown of your day. It was pretty mundane - some reading, some studying - but he listened as if you were describing the plot to a sci-fi movie. Your eyes quickly took in everything laid out on the counter, mostly groceries, and landed on one bottle.

You picked it up and read the label while Percy explained what it was, happy you were amused, “that’s a new curl cream. The one I’ve been using’s a little too heavy for my hair, always weighing my curls down. I think I’m gonna try it today, do you wanna do the honours?”

“Honours of what?” You asked, confused. You didn’t have curly hair, so you didn’t know much about the effort that went into taking care of it, just that it required a lot of different products and was incredibly laborious, according to Percy. His curls were really cute though, so in your opinion, the labour was worth it.

Making his way over to you and wrapping his arms around you, Percy batted his eyelashes, “of trying it on me. I’ve been thinking, babe, you need to know how to do curly hair for when we have kids! Curly hair genes run strong in my family, so I wouldn’t be surprised if our kids inherit them.”

You felt your face heat up as you thought about having kids with Percy, then smiled fondly when you realised what he was doing. Percy’s always been incredibly shy about wanting to be cared for. No matter how many times you’d tell him you didn’t mind giving him a massage or going over his maths homework, he’d always try to conceal his true intentions with some other lame excuse, like now.

“Okay! Let’s go do it now,” you said, dragging him over to your bathroom. You grabbed a stool for him to sit on and stood between him and the bath, hand-held shower head in hand (I hope this setup makes sense LOL). Making sure the water was the perfect temperature, you began rinsing his hair, careful to make sure no water dripped down his body. While you did so, Percy told you about his day. You always loved his knack for storytelling, your boyfriend never failed to find a way to make anything sound interesting.

Next, you squirted some of his shampoo on your hand and began lathering it in his hair. You felt Percy relax and smiled, glad he was content, “it’s okay to want to be taken care of, Perce. I’ll do it gladly,” you mumbled absentmindedly, to which he simply hummed. As you conditioned his hair, he began to doze off, which made you reconsider using the cream. You didn’t trust yourself to use it without his guidance, but didn’t want to wake him up.

In the end, you decided on disrupting his sleep, since you knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night if he slept now, “how do I do this?”

Percy took your hand and squirted some of the cream into your open palm, “rub it into both hands, then scrunch it into my hair.” You did as you were told, your hands light as too little was better than too much, in case you did something wrong.

When Percy looked into the mirror, he turned to you and smiled, “hey, you’re a natural! You should do this all the time” He asked, his eyes bleary. You would do this a million times if it made him this happy every single one of them.

After the cream came the gel, which was a lot easier since it was the same scrunching motion as before. You were a little apprehensive when Percy told you to put it in, since you didn’t think crunchy curls were the outcome. However, it all made sense during the final stage: the hair oil.

“This, my love, is what stops them from being all crunchy. Just lightly pass it over my hair,” Percy explained, pouring the tiniest amount of oil into your palm. You recognised the scent - it smelled like home, like him.

You finished and admired your work. Percy was right, you were pretty good at taking care of curly hair. After running his fingers through his hair a couple times to loosen the curls up the way he liked, Percy gave you a hug, kissing your head thousands of times and saying a muffled, “thank you,” into your hair.

Nothing was more blissful than this. Well, until you smelt something burning.

Pulling away from you, Percy asked, “did you make something?” You wracked your brain for an answer then gasped, remembering what it was. Running to the kitchen with Percy behind you, you quickly pulled the cookies you were baking - once blue, now black - out of the oven.

“I wanted to surprise you with these!” You said, disappointed.

Fighting the urge to cough, Percy picked one up and bit into it, grimacing for a second before smiling and holding a thumbs up, “it’s really unique, I’ve never tasted anything like these. You definitely did surprise me!” He said, sarcasm dripping from his voice Rolling your eyes, you discarded the cookies and replied, “oh, shut up, Perce”

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson #percy jackson x fem reader #pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson drabble #cynwrites

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lvnleah · 2 months

Text

You Can Let It Go | AWFC x teen!reader

Summary: after a long recovery after having your endo surgery, you finally make your return to the pitch but two people you were hoping to be there aren’t.

word count: 1.5k

find the series masterlist here! (currently only two parts)

if anyone has any ideas for this series or anything they want to know send them through my asks! 💗

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Growing up you’d never had the best relationship with your parents. In comparison to your friends, your parents were never around. You lived a comfortable lifestyle and the opportunities you were given were amazing but you’d trade everything if it meant having a closer relationship with them.

Your dad had his own lawyers firm and travelled out of the country quite a lot, your mum was a PR manager for high-profile celebrities which she also travelled a lot for. With your parents travelling a lot it meant that you were left with your grandma.

It had been two months since your endometriosis surgery, the weeks after the surgery were spent with Beth, Viv and Leah making sure you didn’t lift a finger. They cooked your meals, cleaned up after you, did your laundry and spent many days with you lying in bed watching Disney movies.

Leah visited every day after training, bringing you your favourite snacks and magazines to flick through. She was there for you no matter what time of the day it was, there was one occasion where you slipped out of bed and cried in pain in her arms while you were sleeping over.

You found yourself unable to sleep, the pain in your abdomen stubbornly refusing to go. You slipped out of bed and slowly walked down the hall to the living room where Leah, Beth and Viv were sitting on the couch a movie playing softly in the background.

“Leah,” you whispered, tapping her shoulder gently.

She stirred, blinking sleepily at you. “Hey, kid. What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice shaky. “The pain...it’s really bad tonight.”

Leah sat up immediately, “Okay, let’s try and get you comfortable.” She helped you back to your room, propped you up with pillows, and handed you the heating pad. “Take some more pain relief. I’ll stay with you until it kicks in.”

You nodded as Leah climbed onto the bed beside you, you cuddled into her, “I’m scared, Leah. What if this never gets better?”

“It will, kid,” Leah reassured you, her voice soft but firm. “It might take time, and it might be hard, but you’re strong. And you’re not alone in this.”

You gradually started to feel better. The pain became more manageable, and you began to regain your strength. Beth, Viv, and Leah were with you every step of the way.

Eventually, you returned to training, the physios had made up a plan that introduced you back into training slowly and carefully. The team welcomed you back with open arms. You took it one day at a time, listening to your body and not pushing yourself too hard.

The morning of your comeback game came quickly. You woke up feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, you were a little tired after not being able to sleep out of excitement. Beth and Viv were already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. You quickly got dressed and joined them, your excitement bubbling over.

“Morning!” you greeted cheerfully, plopping down at the kitchen island.

“Morning, kid,” Beth said with a smile, flipping a pancake onto a plate. “Big day today! How are you feeling?”

“Excited! And a little nervous,” you admitted “But mostly excited, I think, I don’t know. I can’t wait to play again.”

Viv grinned, setting a glass of orange juice in front of you. “You’re going to do great. We’ve all seen how hard you’ve worked to get back to this point.”

You dug into your breakfast, the food helping to calm your nerves. “Thanks, Viv. I’m just really hoping my parents show up. I haven’t seen them in a while, and it would mean a lot if they were there.”

Beth and Viv exchanged a quick glance, but you were too focused on your pancakes to notice. “I’m sure they’ll be there,” Beth said, trying to keep her tone light.

“Yeah,” you said, a hopeful smile on your face. “It’ll be nice to have them see me play again.”

After breakfast, you grabbed your gear and headed out with Beth and Viv. The car ride to the stadium was filled with chatter and laughter, the three of you discussing tactics and game plans. Your excitement was infectious, and even Beth and Viv couldn’t help but feel the anticipation.

You arrived at Meadow Park, instantly finding Kyra and Alessia to walk around the pitch with. After that, you headed inside and changed into your kits before heading out for a warm-up.

As the warmup came to an end, you noticed Leah, Beth and Viv talking near the entrance to the changing room. Leah looked over at you, nodding before Beth and Viv walked away.

As you headed for the changing room with Kyra, laughing your heads off, Leah was waiting for you, her expression a little more serious than usual.

“Hey, kid. Can we talk for a sec?” she asked.

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach. “Sure, what’s up?”

Leah glanced around, ensuring no one else was within earshot. “I know you were hoping your parents would be here today...but they’ve not turned up, kid.”

You swallowed hard, trying to mask the sting of disappointment. “Oh, that’s okay. I figured they might not make it. Work and all.”

Leah pulled you into a hug. “I’m sorry, kid. We’re all here for you, though.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Leah.” You forced a smile, determined not to let the news dampen your excitement.

As the game began, you could feel the weight of their absence pressing on you. You tried to focus but your mind kept drifting back to the empty seats where you’d hoped to see your parents. Each missed pass, each stumble felt like a personal failure, the disappointment gnawing at your confidence.

By halftime, it was clear that something was off. Beth and Viv exchanged worried glances. As you took a sip of water, Jonas walked over to you.

“I’m taking you off, okay?” He told you, “I heard what’s happened, you’re not in the right frame of mind and I don’t want any injuries. Is that okay?”

You nodded and changed into your Arsenal tracksuit before joining the rest of the team on the bench. The full-time whistle blew and you shook the hands of the other team before heading inside to gather your things.

The car ride home was silent. Beth and Viv tried to engage you in conversation, but you responded with blunt answers, your gaze fixed out the window. The tension in the car was thick, and you could feel their concern, but you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to address it.

Why couldn’t they turn up for one thing? All you wanted was a few hours of their time.

As soon as you got home, you headed straight to your room, slamming the door behind you. The moment you were alone, the tears you’d been holding back spilt over. You curled up on your bed, clutching your childhood teddy to your chest as sobs wracked your body.

In the kitchen, Beth and Viv stood in uneasy silence, the weight of your sadness pressing down on them. “She’s really hurting, Viv,” Beth said quietly, her voice tinged with worry.

“I know,” Viv replied, her brow furrowed. “We need to do something.”

Beth nodded. “Let’s go to her.”

They made their way to your room, knocking gently on the door. “Hey, it’s just us,” Beth called softly. “Can we come in?”

You wiped your tears away quickly, trying to compose yourself. “I’m fine. Just…just need some time alone.”

“Please, kid,” Viv said, her voice tender. “Let us in.”

You hesitated, but the sincerity in their voices made you relent. “Okay,” you whispered.

They entered the room, closing the door behind them. They sat down on the end of your bed together. “We’re here for you,” Beth said, her hand resting gently on your leg.

You began to cry again, harder this time. “I just... I wanted them to be here,” you choked out. “I thought... maybe they’d come.”

Viv laid down beside you and pulled you into a hug, her arms comforting. “I know, kid. It’s okay to feel hurt. But we’re here, and we care about you so much.”

Beth rubbed your back soothingly. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’re your family too.”

“I wish you were my parents,” you confessed through your tears. “You’ve done more for me than they ever have. I’m…I’m so stupid for thinking they’d turn up!”

Viv tightened her embrace. “We love you, Y/N. And we’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

Beth nodded, her eyes glistening with her own tears. “You’re not alone. Not now, not ever.”

Their words, their presence, soothed the ache in your heart. For the first time, you felt the depth of their love and support, and it gave you a sense of belonging you hadn’t known you needed. The three of you sat there for a long time, holding each other until the tears finally stopped and you fell asleep.

You fell asleep in their arms, clutching your childhood teddy. Once they knew you were asleep, they slipped out of your room and let you sleep the night away.

#awfc x reader #lvnleah #awfc #woso x reader #matilda series #woso #awfc x teen reader

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lowkeyerror · 6 months

Text

The Family Business Ch.5

WandaNat x Reader

Work Count: 1.2k

Chapter Notes: Angst, Violence

Summary: The guilt Wanda feels for missing your important milestones boils over and you're left trying to comfort her.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Dinner was over, but the chatter continued. Wanda had snuck off to the restroom somewhere amidst the conversation. Once she had finished up, she couldn’t fight the urge to go into her old room.

It was exactly the same as she left it. The light blue walls were littered with her old posters. Her bed still had a few old stuffed animals on it. Her desk was covered with post it notes, she used for keeping track of her important things.

Had she grown more than she had realized in the last five years? Was it selfish to assume that you wouldn't have?

“Something’s bothering you.”

Wanda startles at the sound of your voice. You stand in her doorway.

“Nothing, Y/n.”

You don't believe her.

You close the door behind you and fully step into her room. “You were quiet the entire dinner.”

“I was thinking,” she replied shortly.

“About what?”

She takes a seat on her bed and exhales, “A lot has changed since I’ve been away.”

You take a seat next to her, “You were gone for awhile.”

Her eyes meet yours, “I didn’t want to be. I didn't want to miss everything.”

She began to tear up. You hadn’t seen Wanda like this before. Wanda never let anyone see her be vulnerable. Her head rests on your shoulder, and she grabs one of your hands, seeking some comfort.

“Wanda it’s alright,” you try but she cuts you off.

“It’s not, I missed your graduation,” she began to sob.

You begin to internally panic, but you have enough sense to know that this is about more than your graduation. Your arms wrap around her, pulling her closer to you. She ends up straddling your lap. Her forehead lays against yours. You do your best to wipe her tears away.

“Forgive me, Y/n. Forgive me,” her cries grow louder.

Hesitantly you grab her face in your hands. Through the tears she sees the look of worry on your face. Wanda starts wiping at the tears with her sleeves.

You stop her, “There’s nothing that you missed that I can’t tell you about now. No one blames you for missing anything. I don’t blame you. I’m just happy you’re back.”

Wanda stops crying. She sniffles a bit with a sad smile on her face, “I remember that night when you came to the door.”

Your breath hitches. Her thumb follows the path on your check where the glass had cut you.

“You were so-”

“Helpless,” you finish.

Wanda shakes her head, “You are so strong. Anyone else wouldn’t have made it to the door. I was going to say you were so pure. The world was so cruel even though you were nothing but a light.”

“Wanda-”

“Now, I’m hearing from everyone how you’re not like that anymore, that you’ve changed. I hate having to find out about you because I should know. My wife knows about how many people you’ve killed, and I didn’t even know you had fired a gun. I hate that it feels like I don’t know you anymore.”

You were taken aback by her words. Even with her being away for 5 years, you felt like she knew you better than anyone; even Pietro. Wanda had such a deep understanding of your inner workings that it scared you a lot of the time.

It took little effort to interlock your fingers with hers. You wait for her to look at you and when she does you speak, “You know me better than anyone ever has.”

“I used to,” she tries to drop your hands.

You don’t let her, “I can’t say that I haven’t changed at all, but I’m still me Wanda. I still watch reality tv as a guilty pleasure, I still eat my cheese puffs with a fork, and I still get a little antsy in the dark.”

She laughs a bit, and the sound brings a smile to your lips. Your nerves ease as she seems to relax.

“You’re still my little krolik then?”

You blush a little but move her off your lap. You stand and hold out your hand. She doesn’t grab it, instead turning her back towards you.

You roll your eyes, “I’ll always be your little krolik. Now can we go back downstairs.”

Wanda hesitates, “Would you tell me what you told Natasha?”

“About my first kill?”

She nods lightly, “If it’s alright with you.”

You nod and sit at the desk chair across from the bed. It’s not much easier telling Wanda than it was telling Natasha. If anything, it was harder knowing how the woman had reacted in the past when you had been hurt.

“I should’ve known about this,” she’s seething, as she speaks.

“You had just lef-”

“I don’t care if the plane was mid fucking flight! I would’ve turned that bitch around!”

Before you could try to de-escalate the situation Pietro came into the room. “Is everything alright in here, you’ve been up here for a long time?”

Wanda jumps out of the bed and grabs the man by his collar. She nearly lifts him in the air, then beats on his chest. She’s moved him from the room to the hallway., You’re too stunned to intervene.

“WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME? NO ONE THOUGHT TO CALL ME? SOME JERK FELT HER UP AND SHE SNAPPED HIS FUCKING NECK AND NO ONE THOUGHT TO CALL ME?”

Pietro remains calm, his hands rest on top of hers “Wanda it was nearly 5 years ago.”

“So why is this the first time I'm hearing of it?” The drop in her voice snaps you out of your trance.

“Wanda put him down,” Dragos voice booms in the hallway.

She let Pietro go and instead redirects her glare to her father, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I knew you'd react like this. You’ve always been able to handle your emotions unless Y/n was involved,” his words only seem to anger her more.

“I’m the one that can't handle my emotions when it comes to Y/n? Are we sure about that? Because if you want to play ball I will swing for the fucking fences,” she combats quickly.

You watch as the color drains from Pietro’s face and even Dragos seems to stand down a bit.

“Wanda.” Natasha’s voice is strong as she speaks, “Let’s go, ok? I think everyone just needs a little space right now.”

Wanda doesn't seem like she’s done with the conversation.

“Y/n, sweetheart I think they're staying in your building. Why don't you take them there,” Flora suggests.

You nod, unable to speak at the moment. You can see Wanda about to argue again so you slip your hand in hers. You don’t waste time pulling her towards the stairs. Natasha holds her other hand, clearing some of the tension from her system.

You get in the drivers seat while Natasha sits in the back with Wanda. Your brain was slightly clouded as her words sat with you. Wanda knew something that made Pietro and Dragos cower in regard to you. You wanted to press on, but you knew she was in no shape to answer.

Glancing at her in the rearview mirror, you could see that Natasha was whispering to her, trying to calm her. You’d never known Wanda to have a temper, but apparently, when it came to you her rage seemed unrelenting.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst

#lowkeyerror #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wandanat x reader #wandanat

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love-of-the-red-star · 25 days

Text

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon (Series)

Prologue

[Edited]

What the fuck.

That was the first thought that came out of you once you found out what you were in the vast expanse of space you had woken up into. The Aeon of Elation seemed pleased with the reaction they got out of you, as incomprehensible as your form may have been.

They laughed and then left you there by your lonesome, without a clue to what your path even was and how the fuck you were even meant to function.

You groaned, guessing you’ll really just find that out yourself.

You spent your time thinking in the first short years of your existence in the little plane you resided in, happy to at least know where you ended up in and what you were. You were reincarnated in Honkai Star Rail, and you were an Aeon. From which path you were even on, you don’t know, at least not yet.

It had taken some time, a VERY long time, to get an inkling of what path you treaded on. And in those years the other Aeons; like Lan, and even Fulli did find you— you have yet to meet Xipe, but you have met Yaoshi.

It was… something to say the least. Herta had been right in calling them a lonely romantic.

It was a little eerie, remembering them speak to you with such care and joy— a new life, they called you. They didn’t seem to mind much when you didn’t have a voice, you weren’t even sure yourself if you had one, thinking at the back of your mind that maybe you were like The Nihility.

That thought had been cut short when Yaoshi somehow figured out where your lips were, and shamelessly kissed you.

It was only then you had managed to find a voice, as meager and as cracked and strange as it sounded. They only cooed in response to you, mumbling as they gently touched your form.

“You are new, and yet you are familiar.” They told you. “I have felt you somewhere before.” Their arms stretched wantonly as their many eyes looked at you. “I know you, and yet I do not. I wonder why that is.” They smiled, and you can hear the branches stretch— a sound rather unnerving, it sounded more like bones and flesh rather than wood. If Yaoshi noticed your unease, they don’t tell you.

It took a while for them to leave, promising you that they will come back here again to visit but not without leaving another kiss, and the light sting of their tail on your body— a spot that became the back of your neck once you managed to acquire a more.. comprehensive image of yourself at some point after the encounter.

You never really quite recovered from that.

But at least you discovered your voice.

It was your arms that had come next, and it was unfortunate that a few planets have met their demise in your discovery. You still mourn them to this day, somehow feeling bad even with the absence of a human heart.

The rest of your body had come to you easily, and once you acquired it, people had discovered you. You remained elusive though, not wanting an accidental repeat of the planets you destroyed, and yet they still sought you out anyways.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, not that it mattered; you couldn’t die, you couldn’t age nor did you need to rush.

In those years, again your cries echoed in the cosmos once more— you see, you ate an Aeon, actually no, you ate two.

You didn’t mean it, and your panic had been embarrassingly broadcasted for everyone and everything to hear.

(You didn’t know it then but your entire cries were heard across the cosmos and needless to say people were more terrified than concerned as it either manifested as a power outage with your incomprehensible voice, or manifesting through television in the form of disembodied static.)

It had been an experience to say the least, figuring out who the hell you accidentally ate. One of them had been Akivili, and the other? Mythus.

Could an Aeon even sweat bullets?

You immediately made the connection that they were unfortunate casualties of your circumstances— as someone who once resided outside of the world of the imaginary tree. You didn’t know Mythus, but you do know Akivili was precious to the Express.

And you just ate them.

You sulked in your little corner for a few years, and at some point you could have sworn Aha laugh at you— you swatted them away in your regret, the Elation still again laughing at your misery.

It had taken a while for you to stand up (could you?) and take on a more… mortal friendly form, because the last time someone had tried going near you, they got reversed.

In a sense that their body simply deconstructed itself into strange, geometric shapes then nothing. If you had been human, you think this would have been utterly horrific for you.

But somehow you knew it would happen to anyone who came close enough to your real form.

You figured that having a human form would be less fatal for the others— convenient too, it was smaller, and arguably easier to look at without fearing madness or turning into shapes.

So you project yourself as one in front of the Express once you spotted it at a stop.

———————

“Hello?” You softly greeted the residents of the Express, you noticed it was only Himeko and Welt at this point in time, but even so, they looked like they were going to shit themselves from seeing you.

Pompom had weirdly enough hid behind a flower pot.

Seeing this made you immediately sulk.

Himeko hesitantly approached you. “Hello… what can we help you with?” Himeko was unsure of what to do too, and honestly you can’t blame her. It wasn’t everyday the equivalent of a God walks into your door to say hi.

It was a shame they were afraid of you, you had dressed for the occasion— a semi formal attire consisting of a long coat, a dress shirt with a bolo tie, a vest, shorts and formal shoes.

“I came here to apologize.” You said, it came out flatter than you would have liked and you internally cringed.

“Come again?” Himeko blinked rather awkwardly.

You took a deep breath (you swore you could see the Finnish old man beside her tense) and exhaled. “I’m sorry for eating Akivili.”

………….

“I didn’t mean to.” You added, sulking even more. Your mood was so damp that Pompom couldn’t resist but try to comfort you.

“Come in and take a seat please.” The little conductor said a little shakily, handing you a napkin that you politely refused. You were obviously sad, but you couldn’t physically produce tears for some strange reason.

Since you couldn’t cry, Pompom gave you a glass of water instead.

It was surreal to be able to taste things again after needing technically nothing.

But back on Himeko and Welt, they don’t really know what to make of you, as evident by the confused stare that they gave to each other while you were stuck on your seat posed like you were thinking of the Roman Empire.

You were rather expressive and close to human for a cosmic entity, and for you to apologize for accidentally eating their Aeon? Unheard of.

It wasn’t like you could spit Akivili out of you either.

While you were admittedly a stranger, there were no signs or feelings of hostility from you, you were genuinely sorry and upset for eating their Aeon. Himeko recalled the static from the broadcast and came to the realization that it had been you who they had heard crying, as terrifying as it sounded.

Himeko and Welt did ended up talking to you again in the end, reassuring you it was okay that you did what you did because you didn’t mean it anyways, and that ended up with you saying you’re going to bless the Path of the Trailblaze because there was no way you were going to leave the express to be parentless.

You had other agendas aside from that of course, but they didn’t seem to mind.

However a discussion was made to keep your identity secret when you had told the three people in the crew you didn’t like the attention the scientific community was giving you.

Being observed like a specimen in a National Geographic™️ documentary wasn’t really your thing, as natural as it was.

In the express, you weren’t an Aeon, you were simply [Name]. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Though, how the fuck did they even figure out you were an Aeon immediately?

Guess you’ll never know.

————————-

Part I [Here], Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII….

Thanks for giving this a read! This was inspired by the shitposts made by @pixiatn!! More will be incoming, though posts will be a bit delayed (unfortunately I’m a busy little bitch).

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #Aeon reader #reader insert #aeon au #Honkai star rail x reader #aeons #Yaoshi x reader #Himeko x reader #Welt Yang x reader

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luveline · 3 months

Note

Hey if you're still taking requests could I get any sort if angst to comfort for zombie au steve? Been feeling down lately and I've always loved that series!

ty for requesting! zombie au. fem, 1.5k

The new pencils are oil-cored, as opposed to his last ones, which had been wax. They were just fine, but these oil pencils allow him to blend colours and shades with more finesse than ever. He can pour twenty different colours into the tone of your skin and have them blend into a real, phototechnical you.

He’s pretty proud of this one.

He wakes up first every morning, allowing for time where you’re unaware and he’s got nothing to do. He’s sketched you so many times it comes naturally. Steve probably wouldn’t need to look, but watching you sleep is half the joy of drawing you.

You're drooling a little.

Steve puts the handful of pencils he’d been using to colour your neck back into his pen case. He puts the case and his sketchbook on top of his main bag, shoving it into a corner of your tent with the rest of the bags to climb back onto the bed. It’s a portable cushioning made for camping, and it’s nothing like a mattress, but it is much kinder to your backs than sleeping on the ground. Warmer, too.

He pushes your head back, knowing it will wake you, his thumb to the little drool line to wipe it away, his palm on your cheek to hold it.

“Hello.” He kisses your other cheek as your lashes twitch. Doesn’t even think about not doing it. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” you mumble strangely.

“What’s that?” he says, soft to match your quiet. His breath kisses your lips. “What’s wrong? You sound sad.”

You force your eyes apart, and you feel along the mattress with your hand. Steve watches in real time as your eyes fill with tears, huge, heavy tears that well in the corner of your left and spill from the right to wet the pillow under your head.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, the effort expended to stay calm so gutting he has to squeeze the pillow just shy of your head.

You grab for him, blankets and your half-open sleeping bag crinkling but not too thick to feel the force of your fingers gripping his sides.

You must’ve had a bad dream, that’s what he thinks. He’s had enough of them, and he’s unfortunately cried after almost all of them. Sometimes you’ve seen it, sometimes you haven’t, but you look at him with love no matter what —he can forget dreams of losing you when you’re murmuring niceness in his ear, and he can give it back to you.

“It’s okay,” he says, letting you squeeze him hard. “Don’t cry.” And that’s a little awkward of him, that sneaking panic, but he’s never claimed to be a professional.

You cry in a weird breath that borders a gag. “I’m so-sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine. I have bad dreams too. You know that.”

Steve attempts to get both arms behind your shoulders, pulling you into him, sitting you up. He can’t cope with how quickly you’ve fallen apart. To wake up crying, how scary the dream must’ve been, he hates it.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“It was a good dream,” you say.

Steve frowns. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“We had a house. We had a dog. I don’t– don’t even know if you like cats, but you had a dog, and we,” —you sob between words, not too loudly as to travel far, but aching— “were planning a trip. It felt so real, Steve. You were so happy.”

Steve tries to process it as fast as he can. “Oh,” he says softly, hand lax where it had been rubbing your shoulder.

“You were so happy,” you say again, burying the tip of your nose into his neck. You’re practically crawling atop him, but he’s strong enough to stop you from laying him down.

“It’s okay, honey. Jesus,” he says, patting your back again. “It’s alright. It’s okay.”

“We’ll never have those things.”

“Baby, who says so?” he asks in a murmur.

“We’ll never get to go anywhere together–”

“It feels like we’ve seen pretty much all of America,” he says. He’s joking, but travelling with you from place to place has felt expansive. You’ve seen forests and lakes, a thousand different houses, hundreds of neighbourhoods, and street art and installations and billboards for movies that were never screened. Steve’s seen about as much of the world as he wants to see. “I’d just stay in this tent with you forever if they let us, we don’t need to go anywhere else.”

“You wanted to see palm trees,” you say, sniffling and pained as your tears warm the curve of his trap.

“I’ve seen them,” Steve says. “Don’t worry. I’ve already seen palm trees. A whole bunch of them. Don’t worry about what I wanted in the dream, it was just a dream.”

He gives you a quick kiss, his lips to the very edge of your temple.

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

Steve nods. He draws from you reluctantly and opens the tent, ushering you on knees to sit out in the cool air. He sits next to you, dewdrops from the grass wetting his jeans, the sky a humming of early morning colours; the sun rises in bands of orange and raspberry pink, darkness above, sun rays kissing the sides of tents and the portables in the distance.

You take deep breaths. Steve holds your hand, the two of you looking up at the strange sky.

“We’ll never be that happy,” you say.

Steve can hear your agony, and he knows what you mean. He thinks of that life with you and never lets himself think far. You would've gone to college, maybe, and Steve would’ve drove to visit you —he would’ve moved. Maybe in your second year you’d live together in a suburb just between college and his job, whatever it is he’d ended up doing, in a house you chose, with a ring on your finger. Steve wants kids but if you don’t then perhaps you’d have had none, but he still likes to picture you with your babies, a big family, years later. And maybe he’d have a dog. A silly looking one with bark worse than its bite.

And you’d be together. You would be happy. Nothing to hurt you. Nothing to lose you to. You’d never worry where your next meal was coming from, you’d never feel cold.

Steve breathes out. Sniffs biting air. “We’ll never be that happy. That kind of happy. We’re never gonna go on trips, maybe we won’t ever have a house, but–“ He pulls your hand toward him, your eyes latching on to his. “But maybe we will. We might not get to watch cable, but we can have a tv, in a living room. We can live together, and maybe we will take trips. I don’t know. I don’t know what we’ll have, but I’m already happy. You don’t have to cry about me being happy.” He shakes his head. “Shit, you shouldn’t. I want that life with you so much I dream about it too, but I have this one.”

“You think we’ll have a house?” you ask hopefully.

“We can’t live like this forever.” He’s promising it. “Something has to give.”

“I want us to have more,” you say.

A weak confession, your cheeks wet with tears but eyes thankfully drying, your eyelids puffy already from sleep and crying alike. Steve wants you to have everything, even if everything is a stupid thing to think you’ll have.

“We will.” Steve closes one eye, a sort of prolonged wink of pain as his nose wrinkles. “But this is enough for now, right?”

“No.”

You’re kidding, to Steve’s relief.

He laughs and elbows you, glad to see your smile as you evade poorly. “Say it’s enough!”

“No way.”

You don’t wait for him to pull you in or ask if it’s alright, flopping without ceremony into his lap, and then turning toward him to hug his stomach. He looks down at you fondly, hand rubbing up your warm back. You’re still clammy from sleeping, but you’re not crying anymore.

“It’s really cold out here.”

“I know.” He blows a warm breath in your ear. “Do you still feel sick? Don’t barf in my lap.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. It just felt so real.”

His voice turns to a silky whisper he’s only ever used in love. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. We never would’ve… I’d never get to be here,” —you squeeze him around the waist— “if we were in a world where we also get the house and the dog and… the family…”

“But it would’ve been nice,” Steve finishes, looking up from your back to watch as the raspberry bands of pink turn to blue.

“It would’ve been perfect.”

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things

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yourmomsawh0r3 · 7 days

Text

don’t let me go

pairing: tyler owen’s x f! reader

language: B/N - brothers name

L/N- last name

summary: Tyler has always protected Y/N, his best friend's little sister, from childhood scrapes to unwanted advances, but during a house party, their long-held feelings finally surface as they share a tender moment.

p.s: i’m thinking about making this into a series lmk your thoughtsss

The L/N’s house was like a second home for tyler . y/n’s brother, B/N, and Tyler had been inseparable since they were little, and Tyler was always around, whether it was for dinners, holidays, or random game nights. Tyler was practically a brother to her or at least, that’s what she convinced herself. The way her heart fluttered every time he threw a teasing grin her way told a different story, but it was the kind of secret she buried deep. B/N would never let it happen. He was too protective, always watching out for her like a hawk.

Tyler had been a fixture in Y/N’s life for as long as she could remember. He was B/N’s best friend, the boy who practically lived at their house. When they were kids, B/N always tried to keep her out of their games, insisting she was “too young” or “just a girl.” But Tyler never saw it that way.

“I want to play too!” Y/N would say, running out into the backyard where the boys would be setting up for a game of baseball or catch.

B/N would roll his eyes. “No, Y/N. This is for us. You wouldn’t even know what to do.”

But Tyler? He’d always smile at her, his brown eyes full of mischief, and toss her the ball. “Don’t listen to him. Come on, we’ll make our own team.”

Y/N beamed as she caught the ball, and Jake would groan in defeat, knowing Tyler wasn’t going to budge. No matter how many times B/N tried to push her out of their games or call her a nuisance, Tyler would let her join in, telling her to ignore her brother’s grumbling.

She’d follow Tyler and B/N everywhere, whether they were riding bikes down the street or building forts in the woods behind the house. Every time she got a scrape or bruise from keeping up with their reckless adventures, Tyler was always the one who took care of her.

One summer, they had all been climbing the big oak tree at the edge of the property. Y/N had insisted on going as high as the boys, even though B/N warned her not to. But halfway up, she slipped, scraping her knee against the rough bark as she slid down a few feet.

“Ow!” she cried, clutching her knee.

B/N glanced at her briefly before turning back to the tree. “I told you not to climb that high. You’re fine.”

But Tyler was already climbing down after her. “Let me see,” he said, crouching beside her once he was back on the ground.

“I’m okay,” she said, trying to be brave, though tears welled up in her eyes.

Tyler wasn’t having it. He pulled out a bandana from his pocket and gently wiped away the dirt and blood. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt,” he said softly, his touch careful as he cleaned her scrape. “But you’ll be alright. It’s not too bad.”

Y/N sniffled, watching as Tyler tied the bandana around her knee like a makeshift bandage. “There. Good as new,” he said with a smile, ruffling her hair.

From then on, every time she got hurt, Tyler was the one she went to. Jake would shrug it off, saying it was part of playing rough, but Tyler never hesitated to clean her cuts or sit with her until she felt better. It became their thing, even when they got older. Tyler was the one who made sure she was okay, whether it was a scraped knee or a bruised heart.

And as the years passed, things changed. Y/N grew up, no longer the little girl tagging along with her brother and his best friend. But Tyler? He never stopped looking out for her. Even when B/N kept trying to treat her like his annoying little sister, Tyler always made her feel like she belonged.

Tonight, like most nights, the house was buzzing. Their parents were out of town, so naturally, B/N had thrown a party. The living room was full of their friends, music thumping, drinks in hand. Y/N had managed to escape the chaos, slipping into the kitchen to refill her drink, when she felt the telltale signs of trouble approaching. Some guy she barely knew his name had been eyeing her all night, and now he was cornering her.

“Come on, Y/N, one dance won’t hurt,” he slurred, leaning in too close for comfort.

“I’m good, really,” she said, trying to keep her tone light but firm. She edged away, but he followed.

Before she could make another move, Tyler appeared beside her like he’d been summoned. “She said no, man. Back off.”

The guy sneered. “What are you, her babysitter?”

“Something like that,” Tyler replied, his voice low, muscles tensing.

Things escalated quickly. The guy grabbed for Y/N’s arm, and in the next instant, Tyler’s fist connected with his jaw. The crack echoed over the music, and chaos erupted. B/N, drunk and stumbling, managed to pull Tyler off the guy before things got worse, yelling at everyone to get out.

Soon, the house was empty except for Jake, who’d crashed upstairs, and Y/N, now hovering over Tyler as he sat on the kitchen counter, nursing a split lip and bruised knuckles.

“You didn’t have to punch him,” Y/N murmured, dabbing a wet cloth on his lip.

Tyler winced but didn’t pull away. “He wasn’t taking no for an answer. I wasn’t about to let that slide.”

Y/N’s gaze softened as she continued cleaning his wounds. Tyler was always overprotective, always stepping in when she needed him, but tonight felt different. There was something in the way he looked at her now, his eyes tracing her features as she worked.

When she finished, she threw the cloth in the sink, only to turn back and find Tyler watching her. His hand reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You looked beautiful tonight,” he said softly, his voice a little rough, maybe from the fight, maybe from something else.

Her heart skipped. She was used to their banter, the back-and-forth teasing that everyone assumed was sibling-like, but this? This was something new.

“Oh yeah?” she replied, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You sure you’re not concussed?”

Tyler chuckled, shaking his head. “No concussion. Just saying what I’ve always thought.”

Her breath caught, but she kept up the act, leaning in slightly as she raised a brow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flirting with me, Tyler Owens.”

His eyes darkened, a glint of mischief flashing in them. “And if I was?”

Y/N’s pulse raced. She leaned back, crossing her arms with mock seriousness. “Well, I’d say you’ve got terrible timing. My brother’s upstairs, and he’d kill us both if he knew what you were thinking right now.”

Tyler shrugged, a slow grin spreading across his face. “B/N’s drunk and passed out. I think we’re safe… for now.”

They stood there, the space between them thick with unspoken words. For once, neither of them bantered to fill the silence. Instead, Tyler’s fingers brushed her cheek again, lingering just long enough to make her cheeks flush.

“Maybe one day,” he murmured, his voice low, “we won’t have to worry about your brother.”

“Maybe,” Y/N whispered back, her heart still racing.

Now, sitting in the kitchen after the fight at the party, Y/N couldn’t help but think back to all those times Tyler had been the one to take care of her. Cleaning his wounds was almost like a role reversal, but in a way, it felt familiar like they’d come full circle.

As she dabbed at his knuckles with a wet cloth, she smiled to herself, remembering how patient he had always been, how he never treated her like she didn’t belong.

Tyler noticed her smile and raised a brow. “What’s that look for?”

She glanced up, her eyes soft. “Just thinking how you’ve always been the one to patch me up, and now it’s my turn.”

Tyler smirked, his gaze locking onto hers. “I guess it is, huh? Seems like we’ve been taking care of each other forever.”

Y/N’s chest warmed at his words, the familiar banter between them giving way to something more serious. “You’ve always been good to me, Tyler,” she said softly, her hands still gently cleaning his knuckles. “Even when B/N wasn’t.”

“B/N’s just… B/N” Tyler replied with a chuckle. “He’s always been protective of you, but he doesn’t get to decide who you hang out with or what you do. You’ve always held your own.”

Y/N leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she gave him a playful look. “And yet, here you are, still playing the big protector.”

“Old habits die hard,” Tyler said with a grin, but his voice was softer this time, his hand reaching up to brush that same loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Her breath hitched again, her heart skipping at the tenderness in his touch. “You didn’t need to punch that guy, you know.”

Tyler’s expression hardened slightly. “No, I did. He wasn’t taking no for an answer, and no way was I going to let him treat you like that.”

Y/N looked down, feeling the weight of his words. “Thanks for always having my back.”

His hand lingered on her cheek for a moment before he pulled it away, but not before he whispered, “I’ll always have your back, Y/N. Always.”

The moment hung in the air between them, and for the first time in years, Y/N realized just how much she meant to him, how much he had always cared, even if it had always been under the guise of “just looking out for B/N’s little sister.”

But tonight? Tonight, that pretense was falling away, and maybe, just maybe, they were both ready for something more.

NEXT CHAPTER

#tyler owen x f! reader #tyler owen’s x you #tyler owen x fem reader #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owen’s #tyler owen x reader #tyler owens x reader #tyler owen #tyler owens #glen powell x reader #glen powell #glen powell fanfic #glen powell fluff #twisterfanfiction #twisters

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besosquecreanadiccion · 1 month

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Buddie fic recs:

I've been wanting to do my own list of my favorite fics for a while now so here it goes (in no particular order):

- my words are paper tigers by @hattalove (this ones my favorite of them and i'd say a little underrated maybe?) TIMELOOP TIMELOOP TIMELOOP - buck breaks up with eddie, the universe doesnt agree - ITS PERFECT I'VE READ IT FOR THE FIRST TIME SO LONG AGO AND ITS STILL ONE OF MY FAVORITES EVER.

- Actually, truly by MilenaDaniels Helena (and Ramon) tries to find a way back into Eddie's life and doesn't know what to make of finding Buck around every corner she turns. (Or: "Mom, listen.")

- burn the straw house down by rarakiplin - what to even say i think everyone has read this one already but just in case TIMELOOP TIMELOOP TIMELOOP

- Happy Little Accidents by @like-the-rest-of-la - one of the first au i ever read for buddie and i was so ENCHANTED what to even say, buck owns a plant nursery. Its just so soft and so so so beautiful.

- said i couldn't stay, but it's different now by @hattalove - another fave of them. Many weddings and buddie in the middle of it all.

- Close My Eyes and Stumble (Right Into Your Love) by HSMLusitania - i think everyone and their mother has read this one aswell but just in case EDDIE DISPATCHER.

- Burn a bridge, learn how to swim by Watermelonshots - this is a series and jesus christ it literally starts with a buddie drunk make out session so-

- Sit with me in the dark by @kitkatpancakestack - buck loses his vision- !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Soft and kind and yeah beautiful and buck glasses kink anyone?.

- Lifelines by @hetrez . This fic is literally a lifeline - buck and eddie meet during the tsunami and talk about being in the closet. I have no words for how much this fic meabs to me. FLAWLESS.

- about the present by @runawaymarbles - this is a series now and god this was so so fucking special and unique - the first part eddie in the aftermath of being in a timeloop of the shooting. The second one is buck handling it on his own way. PERFECTION. Still thinking about it.

- a good day to be by @hetrez Eddie is a dance instructor, buck needs dance clases for madneys wedding. As flawless as the other one. Eddie Diaz needs a hug yeah.

- we'll be forever, you'll see by rarakiplin - Eddie Diaz finds a cat and heals and heals. And is so loved. I think i cried the first time i finished this one.

- still by @gayhoediaz - once again i think everyone knows this one but just in case, eddie steps on a detonator. ANGSTS SO MUCH ANGSTS AND THAT ENDING YEAH.

- but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by @captain-hen - eddie confesses his feelings, buck rejects him, TIMELOOP TIMELOOP TIMELOOP

- authentication by @vgreysoncellars - i think i described this one as a never ending extention of 7x06 like nights abd just pride and pride and liberation. Eddie picks guys in bars for buck to make out with...

- oh, come when you're called by @lesbianrobin CHRIS 💘 no other words needed i think

- i'm a cliché (who cares) by @cranberrymoons UFF THIS ONE MAKES ME SO EMOTIONAL - eddie realizes stuff and buck is there every step of the way.

- bark like you want it by @colonoscopys - SOULMATES AU so so funny and wholesome.

- the love triptych by @cranberrymoons - this ones just so freaking special to me. Helena trying and trying and trying cause she loves her son. And buddie together through it all.

- so much left in store by @lesbianrobin - UNI AU UNI AU UNI AU !!!!!!! AND VERY IMPORTANT BABY CHRIS💘

- hang me up on your bedroom wall by @eddiegettingshot WELL buck just wants (more) but only if eddie gets him pregnant about it... (infidelity fic)

- close ain't close enough (til we cross the line) by @cranberrymoons buddie sexting buddie sexting buddie sexting and being so so freaking insane and not normal about it. (Infidelity fic)

- throw a bone, i’m finally home by @shitouttabuck - i think everyone knows the like a dog verse by now (come on lol) but yeah i'm very very obsessed especially with the second part of it.

#buddie fic recs #buddie fics #IM SO BAD AT SAYING THINGS BUT JUST KNOW EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE FICS IS THE BEST FIC EVER IN MY HEART #seriously they are all so special in their own unique way #ill go now bye

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thesharktanksdriver · 3 months

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Through the bars of a cell do you see the stars are shackled too? (Platonic)

Welp yall, here it is! The 13k magnum opus I somehow wrote

Not sure if it’s any good but that’s for you guys to decide

Masterlist for this series 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @peachsuka28 @emptynessinmyworld @badluckinfrench @j-s-l-m @tigerfang-rage @madokamagicaa @rymtea @angstylittleb1tch @badluckinfrench @emmbny @kenkenmaaa @yunho-leeknow @chibiduck @spqce-bun @coca-cola-fiend @Koifishpoond

If there was one thing Kaido knew about life was that it sucked.

Day after day was a consistent drag of disappointment and bellowing sorrow.

there were only a few things that made it slightly bearable as he went from suicide attempt to suicide attempt as to finally end his own agony.

Booze

The company of a woman (alway Black Maria)

The thought of someone finally being worthy to kill him.

And the recollection of memories.

These four things made the time in which Kaido wasn’t actively taking a sword to his chest or gunshot to the head somewhat….ok.

The first two of these were simple enough desires.

His entire crew indulged themselves just the same as him, though in relative moderation compared to Kaido’s ravenous appetite for both. They served as decent distractions, the buzz of booze and a pretty woman at just about anyone’s side was enough to at least raise someone’s mood. Kaido was no exception to this until that buzz went away and a woman’s touch faded to a lukewarm warmth that could never graze his heart.

The second was also yet another simple desire, a goal more to say. The thought of which made his blood boil in anticipation of someone finally being worthy of giving a finishing blow. His heart stopping and breath finally leaving his throat. Oden had been the closest to this, the scar proudly displaced on Kaido’s chest seen more as a badge of honor rather than a brush with death that many would look at in shame.

If Kaido had been less of a man, perhaps he’d gaze at it the same way rather than something he often gleams at in a mixture of pride and melancholy.

But then there was that last distraction, perhaps the most effective of them all.

Memory.

Kaido has lived a long life, one filled with various adventures that now make everything feel dull in comparison.

He sometimes thinks of the Rocks pirates, the crew he was on all those years ago where he’d meet Linlin and Newgate.

Most times he thinks of Oden and their battle. The man he’d be willing to call an equal as they fought to the death before that dirt old hag pulled that underhanded trick. The bullet he put through the old Rulers head as he boiled.

Other times it's of the Boy formerly known as Alber in a lab. Fanning the flames that burned away at cracking test tubes and blindingly white lab coats.

But of all memories he thinks of there was always one memory he found himself looking back to.

No matter how much he tried to drink and wash down the sorrow.

Nor the blood staining his hands that unlike the rest he tries to wash off.

He drinks and unfortunately remembers.

===

For as long as Kaido could remember he’s always been locked behind the bars of a cell and had the key thrown away.

Being born in vodka kingdom meant he was already drafted at birth for the sole purpose of being a cog in the machine of war.

The battle cries and burning villages served as his lullabies.

Blood staining his hands at the ripe age of 5 like paint.

Club heavy in his hands as if it were a toy.

When you're born with shackles you don’t know the concept of freedom until you see it first hand.

And Kaido saw it when the nobles of his kingdom sat down one night for a feast. They ate and ate as if it were the last thing they’d do, laughing at jokes and throwing the bones of chicken at the nearby stationed guards who stood and did nothing. Kaido was a part of that group, he stood as a 12 year old boy with a weapon in hand whilst having food he’d never been able to eat thrown at him.

He clutched his small hands readily made for crushing bones and splattering the innards of now dead fools.

But he was ordered to stand there and he did.

He stood there being mocked and having his horns tugged at.

A “tamed Oni”, one had cackled at him whilst grabbing his horns, pulling at them uncomfortably.

People used that term around him a lot. It had explained his horns that others did not have, nor the height and strength he had compared to other soldiers. They always treated him differently compared to the others, fear lingering in their eyes despite him accomplishing a raid.

Now he knows they were waiting for him to snap the leash curled in their hands.

To break the collar of “tame” they had bestowed him.

It would take a few years but ultimately they were right to be afraid.

Because no matter how much you domesticate a wild animal they with inevitably fall to instinct.

But unlike a wild animal who bite the hand that fed them they decided he’d be transferred to new masters.

It was more profitable that way.

So instead Kaido became a bargaining chip.

His bunk with other soldiers was replaced with a damp dark dungeon though it wasn’t much different.

The invisible shackles became real and rubbed uncomfortably against his wrists.

And the slop he was already forced to eat somehow became worse.

In a cell Kaido sat.

And it was there he met a child a few years younger than him with eyes that caught his attention.

He could’ve sworn he saw the stars shine within their deep darkened irises.

It was there he met you.

===

“So what did you do to get thrown in here?” It’s a simple question but one that makes Kaido reared his head up from letting it hang down. A scowl paints his lips, keeping them in a downward slope as golden eyes look up from across the cell to you.

You sit there, head held up by your palm while you sit in a criss cross position. Bruises and dried blood paint skin, a sight he’s intimately familiar with yet like him you seemingly brush off the pain.

“They don’t like when their dogs rebel…so their selling me off”

It’s simple and to the point, he doesn’t want to talk further and his response should indicate that.

Yet you either don’t notice or ignore his tone.

“Ah…so you were a soldier right? How many years?”

“13”

“Wow” you tilt your head a bit at that, a mixture of amazement and disbelief along with sadness “13 years…when were you drafted?”.

Kaidō scowls, “at birth”

He watches confusion settle on your face. He quirks an eye at it.

“You're 13??” You sound exasperated at that, eyes widening a bit even as you say it.

“How old did you think I was?” He can’t help but ask.

“I thought you were in your 20’s maybe even 30’s”

Kaido in that moment suddenly felt that old as you said that. Did he really look that different compared to others? Guess it was that oni blood-

“Wow, you're even cooler than I thought! You can probably fool people into buying alcohol!” Saying this with a smile he can’t help but search it for sarcasm yet he finds none. Were you…really being genuine? Did you think he was “cool”?

Kaido didn’t really think anyone would describe him as that.

A monster, yes.

Demon.

Oni.

Devil child.

Beast.

But cool? That certainly wasn’t apart of the vocabulary spat at him by his superiors and civilians of burning villages.

“So wait, since you’ve been a soldier your entire life do you know anything outside of it?” It’s a stupid question, but one he guesses is still kinda nice to ask if only for conversation sake.

“What do you think?”

You go silent and he thinks for a moment you stay that way, but after a minute you ask.

“Well, do you wanna know about the world then?”

With curiosity and maybe even a bit of hesitant crumbs of joy he nods.

You smile despite being in a dungeon chained to the wall adjacent to him.

===

Kaido had never once thought that the world could be so interesting until you brought color to it with all the knowledge you hold.

You talk of the islands where flowers grow and bloom, meant to be admired instead of crushed beneath military boots and razed into ash.

You explain the expanse of the night sky and the stories of constellations learned through years of travel. Stars he was taught to know the way back to the kingdom or to use as to navigate yet never appreciate their gentle light.

You tell of the burning sand between your toes and the expanse of crystal blue water that extends to the horizon, the sun setting over it in warm hues of orange, yellow and pink. He has walked across sandy shores but never truly felt sand beneath his feet, never truly stopped to enjoy the lapping of warm waves when the cold plunge and orders to swim are given.

You speak of freedom when all Kaido has ever known is of the chains and collar placed on him since birth.

And you breathe color into the monochrome world he once knew.

Kaido can’t help but imagine the world you describe to him, the sights and beauty of the sea.

Is it as truly free as you describe it?

Can someone like him who’s known the shackles of subjugation truly find peace there?

Can he be free of the weight of chains just as you described?

Perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part (something very foreign to him) but he think he believed you.

Believed your words

Believed your stories

He’s left to ponder over them as you're dragged away by guards despite his protest.

He knows them well, worked with them once before and maybe had even shared drinks yet they look at him with disgust. With an apathy familiar and not foreign to him yet curls in his gut with disgusted anger.

He tries to break free of the chains but cannot.

For hours alone in a cell he stares out the little barred window looking to the stars you taught him of.

And hours later you're dragged back more bruised and beaten than before but still keeping that damn smile.

Still retaining the light and gentle air to you that makes you laugh off the broken arm that hangs limply.

“I never asked how you ended up here” Kaido finds himself saying as you rest against the cold stones of the wall, blood marring them a deep maroon as bugs crawl and cold water slithers down. You smile as you do for just about everything, it reminds him of the softness of fur that they had the grace to give in the coldest of winter “they keep asking how I ended up here, assume I’m a spy or something. They won’t take my word that I just ended up here by accident”.

“Did you?”

“Yeah, is guess you’d call it bad luck but I met you so it’s at least better than before”

“How is me being here with you any better?”

“Having a friend in a cell to return to is better than nothing at all”

“You consider me a friend?” The word feels foreign on his tongue. He had colleagues, and his kingdom had allies made through treaties but never once has he heard that word applied to these relationships. There was always a hollow coldness to them, necessity over genuine companionship despite the same experiences of being born weapons.

“Of course I do” you say this as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and it hurts his head. “I guess i never asked, but would you like to be friends?”

Kaido doesn’t understand you, but maybe that’s why he likes you better than all the other recruits he was raised with.

You actually think.

You feel.

And you can create actual conversation about something other than the boring slaughter of more innocents.

He could never call the razing of a village a war, not when they do not truly fight and just wait to be slaughtered to let the women and children flee.

It does not satiate the craving for a true battle, a true foe, a true adversary for him to fight.

You do not scratch the itch of that fight but you do create a new one as he thinks of freedom beyond these bars.

Beyond the fate of being a pawn and soldier to master.

The itch gets stronger the more you talk, as does his urge to sit down and listen genuinely instead of mutely compute the drowning of orders.

Unlike commanders too caught up in their own pride you let him talk.

Let him ask questions.

Let him find different conclusions to morality even if yours and his budded heads.

But most of all you respected Kaido.

Respected him as a person rather than when you respect a monster because of fear.

And kaido finds himself returning the sentiment even if you're physically weak. But that’s ok, Kaido can make up for your lack of physical strength.

Your mind is what’s more important anyways.

Your kindness he wishes to savor exclusively for himself even if in every other person he’d see it as weakness is written off.

“Yes” he answers slowly, “I’d like that”.

===

Each day you're dragged out at some point and beaten within an inch of your life. Returning with more bruises budding into ugly purple spots as blood stains your white linen shirt a color he’s too familiar with.

Cuts are crusted up as is old blood that keeps having more crust over.

More broken bones though now they aim for smaller ones, as to drag out having more to eventually break.

Each time you're brought back more broken than the last you keep greeting Kaido with a smile and it drives him mad.

It also makes him realize just how strong you actually are though.

How resilient you are even in the worst of times.

They keep beating you for answers even when you repeat the same thing every time.

But you do not cry.

Don’t scream nor beg.

And that just seems to piss them off more and proves your resolve even further as to when they move to other methods like waterboarding and taking precise slashes.

You're determined not to give them what they want.

And that in turn makes them Determined to see you break.

To shatter into tiny shards that they’ll stomp into dust.

But even with that it’s nothing compared to you.

The burning look in your eyes rivals that of a thousand stars, and it burns Kaido to the core with how they shine.

How they do not flicker in the face of adversity.

Do not run out of fuel for the fire and just keeps burning to new intensity each time you come back.

Each time you stare at Kaido’s chains and the lock of the cell door.

In many ways you're weak but in others you are strong.

You're a contradiction in every sense of the word that Kaido wishes he could understand.

Because how can someone who has experienced such pain and cruelty of the world still smile as you do?

How can you still laugh with half a ribcage shattered and digging into your lungs.

How is it that despite it all you're laid back and calm even when a blade threatens to expose your innards to the world.

How can you be so soft and yet harder to crack than diamond coated on steel?

It doesn’t make sense (and it never will to him) but he wants to understand you.

Want’s to take the time to solve it like a puzzle instead of the regular way of solving problems via bashing it over the head enough times.

(He never gets the time to do this in the end though)

They don’t put your shackles on this time, it’s not worth the effort in their opinion when they’ve broken so many of your bones.

So they throw you on the hard floor, and lock up the cell once again.

You crawl your way to Kaido’s side of the cell, curling up next to him in a way that feels natural. He hikes an arm around you protectively as one would their own child, and while he doesn’t know what to consider you by (he now knows he considers you as one would a younger sibling) he knows he cares.

And while that’s a scary thought to him he can’t help but revel in it.

The fact that for the first time in his life besides pulling a trigger and watching the flames burn he cares.

Cares for something of his own volition rather being ordered to.

Despite being similar in age to him, you're so small in his arms. It’s mostly due to his Oni blood but a swelling of protectiveness wells up in him. He’s felt it before as they drag you off, yells at them to stop and leave you alone. But now settled in his arms so physically broken and battered it really dawns on him.

You're a child and so is he.

You only help to cement this in a small moment of vulnerability in his arms.

“I miss my home…even if I can’t remember it anymore.” He sees tears glistening in moonlight that peaks through the bars. You don’t cry from the beatings and torture like a skilled soldier, but you cry for home just as a child would.

“I want to remember but I can’t and it hurts so much. It hurts so much Kaido, and I can’t do anything about it. I’d rather rip out my heart and burn my nerves to nothing or crush each individual bone to dust if it meant it could remember what home was like. I miss it so bad and I don’t even know what I miss”

Kaido doesn’t know what to say, what to input and make you feel better because weapons are not meant to comfort others.

Monsters aren’t meant to hold the hand of the child, they're meant to scare.

But he tries.

“What do you remember?”

You bite back tears, swallowing them down to smile once more though now he sees how it wavers. It cracks ever so slightly at the corners, no one notices because it’s so bright that they never look there to see how practiced it is.

“It’s really hazy…” you start, playing with broken fingers before he stops you by placing his battle torn ones atop your own “but I remember a garden”

“What did it grow?”

“Flowers mostly…maybe peonies? Oh! And lilies. But I also remember strawberries, well more like remember the taste of them”

“What did they taste like?” He’s heard of those berries before but has not tasted them.

“Sweet…tart and earthy. I think I planted them because I was alone for periods of time?”

“Why’s that?”

“I think my parents” for a second you pause in consideration and contemplation, he watches the tears run in your head. But then eyes light up with a hazed recognition “they had to travel for work sometimes. They’d stay for long periods at home and then leave. They didn’t want me to go with them…thought it was dangerous maybe?”.

He nods at that.

That sounded like a fair enough reason, especially for someone like you.

Gentle and kind.

Showing Weakness even if it also seemed to be your strong suit.

The world has and would eat you up.

“Mom smelled of spices all the time. I think she came from a desert island, and liked to visit it. She would bring me back things”

“Do you remember what those were?”

“No…I just remember my sash came from that place. Made of special silk or something” you look down, but your sash is not there. Probably taken and sold already when you were initially dragged into the dungeon.

“Your dad?”

“He…I think he liked helping people.”

“So he’s like you then”

Your smile seems to become more genuine at that.

“Kaido my memory is really bad, I forget a lot. if…I can’t remember all of this then can you do it for me?” You look at him, those stars he swears he can see hidden in them shine once more. How can he refuse such a thing? Not when you’d made him feel like he isn’t just a gun to be held or a weapon to hold. “It’s like you said, we’re friends” he feels weird saying this but maybe in a good way “I don’t mind”.

===

The marines will be there for him soon, he knew it was a matter of time but despite that he can’t help but feel as if it has all flown away in a mere month.

What should have been a time in which he lamented alone,Cold and starved. It was filled with knowledge, warmth and fulfillment none of which he’d ever had the privilege in knowing. To his commanders he didn’t deserve it but you seem to think otherwise.

You always seemed to think otherwise to what he was taught.

When they dragged you back one night he noticed your smile was wider than it usually would. There was something about it that was innately different.

Once more they don’t lock you in shackles, just throwing you limply to the ground.

Your eyes watch as they slam the door and leave.

Something in them sparks up like a match in the dark.

A chuckle escapes your lips and he watches you sit up despite the broken bones. Worry etches itself into him.

“Stop moving your hurt!”

“I’m fine, had worse” it’s said as if it’s something as casual as the weather. “Anyways Kaido, where do you wanna go first when we get out of here?” You have that gaze again, it feels like a trick question.

“When?”

The look in your eye gets stronger as cracked fingers caked in your own blood reach into your pocket and pull out a key.

It gleams in the moonlight like your tears once did.

You repeat the question again.

“Where do you wanna go first when we get out of here?”

Kaido thinks back to your tales and finds his thoughts of where he’d be most free and answers back.

“The sea”

===

The escape is not pretty, blood was shed and Kaido is covered head to toe in red. You don’t fare much better but that’s mostly due to the fact you were in the splatter zone of Kaido’s rampage, which while you didn’t agree with was likely the only way for either of you to get out alive after being spotted.

The salty breeze rustles his hair and drifts past his horns, the ivory is stained red until he’s able to wash it.

On the small boat the two of you stole he lays down beside you on the wooden flooring. It creaks lightly because of his weight, but does not crack. The two of you look up to the stars, he wonders if they are as free as he feels whilst he stares up at them covered in the blood of his captors and by (one of) the only person he’d call a Friend’s side.

For the first of many few times in his life Kaido feels happy to be alive, if only for this moment of respite.

And it’s the first time he feels like he could take the world.

If only for you to grasp and hold for the freedom you gave him.

Because just for that, for breaking his shackles he’d give you everything and more.

(It’s a sentiment Alber would come to understand as well, many years in the future.)

Kaido looks to the stars, he thinks they shine brighter than when he was behind that of prison bars.

“I…I think they shine brighter here than before” he mumbles, he hears you move slightly closer despite all your broken bones and bruises.

“That might be because you’d never truly had the chance to stop and stare”

“Maybe” Kaido feels himself grunting “but everything kinda feels different now that I’m free”

“How so?”

He pauses for a moment, thinking how to phrase it before saying “it feels like things have color, it isn’t monochrome anymore. I can feel the wood beneath my fingers and sand sticking to my feet instead of ignoring the sensation because of orders. Salt stays on the tip of my tongue instead of gray slop that drowned away all taste…things can just exist without a purpose in war”.

Kaido had never been one for metaphors or flowery language, but for this he isn’t sure how else to explain it.

It all feels different.

He feels different, like a weight off both his shoulders and wrists.

Like new breath in his lungs.

An icy cold plunge into new waters.

It feels exhilarating and unpredictable.

He feels alive.

For the first time he thinks he can say he truly feels alive, rather than just surviving.

Not scraping by.

Not simply living without thought or question.

But alive.

Laying close to his head one of your hands goes to his hair, gently weaving it between fingers so much smaller than his own.

“Now that we’re at sea, is there any other place you’d like to go next?” You ask looking up to the stars yourself, he wonders if they reflect the ones in your eyes or if yours are their own little night sky.

“I haven’t thought that far yet.” He answers honestly, he focuses on the Big Dipper and Little Dipper, he thinks that they reflect both himself and you. “But so long as we’re free then I’m content in where we go” he says this Earnestly, turning his attention from that of the celestial bodies to you.

There's a look on your face he can’t place.

But he thinks it’s some sort of sadness.

It looms over you like a specter and soaks you to the bone in melancholy.

But you nod, and let the silence punctuated by waves take over.

He doesn’t get that look now, but he later realizes it’s the look of “I’m sorry”.

===

He realized too late your wounds should not look that way.

He knew they shouldn’t have in the beginning but it only sets in now after examining them himself.

Kaido knew he was no Field medic. His hands were only used to destroy and Maim and kill. But Kaido tried.

Because that’s all Kaido could do.

Try.

Try for you.

Try for you to be more than just an agent of destruction.

Of trying to do his best in treating the wounds despite the fact he does not know how to be gentle.

How to properly show care.

But nevertheless Kaido tries, he wraps your wounds and cleans them with water even if he has to hold your hand due to the sting of salt.

His hope is that you’ll float by a marine ship, in which he’d raid it and find their doctors to fix your infections.

But for now besides that he had to stabilize you, which seemed to be a fighting effort considering you don’t seem to care all that much.

At least for yourself.

When it had come to Kaido you placed him over yourself much to his dismay. Even back in that damp and dirty cell you’d done that. Giving him half your scraps of food, pouring a good portion of dirty water into his cup.

“You need it more than me” is what you had told him along with something like “you're bigger than me which means you need more food to power you” and “I’ve survived with less, I’ll be fine”.

He’d at the time hesitantly accepted it, but now as he dives into the ocean and catches fish to cook he doesn’t take those excuses anymore. Even if he has to basically force a large portion of Cooked fish in your hands and sit down in front of you glaring, telling you to eat.

But that is the least of his issues when it comes to you.

Kaido knows that for a 13 year old he’s mature, as are you despite being younger than him.

But he feels like a damn nurse trying to make you take medicine when it comes to the simplest things.

No, make sure you stay hydrated.

You can’t skip out on getting rest just cause someone needs to be on lookout. It's fine.

Stop poking at the very infected wound that’ll irritate it!

Stop moving around when half your bones are broken!!

At 13 Kaido thinks he has gray hairs already setting in. Because this makes him feel as old as what you first assumed him to be when the two of you met.

You're stubborn as a mule on this, practically forcing him to keep you bed ridden with the minimal supplies this small fishing vessel had. The couch you lay on is itchy as are the sheets used as blankets but it’s something and that’s all Kaido has other than you.

But even with your condition of what should be constant physical agony you keep insisting on getting up.

On trying to help around the small sea vessel.

Saying you had to look out for your own boat even if he doesn’t think that’s very likely but promised he’d look out for it in your stead.

Help trying to navigate even if he knew how to.

For some reason you can’t seem to sit still, mind always needing to focus on something even if the waves were calm and weather was fine. When he’d check in on you as you rested he’d alway find you staring out the small port window, eyes glazed over.

The haze of memory clouding them.

You tended to do that a lot in that cell but telling stories seemed to make it go away for a while.

But now you do it more often and he isn’t sure if it’s just how you are or if the infection is getting to you.

Either or, it leaves him sleepless at night More than he’d like to admit.

“Oh kaido? I never asked but why do you have horns?” You suddenly ask as he places down the slightly burnt piece of fish. Cooking was a skill taught to him…but cooking good food wasn’t. “You ask that now?” He responds then making you shrug your shoulders.

“didn’t think it was too important to ask at the time”

At that he rolls his eyes, picking up a piece of fish for you to eat. “I’ll answer if you eat”

“Ok” that was a bit easier than he thought- “but only if I get to keep asking questions”

“Fine” it comes out as an exasperated groan but to be honest a small bit of pride swells up in him.

You take a bite of the fish he cooked, eating it without complaint even though the outside is charred to ash. You look at him expectantly.

“I’m an Oni”

He waits for a reaction, but all he gets is a “oh, cool”.

“Is…that really your reaction to learning that?”

“Am I supposed to have a different reaction?”

“Yeah” he grumbles “I’m an Oni. O, N, I.”

He looks at your face, you have the most clueless expression he thinks he’s ever seen.

“You…you don’t know what that means do you?”

“Not really? But I was just wondering if they were fake or not. Either or it doesn’t change my opinion on you”

“And what’s your opinion of me?”

“I think your cool…and your my friend who deserved better than what life gave you”

He pauses momentarily at that, but nods.

He thinks the same of you, that you deserve better than this.

“…thanks. What’s your next question?”

You take another bite, “oh! Here’s a good question!” You suddenly turn a bit serious “what’s your dream?”

“My dream?”

“Yeah! What’s your dream now that you're free? What do you wanna do? What do you want to accomplish?”

“I want to change the world” he says after a moment of contemplation.

“Cool!”

But that wasn’t the entire truth.

He left out a part at the end.

I want to change the world for you.

===

You’ve been acting more off than usual, and that’s saying something since you always act weird. Always having an odd look in those eyes of yours that encompass the night sky itself even in all its expanse.

But now those eyes seem…obscured in a sense.

You're half-there and half-not.

Because of the infections you’ve developed a fever and you're losing sight of things.

Sweat pours from your forehead and breath remaining stagard as you took in deep puffs of breath.

Chills have begun to rack up your spine leaving you a shivering mess. He lets you cling to him, leaching off the warmth he naturally produces as his blood stained hands try to rub comforting circles into tousled and sweaty hair.

He doesn’t mind.

He can’t when your in obvious pain and confusion.

Mind slipping back and forth between conscious and unconscious, past and the present.

Today he tried to have you tell a story but you kept fumbling over your own words.Trailing off and suddenly going quiet for minutes on end and then asking him what you were talking about.

You apologize for this. As well as being an inconvenience.

For being sick.

For slowly losing yourself in the veil of loopiness as your body gets worse.

But that’s hardly something that’s your fault.

It’s his.

(Or at least that’s what he blames himself for)

After failing to tell a story you go quiet for a while.

Eerily so.

It sets him off tilter since he’s used to your voice constantly being in the air.

You don’t seem to know what to say anymore.

So instead Kaido decides to fill the air instead.

“Apparently in Oni culture we let someone close to us make a mark on our horns” it comes out of nowhere and it takes a minute for you to compute but when it does he sees fascination light up your face.

“How do you know that?” Your voice questions, the sound of it easing some of his tension. You're still there, still conscious and not lost in your own mind. “I thought you didn’t know much about your people, considering you were one of the only ones likely left?”.

“A commander mentioned it once”

He thinks back to that particular memory.

Said commander looking at the small horns poking out from disheveled hair. They weren’t quite as big as they were now, just barely enough to be called proper horns.

He remembers that man’s laugh as he roughly grabbed them and tugged Kaido along with them.

“He said that when they were big enough they should carve the kingdom's emblem into them. A sign of ownership and of its importance”

“To you?”

“No, more like how it was above me”

Now thinking back he isn’t sure if that man’s words were true or not. He’d been so deprived of information about a people he’d never met nor traditions he’d never see that any crumb would be eaten up by his mind.

Maybe it was made up.

But even if it wasn’t it remained stuck in his head.

“I want you to carve something”

For a money you pause, a look of confusion stuck.

“Why though? I don’t want to make it seem like mark of ownership, that’s wrong”

Lightly he smacks your forehead with his finger, he ignores how it’s too hot and the sweat that sticks to it.

“You idiot, did you not hear what I said first? It’s meant to be a thing of friendship between us. They wanted to use it as something else, I want to use it as it’s meant to be used”

“But what would I even carve? I don’t wanna put my name. That would seem weird”

Kaido pinches the bridge of his nose, then looking at you once more.

At least he knew you’d be genuine about it.

But even then your being too picky about shit-

“Do a star then”

He gets the idea when for a brief moment his eyes connect with your own.

They sparkle even with the hazy look in them.

“Will it hurt you though?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve been through worse”

“Well it matters to me-“

“Yeah well, you’ve used the same excuse before of things being worse. I don’t know what you’ve been through but I’ve been a soldier up till now, I can handle it”

By the end of the night as you lay asleep atop of him, head planted above where his heart would be (if he really ever had one) his fingers trace the indent of a messy carved star.

It’s slightly lopsided.

It doesn’t look even.

Or maybe even doesn’t look like a four pointed star to others.

But to Kaido it means everything to him.

(Something that even now years in the future despite being depressed and suicidal he fondly drags a finger over the carved notch. It’s one of the few things that can make him slightly smile about. A sight of which makes his commanders ponder of, though only King knows of its true significance to him)

It serves as an anchor or sorts.

A sign.

A motivation.

A determination for a dream.

A connection.

A symbol of freedom and a spark.

A sign of friendship to someone he feels is rapidly slipping from his grasp at each moment. Much like sand between his fingers or blood pouring from an open wound.

He cannot sew it up now matter how hard he tries,

He has to watch you bleed out slowly in pain.

And it kills him slowly on the inside.

Especially as you seem to be losing yourself bit by bit.

Kaido holds you closer, he hopes to not have to let you go.

But he knows at this point it is inevitable.

The fever isn’t going down and just seems to get worse.

The end is nigh.

===

A few years ago Kaido had saw a half dead rabbit in the camp near his bunkhouse with the others his age.

It’s white spotted fur matted with dirt and its own blood as it lay mutilated but alive. The small animal writhed on the ground, ants picking away at its flesh as it sat there still alive to be eaten. It’s a cruel fate for any living thing, but one that is not unexpected for a creature that was weak.

Or at least that’s what they told him.

His superior saw his gaze at the creature and scoffed when Kaido reached a hand to end its agony.

He was told to let it writhe.

It was the rule of the world that the weak would die for the strong to survive.

The weak were meant to be eaten by the strong.

And so the bunny was left to be taken apart slowly.

Dying in wheezing pain.

Left there to die in agony instead having its suffering ended with the quick snap of its neck.

Kaido didn’t know how to feel as it sat there in pain, he felt sort of sorry for it but he was given orders.

And that was the way of the world.

He thinks back to that rabbit now and finds the similarity between you both too apparent.

Both small helpless creatures in pain.

You wheeze just as it did though now due to your feverish state.

You shiver as its body once did though instead of the chilling snow it’s now your body playing tricks on you.

And just like that small rabbit your fate is in his hands.

He has to decide whether to let you continue to a painful death just as it did or end it now.

This decision weighs heavy on him now because he isn’t given orders to obey.

He has to make this choice of his own volition.

And for once he thinks there was one upside to being given orders to be a weapon.

Because morality and feelings never came into the mix.

He’d be given a task, do it and never have to think of how it made him feel nor the consequences of those actions on others.

It was survival.

Yet now decision weighs heavy in his mind, on his shoulders and most importantly in his hands as you are cradled by them.

He can’t help but notice once more that you're so small in them. He knows it’s mostly due to his oni blood but a part of him attributes it to how fragile you are. It would be so easy to hurt you by accident. So, so, so easy for the world to shatter you like glass.

He’s surprised it hasn’t already or perhaps it did and you're a pro at picking yourself up back together.

Your form is held gently but close.

Kaido doesn’t want to let you go from his grasp.

Wants to hoard you to himself.

He doesn’t want you to go.

To leave him alone with this burning feeling in his heart at the thought of you going.

But Kaido knows that in the end he cares too much for you to let that part of himself overpower the right thing to do.

No matter how much it’ll tear him apart and shatter him at his core.

You're worth so much more than both those combined.

And he’s willing to become more broken than he already was just for you to die in peace.

His hands shake, you notice.

“ you ok…Kai?” The shortened form of his name was something you’d begun calling him a few days back. Speaking hurt your throat, so instead under his demand you’d stuck to short sentences. But at this point he’s unsure if you think he’s him or if you think your speaking to someone else.

“I’m fine…just” what does he say? What's he supposed to do? He’s 13 and he’s killed more than he could ever count yet this feels different. He’d never known his victim so well, never cared for them as he did with you. “I just need to know something” before he does this, even in your feverish state he needs to find some solace.

Tilting your head back to look up at him he sees your eyes struggling to focus. Squinting at his face almost as if drunk with uncertainty at who he was.

“What is it?” Your words are slurred and slow, raspy and thin. The complete opposite as to what you sounded like before in that cell even with a broken set of ribs. You used to speak with such certainty and strength, joy and wonder leaking from each word.

Your voice is but an echo of what it once was. Quiet and loosing its grasp before fading to silence.

“…even if we go our separate ways…will you still consider me your friend? Will you still care for me?”

You smile.

And Kaido feels the world shift ever so slightly.

“Course Kai.” Reaching up a hand you graze the ivory of his horns, a finger tracing the small star mark he let you carve “your my friend. I’ll always love you, always care for you even when gone. One day we’ll see each other again”.

Maybe you're more coherent than he initially thought.

Maybe you realized his intentions of putting you out of this misery.

Or maybe you genuinely think that you’ll meet once more.

In a way your right, you’ll one day meet in the realm of the dead.

(Something he now oh so desperately craves to go to)

Either way it’s all the motivation he needs to do this.

His hands shake as they shift grip to cradle the back of your head.

(A monster like him does not deserve your care, to ever feel loved as he did as your friend. But even then that’s an understatement, you were more like the family he never had. The annoying little sibling he never asked for but loved as if you were flesh and blood)

You stare up at him from your place, head leaning against where his beating dead heart is.

(Star filled eyes look up at him and they make it so that he can never look at the night sky again. Even in onigashima on the clear night skies with shining stars he cannot look at them. Only because he’s flooded with the guilt)

“Kaido?” You sound a bit more coherent than before, you look at him with a confused smile as your hands graze over the tears coming from golden eyes.

(He imagines the rabbit, if on that day he’d ended its misery. The flooding relief of death sweeping over its form that was left to rot and be picked apart by the scavengers. He promises you will not be left to that fate, that the world will not tear you apart as you die a slow painful end)

“What are you-“.

There’s a twist and then a crack.

The sound is quiet yet it rattles through his hands and into his core where sorrow roars its head for the very first time.

Slumping down to the ground he holds you, and doesn’t want to let you go.

He closes his golden eyes and falls asleep clutching a dead corpse (that unbeknownst to him began to fade away as he slipped into unconscious. He wakes up later on a marine’s ship and assumes they tossed your body, there are no survivors to tell the tale but himself).

Death is all that Kaido’s hands are good for, he isn’t ashamed of this fact but this time he feels genuine loss.

One of the few times he ever will.

And just like the other time when he feels loss for a person he kills much later on in the future.

You and Oden smile in the face of death.

The sight haunts and transfixes him at the same time.

And it makes Kaido crave it all the more knowing the two people he misses smiled as death took them.

He wonders if the sight of the other side or complete and utter peace in the reaper's cold hands did it.

Either way he wishes to go out the same.

With content in his cold withered heart and a smile.

===

Kaido isn’t sure if he believed in ghosts and spirits, but he did believe that in some way you were still with him even in death.

Because you linger subconsciously in his mind and everything he comes across.

When he joined the Rock’s pirates under Newgates offer he imagines what would have happened if you were still with him. Would you have wormed your way into the murderous crew’s hearts just as you did him?

He knows for a fact he would have had to fight Newgate for you.

The man’s dream of a family aligning all too well with how he would have scooped you up the minute Kaido stepped on that ship.

Linlin talks about a childhood best friend that sounds a lot like you.

She reminisces about it quite a bit, no one but him actually listens (even then he only does this for his own nostalgia of you and how similar this friend of hers and you sound alike). That seems to help get him on her good side though with how young he was when joining that helped as well, she now calls him “little brother”. It’s an affectionate term, one that he isn’t quite sure how he feels about when she messes up his hair and slaps him on the back.

He thinks it’s then that he realized he viewed you the same way Linlin does for him.

Little sibling.

It’s always after someone is gone do you realize the true extent of their importance to you.

It’s only when they're gone do you feel their loss in the world and your life.

He thought he had prepared for loss, for mourning and grief.

But they still hit him harder than any bullet or attack.

It’s perhaps a true testament to you and your affect on him.

Linlin at some point has him try a strawberry shortcake once he says he’d never had strawberry before. She enthusiastically hands him a piece, it surprises both him and everyone else on board. She never shared her sweets, let alone with anyone on board besides maybe Stussy and Gloriosa when they were on those weird weeks where they smelled of blood and were moodier than usual.

So he tries it.

The small red berry with bits of white frosting stuck to it, it hits his taste buds with an onslaught of sweetness.

It’s as you described strawberries to taste, sweet and earthy, its juice pools in his mouth and leaks from the corner of his lips.

But at the same time it’s bitter and dull.

He swallows it down though, and eats the rest as Linlin grins in delight.

She asks him how it was and he responds that it was fine.

She does not know of how it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth even after trying to wash it down with sake and whatever booze was offered that night.

Only Newgate seem notices of how he tried to wash out his mouth.

Thankfully he does not ask.

And Kaido luckily does not have to tell of how the too sweet taste of icing and lingering bitterness of fresh strawberry stains him.

(When Linlin sends shipments of strawberry shortcakes years later Kaido bitterly eats them just as they leave a bitter taste in his mouth. King asks him why he eats them despite his clear distaste for the sweet confection. He just says it’s because it’s a gift and because he values the bittersweet of strawberry. King raises an eyebrow at this, but does not comment on it. Instead he join in on finishing the many sweet confections even if like Kaido he prefers more savory dishes)

===

In a lab many years later after gods valley Kaido finds a white haired boy chained up to a table.

Red burning eyes stare to that of gold ones.

Kaido knows his eyes are not like yours, they do not burn with the same intensity of Starfire but they do burn.

They burn like the flames that eventually eat up the rest of the facility as shackles are broken.

He learns the boy's name is Alber, a last surviving member of the Lunarian race that had been slaughtered much like his own. Unlike horns he possesses wings and an undying spark. Both of which weakly cling to life after years of poking and prodding by people in white coats that are now marred by ash and blood.

Kaido was sure of it after he had bludgeoned enough of them with his own bare hands or let the collapsing building take care of the few stranglers.

Alber in the escape is reborn anew in the ashes of a burning lab as King.

A fitting name for someone who would eventually come to rule this forsaken world at Kaido’s side.

As King looks up to him, with widen ruby red eyes Kaido notices how they look at him. He looks at Kaido as if he had hung the moon and stars, perhaps in a way Kaido had for the young Lunarain.

King does not remember much of his home besides the scent of burning wood of a giant bonfire and the subsequent burning of their homes.

Fire had been important to their people, it symbolized that of the blazing fires of the stars. The eternal fire of their spark hung just behind them like the star that was hung above the red line. It was said to have been given to them as a symbol of home no matter where they flew.

The star was placed there to always show them their way back home.

That the ones touched by their elusive god would have their sparks changed to immortalize that star.

It is ironic then that fire is used to burn away their land to bring forth Mary Geoise.

What had used to be the land of winged people as free as the sky is reborn as the place where so called “celestials” harbor hundreds of thousands as slaves.

The lucky few lunarians had their wings tethered in chains before being dropped into the ocean to flail and drown or just properly slaughtered in the massacre as they were shot down from the sky.

The rest who don’t share that fate are privy to something much worse. Either shipped off to a lab or dismembered into exotic pieces to be kept as a part of a collection as are the remnants of their culture.

Black wings are hung up as mantle pieces above fireplaces that burn in a crude irony.

Moon White hair was cut off and woven into decorations for dresses.

Red eyes plucked from skulls to be turned into exotic centerpieces to long tables filled to the brim with imported foods.

Kaido knows that Oni horns are similarly used as decorations.

The ivory carved into statues or used as the keys to piano’s that are played by slaves or the few lucky musicians that are deemed good enough to be in the presence of self acclaimed gods.

Like King, Kaido also knows little to none about his own culture as well.

Both their people slaughtered for decoration, leaving them clueless to their own traditions.

Yet another thing that makes him and King feel somewhat connected.

They are both the last of their kind.

Shackled and chained like property before being broken free.

Two connected with a dream to change the world.

Both were freed and were able to see the moon and stars once again on a beautiful night punctuated by the blood of their captures.

While King does not remember his people he does remember the stars, stars he now gets to see again.

So it’s no wonder he thinks Kaido hung them.

He looks at Kaido just as Kaido did to you.

Once more Kaido ponders if you watch him from the world beyond.

If you're proud of him for doing just as you did all those years ago.

Kaido hopes so.

===

For a good while in his life Kaido feels aimless.

To be fair, in a sense he’s always been slightly aimless. Going from place to place, adrift before he was recruited to Rock’s crew and then had to jump ship when that went up in smoke.

He has his right hand.

He builds his crew.

Is proclaimed a Yonko and emperor of the seas.

Has a blood child.

But the hollowness in his chest does not get placated nor fade.

It only ever seems to feel worse.

The world feels like once more that it’s back to monochrome, only stray bits of color only ever appearing when he’s drunk enough to forget. Even then the world does not feel as vibrant as it was before even when in inebriated color.

Everything feels faded out and sullied.

Almost as if it were drowned and pulled back out from the water.

Theoretically he should be happy, but he isn’t.

There were only a few times in his life that he ever was and it started with you before going downhill from then on.

In the back of his mind he wants to blame you for this unhappiness.

You who brought him a world of light and color before having it ripped away by his own hands as a mercy to you. From then on it never seemed the same, its color began to fade as did his eventual want to live. Back when the broken neck was cradled in his hands he wanted to go with you, but surmised that you wanted better for him.

You always did.

Always put himself above you even if you were equally starving and cold.

Kaido doesn’t regret being alive, not when you fought so valiantly for him to do so and for having the opportunity in freeing King. but he does regret living to the point that he now considered it a prison in its own right.

Regrets that he now cannot look at the stars and when he does he wonders if they too are chained to their positions in the sky.

perhaps you had known that as well.

The forlorn look you’d give when looking out to sea even in a fevered and hazy state. Eyes tracing the stars with a sadness that he could not place.

Perhaps you’d Known all of this, yet tried to keep Kaido in blissful ignorance knowing how miserable it would make him.

Even with all of this Kaido cannot hate you, nor have any ill will towards you.

Not even if he forced himself to try.

Never could he hate you.

He could hate the world and himself but never you.

Never because of the kindness you’d given.

And most importantly for the fact that he now believes you to be something else.

Kaido isn’t quite sure where exactly he first hears of the story of “Joyboy” but even with the scraps he is given it stays in his mind. It lingers and festers with curiosity. An itch that he cannot scratch until he finds more stories, then rinse and repeat.

Kaido thinks that in a way you were sent by Joyboy to him.

Maybe it was a coincidence.

Or something else entirely but you brought to him the liberation he had dreamt of.

Caused within him the spark of a burning star to create change to the world for you (one that now does not care if that change is for the betterment of the world or the destruction of it in your long forgotten name that he hordes)

But this first starts off as a stray thought as he learns more and more about the god. The small bits of information he’s been able to collect is varied and old but what the legend tells him is enough to create more similarities. Most of the stories have been covered up or collected by marines, luckily they can’t do much when he raids their bases and takes what information he wants.

More information is learnt.

And eventually he comes to believe that maybe you truly were some envoy sent by the perpetual smiling god.

You died with a smile like he would.

(As does Oden and Roger)

More of his mind makes connections probably not there but ones he so desperately wants to be true.

Because if you were sent by him that means it validates how you're a shining beacon of sunspot in the dark expanse of his mind.

Like a star in the sky.

Like the stars that match the innermost depths of your eyes.

Maybe if you were sent by JoyBoy it’s a sign of breaking free of the chains of the living realm.

Maybe he will break Kaido free since he’s the only one worthy and strong enough to finally end this.

Maybe Kaido can see you again.

Maybe Kaido will see a night sky with stars that are unshackled.

Maybe your death will mean something other than a tragedy and the turning point of how things have become dull and pointless.

===

Kaido did not have the capability to love.

Respect, yes. But love? No.

It had long died in his chest as did his heart when he was born and raised to be a mindless weapon. Maybe it had had a chance of beating once more (and maybe it was revived momentarily when on that small ship adrift at sea before a sobering snap rang out into the night and a body fell limp in his hands) but that had long been buried in the past.

In his chest sits a dead heart that lays in its coffin within the ground (he does not acknowledge that he had to rebury it or that it was for a short period of time reanimated) .

Kaido cannot love even if he tries (not anymore at least).

Kaido wants to love Yamato but he cannot on account of who Kaido is as a person.

Weapons are not capable of love.

Neither are Yonko’s (the strong ones at least. Shanks and Newgate can hardly be considered that when they show weakness in pride)

When Kaido was just Kaido, an escaped bargaining chip ready to be sold he might have (and he did, he had the love of a friend but that died when they did).

But now he is the captain of the beast pirates.

A monster like him does not deserve love in the first place, he should not crave it. (But Even if that’s correct your words of “your my friend. I’ll always love you” reverberate like an echo chamber within his skull. He tries to bash his head against a wall yet nothing is able to make it stop echoing. He didn’t deserve what you had given yet you gave it anyways)

He has no time for love.

No time to coddle Yamato.

Yamato has to be strong to face the world.

Has to be strong as to one day kill and not let it haunt him.

To not let the crack of a neck ring in his mind when he thinks he finally has peace.

To not see the dulling eyes that reflect the stars fade out and burn themselves instead into his head.

To not realize the world has color before it’s taken from him.

(But that happens anyways, and like it happened to Kaido it is set into motion when someone smiles in the face of death. For Yamato his spark for his dream boils in intensity and for Kaido it’s a spark that now wants to fizzle out)

===

Onigashima feels different for some reason and Kaido can’t place a finger on it.

Maybe not a bad type of different per say but it’s one that he notices in time as things progress.

It started off with Black Maria seeming more chipper than usual. The normally malicious smile hidden behind a careful mask momentarily satiated. Red painted lips genuinely up turned as she talks of her newest edition of a letter deliverer. A “cute little thing” her workers picked up from the streets battered and cold.

Maria always had a soft spot for kids, evident from how she even coddled Yamato even when Kaido told her it would make the child soft. So it doesn’t make Kaido too surprised that she picked up one out of the many strays that wander the streets. Though, how a lone child ended up in Onigashima is beyond him.

She talks fondly of them, her “little messenger” that has seemingly captured the favor of the black widow.

Somehow getting caught in her web yet navigating it and the rest of lions den with ease.

She seems to be having custom kimono and Yukata made for her messenger. Something she occasionally mentions with a rogue tinged smile as her nails dance across Kaido’s bicep. She seems happy, genuinely. He respects her enough to nod along, content in that she is also content.

Next is seemingly Sasaki and Who’s-Who, there’s been less of their demanding fights with Queen, Jack and especially King.

The two had seemingly befriended the young messenger Black Maria had employed (much to her displeasure because now their apparently “hogging” them from her).

This then extended to Ulti and eventually Page one as well. Apparently they had somehow worked their way onto her good side, even being able to somewhat calm her down which was a godsend for many of the other beast pirates. God knows the amount of times she’s sent a good chuck in grunts to the ER from a small spot of anger.

But then surprisingly enough even Queen and King seem to take interest in this messenger.

For Queen it’s loud but transactional interest.

Kaido can hear the concerts he puts on but now with added guitar riffs and solos. The crowds cheer with such vigor that almost all of Onigashima shakes with excitement.

For King it’s quiet but personal.

Kaido knows that his right hand has never trusted nor legitimately liked anyone but himself.

King has never formed friendships beyond that of Kaido and that was fine.

King was a grown man, he could make his own decisions in life and that included who he (or in this case who he didn’t) talk to. But seeing his right hand for once actually made happy, well it created in kaido an inkling of relief.

For so long King had wallowed in a similar sadness to Kaido.

King had not enjoyed anything, even when partaking in activities such as drinking or partying he only did it for Kaido.

At first Kaido could understand. He finds no point in living, and can’t find enjoyment in much anymore. But Kaido had things, he had Onigashima and the love of thrill for battle and booze and the longing embrace of death.

But later he came to notice that King had nothing besides Kaido.

King had no people he legitimately talked to beside Kaido.

He never attended parties if Kaido was not there.

He never even took enjoyment in fights.

He never walked with purpose unless Kaido gave him a task to achieve.

King had nothing.

Nothing but the belief that Kaido would bring change and his goal was to just solely help him achieve that change.

And while Kaido saw life to be a prison he wanted King to not see it that way.

He wanted King to live.

To soar just as his people once proudly did.

Wanted to give him what he had gained from his time with you.

To paint the bleak world in color for someone he broke from chains.

To make the bars of life not visible nor matter.

To never realize the stars were collard and held in place.

So hearing he was happy for once.

That he found someone besides Kaido to help fill the emptiness of his life.

Well it piqued his interest, especially since this same messenger had seemingly done the same for his Tobiroppo and one two thirds of his all stars.

(In the back of his mind he bitterly chuckles that it reminds him of you but he brushes it off. Your dead and gone, he’s the reason for that)

So he arranges for the next meeting to have this messenger included.

King seems almost eager for this. Wanting to introduce whoever this is to him.

For once Kaido hears King talk about his day in detail rather than simply stating that “it was fine” and leaving it at that.

(Kaido does not hear the small utterance of a name he hadn’t heard in so so long, too caught up in his drink to catch it. It slips through his fingers and he does not realize it, even if he did compute it he’d assume it was a sad coincidence)

===

Days go by as per usual though Kaido does have something to perhaps look forward to now with this meeting.

It’s not easy to thrive in Onigashima even as a decent fighter.

So a literal child somehow making allies with some of his top commanders is certainly something that has some amusement to look forwards to.

So he waits.

And drinks.

And waits.

And shoo’s away the weird crows that have made their home in Onigashima recently.

Something also seemingly attributed to this messenger. King had told him that apparently these were their crows, one they had raised themselves after finding the murder half dead.

Could be useful for communication, less chance of having the den den mushi tapped or curriers intercepted. Plus…he didn’t mind the bird’s presence.

Something about them was odd, but not in a particular bad way.

They sometimes circled the sky in a spiral, swirling in a mass of black feathers similar to King.

It was a sight to see.

What's even more of a sight to see was that one of them was bold enough to join Kaido in drinking. The small feathered fiend joining in on partaking in the enjoyment of booze. Its beak dipping down in the large sake cup, then incessantly squawking when Kaido had interrupted its sips when he too wanted to enjoy in the clear liquid.

A large scar paints over its wing, leaving a trail that the little thing seemed to take pride in.

Much like Kaido’s scar that he too takes pride in.

The little thing’s name is “Nobu” , something he learned from King. Apparently along with this messenger her also befriended their little feathered fiends as well.

Kaido jokes that it has something to do with bird intuition.

King rolls his eyes though through the creasing of leather it’s clear that beneath his mask he smiles.

Not like King can say much anyways when on his shoulders perches several of the birds. All of which linger around his flame, seemingly trying to use it as a source of warmth and equally captivated by it.

Nobu beside him pecks at his arm, making Kaido look down at the twilight coloured bird.

“Caw!”

Kaido’s eyes drift down to it, before the bird pecks at the now empty sake cup. It was not empty last Kaido touched it…did this small bird really finish the last two thirds of the cup that most of his beast pirates could never stomach.

Hell, the sake cup Kaido used was custom sized to be bigger than just about any other sake cup.

Well fuck. Looks like he had a drinking buddy? Bird?

“I’ll give you this you little shit, your a good drinker”

“Caw!”

“Another round?”

The bird nods, pecking the cup again as if to say ‘hurry up and refill you slow bastard’.

Kaido chuckles.

Now he feels even more curiosity as to who this messenger was.

Good thing for him that meeting was soon.

===

Typically Kaido did not care much for the meetings, not unless it was something really important or led to him possibly fighting someone (and then being disappointed that they didn’t meet expectations).

But for this one the curiosity curling in his gut is enough to satiate him of relying on the presence of Black Maria at his side and a few dozen gourds of sake to get him through.

He wonders what this messenger will be like.

Will they be a cunning child? The one who spies the people with well made clothes and awaits to pick their pockets.

Are they scrappy? The child who rustles a raccoon on the street for stealing their food and isn’t afraid to play dirty.

Or Are they perhaps the opposite?

(In some very distant part of his mind, perhaps buried in the cold grave that contains his heart a thought bubbles out. Like undead clawing out from a grave before being buried once more. That part of him wonders if their maybe like you)

It swirls in his mind because the thought of a child (just a random child) that would be able to befriend his top confidants.

Worm their way into the hearts of someone like King or even Ulti and Who’s-Who.

Well…It leaves an impression.

And a all consuming question.

Especially since before even meeting this messenger Kaido can’t help but feel somewhat charmed by them.

Them who has made King more happy and content than Kaido has ever possibly seen the man and create within the vicious Maria a kindness.

They who calms down Ulti’s violent temper tantrums and apparently party with Sasaki.

His thoughts whirl.

And then Kaido Freezes.

The unbeatable monster known for ransacking villages and crumbling a nation that he now uses as a den freezes.

He knows those eyes better than he knows the scars that mar his body.

For a moment Kaido thinks he’s piss drunk or having a hallucination when he sees you there.

He had some before, when tired enough or drunk enough he could swear to see or hear you.

Sometimes you’d sit atop his shoulder (in the corner of his eyes, never fully in focus)

Other times he’d hear your voice like a small whisper of encouragement (even though your voice feels almost unrecognizable from what it once was)

And there you are, sitting in content beside Maria who dressed you in silk. The woman’s usually cruel red smile is replaced by one of adoration and warmth instead of her biting cold.

Laughing at Sasaki and Who’s-Who as the two argue over some contrived bet they made when likely drunk.

Somehow calming down Ulti who nearly blows a gasket at Sasaki who accidentally bumps into her due to his fight with Who’s-who.

Having a paper slid over to you by Queen who looks all too pleased with himself before King burns it in front of him.

And most surprisingly of all King, his right hand also holding that familiar look of comfort and content that Kaido is too familiar with when associated with you.

And then of course there’s just you on your own.

You who sits there completely the same as when you met him in that jail cell and died by his hands minus the bruises.

The same star speckled eyes.

Same smile.

Same calm and mild mannered disposition despite being in a room infested with monsters.

Kaido thinks back to the times he had pondered what would happen if you had lived, if he had been able to find a doctor or if you somehow miraculously healed from those infectious wounds. If the rusted blunt swords used on your flesh and slashed at by guards had impossibly not led to the discolored wounds that leaked with a disgusting mixture of blood and other fluids.

Maybe you would have joined him on Rock’s crew.

Would’ve met Linlin and Newgate.

Could have helped him Break King out of that cell just as you had for him.

If you’d get along with some of the few on his crew he had some likability for (which he now knows is possibly).

If like all those years ago despite all he’s done you’d still consider him friend.

And seeing you again he realizes that all of that could have happened.

That the future he dreamed of in the few uncrushed bits of optimism that lingers in the corner of his soul could have happened.

The life he longed for on those dark nights where memories haunted him like screaming banshees.

It could have happened.

And it didn’t.

Kaido without thinking says your name, it echoes out and reverberates. The room quiets down, so much so that it feels as if his call to you was the only thing ever spoken between the 4 walls.

Starry eyes look to him.

They feel as if they peer into his very soul. Golden burning embers searching the now dull yellow pits of his eyes.

Searching and searching for something.

Anything.

But there’s nothing.

Not even an inkling of recognition slithers its way onto your face nor into your mind. Instead horror fills it.

Perhaps just as horrified as Kaido that you forgot.

And like before, on that night all those years ago Kaido feels something in him break.

He lost you once, perhaps in a way you’ve even lost yourself.

But Kaido will not let you slip away again.

Will not grant mercy as he did all those years ago when he was a naive boy.

Maybe it’s because of his Zoan tendencies or because of his fear (the world feels foreign in his mouth let alone to feel anymore. Because Kaido did not fear anything, not even death) but Kaido feels something swirling in him.

Protectiveness.

And then possession.

He does not want to let you free of his grasp again, will not let you lose yourself once more.

Even if he knows how hypocritical it is to lock you by his side when you had freed him of such a fate of a cage.

But the world is not kind and neither is Kaido.

All those years ago you lit a spark in him that grew to become an inferno.

He swore that he would create change in this world even if you wouldn’t see it.

He would create change in this world for you now with you to watch.

…He’s hardly surprised when you run.

===

He finds you when it’s too late, already crumpled up and bloody in Maria’s palm. King is overhead still in the air, though the flame behind him is less of a burning red mixed with oranges and yellows but now a blindingly shining gold that scorches the sky.

Broken and bloody you clutch something.

It shines through hands that clasp at it tightly.

Light slipping through your fingers as you clutch it closely to your chest.

Sparks are sent off roaring as it collides against the bloodied cloth of your kimono.

It sinks through the material and into a kind and compassionate heart.

A heart that cracks into golden dust he can only aquaint to that of stardust, your body is painted in cracks. It’s reminiscent of old statues, crack lining stone though now it bleeds a glittering gold instead of cancerous white lead dust.

The words that fall from your mouth like all those years ago come out like a pained whisper.

It’s almost lost to the sobs of Maria.

But Kaido heard it like thunderclap roaring in the sky.

“Oden?”

And finally the cracks strain and you quite literally break into pieces. Becoming the stardust that leaked into the endless oblivion of the night.

In that flurry of dust momentarily you reform, if only for a moment. You're in different attire, much better for seafaring as well as a familiar captain's coat atop your world carrying shoulders. The kimono once worn now lays on the barren ground, blood also disappearing into the fine golden powder that drifts upwards.

And then there is someone else there in that dust.

For the slightest of seconds Oden lingers.

His form made up of that dust as you drift up past him, an outreached hand reaches to your own and you grab it. Eyes for the first time opening while in this form, staring into that of the man who was born to boil.

Golden eyes shine intently as a smile stretches across both yours and his face.

And then the dust settles into the night leaving nothing of proof of your existence if not for onlookers who mourn, a kimono and hairpin meant as gifts yet you never knew were and the burning flames of a star ignited over midnight black wings.

The air settles and the silence echoes for several minutes on end.

It’s only broken when King finally descends down, feet numbly hitting the ground as the starlit flame on his back burns oh so brightly.

The shape of a four pointed star hung upon his back.

It’s then that Kaido realizes that perhaps you were never an envoy of JoyBoy at all but your own entity.

Perhaps one more elusive than the titular liberator. Someone mentioned in those tales yet he ignored in favour of JoyBoy more.

But in the end that’s fine.

Because Kaido now knows better.

But does not know better than to try and catch a shooting star or rope one from the sky.

#determination!#platonic #one piece #kaido one piece #kaido x reader #one piece x reader #king the wildfire x reader #king the conflagration #king one piece #king the wildfire

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