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tadpolesonalgae · 20 days

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛

warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)

word count: 16,175

-Part 14- -Part 16-

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Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.

His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.

Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.

Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.

Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.

“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”

“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.

“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.

To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”

“And the trouble?”

“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.

But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”

Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.

She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”

“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.

“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”

The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”

“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”

“You know you should have told us.”

“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”

“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”

Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.

A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”

“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”

“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”

Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”

Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.

“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”

Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.

————

Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.

Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.

The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.

He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.

Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.

“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.

“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”

“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”

Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”

Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.

Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.

But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.

Listen in from outside.

————

The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.

The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.

Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.

“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.

“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.

“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.

“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.

“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”

Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”

Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.

Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”

“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”

Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.

Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.

She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”

But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”

Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.

“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”

Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.

He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”

“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.

“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”

“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.

“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”

“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.

Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.

Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”

Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”

“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”

Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”

Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.

Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.

Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.

————

“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.

As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.

“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”

You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.

“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.

“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.

His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feeling sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”

“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.

“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”

Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”

“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.

You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.

“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”

You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”

“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”

His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.

You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.

“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.

Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.

You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.

You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?

Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.

“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.

You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.

“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.

You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.

Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.

Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”

His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.

His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.

“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”

He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.

You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”

Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.

“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.

That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.

Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.

“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.

“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.

Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.

“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”

The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.

“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.

————

Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.

You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.

You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.

Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.

Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.

“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”

————

You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.

Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.

Use it wisely.

You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.

————

Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.

The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.

“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”

His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.

“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”

“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”

Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.

“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”

“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.

“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”

Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”

“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”

“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”

“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.

“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”

Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.

Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”

“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.

“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.

Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.

————

You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.

Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.

“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.

“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.

“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.

“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”

Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.

“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.

It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.

You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.

You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.

He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.

Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.

“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.

“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.

His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”

Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.

Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.

You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.

Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.

He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.

“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.

“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.

Where else were you supposed to go?

“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.

“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.

He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.

But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”

Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”

“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”

“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”

His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.

Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.

“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”

“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”

He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.

“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”

“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”

You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.

“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”

“About what?”

“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.

You’re quiet. Silent.

Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.

He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.

“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”

Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.

“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.

The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.

“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?

“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.

“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”

Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.

“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”

“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.

“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.

“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”

Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”

You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?

“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”

“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”

“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”

A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”

You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.

“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”

You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.

The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.

“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”

“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

————

He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.

He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.

When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.

How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…

She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.

Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.

She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?

Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.

He will die, and it will be by her hand.

He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.

He should ask her what it is.

Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.

But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.

But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.

But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.

Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.

What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.

But if it came down to it…what would he choose?

His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.

All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.

Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?

She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.

Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?

Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?

Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.

The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.

You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.

The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.

Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.

They must be getting tired by now. All of them.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.

Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.

He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.

Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.

————

Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.

He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.

You’re back.

Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.

He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.

We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.

As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.

After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.

Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.

Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.

Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—

The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.

He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.

Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.

If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.

He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.

Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.

Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.

The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.

You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.

To wipe yourself from memory.

It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.

You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.

You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.

Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.

You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.

Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.

The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.

You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.

You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.

The ash stings your fingertips.

You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.

One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.

Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.

Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.

A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.

You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.

The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.

Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.

————

Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?

But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.

And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.

————

You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.

He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.

Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.

Mother murder you.

“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.

His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!

Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—

Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.

Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—

He’s going to die.

Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.

Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.

The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.

One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.

Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.

Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fic #cbmthy #can’t bring myself to hate you

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yonkimint · 2 years

Text

The End is You and I [Taehyung x Reader]

36. Sleep On It ✎

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It can’t be more than a few seconds of silence but it feels like hours as both of them wrack their brains for a gentle way to begin this conversation. The urge to start screaming at each other is strong but they both know it won’t get them anywhere. Therapy training has taught y/n a million better methods but her stubborn lizard brain still wants to throw a tantrum.

How many years has she tried to be the bigger person? She deserves a moment to rage, right?

“So obviously you’re still angry with me,” Tae says, “Will it make you feel better to scream at me?”

“Yes,” y/n snaps, frowning at him, “but it won’t fix anything so it doesn’t matter.”

“You always bottle everything up, y/n. You should yell now or you’re just going to spend the rest of this time wishing you could be yelling at me,” he tells her, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. She can tell by the stubborn set of his brow that he’s not going to continue the conversation until she does this one thing.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she gestures to the open door, “Go close it so people don’t come running in to check on us then.”

Tae is on his feet in a flash, gliding across the room and pulling the studio door shut, and then he’s before her again, a stupid, self-satisfied grin on his lips. She wants to slap it off him but violence isn’t the answer so she merely presses her palm to his mouth and pushes until he sprawls on his back, spluttering.

“What was that for?”

“It was that or slap you! Stop smiling when I’m mad at you!” she grumbles.

“Sorry,” Tae mumbles, looking up at her through his eye lashes as if he can convey his apology through this thought-jumbling expression alone. y/n’s body goes a little haywire in response, her heart beating too loud and too fast in this suddenly confined space.

She lays back so she can stare at the ceiling instead of him and lets out the scream she’s been holding in her chest. At some point, Tae joins her, his scream lower, grating against hers like they’re playing discordant notes up against each other until he pitches up a note. Now they’re screaming in harmony and y/n starts laughing.

“You did that on purpose!” she accuses him.

He rolls up on his side, tickling her ribs and laughing to himself, “So what if I did?”

“You always do this,” y/n sighs, his teasing sobering her, “You can’t just smooth things over by distracting me from what’s really going on. You always have some excuse or some distraction and I always let you do it.”

Tae sucks in his bottom lip, chewing nervously at the thin, vulnerable skin there. “I know I do. It just scares me to talk about it.”

“Why?”

“Because what if I mess everything up? I’ve already messed up so much and if we talk about the real stuff, I could make it so much worse,” he says.

“Or you could fix it,” y/n suggests.

Tae takes a deep breath and then looks her dead in the eye, “How come you let me give my excuses then? You’re afraid to talk about it too.”

y/n’s mouth falls open and she wants to deny his words, to defend herself and prove that she’s always been more open than him, but he’s right and she knows it. She chooses her next words carefully, “I think we need to define what it is.”

Tae nods.

“You and I,” he says, gesturing between the two of them, “We’re afraid to talk about what we are to each other and a lot of people have been weighing in with their opinions recently on what that is but you and I don’t talk about that ourselves, do we?”

She swallows hard. After all this time, she didn’t expect him to get straight to the point, “So do you know then? How I feel about you?”

“I have a pretty good guess,” Tae says.

The answer brings both a hot lance of anger that he knew and never told her and the heavy weight of disappointment. He wouldn’t tell her if he knew and didn’t feel the same way. She had been right all along to keep it to herself.

“Oh.” It’s the only word that makes it from her brain to her lips and it’s filled with the pain of rejection.

“I still think you should actually tell me though.”

This is not what y/n is expecting at all and it throws her for a loop. Does he really have to make her confess to all the years she’s secretly been in love with him so that he can completely crush her? It’s the cruelest thing he could ever do to her and he’s already dangled a girlfriend in her face and destroyed her own relationship with a perfectly good man on top of it.

“What’s the point? You’ve already made your own feelings pretty clear,” she tells him but cringes when she sees the fire in his eyes, rejecting her accusation before she’s even finished delivering it.

“I know why you think that and I will spend the rest of my life apologizing to you for it but, y/n, I need you to tell me right now so that I can say it back. So I can prove that I mean it,” he says, his tone purposely even.

But y/n doesn’t say it. Instead, she lists all the reasons it can’t be true. “You physically can’t say the L word to me. You told me you’ve never been in love. You started dating Hana and basically forced me to be her friend. You told me I was basically your sister and you’ve treated me like shit for the past few months until you realized you were losing me and then suddenly you changed your tune.”

“So you admit that it’s love?” Tae asks.

y/n rolls her eyes, “Fine, Kim Taehyung, yes. I admit it. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since high school and I would rather die than lose you and if that means never telling you how I feel, then so be it. Are you happy?”

“Not really, no,” he answers. y/n is about to start screaming again when he continues, “Maybe if you had told me sooner, I would’ve sorted myself out sooner and we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

“So it’s my fault?” y/n is on the verge of screeching, “All of this is my fault because I didn’t confess something that was so obvious to everyone else but you apparently couldn’t grasp. Did I really have to spell it out for you?”

“No!” Tae cries, burying his face in his hands, “I’m already messing this up. I’m not blaming you! I just wish it hadn’t taken all of this for me to sort my shit out, okay?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I love you too. Not as a sister. Not as a friend. As in I want to smash my face against your face and I want to hold you and I want to be the only one you look at with those dreamy eyes and I want to be your favorite person forever because you’re my favorite person and I thought that if I tried to love you like that then I would for sure mess it up because I’ve messed up everything else in my life,” Tae explains.

y/n doesn’t ask what exactly he thinks he’s messed up in his life because she knows that no matter how well he does, no matter that he made it into a prestigious university and into a competitive art program, no matter that he competes on a wildly successful dance team, no matter that he has a strong group of friends, loving parents or that he can have any girl he wants, his mind is always going to go back to what that stupid counselor said to him back in high school.

Instead of responding, she gets up on her knees and presses her palms to either side of his face, forcing him to look her deeply in her eyes. There’s a panic swirling behind his gaze. y/n resonates with it, knowing it’s the same panic she has felt every time she’s thought about confessing to him. For him to admit he feels the same way must have been gargantuan. She leans down and presses her lips to his forehead.

“We’ve become so toxic for each other, Taetae,” she whispers, pulling away, “I want to believe you but after everything that’s happened, I don’t see how we can be in a functioning relationship even if we do love each other.”

“I know,” he says, sitting up and bravely reaching out to cradle her face in the palm of his hand. This is more than she’s ever dared to hope for and it’s splitting her heart into thousands of pieces that she’s the one rejecting him in the end.

“I hate this.”

“It doesn’t matter how many good deeds I do now, does it?” he asks, swiping his thumb across her lower lash line to catch the tears y/n didn’t know she’d started to spill. Her lip quivers as she considers his question.

“You got a whole new girlfriend so that you wouldn’t have to address your feelings for me,” she says.

“You got a boyfriend so you could do the same thing…”

“Who you made so uncomfortable that both of them broke up with us!” y/n defends. Tae can’t stop his laugh. It’s such a ridiculous situation.

“Can you believe it took Hana calling me on my shit for me to come to terms with it all? That woman is a saint if ever there was one,” he says.

y/n nods, “Yeah, you’re a real idiot for losing her!”

His thumb trails down to trace the outline of her lips, “I’m an even bigger idiot for what I did to you, y/n. I was trying so hard not to hurt you, I didn’t even realize you were already hurting.”

“You broke my heart, honestly,” she tells him. His eyes widen.

“How do you not hate me?”

y/n laughs, “How do you know you’re in love?”

“When you don’t hate them for breaking your heart,” Tae answers.

A loud crack of thunder interrupts their heart to heart and they spring apart. They’re no where close to resolving things but the storm is coming and they need to get home. Without words, they gather each other’s things and head for the door. Outside the sky is black and fat droplets are beginning to splatter across the pavement.

“My apartment is closer but I guarantee all the guys are going to be there,” y/n says, staring out across campus. Tae grimaces.

“I’m not ready for all their questions when we haven’t figured this out ourselves,” he admits.

y/n is totally in agreement on this. Thankfully, she’s always been quick to come up with a plan and she offers one to Tae that she’s sure they can both agree on. “Let’s just tell them we got a lot out in the open but we don’t have any answers and we’d like to sleep on it.”

“Sleep on it,” Tae echoes and then nods, “Deal.”

Together, they take a deep, steadying breath. Tae holds out his hand to her and she twines her fingers through his. It’s seamless, her hand in his, like they’re extensions of each other finally coming together. The ache in y/n’s chest grows heavier and she wonders if Tae feels it too. If he does, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he gives her hand a tight squeeze and pulls her into the storm.

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meganwritesfanfics · 2 years

Text

Fade to Black (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Eddie Munson has been hiding out after Chrissy's murder, and his girlfriend after finding him has refused to leave his side. While waiting for Henderson to return with supplies they are met with the unwelcome company of Jason and his goons.

Warning: angst, violence, abuse.

Y/N stirred slightly in Eddie’s arms, the boat was not exactly comfortable, so sleep was something that had been illusive to her ever since she started staying with him. Eddie could sleep anywhere, which she was grateful for, because she knew before she had found him, he hadn’t been sleeping at all. The nightmares he had about what happened to Chrissy were horrifying.

After the first day of not hearing from Eddie, Y/N had set out looking for him. The two had been dating for four years. They talked every single day, so the minute she didn’t get a phone call she knew something was wrong. She had been hiding out with him ever since.

When Dustin’s and his friends found them, they had promised they would go gather supplies for them and be back, that was yesterday. She hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer, she could hear Eddie’s stomach rumbling. He had given her the larger share of the food the day before much to her protest.

Just as she was starting to doze off, she heard the sound of a car pulling up outside.

“Finally,” She whispered as she nudged Eddie. “Baby, wake up, they’re back with food.”

Eddie groaned as he shifted pulling her into him tightly.

Y/N tangled her fingers in his hair for a moment before she pushed away from him and headed towards the small window.

“You know I thought they had forgotten about us for a second…” She started when suddenly she felt all the blood train from her face as she saw who was outside. “Eddie, run.” She whispered as she turned back to him, terrified.

“What?” He laughed slightly but the smile fell from his face when his eyes locked with her.

“It’s not Dustin, it’s Jason and his goons, you need to run now!” She snapped as she rushed to him and pulled him to his feet.

“Shit, how did he, never mind, let’s go.” He gripped her hand tightly.

“No!” She said as she pulled away. “I will distract them you run.”

“Absolutley not. I’m not leaving you Y/N.” Eddie said as she grabbed onto her wrist.

“They aren’t after me baby, it’s you they want, and I can’t let that happen so please go.” Y/N begged.

Eddie looked her up and down tears in his eyes. He pulled her in for a long kiss before she pushed him back.

“Go, Eddie, I’ll catch up I promise.” She said her hand gently resting on his cheek.

He hesitated for a moment before he snuck out the back just as Jason walked in.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the freak’s girlfriend.” He sneered.

Y/N’s eyes frantically darted around the boathouse looking for something she could use to defend herself.

“What do you want Jason.” She snapped.

“I want the freak to fry for what he did.”

“He didn’t do anything Jason, what happened to Chrissy wasn’t him.” Y/N pleaded.

“Lies!” Jason screamed as he began to walk towards Y/N she could see he had something behind his back he was holding but she couldn’t quite make out what it was. “He is going to answer for what he did to my Chrissy.”

Just then Y/N spotted a broken bottle next to her and lunged for it, but before she could reach it Jason stepped in front of her pointing a gun right at her face.

“Don’t even fucking think about it!” He screamed and she could see his hand was shaking as he held the gun.

“That’s a pretty big gun Jason, compinsating for something.” She smiled.

Suddenly Jason slammed his fist, that was still holding the gun into her face and she stumbled backwards, blood pouring from the large gash in her nose.

“I’m sick and tired of playing around with you freaks.” Jason said as she grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her to her feet. “Freak! Come play with us, or I’m going to have to play with your girlfriend all by myself!”

Y/N could barely focus as her brain was spinning from the impact. But as she opened her eyes, she saw Jason’s goons bringing in Eddie. His eyes were wide with fear until they landed on her. Then the fear quickly turned into rage.

“Let her go Jason. It’s me you want.” He snapped.

Y/N could see in his eyes that he was thinking about a way to break free and get to her. Eddie was a lot stronger than he looked, and definitely much stronger that Jason and his goons gave him credit for. She knew he could break out of their grasp without issue.

Jason must have seen the look in Eddie’s eyes too, because he brought the gun up to Y/N’s head and shoved the barrel hard into her temple. The rage Eddie had was gone again replaced with fear once more, only this time the fear wasn’t for his own life but for Y/N’s.

“Jason, look I’m here, I’m not going to run again ok, you got me. Just let her go.” Eddie begged.

“Just like you let Chrissy go!” Jason screamed as he sent a hard punch into Y/N’s stomach sending her to the ground gasping.

“He didn’t do anything to Chrissy Jason please!” Y/N tried to scream but it came out more like a whimper as she tried to catch her breath.

Jason looked up at his goons and nodded and Y/N watched as they began to tie Eddie’s hands behind his back and then tie the rope to a large pipe.

“Jason, what happened to Chrissy, there… there is no way I could have done that man. I can’t explain what happened but…” Eddie said tears filling up his eyes both from the memory he was reliving and for the terror he felt for Y/N.

“It was that cult of yours then! You summoned some demon and had her killed.” Jason said angrily tears welling up in his eyes.

Y/N laughed.

“Y/N don’t,” Eddie urged.

“You think Eddie is leading a cult. He can’t pass his math class and you think he is communicating with de…” She was cut off by Jason slamming the gun into the side her head knocking her to the ground.

“Y/N!” Eddie screamed as he struggled against the restraints.

“Gag him.” Jason snapped as he got on top of Y/N pinning her to the ground.

“What are you going to do man?” Andy said as he stuffed the bandana into Eddie’s mouth.

“What needs to be done, now if you two can’t handle it go out to the car!” Jason screamed.

Andy didn’t move instead he just looked down at Eddie, who was looking up at him with a pleading look in his eyes. Begging not for his life but for Y/N’s.

“This is what happens when you mess with my girl freak. Now I’m going to mess with yours.” Jason sneered and Y/N tried to stay conscious but her vision kept blurring and the blood that was now covering her face made it hard for her to see.

“What is your plan here Jason.” Y/N gasped with as much venom in her voice as she could muster. “Becaue right now it’s not looking to me like you have one. If you take Eddie to the cops, I will follow you and show them what you did to me. That’s assault Carver. You’ll be doing 5-10.”

“Who said anything about taking the freak to the cops.” Jason sneered in Y/N’s face as he grabbed her wrist with both of his hands and snapped it.

Y/N screamed as she looked over at Eddie tears streaming down her face. He was struggling hard against his restraints as he screamed his eyes locked on Y/N.

“No you see it’s only fair that I take the freaks girl from him.”

“Jason, please, Eddie didn’t…” Y/N hiccuped her sobs and the pain from her wrist making it hard for her to talk. “Eddie didn’t hurt Chrissy.”

“Stop lying!” Jason said and in one quick moment he stood up lifted his leg up and brought his whole body weight down onto Y/N’s leg snapping it.

Y/N let out another pain filled scream.

“Jason, this is insane you have to stop.” Andy said as he stood next to Eddie who was now collapsed to his knees tears streaming down his face, his wrists bloodied as he pulled against the rope as hard as he could.

“Get the fuck out of here then if you can’t handle it!”

The goons looked at Jason terrified and quickly ran out leaving just the three left in the boat house.

“You know what, I see why Chrissy had to come to Eddie now. If I had to put up with your pathetic ass all day I would want to get high too!” Y/N screamed.

“Shut up!” Jason snapped back.

“Eddie is twice the man you will ever be, you know I wouldn’t be surprised if Chrissy had the hots for him. What do you think about that Jason huh, Chrissy wanted to be with the freak more than she wanted to be with you.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jason screamed as he wrapped his hands tightly around Y/N’s throat.

Y/N’s eyes went wide as she tried to fight against Jason with her good arm but no matter how much she pushed or scratched him he just stared at her his eyes crazy. She could hear the sounds of Eddie’s muffled screams and cries. She knew this was it, she knew that Jason was going to kill her and then he was going to kill Eddie. She thought about all the dreams they had, the plans they had made, what they thought there life was going to be and now it was all going to vanish all because of Jason Carver.

Jason pushed her face to the side so that she was looking at Eddie.

“I want him to watch the light leave your eyes as you die.” He sneered a smile on his face.

Eddie’s face was red from how hard he had been screaming and crying. He felt like he wanted to vomit as he watch Y/N struggle against Jason. Her movement’s were becoming slower.

“I love you Eddie, I love you so much.” Y/N kept mouthing and she could feel herself losing consciousness.

Eddie watched in horror as Y/N’s entire body went slack. He screamed finally the bandana had loosened up from his salvia and tears that he was able to push it out of his mouth.

“No! Y/N!” He screamed. “Help please help!”

As Jason crawled off of Y/N he looked to Eddie angry tears in his eyes.

“Now you understand how I feel.”

Eddie just cried as he watched Jason make his way over to him with the gun. He didn’t care what happened, he just kept staring at Y/N’s unmoving body.

“Police! Come out with your hands up!” Voices called from outside and Jason froze.

“Fuck,” He breathed as he looked at Eddie and then back at Y/N. “Well, they have you now.” He snapped and he took off running the opposite direction, back to where his goons were waiting.

“Help, please you have to help her!” Eddie screamed and he didn’t care if the police arrested him, hell he didn’t care if they shot him dead right on the spot, all he cared about was Y/N.

“Eddie!” He heard a voice call and he turned to see Henderson running towards him followed by Lucas, Max, and Steve.

“Henderson, you got to help her she… Jason he…” Eddie cried and he watched as Steve looked over and Y/N and he went pale.

“Y/N, oh my god.” He gasped as he ran to her side.

Dustin was quick to cut through the ropes and Eddie pushed past him rushing to Y/N’s side.

“Y/N, princess,” He sobbed as he reached out and brushed some of her blood soaked hair out of her face. “Harrington,” He looked at Steve fear in his eyes.

“She’s not breathing.” Steve said as put his fingers on Y/N’s neck praying to find a pulse.

“Baby, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” Eddie sobbed as he grabbed onto her not broken arm and held her hand up to his mouth and kissed it.

“She’s got a pulse but it’s barely there, I uh…” Steve was trying hard not to panic but his eyes kept darting from Y/N’s bruised and battered face to her wrist and leg that were laying at unnatural angles.

“That son of a bitch broke her wrist and leg, snapped them like it was nothing.” Eddie sobbed. “But you can save her Steve, she’s going to be fine right…”

“I…” Steve looked up at Eddie and he could see the young man’s heart shattering before him. “We will need to give her CPR, I need you to tilt her head back and pinch her nose and then when I tell you I need you to breath into her mouth ok.” Steve took charge and Eddie nodded. He moved so he was kneeling next to Y/N’s head.

“It’s ok baby, you are going to be ok.” He breathed as he reached down and kissed her forehead.

Steve began chest compression tears welled up in eyes. He could barely look at Y/N’s beat up face it broke his heart. Turning to Eddie he nodded and Eddie breathed into Y/N’s mouth watching as her chest rose, then fell again and then didn’t move. Steve started up again.

“Please baby, princess I need you to wake up.” Eddie begged as he watched Steve press on her chest, he could almost hear her ribs cracking against the strain. “Come on baby.”

Steve nodded to him again and Eddie breathed into her mouth again. Nothing.

“Come on!” Steve said putting more weight in the chest compression. “Come on!”

Behind him the kids huddled together tears streaming down their faces.

“I”m sorry Eddie, when Jason said he found you I tried to get everyone here as fast as I could… I just… I wasn’t fast enough.” Lucas sobbed.

“She fine, she’s going to be just fine.” Eddie sobbed and Steve nodded. Eddie breathed into her mouth again his hands cradling her face. “Please,” Eddie cried. “Y/N, I don’t want to do this without you, baby wake up.”

“Eddie, I don’t know…” Steve started as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“No, please Steve keep trying.” Eddie begged. “I can’t… I can’t lose her man.”

Steve just nodded as he started again.

“Y/N, come on, wake up, come on!” Eddie screamed.

Steve had just turned to look at Eddie to nod when suddenly Y/N sat up with a loud wheezing gasp.

“Oh my god baby,” Eddie flung himself around her.

“Jason, where is Jason.” She said but her voice was barely audible and it hurt her to talk.

“He’s not here baby, he’s gone. Steve and the kids scared them off. It’s ok your ok.”

“Eddie I don’t know how long Jason is going to stay gone for, we need to get going.” Steve said. “I can help you carry her to my car.”

“Eddie, my arm and my leg it…” Y/N sobbed.

“I know, I know princess, I have to pick you up. It’s going to hurt but I need you to stay somewhat quiet ok.”

Y/N nodded. And she gripped onto Eddie tightly as he carefully lifted her up. Steve helped to hold her broken leg so that it wouldn’t be jostlesd around too much.

Y/N buried her face in the crook of Eddie’s neck as she tried her best not to scream.

“It’s ok baby, it’s ok.” Eddied tried to sooth as they quickly made their way over to the car.

“Eddie,” Y/N cried. “I’m sorry.”

“Princess.” Eddie said as he stopped next to the car. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. It’s me who needs to apologize.”

“I can take her while you climb in the car.” Steve said.

Eddie nodded as he kissed Y/N’s forehead.

“Eddie,” She cried again.

“It’s ok princess, it will just be for a moment.” Eddie said as he slid Y/N carefully into Steve arms and she let out a little whimper.

“Y/N I’m so sorry. We tried to get there as fast as possible, if I had just driven faster.” Steve said as he held onto her tightly.

“You saved Eddie, that’s all that matters.” She said and she winced from the pain.

“Ok, Harrington hand her over.” Eddie said as he positioned himself in the backseat with Dustin in the middle and Max next to him, Lucas sat up front.

Steve slid Y/N onto Eddie’s lap her leg positioned over both of the kids. She brought her good hand over her mouth as bit into her palm to stop herself from screaming, the pain unbearable. “Almost there, baby,”

Once she was situated in his lap, she threw her arm around his neck and sobbed.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry Y/N,” Eddie kept saying as he held onto her as tightly as he could.

They didn’t know where they would go from here, but with each other, they knew they could survive anything.

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things #imagines #angst

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friedbaekhyunandeggso · 2 years

Text

Reason ~ ch. 19

Pairing: Female OC x Levi Ackerman

Tropes: Instructor x Cadet, Strangers to Lovers, Male MC falls first

Warnings: angst/slow-burn, strong language, upcoming smut(18+ readers only for those chapters pls 🙈), physical assault/violence, mentions of scars

Brief Summary: This story takes place a few years after the Fall of Shiganshina. Devon Alba is in her final year of the 101st Training Corps (844-847), due to her success as a cadet she gets the chance to meet Captain Levi. She doesn’t think too much of him until he catches her in the midst of doing something that she isn’t entirely supposed to be doing. But surprisingly, this leads to something unexpected...

Chapter 1 [...] Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Devon quickly placed the last dish on the rack and grabbed a hand towel. She hastily dried her hands before looking down at her clothes to make sure she hadn’t gotten them wet.

They were-in fact-not wet, “Perfect.”

Just as she headed towards the door she paused. She patted at her sides.

“Shit.” she muttered, “My bag.”

She ran to her room and grabbed her bag.

Just as she ran back to the living room, Levi had entered the apartment. He wore his typical Scout attire minus the ODM gear. His scout regiment jacket was also slung over his arm.

She suddenly got a flashback to their second encounter on the street—where he’d defended her from a drunk man. He’d had his jacket slung over his arm just like that.

She shook her head, “Levi..Hey.”

He briefly looked her up and down, “Where you going?”

“To work. I’m running a little late.”

She spoke quickly as she slipped through the narrow space between him and the door.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if your—“

“Wait.” he suddenly threw his jacket onto the table before stepping out and closing the door behind them.

She raised a brow, “What-“

He locked the apartment door, “I’ll walk with you.”

She blinked, “Oh.”

She didn’t think too much of it as she headed towards the steps. He followed after her.

“How late are you?”

She glanced over at him. He looked tired-which was typical for him-but it still didn’t make her feel any better about it.

“Not that late. I just want to have enough time to walk there, y’know.”

He descended the steps alongside her. When they reached the bottom he opened the door for her to walk out first.

“Thank you.” she murmured.

The moment they stepped outside they were greeted with the searing hot warmth of the sun. She adjusted the top hat over her eyes.

She kept a hand on her purse’s strap as she walked through the crowded streets. She glanced over to see Levi walk in stride beside her, his hands in his pockets.

“Have you been getting any sleep?” she asked-a bit hesitant.

He didn’t look at her when he answered, “What-do I look tired.”

She didn’t get the chance to respond because a line of three kids suddenly ran in between them.

“Sorry!” One of them called out.

Suddenly one of the kids stopped and stared. He then whispered something to his friend.

His friend perked up, “Captain Levi?”

Another kid suddenly joined them and pointed at Levi, “It’s Captain Levi!”

“Tch,” he grumbled before grabbing her top hat and placing it atop his head. He lowered the brim in an attempt to cover his face.

She chuckled, “You don’t want to meet your fans?”

“No.” he responded flatly.

She laughed once more before looking ahead to see that the road was getting more crowded. This road was always busy because the market was nearby.

The moment she stepped into the swarm of people, she drew her purse tighter around herself. When she was younger she used to utilize crowds like this. She would pickpocket whatever she could get her grimy little hands on.

She gasped when she almost ran into someone. She’d been too immersed in her thoughts to notice. If it hadn’t been for the hand on her back, she would’ve been face first on the ground right now. She glanced over to see a stern looking Levi standing right behind her.

Just as he caught her peeking at him she quickly faced forward. She swiftly began to make her way through the crowd-his hand on her back silently guiding her through.

When they finally weaved their way out she sighed in relief. His fingers skimmed her back as his hand dropped.

She stopped to wipe her forehead with the back of her hand, “We’re finally here.”

“Where is it?”

She pointed a little further down the street towards the bookstore. Her manager stood outside. She appeared to be rearranging the books on the mini-stand by the window.

“Ah,” he murmured before turning towards her and placing the hat back on her head.

She stared as he readjusted the brim.

“Thanks for the cookbook.”

He seemed to freeze for a second before dropping his hand, “Your welcome.”

“I hope…you didn’t think that would make me forgive you.”

A glint of amusement entered his gaze, “I would never bribe you.”

She squinted, “I hope not.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” he said flatly.

She rolled her eyes.

For some reason, she was hesitant to go.

“I made a couple recipes from it. The leftovers in the fridge are actually from it.”

He stared at her for a moment before nodding.

“Let me know how it tastes.” she added.

“I will.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek before mumbling, “I guess…I’ll get going.”

Just as she turned away, his hand caught her elbow and drew her close, “Wait,”

He spoke briskly, “I’m gonna be away a while. Expedition Prep and stuff.”

His grey-blue eyes searched her face, “Don’t do some dumb shit like die when I’m away.”

Despite his hands on her making it incredibly hard to focus-she couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

She tilted her head, “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

His hand slid down her forearm ever so slightly, “Don’t worry about me.”

She cracked a smile so distracting he almost forgot that they were in public.

“I wouldn’t dare.” she mocked him.

She slipped out of his grasp and ran towards the bookstore.

She stopped short when her manager and two of her co-workers seemed to be staring at her. She slowly made her way towards them.

“Hi, Sorry if I’m lat-“

“That’s your husband isn’t it?” Her manager, Larsa, asked with crossed arms while staring past her.

Her other co-worker, Piper, shook her head, “Of course not. She’s so young. They are probably engaged.”

“That’s definitely her fiancé,” Iris-her other co-worker-added, “She wouldn’t touch him so publicly if they weren’t.”

Devon flushed in embarrassment. Although times were progressing it was still unusual to see a man and woman touching in public if they weren’t betrothed or married. She couldn’t use the excuse that Levi was her brother either because they didn’t look alike in the slightest.

She faltered at her words, “I-um-yeah, fiancé.”

“Then where’s your ring?” Larsa questioned.

“Um-we can’t afford one right now.”

Piper’s eyes softened, “You guys are runaways aren’t you? It would explain why you don’t talk much about yourself.”

“Aww,” Iris pitched in, “We won’t tell a soul, I promise.”

Devon’s eyes widened.

“Look at him,” Larsa was still staring past her, “He’s still staring at her like a lost puppy.”

Lost puppy? Those were the exact words she would use to describe how Monty looked at Imada.

She glanced over her shoulder to see that Levi was-in fact-still standing where she’d left him. But nothing about his stoic disposition indicated lost puppy eyes to her.

She quickly turned away and her face red with embarrassment.

“Guys, let’s just go inside.”

As she hastily ushered them through the door, Iris sent a friendly wave Levi’s way. Devon immediately reached out and put her hand down.

“What?” Iris blinked, “I can’t wave at your fiancé?”

“He’s not—” Devon was redder than a tomato, “Just go inside.”

He watched the girls bicker as they entered the bookstore. He only left once Devon closed the doors behind herself.

Devon stopped reading when she heard the front door open. She set the book down quietly before glancing at the mini clock on the nightstand.

2:38 am.

She stood up and walked to her bedroom door. She pressed her ear against it.

She frowned when she heard nothing.

She cracked it open slightly only to see Levi walking straight into the bathroom. Her eyes widened as she saw his dress-shirt was smeared with blood. He held a box of gauze pads in his hand.

She ran out of her room.

“Levi?”

He stopped in the bathroom doorway. He glanced over his shoulder, “Go to sleep.”

She swallowed, “Your bleeding…”

He closed the bathroom door.

She stared in astonishment. Her mind was racing with questions. That was a lot of blood.

Just as she hesitantly turned into her room she heard a low hiss. She stared at the bathroom door in contemplation.

She bit her bottom lip before quietly stepping up to the door. She pressed her ear against it. Low grunts of pain could be heard.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before knocking. After a bit of shuffling, the door cracked open slightly. She only saw a glimpse of his bare arm.

“What.”

She hesitated, “Let me help you.”

Just as he was about to shut the door, she wrapped her hand around the door's edge.

“Please.” she whispered.

There was a moment of silence. For a second she contemplated withdrawing her hand in case he slammed the door closed anyway but-to her surprise-she heard the door chain drop.

She opened the door slowly to see him step back.

He was shirtless. His pale skin was lined with marks of healed scars. He wasn’t broad by any means. In fact, he was rather the opposite. He was narrow but incredibly-incredibly-defined. There was something about the way his wire-y muscles corded his body that made her see just how lethal he was. He was undoubtedly strong.

She couldn’t pin down why…but his body scared her.

She didn’t understand how people only associated strength with broadness. Under all that prim clothing he had hidden such strength... It made her realize that—despite his height and all her training—he could break her if he wanted to.

She swallowed.

He didn’t look at her as he removed the gauze pad from his wound. It was a long but thin gash under his chest, along his ribs. It seemed he had already sterilized it-from the smell of rubbing alcohol and the open bottle of it on the sink-but it was still bleeding profusely.

She walked over and gently took the gauze pad from his hand. She slipped between the narrow space between him and the sink and lightly dabbed at the wound. Her hands were shaky at first but after repeating the motion a couple of times she regained her composure.

When she turned to grab another gauze pad, the tip of his nose grazed her cheekbone.

“S-sorry,” she mumbled-even though it was no fault of her own.

She dabbed the fresh pad along his wound-never letting the blood spill out too far. His hot breath trailed down the bare skin of her neck. She knew he was looking at her-because even if she wasn’t meeting his eyes, she could still feel the weight of his gaze on her skin. It made her skin feel hot and prickly. It made her shirt feel too thin. It made her stomach churn in a way that only seemed to happen when he was around.

And it was taking everything-everything in her-to not look back at him.

Instead she turned away again and disposed of the pad in her hand to grab another. She also grabbed the bandage tape.

“D-do you have scissors?” she asked, her voice uneven.

He took the tape from her hands and pulled out a length of it. He placed the tape’s edge between his teeth and ripped it off. He handed the tape piece to her.

She took it. His arm went around her to place the bandage roll back onto the sink.

She placed a fresh gauze pad to the middle of the tape and pressed it to his wound. Thankfully, it was bleeding much less now. When she wrapped the excess tape around him he inhaled sharply.

She glanced up, “Too tight?”

Her breath caught when she realized how close they were. Up close, water dripped down his face-he must’ve wet it when he entered the bathroom. Strands of his dark hair stuck to his forehead.

His deep voice felt right at her ear when he muttered, “It’s fine.”

She gently smoothed out the bandage once more before stepping back. The tape was rather sturdy so one piece would do just fine.

“Should be all set.” Her voice came out in a whisper.

“Thank you.”

She finally met his gaze and her heart immediately fell. His dark gray eyes seemed to carry a newfound weight. The shadows under his eyes were more palpable than before. His lips were parched and one end of his thin eyebrows looked as if it had been flayed off. He looked like a completely different man compared to the one who had dropped her off to work a month ago.

Is this what being a Scout does to you?

She wanted to ask him what happened. She wanted to ask him how he’d gotten injured. She wanted to ask if the expedition had-at least-been a success. But his third rule forbid her from doing so.

Three… don’t ask me about Scout stuff.

His words echoed in her mind.

“You have work tomorrow?” he asked-unexpectedly.

“Yes.”

He motioned with his chin towards her room, “Get some sleep.”

She nodded-still slightly dazed, “Good night.”

She closed the bathroom door behind herself on the way out.

43 notes · View notes

silentcrowsilentravens · 2 years

Note

Hey! I like your writing! I'm curious if I could get RE characters reacting to their lover dying?

Thank you! You most certainly can. Time for angst.

Mia Winters, Lucas Baker, Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Donna Beneviento, and Mother Miranda reacting to their s/o dying.

(Gender ambiguous).

Warnings: murder, blood/gore, violence.

Masterlists here!

Mia Winters

When Mia first sees your face, she’s overjoyed. But then she remembers where she is, and that you are most certainly not supposed to be here with her.

She’s being infuriatingly cryptic as she tries to lead you around. She’s saying bizarre things. You’re torn between wanting to continue asking for answers, growing more concerned for Mia than you thought possible, and being utterly terrified. The house you’re in looks like it belongs in one of those ghost shows. The kind where a crew walks around with a night vision camera and freaks out with every small noise they hear.

You used to think those were ridiculous, but quite frankly, you understand their reactions now. You’ve never been more on guard in your entire life.

The two of you are getting closer to escaping.

Eveline knows. And she isn’t happy that you start trying to leave with Mia. You’re going to break up the family. Her family.

You panic when you hear Mia’s cry of “No, leave me alone!” and the sound of wood splintering.

Mia’s gone. You stepped away from her for not even a minute and she’s gone. Again. There’s no way she’s being taken away from you so soon after you’ve been reunited. You’re determined to find her again.

And you do! But Mia doesn’t quite sound like herself. Hell, she doesn’t even look like herself. Suddenly, you’re being thrown up the basement stairs with inhuman strength. Honestly, it’s a surprise that you manage to pick yourself back up as quickly as you do.

Though, not quick enough, apparently. Mia is in front of you with an absolutely massive knife.

You try your best to defend yourself, to snap her out of whatever is going on.

The knife is laying the skin of your forearms open to the bone. It goes through one of your hands. You no longer have control of your middle or ring finger. It sinks into the rim of one of your orbital bones, the flesh of your cheeks, various parts of your chest.

You’re losing a whole lot of blood. It hurts to breathe. And move.

This is one of the last ways you would have wanted to go, you think.

The blade clatters onto the floor. Mia—your Mia is back.

You have no clue what just happened, but you know that nothing she did was of her own violation. She looks horrified. She’s repeating your name again and again, but she’s starting to sound distant. She’s trying in vain to staunch the bleeding.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—that wasn’t—”

Your eyes are starting to slip closed.

“No, no, stay with me. Stay with me!”

You just barely manage to tell her you love her one more time before the last of your life leaves your body.

Still on her knees beside you, Mia sobs, wishing that you had just gone ahead and forgotten about her.

Lucas Baker

Even prior to being infected, Lucas never dedicated a whole lot of thought to romantic pursuits. And on the rare occasion that he did, he found it hard to imagine someone who could be with someone like him.

Needless to say, Lucas did not expect you to worm your way into his heart the way you did. You mean a hell of a lot to him. More than he’d ever be willing to admit.

Still, there are things that give him away.

For one thing, Lucas is extra careful to make sure that you don’t encounter his family. He doesn't want to lose one of the only people he's ever given a shit about. You’ve both done a whole lot of sneaking around and there've been a few close calls.

Sure, you’re not half bad at defending yourself when need be. You can handle a weapon. You can handle yourself. You’ve been face to face with a few of the rare escapees from Lucas’ puzzles and traps, and those people are always pissed, desperate, and running on nothing but adrenaline. They’re nothing compared to his family, though.

The first day you’re finally caught is also the last. It happens so fast. You don’t even hear the sound of Jack’s heavy footfalls until it’s already too late.

Lucas hears screams on the regular. Coming from the speakers on his monitors while testing out new inventions and from inside various parts of the house. When you scream, it takes a moment for it to register that it’s your voice he’s hearing.

"Shit, shit, shit!”

You’re on the ground, blood pouring out your nose and over your lips and chin in a stream. Jack is keeping you pinned down with one of his muddy boots.

Lucas has seen genuine terror in many people’s eyes before. Usually, he enjoys it. But when his dad is standing over you and your eyes manage to catch his? Lucas doesn’t. He panics.

He tries, but he isn't strong enough to properly pull Jack away from you.

With the blade of an ax, Jack splits open the flesh of your neck. Your entire body jolts.

"Goddamnit, Dad! Stop! Stop!"

It's already too late. Jack swings again, and again, going on about dirty trespassers and sneaks. You gurgle and choke, blood bubbling forth from your lips, quickly pooling on the floor and forming a red halo. Jack only stops when your head is separated from the rest of you.

“Listen, boy. If you want to have fun with the ones she doesn’t like, then you best keep them out of the house! Now, find somewhere to put this one.”

As Lucas stares down at your corpse, he just sort of feels... empty.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Lots of people come and go in Alcina’s life. They all die at some point. They get killed. Or ill. Or old. Most do, anyway. If she does get attached, it tends to be to those who have been bestowed with some form of eternal life. Her daughters, for instance. You were the first exception in a long, long time.

After Alcina became deeply in love with you, she found herself occasionally flirting with the idea of asking you about potentially becoming a Cadou host. Alcina doesn’t wish to outlive you, but she knows very well that Cadou implantation is dangerous and the success rate isn’t high.

She finally brings it up one day. You seem tentatively receptive to the idea.

Only a few more pass before you end up being implanted with one.

You don’t leave the castle all that often. When you do, you usually do it with one or more of the daughters. But because of the cold weather on this particular day, you end up heading out by yourself after sharing a departing kiss with Alcina.

During the journey back, you’re unfortunate enough to have a nasty encounter with a Lycan.

Luckily, you manage to lose it.

Unluckily, by the time you do you don’t have it in you to keep running. Or walk, for that matter. The physical exertion has definitely made the nasty leg injury you acquired worse.

You’re losing blood, too.

You practically have to crawl your way back home and pass out not long after managing to push yourself through the doors.

Bela’s the one who finds you. She sends a maid to inform her mother while she carries you further inside.

You’re unresponsive and pretty much on your deathbed.

There’s really only one option to save your life: the Cadou.

Alcina waits with bated breath to see if you survive.

Your body does not react well to the Cadou. Within a matter of days, you die. Alcina hears the moment your heart stops beating.

She is immediately overcome with grief. Her love. Gone. She presses one last kiss upon your forehead.

After you’re buried, Alcina completely throws herself into her work.

Bela Dimitrescu

When Bela attacks, her movements are quick, smooth, and methodical. Like she’s carefully perfected them based on written descriptions. She can hold her composure much better than her sisters.

But right now? None of that works as an accurate description. The blistering cold surging in through the shattered window is making Bela’s movements grow stilted, and coupled with her growing desperation her swipes are sloppy.

When the intruder sent bullets through the glass, it clearly had been a product of bad aim and he had no knowledge of how vulnerable he was about to make Bela. He didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the situation once he realized, though.

It’s clear that Bela isn’t going to win the fight. Especially once she collapses to the floor and can’t seem to get back up.

When you happen across the scene, you don’t even think before you act.

When you see your partner about to die, you rush at the intruder and slam into him.

In his surprise, he drops his gun.

You grapple with him until he manages to slam you against the grilles as hard as he can. It pops out of the window’s frame and lands somewhere outside. Your upper body is leaning out.

Bela is still struggling to get up off of the floor, now with even more urgency than before.

The intruder looks past you out the window, then meets your eyes. You know what’s about to happen before it does.

When you feel yourself tilting so far backward that your feet begin to leave the floor, you cling onto the front of his shirt.

Bela finally manages to rise to her feet. Your eyes meet hers…

And then your face disappears from view. Panic shoots through Bela like lightning.

Both you and the intruder fall out of the window.

The fall is not a short one. The struggle wasn’t happening on the ground floor.

Bela is absolutely in no state to save you from you. She physically can’t. She can’t move fast enough. She doesn’t have enough control over her flies. All she can do is dart over to the window, reaching out for you in vain.

There’s no way you could’ve survived the impact. No human could.

At first, a hollow feeling settles itself in Bela’s chest. You had jumped in to save her without hesitation, and now you were gone. She didn’t even get to say goodbye. Sorrow slowly fills the void.

Cassandra Dimitrescu

It’s not so frequent of an occurrence that it could be considered a regular problem, but people sneaking into or trying to storm the castle certainly isn’t unheard of either. You’ve been around long enough to see it happen a few times. No attempt is very successful.

"Hey. Wake up." Cassandra places a hand on your shoulder and shakes you a bit.

You had stopped staying in the maid’s quarters and taken up permanent residence in Cassandra’s room a while ago.

You stir and barely open your eyes.

"I'm going to go check something. Don't leave this room."

You know what the implication is and you're not all that phased. In fact, you're already falling back asleep after Cass has untangled herself from you and gotten up. It won't be long before she returns, you're sure.

Cassandra grabs her sickle and locks the door when she leaves.

Eventually, it creaks open once more. Since you’re not awake, you don’t notice that the person entering most definitely did not use a key.

At such a late hour, the room is shrouded in utter darkness and, with ill-adjusted eyes, the intruder must not realize you aren’t Cass.

You remain blissfully unaware up until the moment they locate the vague shape resting on the pillow, clamp a hand over where they guess your mouth is, crane your head back, and slice your throat open.

Not long after, Cassandra notices the door isn’t closed like it’s supposed to be.

The scent of fresh blood hits her full force before she even enters the room. It’s sharp. It’s emanating from the bed. And someone is standing beside it, stock still and staring at her.

Cassandra wastes no time in taking care of the intruder and rushing over to you.

You were still making noise when she first entered, but you stop shortly after she reaches you.

You’re not dead yet, though. You’ve only lost consciousness. But if Cassandra doesn’t act fast enough, that will change. She knows a lot about how the human body ticks, but her knowledge isn’t exactly used to try and heal. It doesn’t stop her from trying. What other options does she have?

Despite Cassandra’s best efforts, you don’t make it.

If the intruder wasn’t already dead, she would do so, so much worse to them. She’s furious. At them. At herself. She’s devastated. The person she loves is lying lifeless before her.

Cassandra cries, the stained fabric of the sheets clenched tightly in her fists.

Daniela Dimitrescu

If a person wants to hurt somebody who seems to have no discernible weakness, then it’s sometimes just easier to go for that somebody’s partner.

The partner that she’s clearly so very in love with and never shuts up about. If anybody’s within the vicinity of Daniela Dimitrescu, then they better prepare themselves to hear at least one mention of you.

Daniela is busy helping one of her sisters with something and you’re taking a walk around the castle.

Aside from the occasional maid that you run into, you’re alone.

You stop at one of the windows and gaze out of it. The weather has been getting warmer and it’s a lovely day outside.

You think about asking Daniela if she wants to go out when she’s done.

The maid that approaches you is so quiet that you don’t even hear her. You’re the way she’s going to get what she wants: revenge.

A boning knife that was undoubtedly snuck out of the kitchen sinks in right below the base of your skull. The injury is one that kills you immediately.

The maid tugs the blade out hurries away, intent on disposing of the evidence before someone catches her.

Daniela is finally free after a good few hours. She wastes no time in trying to find you.

She’s a bit confused when she can’t seem to do so. She checks the places you’re in most frequently and still doesn’t find any sign of you.

She calls out your name. Nothing.

None of the maids she speaks to have seen you. Not since earlier in the day, anyway.

The moment Daniela does finally find you, you’re lying half-curled on the floor and facing the wall.

Daniela knows the smell of blood. She knows it well. She sees the dried blood staining your skin and the floor, and she still clings to the hope that you’re just unconscious.

But as she gets closer, Daniela can’t see the outer curve of your body rising and falling with every breath.

Daniela can’t hear your heart beating in your chest.

She drops onto her knees beside you, hugging your unmoving form close to her as tears stream down her face.

She’s going to find the person responsible. They’re going to be sorry for taking you away from her.

Donna Beneviento

You know that Donna can handle herself. Donna is strong. Stronger than she often gets credit for. But strong doesn’t mean invincible, and you can’t help but worry as you stay hidden where you were instructed to.

You can hear him somewhere in the manor. The man. Ethan. He wants something. He’s also very dead set on getting it.

But he’s just a man, you reason. A human. Like you. Donna is not. Plus, she has Angie with her. You’re supposed to stay put.

When you start hearing blood-curdling screams in what is unmistakably Angie’s voice, your gut tells you to try and intervene anyway. You snag a pair of shears and head out.

Bloody handprints are smeared across the walls and do your best to follow their path.

Then, you find them. Ethan is holding Angie down, raising up a pair of shears just like yours.

You aren’t immune to Donna’s illusions, so it doesn’t look like she’s even in the room. But you know Donna. You know she’s there. And see the fresh red handprint on the floor Ethan is kneeling upon.

You’re not sure if Donna herself notices you, but Angie certainly does. And more importantly, Ethan does not. You drive the blades right into his back. Your main goal is to get him away from your loved ones before it’s too late.

You succeed. You even get a few other good stabs in. Ethan gets far more in.

The moment you crumple to the floor and can't back up, Donna stops caring about what Mother Miranda asked of her. Donna has lost a lot, but she is not going to lose you. She can’t. She refuses.

Instead of attempting to properly finish the fight for fear of wasting too much time, Donna keeps herself hidden, instructs Angie to get help through their mental link, and lets Ethan take the flask he came for.

The moment he’s out the door, Donna appears already at your side, ripping her veil off. You have several injuries, but most are relatively superficial compared to the ones on your stomach. She covers the wounds with the fabric and applies as much pressure as she can.

Though your vision has become blurred, you can still somewhat make out Donna’s face. If she is the last thing your eyes get to take in, you decide that you’ll be content with that.

"What were you thinking?"

You can see blood trailing over her worry-creased brow, though. Down her cheek and the corner of her downturned lips. It starts in a big blotch near her hairline. You reach up and your shaky fingers brush against her skin, managing to cup her cheek with only slight difficulty.

“You’re hurt,” you answer, thinking of the gore you had also seen decorating parts of the house. "He was hurting you... Going to kill you... Are you okay?"

Donna honestly can’t believe you. Sure, she’s hurt pretty bad, but you’re the one whose shirt is now more red than it is its original color! And all because you willingly jumped into harm’s way to save her. As incredibly touched as Donna is, she thinks she should be in your position. She wishes she could switch.

“I’ll be fine, cuore mio. Don’t worry about me.”

You try your best to stay awake. Donna tries her best to keep you alive.

Unfortunately, you stop breathing before any form of help can arrive.

“No… Don't leave. Please don’t leave me,” Donna chokes out. “I love you so much. Please. Wake up…”

You don’t. You're gone.

Donna is inconsolable.

She takes one of your hands and clutches it close to her chest like it’s something precious. And it is. It’s a part of you and you are so, so precious to Donna. She doesn't want to let go. She might never if Angie or somebody else doesn't pull her away.

Mother Miranda

Miranda is, as per usual, nose deep in her work when she asks you to head down to the village and pick something up for her.

“Anything for you, Mira.”

It isn’t often that somebody comes into Miranda’s life and she finds herself genuinely caring for them. But when she does, she does so intensely.

…Although, simultaneously, she’s not the best at expressing it. That’s probably the biggest reason why it took so long for the two of you to end up together.

“Try not to take too long, darling.”

When you leave, you’re not oblivious to the way she watches you until you disappear from her sight.

Perhaps if the villagers knew how important you are to their perceived goddess, then not a single one of them would have dared to lay a finger on you.

Not many people are out at this time of day, but one of the few that is starts to approach you.

One minute, you’re minding your business. The next, you’re being roughly shoved against a building and the cold metal of a gun barrel is pressing into your stomach.

The man threatening you wants lei. You give him what he wants.

But… he still puts a bullet through you before he runs off.

You slowly slide down the wall until you’re sitting on the ground. The pain you’re experiencing is enough to practically paralyze you.

As the minutes continue to tick by, Miranda begins to grow worried. It’s unusual for you to take so long.

When Miranda locates you, you’re still clinging to life. Barely. For the first time in a long time, her expression is easily readable.

She’s very careful when she scoops you into her arms, but it still hurts.

She gets you to a place where your wounds can be treated as fast as she can.

You stop breathing moments after arriving.

Miranda herself nearly stops breathing.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

A perfect blend of fury and anguish courses through her veins.

She makes sure to find the person responsible.

The villager feels sheer terror when he opens his door and he’s faced with Mother Miranda, eyes blazing with pure anger behind her mask.

“M-mother Miranda-!”

Miranda doesn’t even let the man complete his sentence before she finishes him off. It does little to bring her solace.

Bringing back Eva is no longer her only goal.

748 notes · View notes

pagesfromthevoid · 2 years

Note

Okay but A Fucking Fuck is gonna be so fucking funny I think

A Fucking Duck | a.c. | 2

Adrian Chase x Bat!fem!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Violence. Language. Kinda fluffy but mostly Adrian being Adrian

Author’s Note: The goal is definitely to be funny tbh. Pls enjoy how ridiculous these two are together because I can’t believe I’m starting another series in the middle of another. Also, love the name change anon.

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

“I didn’t realize the arcade would be closed,” Adrian huffed as they walked back to his car. She thought he sounded like a disappointed child. “I forgot it’s after 7 on a Tuesday though. Most places close super early around here.”

She seemingly didn’t care one way or another, walking with her hands in her pockets. “We can just walk around. Give me a tour of your town?” She looked up at him, a reassuring smile on her face. “It’s not freezing, at least.”

Adrian lit up at the idea, nodding. “Oh yeah. I can show you where Peacemaker lives.”

“You really like Peacemaker,” she commented as she fell into step with him. “Isn’t he in prison for like several counts of murder?”

Adrian shrugged. “He did it in the name of peace.”

“So you really like serial killers,” she noted, but couldn’t help but laugh. “You sure you’re not gonna kill me, Adrian?”

He sputtered, shaking his head quickly. “What —no. I don’t like serial killers —I like heroes —“

“But you don’t like Crossfire,” she pointed out. “Whose an actual hero who doesn’t murder people.”

“I never said I didn’t like her! I just said she reminds me of a duck!” He quickly defended. “And she has definitely killed people —I bet she doesn’t even know she’s done it.”

She looked ahead for a moment, realizing that he had a point. The amount of goons she’d definitely put in the hospital? She didn’t actually know which ones lived or not. Never cared enough to find out. And she definitely tried to kill the Joker. She was quite proud of that attempt. Maybe she was just as bad as Vigilante; but at least he owned up to his brand of crazy.

“You’re so easy to annoy,” she finally said, changing the subject. “It’s cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” He asked, stopping in his tracks to watch her walk away. Adrian had this weird feeling in his chest suddenly, like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She got a few paces ahead of him before she stopped and turned. “I think it’s cute when I can rile you up over things. Like last week, when you asked me who would win in a fight, Batman or Superman?”

“Your answer is still shit, by the way,” he quickly recovered, catching back up to her. “The Flash wasn’t even an option!”

“See? You’re all red and flustered. It’s cute,” she pointed out, poking his arm playfully.

Adrian didn’t know how to explain this tightness in his chest but it was spreading to his stomach, and he thought he was going to puke. But she was just contently walking next to him, calling him cute like it was nothing.

“You’re cute too,” he decided to say, figuring it wasn’t the worst response as he put his hands in his own pockets. He had the urge to put his hand in her back pocket though. “Like super cute. Kinda unfair actually because I always see you put together and you always see me when I’m at work which is the worst time to see me.”

She looked down and laughed, and Adrian swore to God he wanted to make her do that again. “It can’t be that bad of a time to see you, since we’re hanging out now.”

It was probably a stupid thing for her to do; flirt with the bus boy at the restaurant she goes to every week. She wasn’t going to stick around much longer if she had any say in it; Vigilante showed weakness and she was going to use it to her advantage later on. But the longer she spent with Adrian, the more she decided she liked him. He was weird —super weird, really —but sweet in his own way. And he didn’t seem to care that she just randomly showed up with no explanation. Most people she interacted with in Evergreen gave her weird looks and questioned her every move. But Adrian just liked to talk to her about whatever the hell was floating in that pretty head of his, and she wasn’t willing to complain about it.

“We should hold hands,” he said suddenly, though he kept his hands firmly in his pocket. “If you want. You don’t have to. It’s totally cool.”

She looked up at him, laughing again as she pulled her hand out of her pocket and held it out to him. Adrian didn’t actually think she’d want to. Even though she admitted he was cute, it didn’t really feel real. Like maybe this was some kind of joke. He wondered if this was part of her whole spy thing. But all train of thought sort of left his head when she pulled his hand out of his pocket, forcing him to take hers.

“You’re sweet, Adrian,” she finally admitted, walking closer to him as she squeezed his hand. “It’s a nice change of pace for me.”

She thought he was cute and sweet? What a fucking night he was having. A pretty girl wanted to hold his hand, and she was complimenting him? No wonder he wanted to throw up; he realized suddenly he was just nervous around her. Which was stupid because why would he be nervous around her? He talked to her every week for like hour in the parking lot of Fennel Fields.

But she never held his hand before. Or called him cute. Actually, she never really made any indication that she felt any of those things towards him before. Or maybe she had, and Adrian had just been completely oblivious to what she was doing. That wouldn’t have been surprising; he wasn’t great at social cues.

He was doing pretty fucking good tonight though.

“Is this a date, then?” He asked, looking down at her.

She hummed, considering that she was holding his hand. It felt very high school but it was a good feeling; a normal one. “I think it is, if you want it to be,” she offered as she looked up at him.

“I definitely want it to be.”

Both their phones suddenly went off —his ringing out Barbie Girl, causing her to momentarily be confused then laugh really hard.

“Ha, what are the odds we both got texts?” He asked.

Hers wasn’t a text, but an alert from her police scanner. There was an armed robbery happening down the road, and she was certain Vigilante would be there. She’d have to save the victims and the criminals tonight.

“Hey, I have to go get my co-worker —“

“I realize I have an exam —“

They looked at each other, drowning in their shitty excuses. It was very surreal for a moment, both suddenly trying to get away. Weird, and she couldn’t place her finger on what was going on.

“I forgot I asked my brother to text me to remind me about my midterm,” she explained, pocketing her phone.

Adrian nodded, blinking back his own confusion at the situation. “Yeah, Michelle at work needs a ride and I need to make sure she didn’t get me fired. I’ll give you a ride back to your car?”

Adrian realized that would get him caught but he couldn’t just let her walk back. That was so dangerous and he couldn’t risk her getting hurt. Not now that he was aware she liked him.

“Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

She needed her fucking suit without him seeing though.

So did he.

*****

“You fucking shot me!” Vigilante screamed at her, yanking the bolt out of his shoulder. He made a pained sound, examining the wound. “We’re literally here for the same thing!”

“You’re going to kill them!” She yelled at him, snatching the bloody bolt from his hand. “I’m not going to let you play judge, jury and executioner. That’s not how being a hero works!”

“They shot two people!”

“What?” She stopped in her tracks, looking back at him. “Fatally?”

“Yeah; the store manager and some cashier. They’re both fucking dead and you’re about to join them —“

She hesitated for a moment, looking between him and the store now. The low level crimes he was killing people for were ridiculous; but this was a double homicide now. These were the criminals that made sense for him to kill. Oh god. It didn’t make sense to kill anyone. But Adrian’s point was flashing in her mind; that she was already killing people without even realizing it.

“Fuck me,” she groaned, motioning to the store. “Lead the fucking way.”

“Maybe later —Whoa wait what? You’re letting me —you’re gonna kill these fuckers with me?”

She nodded reluctantly, loading her crossbow. “Batman doesn’t want me to kill with the bat title stuck to me; it’s good thing I changed my fucking name.” She huffed in annoyance, eyes returning to the store front as the police waited it out. Two people were already dead though. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Fuck yeah, dude!” He yelled out, fist pumping the air. She rolled her eyes. “Wait what was your name before?”

“Do you really not know who the fuck I am?”

“You said you were Crossfire! Who else would you be?”

“I wear the same suit just without the fucking Bat symbol!”

“Oh shit, you’re —“

A gunshot rang through the air, interrupting him. She took off towards the store, leaving him behind Vigilante took off after her, guns drawn as the police scattered at their appearance. Vigilante being there was enough for them to refuse to get involved; but with the Gotham hero suddenly on his team, they weren’t willing to risk their lives.

“How many people are alive inside?” She asked one of the officers. Vigilante was about to go in, guns blazing. But she reached out and snagged the holster of his sword on his back. “No more innocents die, you fuckwit.”

“F-four alive. Two shooters. Two confirmed dead,” the cop stammered out.

She turned to Vigilante. “Get the people out before you shoot, you understand me?”

He groaned, throwing his hands up. “What the fuck ever, you’re so boring —“

But she shoved him forward, motioning to the side of the store. There was an entrance there, and it would be easier to catch the shooters by surprise if they went that way. Vigilante followed her lead, both of them standing on either side of the door as they waited for one of the shooters to not have eyesight on the door.

“This is super hot, you know,” he suddenly whispered.

She looked at him, frowning deeply. “That’s a fucking joke, right?”

“You realize you’re an incredibly hot chick wearing spandex and a mask, carrying a cross bow, and about to straight up kill people right? That’s the hottest shit in the world.”

“Dude this is not the time for this.”

“But there is a time for it?”

“We’re gonna go now,” she ordered, thankful for the interruption as she opened the door. She motioned for him to duck down but he was in front of her almost immediately.

Before she could process what he was doing, Vigilante drew two knives and started to attack one of the shooters. They went back and forth, causing the other to start shooting. She ducked down and started to push the hostages out the side door, telling them to stay low and run. When the last person was out, she took off towards the second gun man, tackling him to the ground.

He pulled her hair, throwing her to the ground, before she kicked him in the face with a satisfying crack. The other shooter stumbled backwards as Vigilante slit his throat, kicking him down. Vigilante offered her a hand, and she took it, pulling herself up. The remaining shooter was trying to escape and she snatched her cross bow back up, aiming and shooting the already bloody bolt into his chest. He dropped unceremoniously.

The feeling of watching the guy drop was way too satisfying for her to feel comfortable.

“We gotta go,” she commanded, shoving him through the back door of the store. Vigilante didn’t argue as they took off into the woods behind the store.

When they could no longer hear the sirens or see the lights from the police, she stopped and leaned against a tree. Her breathing was heavy, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the fact that she just willingly killed a man or had just run a fucking mile. There was a solid chance that it was a combination of both. Vigilante was standing a short ways away, one hand on his hip as he pointed at her.

“You’re fucking cool, I knew we were gonna be friends.”

“We’re not friends, you fucking psycho,” she snapped at him, catching her breath. “I’m still gonna arrest you. You’re wanted for several counts of murder across like six states.”

“Oh c‘mon! Tell me that wasn’t the least bit fun for you!”

“It wasn’t fun,” she argued, moving to stand up straight. “I killed a guy. I haven’t —I haven’t knowingly killed anyone before.”

“Didn’t you try to kill the Joker though?” He asked, tone curious as he moved to sit on the ground. She watched him with a deep frown. “It was all over the news.”

“The key word is ‘try,’” she said, sliding down the tree to sit too.

“Someone fucking needs to. Batman’s a pussy,” he offered, pointing at her. “You though? Fuck that. At least you tried to do something. You’re clearly capable of it.”

“That’s not our place to decide whose guilty or not,” she reminded him, cracking her neck now with a groan.

“Admit that you liked it just a little bit and I’ll leave you alone.”

She looked at him with annoyance, huffing in frustration. “I didn’t…enjoy it, okay? I’m not insane. I don’t get off on violence.”

“Oh man I definitely do —“

“That’s so weird, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

He shrugged. “Nothing as far as I’m concerned. Maybe I don’t feel things like normal people do but I’m all there,” he tapped his temple. “It didn’t feel even a little good to shoot that guy?”

She looked at her crossbow for a moment before giving another heavy sigh. “Okay, so it felt a little good.”

“The first step is admitting it.”

“Please shut up.”

———

Taglist: @ladybug023

#Adrian Chase #Adrian Chase imagine #Adrian Chase x reader #vigilante x reader #vigilante

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thatswhatijustsaid · 2 years

Text

I've been the best I can be [5]

part four︱masterlist︱ part six

MCU!Spiderman x Avenger!Reader (platonic)

tasm!Spiderman x Reader

Gn!reader

Word count: 3.2K

Description: Armed with two new Peter Parkers, you set out to find the original.

Note: Thank you guys so much for all the loooooove!!! Also, accidentally posted this on the wrong account first so we're just gonna go ahead and ignore that-

Disclaimer: I am trying to make my fics as all-inclusive as they can be. This fic will not use gendered language in regards to the reader, and I do my utter best to avoid making any other kinds of assumptions as well. If you notice any biased language, please let me know and I’ll edit it and make sure to avoid it in the future (:

Warnings: Canon typical violence, swearing.

"I think May is dead."

Grief hit you the moment the words sank in. It was a force, so violent that you were almost brought to your knees. You felt it, clawing at your heart, your soul. You felt it, burning your eyes and your throat. Not May.

You felt as if your body was splitting apart, sadness seeping out of every pore, your heart pumping it into your blood.

When anger encased you, wrapped around you like a suit, like a second skin, you welcomed it.

"Who did it?" You whispered, reaching out to wipe away the tears that had fallen down MJ's face.

"We don't know, y/n, we don't know anything. They must have- must have ambushed him, or something, we don't know anything," her hands were on your shoulders, gripping you with a strength you didn't know she possessed. "We have to find him."

You sniffed and wiped away tears you hadn't realized were on your own face. Time to be an adult. Time to be an Avenger. You wrapped your arms around MJ, let her bury her face in your shoulder, and compose herself. She pulled away and wiped the last tears off her cheeks, swallowing her own sadness to let an expression of determination replace it.

"Okay," You said, finally turning to address the two strange adult men in the room. Not-Spider-Man was closer to you, looking at you, almost uncomfortably intimately. "Okay," You repeated, clearing your throat. "So," You pointed at Not-Spider-Man, "You're Peter."

He pointed at himself, "I'm Peter. Peter Parker."

"You're Spider-Man."

"I'm Spider-Man," he said.

You nodded, "Sorry about threatening to shoot you."

"Happens all the time."

You smiled a little, a small sliver of light through your anger, "Nice to meet you, Peter."

He smiled back.

You turned to Ned, pulled him into your side, let him clutch at you, and felt very suddenly that you were 14 again. You, and Ned, and Peter, wherever he was. Ned rubbed his eyes, and you noticed the ring on his finger.

"That's Strange's," You said.

Ned looked down at his hand, then back up at you, a guilty expression creeping up his face.

"Strange isn't here," You realized, your eyes widening, "You opened that portal?"

Ned nodded, and you saw him open his mouth to argue or defend himself or something, but you interrupted him, "That's awesome, Ned. We'll talk about this later. Uh, don't apprentice under Strange, he's an irresponsible ass, you should talk to Wong. He's the only one with any sense over there." You patted him on the shoulder, then turned to face the only person you hadn't talked to yet.

"Peter?" You asked him, pretending to not know the answer.

"Yeah. Peter Parker. Also Spider-Man. It's nice to meet you."

You smiled at him, a genuine reaction of happiness. These men weren't your Peter, but some kind of Peter-ness radiated off them anyway, a calm, a home.

"Y/n L/n. Peter's friend, Spider-Man's coworker, de facto babysitter," you motioned back at Ned and MJ. He smiled, and instead of seeing Peter, you saw Steve, radiating ease, comfort, calm.

You cleared your throat, you were in charge here, they were waiting for you. "Okay," you said, keeping your voice even, you needed to provide comfort to the children that were with you, and make the adults think you were responsible. "We start with tracking down Peter. Now," You turned to the Peters, "He was trying to cure them because they said they were... dying. Dead." You looked them dead in the eye. It was strange to think of Spider-Man as an actual murderer. You remembered how horrifically Peter had taken Mysterio's death, and he hadn't even been the one responsible.

"There was a, uh, a doctor with octopus legs and tiny shades. Grumpy guy."

Older Peter nodded, "Doctor Octavius. He drowned a long time ago. He's here?"

You nodded, "Tried to stab my Peter." my Peter. That sounded strange.

Peter winced, "Sorry about that."

"I think we're past apologizing for people trying to kill us. That's just... the Spider life, yeah?"

He chuckled at that, a quiet, wise old laugh, and agreed with you.

You ran down the list of villains. Weird lizard man, dude made of sand, electricity man.

"And an old guy. He didn't seem too bad. Said he was a scientist... uh... Norman Osborn."

They both had one of those, apparently. A brief description later, and you came to the conclusion it was the older Peter's doctor Osborn. Younger Peter seemed relieved, almost suspiciously so. You decided not to press it.

The five of you tried to figure out where Peter might have gone. Your apartment was out of the question, as was his own, and Happy's was... well, a pile of rubble. The other Peter's listed places they liked; Empire state, the Chrysler building. You considered the Avengers tower, but it didn't feel quite right.

MJ knew where he was.

You found him, alone, sitting on the roof of Midtown. Alone, in his grief. Tears mixed with blood. You longed to pull him back to Strange's sanctum and lock him in one of the cells, keep him safe, keep his heart protected, before it was poisoned by the real world, and all the pain and anger that came with it.

MJ and Ned rushed ahead, and you let them, hanging back to instead watch the other Peter Parker's scale the side of the school's tower. It was fascinating to see, both of them so different from your Peter, whose movements you had learned to anticipate and understand. Once they had both vanished into the shadows, you ran over to Peter's side as well. Your Peter. Just a kid.

You wrapped him, and the other two, up in a tight hug, trying to squeeze all the comfort you could give into your embrace. You sunk to your knees, all squatting on the wet ground, a collective agony, for just a moment more, until MJ whispered something to Peter, and he tensed up, the way he always did and pushed himself to his feet. You watched him do what you did, steel himself up, push his emotions to the side in favor of protecting what he cared for.

The other two Peter's dropped down.

Guess every Peter Parker's got a dramatic streak, you thought to yourself, both of them doing stupid (but endearing) Spider-Man poses that any other day would have made you laugh. You rose to your feet to come to your Peter's side, as the other two came into the light and began talking. You stilled Peter, grabbing his forearm when he flinched at the sight of them.

The other Peters started talking, trying to get through to your Peter, but nothing seemed to be working.

"You don't belong here. So I'm going to do what I should have done in the first place," Peter pulled his arm out of your grasp, "Y/n, where's the box?" He tore his gaze away from the other two dejected-looking Peters and stared at you, his face a mask of hardened decision, his eyes still brimming with tears. You raised your empty hands and shook your head, "Haven't got it. Peter–"

The tears in his eyes spilled, "y/n, will you please go get it? I– I can't do this anymore. I'm done," He turned back to look at the other versions of himself, "I can't do this," He whispered, "I'm sending you back, what you do there... It's none of my business. I just want to go home."

You felt a memory creep up in the back of your mind, and then throw itself at you almost violently. Peter, crying, calling you, after his first big fight with the Vulture. 20 broken and fractured ribs.

You remembered the phone call, his breathing erratic even over the phone, asking if he could stay over at your place, worried aunt May would find out. Him, in your arms, telling you through hitching breaths about how Toomes had dropped a building on him.

Him, in your arms, tears in his eyes, asking you if you thought Liz would be okay.

You wouldn't let this ruin him. You wouldn't let grief, or sadness, or anger eat away at what he was, rot him from the inside out.

"Peter," you said, turning to take his face in your hands, "Let's go somewhere warm. Let's clean you up, figure this out, okay?"

Whatever resolve Peter had had in him was gone, trickling away with the tears and rain that spilled down his face. He nodded.

A few consoling words later, you passed him over to MJ, who let him collapse into her, wrapping his arms around her like she was all that kept him upright.

You had Ned order an Uber big enough for six, and promised to pay him back once you got somewhere safe. Then you clambered up onto the stoop where the other two Peters sat.

They turned to you, both with mirroring expressions of sadness. That trademark Parker empathy. That heart, so big, so full of care for everyone, every stranger, every villain, you could see it, etched in their faces. You smiled at them, as best you could. If you knew how to comfort one, surely you could comfort the rest.

"I'm taking you all to my place," You said, "Peter– err– that Peter," you pointed backward, "is out of web fluid, plus there's so many of us, so I think it's best we take a car. I know this is trying for all of us," again, you motioned backward, speaking of those from this universe, "But you just got pulled away from everything you know and thrown into chaos with villains you already beat. You guys need some rest too. Not up for question." You tried to make your voice stern, but you knew it came out soft and sad. Your heart wasn't as big as Peter Parker's, but it had a soft spot for him, and that apparently included him from every universe.

You turned to face the Spider-Man you knew a little better, the one that was your age, the one fully decked out in spandex. His brown eyes, huge, and soft, and so sad, met yours, and the breath was knocked out of you for an instant. You pulled off your jacket.

"Here," You held it out for him, "I would tell you to put on the mask and follow us by web, but uh... it's not a great time to be Spider-Man. Also, that suit looks like pure spandex and it is so cold out here." Your breath came out in a mist as if to accentuate your point. He took it and shrugged it around his shoulders with a small 'thanks'.

The older Peter, the one that reminded you so, so much of Steve, placed a hand on your shoulder. "Did you know May well?"

You nodded, ignoring the burning in your eyes, "Yeah," You whispered, "She was like- like a mother to me." You realized it was true as you said it. You realized you had just lost the only parental figure you had since you were a teen, and were fighting to hold on to the only other person you could conceivably call family. And you felt like you were losing.

"Did you uhm-" You cringed at yourself, trying to find a delicate way to ask two people who were practically strangers about a deep personal trauma, "Do you guys... still have her? May?"

The Peter wearing your jacket nodded, smiling a bit, "She just retired, a couple of years ago. I go see her when I can."

You turned towards the older Peter, who shook his head, "She died. Almost five years ago now. She was eighty-nine, she died in her sleep, at home. She was happy and healthy, all the way to the end. That's all I could have asked for."

You nodded, wiping away a stray tear that had gotten away from you. You turned towards Peter, who was talking to MJ in a hushed voice, MJ running a hand through his hair. Would he get that?

You turned to the older Peter again, "Sorry, uh, how old are you?"

"Forty-six."

The other Peter let out a low whistle, "I'm twenty-eight, I'm already starting to feel it in my joints, and my back," as if to accentuate his point, he raised his arms above his head and stretched, “You're still uh, doing the Spider thing?"

The older Peter pulled down the hem of his sweater, revealing the familiar red of the suit.

MJ popped her head up, suddenly, "Car's here."

Everyone climbed into the car, you decided to sacrifice yourself by sitting in the front seat and chatting with the driver, keeping her busy, talking about New York traffic, idiots on bikes, that 'mess on the bridge', and then you were all home, all six of you. In your one-bedroom apartment.

You opened the door and were suddenly incredibly thankful for your cleaning spree earlier. This looked like a normal person's home, besides the knife marks on the wall and the weapons lying on the sofa table, next to a couple day's old newspaper and a TV remote... And nothing else.

The box was gone.

It took every kernel of emotional control you possessed to keep from sheer panic. Instead, you led the two dimension travelers to the couch, had Ned and MJ come up with something to say to their parents, and took Peter into the bedroom. He sat down, silently, on the edge of your bed, and started pulling off his suit. This was regular, this was comforting routine. Whenever Peter's injuries were bad enough to worry May, or in places he couldn't get to, he would climb in through your living room window, you would sit him down on your bed, give him a fresh t-shirt and some sweatpants and help him stitch himself together.

You started with his torso, littered with green and purple bruises, claw marks, and bumps on his chest. You poked and prodded at him gently, checking for punctured organs, but all seemed fine, beyond a few broken ribs. You cleaned the wounds you needed to, but nothing needed stitching or even serious bandaging. The bruising worried you, a significant portion of them looked intramuscular, deep, and painful, even with Peter's spider-healing. You gave him a wet rag and let him clean his own face as you worked, and he was left only with a busted lip, bruises on his cheekbones, thankfully only surface-level bruising, and red-rimmed eyes.

You passed him a t-shirt. You had gotten into the habit of stocking a drawer with stupid geek t-shirts he loved, getting a new and stupider one every time he needed it. This one, an XL blue t-shirt that said 'without geometry life would be pointless', with a picture of a cuboid with all of its sides measured and marked. It was dumb. Peter loved them. He shoved the shirt on, then read it upside down, and smiled, just the tiniest bit. You let him pull the rest of the suit off himself, and had him check his legs for serious bruising or blood vessel damage. He pulled on the sweats you handed him, reporting nothing dangerous.

"I'll give you something to put on that rib, then I'll go get you some water, and I want you to eat something. You, Ned, and MJ can take the bed and- oof!" You were cut off by Peter pulling you into a hug. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, raising you slightly off the ground as he did.

You smiled at him as he let you down, "What was that for?"

"Thank you. For everything. I mean it."

"Don't mention it, Parker," you said, giving him a friendly, feather-light punch on the shoulder.

The two of you stepped out of the bedroom, Peter stepping momentarily over to the washing machine to leave his suit.

Ned was sitting in a chair, facing the two Peters on the couch, telling them about something with his usual animated air. The younger Peter seemed enthralled, eyes shining, hanging onto Ned's every word, while the older seemed a bit calmer, still listening, but with the calmer vibe of a parent who has heard every story there is.

Peter, your Peter, would need to talk to them. He would have to understand, they would get the spirit back in him, you were sure of it. They were each other, linked in a way you could never be. However, you did have other things to worry about, chief among them the box. And you would need a web-slinger to help you. Peter came back, sitting down in a chair next to MJ.

"All good?" You asked her, receiving an affirmative response.

"Fantastic. Well, I have one bed and one couch, and no food in my apartment, and no clothes for you, so I am going to need to make a run to the store. I'll just go to the Target over on sixth, half an hour tops." You walked over to your fridge and opened the freezer compartment. You found the always reliable bag of peas, as well as two more high-quality cooling pads. You wrapped them all in hand towels and gave them to Peter, who took them with thanks and let MJ fuss over him a bit.

"Peter?" You turned to the men on the couch, though all three of them responded with a 'yes?'.

This was going to get so confusing. "Peter that's wearing my jacket." He sat up, promptly pulled the jacket off, and held it out to you, looking abashed, "Sorry, here."

"Oh, no that's fine! I was just wondering if you'd be willing to come with me? It would cut my commuting time in half."

He stood up, looking happy to be of use, "Yeah. sure. Of course."

"If that's okay with you," you said, speaking to the older Peter. You hoped that your Peter hearing about May, getting some advice from the older version of himself would be some sort of catharsis, some sort of help for the gaping wounds on his heart.

He seemed to understand what you were implying, and nodded, again, with the ease of a wise, experienced man. His smile reminded you of Steve again.

You cleared your throat, shrugged on the jacket, and smiled at the Peter who was now standing next to you.

"Let's go."

Note: Sorry for the swift ending ): This chapter was getting too long so I split it in half. Started to feel guilty about leaving you all hanging for so long!

Taglist: There are so many of you all aahhh!!! Please send me a message or comment if you want to be added/removed from the taglist :)

@navs-bhat @timelesstay @quietseraphim @galactaghost @redgetawaycar @currentresidentinhell @mythicalamphitrite @taina-eny @seninjakitey @fangirl-with-a-mission @levylovegood

Thank you so much for reading

#peter parker x friend!reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #tasm peter parker #peter parker #no way home #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #spiderman no way home #spiderman #spiderman x y/n #peter parker x you #mcu spiderman #My writing

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sleeping-on-cracking-ice · 3 years

Note

Hello, my request is for Niragi ✨ Y/N was popular in high school and always protect him when he was bully. When they saw each other in Bordeland, she saw how much he changed and keep her distance from him (which he hates), and she have an attitude that make one of the militants wants to attack her but Niragi protect her like she did with him bc he would never admit her but she's his only weakness

Yessss I’ve actually been wanting to write something for Niragi that sounds very similar so I’m glad you requested this! Thanks so much! 💕

You’re Everything You Once Hated | Suguru Niragi

PART 1 | PART 2

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Character(s): Niragi (ft. The guys that bullied Niragi, Ann, Hatter, OC’s)

Summary: You and Niragi were best friends in high school. When you arrive in the Borderlands, you notice he’s not the person he used to be, causing you to avoid him. But unfortunately, he’s not happy about it.

Warnings: swearing, bullying, smoking, drinking, violence, threatening, bullet wounds, implications of sexual assault

Word Count: 7.1k

*reader is female

Niragi gif credit

4 Years Earlier…

The young boy grunted out in pain, having been hit with another rock right between his eyes. This one managed to crack his glasses, making his vision go all distorted.

His classmates around him roared with laughter. His heart filled with both anger and sorrow, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into the wind and out of his current situation.

“Aww, little Niragi has become quiet. Where’s those sarcastic remarks from earlier, they seemed to have left you,” his attacker mocked, adding a mean tone to his voice.

Just the usual. ‘Maybe they might end their target practice with me earlier today,’ he hoped.

He had grown used to it. He now expected to be dragged under the bridge each day on his way home from high school, being pushed around and roughed up. It’s not like he could’ve defended himself anyway. It was six guys against one, he never had a chance.

A short jab to the back of his neck broke him out of his thoughts. He groaned and doubled over, feeling as he was going to throw up. “Come on Niragi, fight back! It’s no fun when you just stand there,” the blonde student complained, striding over to the weakened boy. He gave him a quick kick to his side, making him fall on his hip harshly.

“Fuck off,” Niragi groaned under his breath, half hoping his tormentor didn’t hear it. But unfortunately, the small remark reached his ears.

“What was that? Did you just try to defend yourself? You’re going to have to use a lot more than just a few words you fucking loner,” the boy poked, giving Niragi another harsh kick to his stomach, making him become winded and choke on air.

He laid there taking their harsh words and hearing their mocking laughter ring in his ears. What did he ever do to deserve that?

“Hey Haru!”

The blonde turned his attention from his target to the direction of the voice that called his name. There you stood, by yourself with no one else. You obviously didn’t think the situation through before throwing yourself into it. You remained near the stairs that led down to below the bridge, holding something behind your back, but Haru seemed to not notice it.

Your heart skipped a beat when the group of high school boys all locked eyes with you, confused about what you were doing interrupting them.

“The fuck do you want Y/N?” the blonde, Haru, asked you in an annoyed tone.

You gulped before answering him, trying to sound as threatening as you could without your voice cracking. “Let him go! He’s done nothing to you, why are you giving him a hard time?” you spat at him, taking a few brave steps closer to the scene in front of you.

Niragi slightly lifted himself off the ground to look over at you. He recognized you from his social studies class. You both sat together at the back, and he always thought you were too nice for your own good.

Niragi sat up and shook his head, trying to warn you to stop what you were doing. He didn’t want to drag you into his own problems. He would’ve felt awful if you happened to get hurt while trying to help him.

Haru rolled his eyes and groaned at you. “Why are you getting involved? This is none of your business,” he retorted, walking closer to you with the baseball bat in hand. You watched with fearful eyes as he swung the bat around, obviously to threaten you.

Your heart quickened and you felt it pound against your ribcage dramatically. As Haru got closer and closer, you stood your ground bravely, still holding your hand behind your back to hide your weapon from him. You weren’t stupid enough to get yourself involved without having some kind of way to defend yourself.

“Well? Are you going to answer me or just stand and shake like the pathetic girl you are?” Haru tormented, a confident smirk growing across his face.

His comment made your blood boil. “Do you have a saviour complex or something? Why did you think you could help this son of a bitch?” he pressed, gesturing towards Niragi who was slowly rising to his feet with a worried expression on his face.

That was it. He was getting far too close to you for your own liking, so you decided that comment was the final straw. You rushed towards him and pulled out the large can of pepper spray from behind your back, aiming directly at his smug face.

He cried out in pain the moment the spray hit his eyes, dropping the baseball bat and covering his face with his hands. He tried desperately to rub the stinging liquid out of his eye with his school blazer sleeves, but it wasn’t worth the effort as it only made it worse.

You moved quickly and picked up the bat that he dropped, running past him towards the other boys that were still gathered around Niragi. They all held shocked expressions on their faces.

“You want some too?” you bluntly asked, thrusting the pepper spray towards them. They all flinched and stumbled to get away. You smiled, feeling empowered.

Haru and the others ran, thinking that beating up Niragi wasn’t worth being blinded for.

You turned towards the bloodied boy standing against the wall looking at you in shock. You glanced at him, giving him a friendly smile. He returned it.

After that, you two became inseparable for the rest of your high school days, spending every waking moment together. With your tough attitude and Niragi’s shy demeanour, you were a strange friendship to have been made. You thought you would always stay together, until one day Niragi went missing.

You never guessed where he may have ended up, until you were sent there yourself a few years later.

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

You breathed in a huge gulp of oxygen as the black bag was harshly pulled off your head. You tried to wiggle your hands to shield your eyes from the blinding sunlight seeping through the windows but struggled as you saw that your hands were tied to the armrests on either side of you. You groaned in frustration.

As the curtains closed so you could see probably, you saw a young woman with short black hair dressed in blue shorts and a white button up that was tied at the waist. “Sorry,” she began. “I forgot to close that before removing the bag.”

You looked around at your surroundings. You noticed that there were several more people in the room. The room was large, stretching down further until it came to a stop at the end where a large wall stood, conveying a huge spray painting across it that consisted of every card from a deck of cards. Some were crossed out, while a few number cards and all face cards remained untouched.

You whipped your head around, feeling restless from the number of eyes staring at you. You don’t remember how you got into this situation. All you remember is walking to a large light in the distance from your position on a bridge, being curious as to how it seemed to be the only building with electricity. Before you knew it, someone had grabbed you by the shoulders and shoved something over your head, making your vision go black and suddenly passing out.

You moaned in pain as you felt the back of your head throbbed, probably from when they punched you to knock you out.

“What’s going on?” you asked, struggling in your restraints more, trying to break free. An older man with glasses scolded you. “Stay still, Hatter will be here soon.”

Just as he promised, two large doors on your left burst open, revealing a man with a long decorative robe and dark glasses on. He had two other men beside him, both holding revolver guns.

“Ah! A newcomer!” he exclaimed excitedly, taking a big sip from his drink.

You froze, watching as he strides into the room further, making himself comfortable on a table in the centre of the room.

“A few of my militants tell me they found you sneaking around nearby The Beach,” he accused, pointing his finger at you.

You stared at him; confusion written all over your face. Militants? The Beach? What was he talking about?

After you didn’t answer him for a moment, he let out a big sigh and jumped off the table onto his feet, beginning to talk himself.

He explained the current situation to you. About how the dynamic at The Beach worked, and that considering the number of high-level cards you had on your person, you seemed to be the perfect candidate to add to the ranks of everyone there.

“And remember, death to the traitors,” he said, spite filling his tone. He had listed off the three main rules to you, each one adding more dread for you.

“Okay, all good. But I just want to say. If you want people to help you collect cards, kidnapping them isn’t the best idea. If it hasn’t hit you yet, that would make people want to help you less,” you smartly said, trying to stop your lips pulling up into a smirk.

All the heads in the room turned to Hatter. No one has ever questioned his motives to his face before, especially a newcomer.

Except, he didn’t get angry like everyone expected. Instead, he chuckled and held his drink out towards you. “Cheers to that, I guess. Have fun!”

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

The Beach was a lot more crowded than you expected. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you walked down to the bottom floor to the pool. People were everywhere; dancing, swimming, drinking, talking, smoking. It honestly couldn’t have been more chaotic than it already was.

You spent most of the remainder of the day becoming familiar with the layout of the hotel. You found the room that you had been assigned to. You managed to score a room that was a little above average. Hatter decided to give you the benefit of the doubt and gift you a higher number due to your high number cards. He thought it was only fair.

You were sitting at a table nearby the bar. The sun had gone down but the party continued on through the chilly night air. You shivered, not being used to being dressed in a bathing suit twenty-four seven. You were annoyed that you weren’t even allowed to wear some sweatpants to bring you some kind of warmth. You guessed you would just have to grow used to feeling the cold on your skin.

The warm beverage slipped down your throat, bringing you at least a little bit of comfort. You had made yourself a coffee inside, not in the mood for alcohol just yet. You honestly didn’t like drinking without having anyone you trusted around you, just in case something was to happen.

You looked around the area, taking in everyone’s faces to see if anyone appeared friendly enough to be nice to you. You needed to make some allies before the next game, otherwise you would be the first they would sacrifice.

As you scanned the crowd, your gaze landed on a particular male, who was sitting in a more done up booth nearby the pool. He was wearing a black and white checkered shirt with black skinny jeans. He had several piercings in his face, making him seem more threatening.

You squinted your eyes. Why did he look so familiar? You swore you’ve seen him before.

You kept your gaze locked on him, watching as he communicated with the people sitting near him. You noticed that a huge sniper rifle was tucked behind him. He must have been a high-ranking militant, being able to carry a weapon like that around.

He suddenly flung his head back and let out a roar of laughter at something the guy next to him had said. You froze in your spot.

You could recognize that laugh anywhere. That loud, obnoxious laugh that used to come from your old friend Niragi from high school. Your best friend that randomly disappeared.

You blinked a few times before looking back at him. His facial features did match and the way he smiled seemed way too familiar to not be him.

How could he be here? Is this where he disappeared to a couple of years ago?

Your heart filled with joy and a wide grinned grew on your face. That had to be Niragi! Who else would it be?

You quickly stood to your feet, almost tripping on your chair in the process and began making your way towards his position.

Although, as you did so, another man approached him from behind, leaning over the seat and tapping his shoulder. Niragi turned with an angered scowl on his face, but it turned to a smirk once he heard what the man had to tell him.

You stopped in your tracks and watched as he leaped over the backrest of the couch suddenly, following the man with his rifle slung over his shoulders. They were headed to the door that led inside, so you quickly followed, wanting to reunite with your old friend from so long ago.

“Niragi!” you yelled out happily, trying to get his attention. A few heads turned at your voice around you, but he didn’t manage to hear you over the sound of the music blaring through the speakers.

“Niragi!” you tried again, but this time you were blocked by a few people in your way. A small crowd gathered in front of you, not noticing you trying to get past.

Niragi turned his head at the mention of his name but couldn’t see anyone calling his attention. He shrugged it off and kept following the man. He had told him that a young guy was causing some trouble inside one of the halls, so he was going to take care of it.

As you finally managed to force yourself through the small crowd that interrupted your path, you saw the Niragi and the man had already made it inside. You ran straight after them. You were feeling ecstatic, ready to throw your arms around him and give him the biggest hug ever to make up for all the days you’ve been apart.

As you quickly made your way inside, you caught a glance of his checkered shirt turning the corner a bit ahead of you. You moved your legs as quick as you could, trying to catch up.

You turned the corner, about to yell out to him again, but your voice got caught in your throat when the sight in front of you met your eyes.

“You really thought you could get away with this?!”

Niragi had a young boy pinned to the ground, pressing his boot against his upper back and shoving the barrel of his rifle against his skull violently. The boy below him was crying and begging for his mercy.

You had a small flashback to high school, when you saw Niragi’s main bully Haru shoving a baseball bat against the back of his head, him lying on the ground battered and bloodied.

It was the exact same scene. Only this time, Niragi was the tormentor himself.

“Niragi, I’m sorry! It won’t happen again!” he cried desperately, clawing at the floor trying to get away.

Niragi lifted his other boot and stamped it down roughly onto the boy’s hand. You covered your mouth as you heard a few bones crack.

He leaned down closer to the boy’s face and lifted his head up his hair, making him whimper in pain. “If I ever see you stealing from one of the executives again, this rifle will go down your throat and I won’t hesitate to blow the back of your skull out,” he hissed, sticking out his tongue and revealing the ball piercing he had.

The boy nodded, leaning away from Niragi as best as he could.

The man who led Niragi to the scene tapped him on the shoulder. “Alright that’s enough. You don’t want to give him PTSD,” he said calmly.

Niragi let out an annoyed groan. “But I was just getting started with him!” he whined, letting the boy out from under his boot and watching as he scuttled away like a bug.

You couldn’t move. You stayed put as the boy pushed past you, accidentally smacking into your shoulder in the process. Your eyes remained wide, staring at the tall man with fear written across your face.

This was not the Niragi you knew. It was not the Niragi you defended from those bullies. This was not the Niragi that used to be your closest friend, possessing a shy and timid personality. No, that Niragi was dead now. This was a devil standing in front of you. Nothing but a violent jerk that struck fear in anyone that he came across. What happened to him?

Unfortunately, you took a little too long to gather your thoughts and before you knew it, a rough grip was on your shoulders shaking you out of your daydream. You flinched in a panic as you saw Niragi’s angered face appear in front of yours.

“What are you looking at? You want some too?” he growled, shoving the barrel of his gun against your temple. You froze, staring into his dark, evil eyes, not knowing what to do.

You watched in confusion as his hard and angry facial features softened, rage turning into surprise, and even concern.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, taking his hands off your shoulders and backing a way a bit in shock. You kept your eyes on him. You wanted nothing but for him to recognize you a few minutes before, but now you weren’t so sure.

“Y/N?!” he exclaimed suddenly, causing you to jump as his tone. A large smile grew on his face, only you viewed it as nothing but sinister and evil.

“Oh my god Y/N! Since when did you get here?!” he asked excitedly. He quickly moved towards you again and held his arms out to give you a hug, but you backed away and shook your head, making him frown.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you recognize me? It’s me! Niragi! Your best friend!”

You shook your head again, trying to get the message across that you didn’t want him near you. “Sorry Niragi,” you mumbled, trying hard to keep your tears in.

You quickly darted around the corner, making your way to the staircase to run to your room. You felt overwhelmed. After everything that happened today, finding out that your closest friend was now a murderer was the last thing you needed.

Your stomach dropped as you heard heavy footsteps following closely behind you.

“Wait Y/N! Please let me explain!” he tried to stop you, but you weren’t going to give him any time after that performance with the young boy.

“Piss off Niragi!” you yelled, climbing the stairs as fast as you could, trying to get away from him.

You turned onto the floor that your room was located on, sprinting down the hallway. You glanced back over your shoulder to see that Niragi wasn’t that far behind you. He had dropped his rifle, now trying to catch up to you empty handed.

You quickly busted through your door and immediately pressed your entire body weight on it. You silently cursed Hatter for not letting you have locks.

You heard him arrive in front of it, immediately trying to open it, but you stood your ground. He may have been tall, but there was nothing but skin and bones on him. He had no muscles to help him push through.

You held the door shut with your leg and reached for a chair to put against the handle so we wouldn’t be able to open it. You managed to secure it underneath the handle and stood back, watching as Niragi tried to open it again, but failing.

“Y/N please just let me in! Let me explain! I didn’t mean for you to see that!” he cried. You almost felt guilty, hearing as he started tearing up behind the door while still attempting to let himself in.

“Please Y/N! Let me in! I missed you!”

You covered your ears with your hands. You didn’t want to listen to his pleas, it would do nothing but make you feel bad for him.

That wasn’t Niragi outside your door, that was a cold-blooded killer that you wanted nothing to do with.

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

The next few days you spend on alert around The Beach, looking around every corner for Niragi. As much as you’ve missed him the past few years, that event that occurred with the young boy obviously showed that he was no longer the nice and caring friend that you used to have. If anything, he now has become what he hated most in his high school days, a selfish and careless bully.

Who wants to be associated with someone like that? Not you.

Although even though you managed to avoid him in person, his name was brought up wherever you went. A few people would approach you during the day and warn you that Niragi was looking for you. It only would make your anxiety spike, causing you to scatter off to a more secluded place somewhere at The Beach. Most of the time you would hide in your room, but on the few occasions you climbed to the roof or hung around Alice and Usagi (who you had befriended), you managed to keep away from the psychopath.

One day, you were sitting out on one of the tables out by the pool. It was still quite early in the morning, so there wasn’t a lot of people around. The air was quite nippy, making you shiver against the cold breeze. You rubbed your arms up and down, trying to warm yourself up. Unfortunately, you hadn’t grown used to the ‘always wear bathers’ policy yet.

You felt a gentle hand lay itself on your shoulder, making your eyes widen and your head whip around to yell at whoever had dared to touch you, but you held in your harsh remark when your eyes met with Niragi’s.

“Finally! I found you!” he exclaimed, a sickening smile spreading across his face. You leant away from his touch, scooting your butt along the seat of the table, trying to make distance between the two of you.

Niragi obviously didn’t like this.

“Why are you avoiding me like I’m some kind of disease? I just want to talk to you! I haven’t seen you in years!” he said annoyed, taking a seat at the table.

You eyed his sniper rifle closely, watching as he placed it down on the table in front of him. You felt somewhat relieved that the barrel was pointing away from you. Who knew when he would decide to use that vicious weapon against you?

You blinked, not daring to say anything. You wanted to get out of the situation as soon as possible. It was unbearably uncomfortable.

“Sorry Niragi, I have to go,” you stated, standing up out of your seat and moving to turn away.

Niragi gripped the back of your hoodie and pulled you so you sat down again, making you yelp in surprise. “No, you don’t. Stop avoiding me,” he growled, placing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him.

You closed your eyes tightly in discomfort. You swore you were so close you could hear his heart beating. With a short shove to the side, you got out of his grip and stood up again.

“No, I do. I’m sorry but I really don’t want to talk to you,” you bluntly said, becoming agitated from his insistent behaviour. Why did he think he could just tell you what to do?

He frowned, standing up as well. “Fine then, I’ll just come too. I don’t care if you don’t want to talk to me. You don’t get a choice.”

You rolled your eyes and quickly started walking away from him, hoping to at least get a head-start to stay away from him. You heard him jog up to you as you kept walking, seeing his shadow appear right next to you.

You became more and more anxious the longer he followed you. He started to get a little too comfortable in his movements, even having the audacity to touch your hair and comment on how much it’s grown.

It got to a point where you had walked all the way to the lobby about three times, realizing that he wasn’t even focusing on where you were going. You turned around just as he was reaching to grab your hand, looking him in the eye with anger written all over your face.

“Can you not take a hint?! Leave me the fuck alone!” you yelled, watching as his face contorted into shock at your tone.

“I don’t want to have anything to do with you Niragi! You’re fucking insane and sadistic! Has it not occurred to you that you’ve literally become the soul thing that you hated in high school?!” you sassed, anger ripping from your words and smacking him in the face.

The few people in the lobby turned their heads at the sound of your arguing, being curious due to not seeing anyone ever dare to yell such vulgar words towards Niragi.

He tucked his hand into his jeans pocket and readjusted the rifle on his shoulder, almost looking bored. “Yeah? And what would that be?” he asked, licking his bottom lip while staring at your menacingly.

You cringed as his movements. “A fucking asshole! A little bitch that preys on those weaker than him just so he can project his own hatred for himself onto them! You’re pathetic Niragi, and it’s a real shame that no one has in this shithole has told you so. Because no one knows you like I know you, and I know that on the inside, you hate yourself more than anyone could ever hate you.”

You took in a deep breath, regaining your strength. You suddenly saw the irony in your words. You accused Niragi of projecting his anger onto others when you just did it yourself.

Niragi rolled his eyes, bringing his rifle down off his shoulder and fiddling with the bullet canister. You felt your heart stop from his actions, being afraid that he was going to use it on you.

“Don’t act like you don’t miss me Y/N,” he laughed, glancing his eyes back up to you.

You grunted in annoyance. “Just leave me alone, please,” you begged, turning around and leaving Niragi to the peeping eyes still staring at you both.

He turned his head to everyone in the lobby. As he did so, everyone turned back to what they were doing, being afraid of being caught staring and yelled at by him.

“That’s right. Mind your own business,” he shouted out across the lobby to make sure everyone heard.

He watched you as you walked away, eventually turning the corner to go search for Alice and Usagi. At least they would give you some kind of security after what just happened.

He chuckled to himself, sticking his pierced tongue out and running it across his lips once again. “Just you wait Y/N, you’ll come running back to me soon enough. You can only keep that tough façade up for so long. Just wait until people find out that you’re all bark and no bite.”

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

You stumbled your way to the entrance of the hotel, head throbbing in pain and legs aching from the muscle strain you’ve put on them. You had arrived back from your game, being the only one that managed to survive. You didn’t feel well, both physically and emotionally, so you were planning on slipping into a coma for a few days to sleep off the pain that you were feeling at that moment.

It felt like a huge effort to even lift your feet. You didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so you weren’t even thinking of checking in on Alice or Usagi. You said to yourself you would look for them tomorrow. You were in too much of a bad mood to engage in conversation. You’d probably end up snapping at them, which wouldn’t be fair on them since they just completed a harsh game themselves.

As you were just about to enter through the large glass doors before a young militant woman with short blonde hair pushed through before you even had the chance. She managed to even knock your shoulder during the process, making you hiss in pain.

She looked you up and down with a disgusted expression on her face. “Watch where you’re going,” she spat before continuing walking inside.

You rolled your eyes. “Bitch,” you mumbled under your breath.

Her head quickly whipped around to meet your eye, an angered scowl on her face. “Excuse me?” she said in disbelief.

Your words got stuck in your throat. She wasn’t meant to have heard that. “I-I…”

“I-I..” she mocked you. You felt your adrenaline skyrocket. You’ve heard of this girl; she doesn’t take things lightly.

“Look I’m sorry, it just slipped out I promise,” you stammered out, putting your hands up in a surrender. You weren’t in the mood for dealing with her shit, you were grumpy and tired. You hoped she would let you off with just a warning.

But she had different plans.

She grabbed you by the back of your hoodie, dragging you outside again and brought you over to a small alleyway that ran along the side of the hotel. You struggled in her grip and protested the whole way.

Although, you stopped fighting against her when she shoved you against a brick wall and pulled a revolver out of her jacket pocket, pushing it underneath your chin. You froze and looked at her with pleading eyes, begging for her to have mercy.

“You’ve messed with the wrong person you bitch,” she growled, giving you a quick jab to the ribs. You yelped in pain, clutching your side. It hurt ten times more, considering you’ve already faced a horrific game that same night.

“I’m sorry!” you cried, feeling tears welling up in your eye sockets.

She scoffed and smirked at you. “Wow, all bark and no bite huh?” she teased, throwing a kick to your shin, making you cry harder.

Her words angered you, making you see red for a short moment. You forgot about the revolver against your chin and gave her a quick punch to the jaw, making her head whip sideways.

She groaned, clutching her face and slowly turned back to you. You felt yourself fill with regret when you saw the look on her face. She looked like she was ready to kill you.

“Is that how you want it? Fine, have a hole in your foot. Maybe it’ll manage to get you and your attitude killed off in the next game,” she snarled.

Your stomach dropped at her words. Before you could even protest, she pulled away and aimed the gun towards the ground and blew a quick bullet in the top of your foot.

You cried out, kneeling and grasping your foot in your hands in pain, biting your tongue so you didn’t scream too loud. The pain of the bullet seeped from your foot and up your leg, spreading across your body.

The militant girl stood above you, laughing at your pathetic body lying on the ground. Your screams of pain brought her pleasure.

“Didn’t think this would happen when you bad mouthed me, didn’t you?!” she laughed, leaning down and pushing the gun against your head to threaten you more.

Another gunshot rang in your ears. For a moment you thought it was her and that she had put a bullet through your head, killing you. But then you heard a cry and saw the girl fall in the ground holding your shin with her head thrown back in a silent scream.

You were about to attempt to stand up to take this opportunity to run, but quickly jumped back down to the ground when another loud gunshot filled the air. You heard the bullet colliding with flesh as the girl flinched violently and cried out again.

You heard a menacing male laugh fill the air, and you glanced down the alleyway to see where it came from.

There stood Niragi, holding his sniper rifle out towards you both with smoke protruding from the barrel of it. A psychotic grin was painted across his face and you swore you saw his eyes shine red.

“Why are you giving my poor love a hard time?! Maybe think twice before you put a bullet through my property,” he exclaimed, chucking and walking up to the girl giving her a harsh kick to the ribs.

You felt like you were about to throw up and hearing some of her ribs crack from the collision of her chest to his boot did not help your nausea.

You rubbed your eyes and pressed your forehead against the ground. You wanted to wake up, like this was all some bad dream. Before you knew it, you were silently sobbing on the floor, tears rolling out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You felt two arms wrap around you, lifting you off the cold stone floor and into a warm chest. You winced and whined as the bullet wound in your foot shot a searing pain through your leg. Niragi shushed you quietly.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispered, placing his cheek on top of your head.

His behaviour was giving you whiplash. One second ago he was acting like a maniac, shooting holes through a young girl, but now he was carrying you by under your knees and your shoulders, your head tucked into his neck.

You were exhausted, your body not even listening to you. You tried to move your leg to force yourself out of his grip but didn’t even have the strength to lift it. Your head was throbbing, and you could’ve passed out easily in his arms, but forced yourself to stay awake.

As Niragi walked past the lobby to get to the medical room, he attracted a few worried faces. Some even stood up to walk over and ask if you were okay. Everyone was terrified he had bad intentions with you, knowing how he was.

He ignored the few that approached both of you, rushing down the hall to escape them. He had to get there quickly so Ann could treat your bullet wound.

When he arrived, he pushed through the door harshly and called out to Ann with a worried tone. She stopped what she was doing and turned to the door to see Niragi holding you close to him protectively, blood dripping into the ground from your shoe.

“Shit, bring her here.” She gestured towards an empty table in the middle of the room. Niragi rushed over and placed you gently on the metal table, letting you lean your upper body against him.

Ann brought over some large tweezers, a cloth, disinfectant and a bandage. You flinched at the sight of the tweezers, moving to get away from her. “No, no!” you begged, trying to crawl up the table to get away, but Niragi grabbed your waist and pinned you against his chest.

“We have to get the bullet out Y/N, we can’t just leave it in there!” he argued, brushing your hair out of your face to calm you down.

You struggled against his grip as Ann held down your foot and carefully removed your shoe and sock. You looked down and saw a small hole in the top of your foot. How could such a small injury cause so much pain?

“Alright Niragi, keep her still. This is going to hurt,” Ann said shallowly, picking up the tweezers to try and remove the bullet.

“Yep.” You felt his grip on you tighten and he tucked his chin on your head. “Please just keep still Y/N, I’m here. It’s okay,” he cooed. His reassuring words didn’t do much to ease your anxiety.

Niragi turned your face so you were nuzzled into his chest. He knew that making you watch Ann take the bullet would do nothing but freak you out more, so he wanted to protect you from the sight.

You felt fine until the pain in your foot suddenly skyrocketed, making you let out a piercing scream. You bit your tongue to try and quieten yourself, but it didn’t do much.

Niragi frowned as he suddenly felt you go limp against him. He looked down at your face to see you had passed out, eyes shut tight and letting out soft breaths.

He smiled and brushed his fingers across your face. “So cute,” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s better. Maybe if we just knocked her out with a quick jab to the head, it would’ve saved us the headache of trying to keep her down,” Ann stated bluntly, causing Niragi to laugh.

“You know how this happened?” she asked him, raising her eyebrows.

“A bitch shot her just outside the hotel,” he said with an angry tone.

Ann didn’t seem surprised. Events like that occurred a lot. She had removed a lot of bullets the time she had been there.

“What happened to the girl? Did she run when she saw you?”

“I didn’t give her the chance to. She copped two bullets into her body for doing that to Y/N.”

“Did you think maybe Y/N was the one giving her a hard time?”

“Doesn’t matter. I only saw her shoot the bullet, nothing else.”

“Fair enough.”

***********

You cracked your eyes open to a room that most definitely wasn’t your own. You groaned and sat up, wincing when the pain in your foot shot through your leg. Memories of yesterday filled your head. “I must have passed out in the medical room,” you said to yourself.

You scanned the room. It was much bigger than yours. The bed you were in was three times the size of yours, and this room even had a huge balcony. As you looked around more, you noticed that a bag of your stuff was placed near the closet.

You frowned. Why was your stuff from your room here?

Suddenly the door opened to reveal Niragi, walking in with a plate of a bread roll and a bottle of water. He saw you awake and smiled.

“Aw little mouse is awake. How’s your foot?” he purred.

You cringed at the pet name. “What’s it to you, dickhead,” you growled, getting out of the bed and standing up. You were wearing the same clothes that you wore to the game yesterday, minus the shoes and the jacket.

Niragi smirked and placed the food on a small table in the centre of the room. “Have you forgotten who saved your pathetic ass yesterday?” he asked, approaching you. “And also, don’t stand on that foot. It’s injured, you have to rest it.” He pushed on your shoulder lightly to make you sit on the bed again. He sat himself next to you and leaned towards your face.

You moved away from his face, hating how close he was to you. “Yeah, but how did you know I even needed help? And don’t tell me you were just going on a short stroll through the alleyway at eleven at night,” you said, scooting up the bed and leaning your back against the wooden bedhead.

Niragi chuckled. “What if I was? Are you accusing me of stalking?” he suggested.

You shook your head. “Why is my stuff here,” you asked, changing the subject.

Niragi glanced over at the bag full of your stuff on the ground near the closet. He turned back to you with a smile on his face. “Oh yeah! I forgot to say, you’re moving in with me,” he said excitedly.

You felt your stomach drop. “What? I didn’t agree to this.” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand again. You could only place pressure on one foot, so you stood on one leg.

“Oh, baby. I don’t care if you don’t want to. You’re in here with me now, whether you like it or not,” he growled, reaching out towards you waiting for you to place your hand in his.

You stared at him, trying to see if he was joking or not. But from the serious look on his face, you didn’t think he was.

“I’m not staying in here with you. You’re a fucking psycho.”

You attempted to limp over to the door, wanting to escape Niragi as soon as possible. But you didn’t expect him to be so insistent on you staying.

A sudden arm around your waist spun your around and Niragi pinned you against the door, his face far too close to yours for it to be comfortable. “Did you not just hear me? You don’t get a choice love. You’re stuck with me,” he rasped into your face with a scary smile across his.

Your breath hitched and you turned your head away as he moved his face closer, trying to force his lips against yours. You felt helpless.

“Niragi please. Let me go, I’m sorry if I ever angered you,” you begged, pushing on his chest, but he wouldn’t budge. “I promise if you let me go, we can go back to how we were in high school.” You were trying to do anything that would get him off you. Your heart was racing, and you were becoming more frightened by the second.

Niragi licked a long and slow stripe from your collar bone to the back of your ear. You cringed and sobbed at the feeling of his tongue and saliva on your skin. “Maybe I don’t want it like it was back then. Maybe I want more Y/N,” he whispered.

He tucked his face into your neck and nipped at your skin. He had your arms pinned either side of you and his leg was holding your good foot against the door. You couldn’t do anything to defend yourself.

“What have you become Niragi,” you sobbed after a short moment.

Niragi removed himself from your neck, leaning back to look at you. You stared into his eyes, seeing the same dark and beautiful orbs that used to make your heart race with love in high school, only now, they made your heart race with fear.

“I’ve become the real me Y/N, and you’re going to love me, whether you want to or not.”

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animehideout · 3 years

Text

Toman’s Little Fighter.

Draken x fem.Reader oneshot

Genre : fluff- angst-happy ending

Warnings: mention of violence-blood-kidnapping-swearing words.

Word count: 5.9k

Summary: Draken is assigned to convince badass (y\n) to join Toman for certain reasons. They have a dynamic relationship full of bickering. They end up falling for each other and confess under difficult circumstances.

“Ah what a day finally school is over” you said to yourself ruffling your hair and carrying your heavy school bag. “Huh what’s that sound?” you frowned and rushed to the source “ah really brats bullying a kid again? Why do they do that, should I help him or should I stop getting into fights this time?” you said watching them from a far. Three big guys were beating up the shit out of a boy. “ah shit I think I’ll never change” you breathed and walked towards them. The guy was about to throw a punch to knock that boy out but was suddenly stopped by a strong grip. All of them looked at you in disbelief, who are you? And what are you trying to do? “Are you lost beautiful?” said that guy smirking, the other two approached you one of them put his hand on your shoulder “How can we help you?” “Take your hands off of me brat” you said slapping his hand away and pushing the other guy’s fist that was stopped by you. “wow wow are you trying to get our attention huh? you can just ask honey” said the 3rd guy smirking “ple-ease leave d-don’t get yourself into trouble because of me” said that boy coughing on the ground, you smiled and said “don’t worry it will be fine” then you turned your face to look at them “3 VS 1? That’s not a fair fight…but it’s fair for me” “you better leave this place or I have to smash that beautiful face” “give it a shot then or you’re scared to get your ass beaten by a woman” you teased throwing your school bag on the ground ready to fight, the guy was fueling with anger “you little-“ he ran in your direction and grabbed your collar you twisted his hand making him growl in pain then you used your free hand to punch his stomach making him fall. The other two tried to grab your hands to stop your attacks but you were faster and more flexible and punched one of them on his nose making it bleed. It didn’t take you long to finish the fight, so when the other guy tried to fight you, you turned around then kicked his jaw (round side kick) knocking him down as well. “bunch of idiots. Ah I fucking hate bullies” you said fixing your skirt. You looked down “are you okay?” he nodded still shocked from the fight that happened before his eyes. Before you can say something else someone yelled “TAKEMICHI” both of you looked and there were 3 guys looking at you, you clenched your fists you thought they wanted to hit him “oh Mikey” said Takemichi. “so his name is Takemichi” you thought to yourself. You bend a bit to his level and said “well you’re safe now! Next time don’t stop defending yourself, even if your knees are on the ground you’re still able to stand up” you flushed him another smile then grabbed your bag and left. He was stunned by your presence. “excuse me!” said Mikey, you turned your head to look at him “thank you” he added, you just nodded and glanced at the two guys who were looking at you in pure shock and disbelief. “Draken, Mitsuya come here” said Mikey smiling, “Mikey did you see her?” asked Takemichi “she..she fought them” “yes we saw everything” “why didn’t you come?” “Well we rushed here to save you but we stopped the moment we saw her beat all of them up” exclaimed Draken. “Mikey don’t tell me that you’re thinking about that?” asked Mitsuya after seeing Mikey’s excited expression “Actually I am” he stopped for a moment then looked at Draken “oi ken-chin, I have a mission for you!” “huh?” “go after her.. you have to know where she lives, and you’ll start the plan tomorrow” “Mikey are you insane! There’s no way she would agree!!” fought Draken, “Yes Mikey , she even thought they were bullies I’m sure if she knew they’re actually gang members she wouldn’t rush to my rescue!” everyone nodded in agreement “but she knocked them down right? That’s what matters. C’mon you saw her fighting skills…Woah she was cool” “Mikey-“ “That’s my final decision Draken, you have to do your best to convince her, and the rest is up to her” added Mikey getting on his motorcycle. “good luck!” muttered Takemichi, in return Draken rolled his eyes and rushed after you. You were walking to your house kicking rocks and lost in your thoughts “ah that tall guy looked so hot tho” you felt something strange, you felt like someone was following you “oh maybe it’s just a cat”..”Shit she almost caught me…so she lives here.. hmm not too far” he said as he saw you open your house’s door. *The next day* “hurry up Draken” “damn it Mikey don’t be too excited about it”. It was a normal day for you ready to go to the martial arts club when someone suddenly appeared in front of you “hey” “oh hell- I saw you yesterday! You’re the hot gu- I- I mean you were there” “I don’t have time so you have to come with me” he said coldly “excuse you? Hah where are you planning to take me?” “to meet the Toman’s president” “Toman?” “Our gang” “g-gang?” you said as you took a step backward “and why would I meet your president or whatever?”. Draken took a deep breath clearly pissed “well that’s an order so you better come with me now” “or what?” “You’re really begging for trouble, aren’t you?” ”first all, whatever your name is, I don’t take orders-” “my name is Draken” “Okay Draken! move aside or I’ll be late and that’s a big no no for me” you walked beside him but he grabbed your wrist “Don’t lie school is over” “I still go to school clubs..is that a problem?” you answered offensively trying to pull your hand from his strong grip. “I’ll be back tomorrow”, then left, without giving you the chance to answer. You were so confused why the hell a gang member is at your door, why his leader wants to meet you. All of these questions rushed inside your head but now he’s gone so probably you’ll ask him tomorrow if he had the courage to comeback. *Time skip* “you’re here again?” “listen I’m not trying to force you or-“ “oh really ? Because it doesn’t seem like that at all!” you said crossing your arms “it’s just a suggestion” “and I said no! is it hard to get it in your brain?” “I can’t give up, this mission is my responsibility” “why would I trust you?”you exclaimed approaching him “and why would we hurt you? You saved our member so we have no intention to harm you” “please Draken just give up I’m not joining you, I want to have a normal life” in less than a second you were pinned to the wall, you gasped and looked at the man towering you, he was so close to you making your heart skip a beat “listen if the situation was in my hands I would never recruit someone like you, but unfortunately it’s Mikey’s decision” he said in a cold tone his eyes fixated on you. You pushed his chest and yelled “the hell are you doing?” he just gave you a death glare and left “YOU’RE CRAZY DON’T COME HERE EVER AGAIN-is he ignoring me?…that bastard!” you ruffled your hair and get into your house. *In Mikey’s garage* “Ken-chin finally you’re here…did you convince her?” “that brat ah she’s so stubborn” he said punching the wall “I don’t know why you’re so interested in her Mikey” “ah? Isn’t that obvious? she’s a strong fighter we need her” “NO WE DON’T MIKEY…we have all of these men. Aren’t they enough?” “no..” said Mikey munching on his dorayaki. Days passed and Draken is still trying, he’s so fed up with you and the whole situation. Like he can just throw you on his shoulder and take you with him but Mikey warned him to not scare you away. “DRAKEN YOU NEED TO GO NOW” “huh chifuyu what’s wong?” “They’ll go after her! They knew about her address and they’re planning to kidnap her” “WHAT?WHY?” “did you forget that she knocked out 3 of them?-wait she doesn’t know that they were gang members?” asked Baji “…no..” “Draken “go get her before they can reach her house” “Draken I’ll go with you” said Takemichi “no stay here I’ll handle it” said Draken rushing out to save you. *meanwhile* “he didn’t come today I think he finally gave up…that’s better” you thought to yourself walking in your neighborhood. You were ready to take the stairs to your apartment when you saw 3 motorcycles there and 3 guys waiting by the stairs “huh who are they?” you took a step forward but stopped when you realized that you actually know that uniform, you gasped “no way did they come here to fight me again…aah bullies” unexpectedly you said the last word a bit loud. All of them looked at you “oh shit” and you started running all the groceries fell on the ground “GO AFTER HER” all of them are now chasing you, they were so fast “YOU CANT RUN AWAY FROM US”. You stopped looking behind you when a hand closed your mouth and pulled you into an alley. Your back bumped into someone’s chest, you struggled to break free but you couldn’t “shhh”. Then you saw the guys run to the other direction and you were safe “stop squirming” you recognized the voice so you bit his hand that was on your mouth “ahh what the fuck” What you are doing here?” “Is that how you thank me for helping you?” “Well I didn’t ask for you help I could have handled it myself” “listen I’m not in the mood to argue with you! We’ve been arguing for the past two weeks” “then leave” he took a deep breath and approached you “they’re not bullies!” “Huh what do you mean?” “They’re from a dangerous gang, they’re our rivals and they wanted to kidnap you because you caused injuries to their members last time..So you’re not safe..At least for now” your eyes widened did you just beat up gang members? “What did I get myself into” “exactly! We didn’t know that they’re after you but I guess that’s another reason to make you come with me…i-I’ll protect you” you looked down, the situation is bigger than you thought “ahh I never learn” you said as you hit your head on the wall “I’m *hit* so *hit* stupid” “hey hey stop you’re so weird you know” said Draken placing his hand on your forehead so you wouldn’t hurt your head “I need to go to my house first I need to bring some things” “that means you’re coming right?” you shrugged and said “however I don’t need your protection, I’m able to do it” he rolled his eyes and followed you sneaking into your house so they can’t catch you. “Take this” “huh?” “Wear this for your safety” “who said that I wanna ride your motorcycle?” “Stop being stubborn for once ..can you?” “I rather walk than get on this with you” “okay you wanna act like this then?” You ignored him and started walking but you felt two strong arms lift you up. “DRAKEN PUT ME DOWN NOW” you yelled trying to break from his arms but for nothing. He put you on the motorcycle and forced you to wear the helmet, you huffed in return, giving up, you couldn’t start an argument. He then started the ride, “is this your first time riding a motorcycle?” he asked “y-yes” “then put your arms around my waist or-“ “no I won’t” “listen idiot I’m just trying to get you safe to Mikey or else trust me I wouldn’t care” “so why you saved me from the bull- I mean from that gang?” , it was an awkward silence before he could answer, he didn’t expect a question like this “just for Mikey or else-“ “you wouldn’t care yeah!” you finished his sentence. You slowly circled your arms around his torso but you kept your distance from him, you didn’t push your body on his back and your arms were faintly wrapped around him. “Should I teach her a lesson” said Draken to himself and started the ride at full speed making you panic. You quickly tightened your grip around him and buried your head in his back “slow down you brat aaaaah” you said shutting your eyes, he just smirked enjoying how scared you were. After like 15mins he stopped “here we are” you looked up and realized how close you were, you could feel his defined stomach..that feeling made you blush a bit and you quickly pulled away. You were a bit dizzy from the ride “you almost killed both of us” you said angrily trying to forget about how embarrassing the situation was “where’s the badass (y\n) or you’re being a coward now?” . You started walking with Draken, there were a lot people there when they saw both of you they started bowing. You walked behind Draken who was putting his hands in his pocket; the situation was so awkward you were stealing glances from all direction, holding your bag to your chest.”Ken-chin finally” said Mikey “you must be (y\n)” he added giving you his eye smile. You nodded and smiled a bit “c’mon lets show you the place and let you meet the other” he said excitedly guiding you. “oh Takemichi?” you muttered, finally recognizing someone, his body and face were full of wounds as usual “this man is really a punching bag” you thought to yourself. “so guys this is (y\n)..(y\n) this is Baji captain of first division and that’s Chifuyu the vice-captain…this handsome man over here is Mitsuya the 2nd division captain and this is the vice-captain Hakkai…the others are on a mission one of them is Pah-chin the 3rd division captain..you’ll meet them later” all of them approached you and started shaking your hand “Mikey told us how you saved Takemichi” said chifuyu “you’re so brave!!” added Baji. “They’re friendly not like Draken” you thought to yourself smiling to the boys in front of you then shifting your eyes to glare at Draken. “you must be good friends with Draken..” said Mitsuy. You and Draken looked at each other not sure how to react “trust me she’s the human version of headaches” said Draken “you little shit..no one forced you to come everyday to my house” then again you started bickering as usual. All of the boys were confused and looked at each other like what the hell is going on. Finally Mikey interrupted you “oh guys ehm well I hope you’ll be able to get along cuz you’ll spend more time together” “WHAT?” both of you yelled “yes*smile* Draken you’ll help her in training besides she’ll be with us” “Mikey no, put her in the 2nd divison, I’m sure Mitsuya will do better than me” “you have to work on your relationship as well” added Mikey. Both of you sighed in defeat there’s no way Mikey would change his mind and now you’re stuck together. Mikey wanted to test your fighting abilities again in order to make you stronger. Everyone was there all the captains and the vice-captains “hm what about you fight Ken-chin” said Mikey, not gonna lie you were terrified a bit, Draken is a strong guy and he easily pinned you to the wall several times but you couldn’t show it, you had to be confident especially in front of them, now you’re part of the gang and you have to prove it. You’ll do your best to try and defeat Draken at least throw a proper punch at his face. He walked in the center a cold look on his face…well you realized that it’s actually his natural expression. Your guards were up, your foot positioned to not lose balance “you think you can defeat me?” he said a cocky smile on his face “same question for you…Draken”. And fight, the combat began you successfully dodged his fists, this man didn’t hesitate he was so serious about it. All you did was to dodge his hits, you didn’t attack him, he was so fast, taller and bigger than you but you waited for the right moment. He grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back while both of you were looking at each other; you frowned and used your knee to hit his stomach, “NICE” shouted Mikey and the others cheering on you. “You’re supposed to cheer on- urgh” said Draken only to receive a punch on his face, he was distracted and didn’t expect your attack.. his face was turned to the other side making him lose his balance, you seized the opportunity and jumped on him making him fall on the ground wrapping your legs around him trying to stop him from moving, in less than a minute he flipped you, your back hitting the hard ground making you growl in pain, and now he was on top of you, used on hand to pin yours on top of your head and the other softly wrapped around your neck, you struggled and kicked your legs everywhere but he was so heavy and slowly you felt your muscles become numb “you give up?” “never” . The boys were impressed despite being pinned on the ground you did your best to fight him and to make him fall. “do you smell something?” said Baji “yeah..a lot of interesting things are about to happen between these two” added Mitsuya. For a moment you got lost in Draken’s eyes, remembering the feeling of his toned body. You shook your head trying to push those thought away “get off of me” you said headbutting him (when you hit someone’s face with your forehead) and quickly you stood up rushing to Mikey “you did well” said Chifuyu patting your head “you’re impressive, you proved yourself by fighting this big bear” said Baji pointing at Draken “tch” is the only thing you received from Drake.. was he mad because you made him fall? You shrugged and continued your chat with the boys without noticing him leave. Days passed and you grew closer to all of the boys especially Mitsuya, he was the one to keep you sane, your bickering with Draken became a daily routine and the others are now used to it, once you start arguing no one can stop you, not even Mikey. Mikey was hopeless but deep down he knows that you care for each other. Even if you don’t realize it, even if you fight everyday, the others can realize how protective Draken is, how he keeps his eyes on you when you’re paired up with someone else but he always deny it, instead he says that enjoys seeing you beaten up by someone else. You, you really thought Draken hates you, because he was forced to instruct and train you. At first you weren’t allowed to join them in fights they wanted to make sure you’re able to defend yourself without getting seriously injured. But after a lot of intense training that lasted for a month without forgetting the support you’ve received from all of them. Now you’re fully capable. “(y\n) I have something for you” said Mikey holding a bag “what is it?” “as you know you’ll participate in the next mission that’s why you need a uniform right?” Mikey and Draken saw how you’re eyes lit up and how you held your hands together to your chest waiting for Mikey to show you the uniform. “Tada” you gasped when you saw it, it was similar to theirs but a bit girlish. “C’mon put it on ..We’ll wait you out there” you grabbed the uniform quickly changing into it. It hugged your body perfectly, you lifted your hair up in a ponytail and put on your fav boots and headed out to join the others. The moment you stepped out all the eyes fell on your figure. You smiled in satisfaction “wow” said Mitsuya “you look so gorgeous” he added taking your hand spinning you. All of them made comments on how beautiful and how the uniform suited you perfectly. But Draken kept his distance looking at you without making any comment; he didn’t even tease you as usual or insult you. You looked at him and your eyes met, you were about to say something but he turned his back and left. You felt your heart ache a bit, why would he do that? You didn’t do anything wrong to him to earn his hate. Your expressions changed and looked down. Everyone else noticed how upset you were but only a few knew that it was because of Draken. You excused yourself and followed Draken. “Draken” you yelled searching for him, he vanished. You got enough of his behavior and attitude towards you. You wanted to make everything clear and talk it out with him. You were busy searching…everywhere. “Oh look who’s here” but before you can turn around you got hit on the back of your head making you fall down unconscious.*Time skip* “hey hey wake up” said someone slapping your face. Your vision was a bit blurry becoming clear slowly. Your head was spinning. You tried to stand up but you couldn’t as your hands and legs were tied to a chair. “Remember me beautiful?” “You asshole” you said trying to get rid of your dizziness. “We will keep you here and tomorrow you’ll go with us to the big fight I’m sure your friends want to see you”. *Meanwhile* “do you think they’re alright?” “maybe they’re arguing again” “Draken can be an asshole sometimes”.. the boys were busy talking about you both when Draken arrived “did someone mention my name?” “ken-chin finally you’re here, you spent a long time out with (y\n)! did you make sure to walk her home?” “(y\n)?” he said clearly confused “b-but we weren’t together” everyone panicked, their eyes widened “s-she went after you when you left” “it was your fault in the first place” said Mitsuya eyes burning with anger, he grabbed Draken by his collar pushing him to the wall “you made her upset, whenever she tries to talk with you, you push her away” “WHAT THE FUCK MITSUYA, OUR RELATIONSHIP IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS” “she’s my best friend so it is MY BUSINESS” “best friend you say huh? Because it doesn’t seem like that…both of you look like lovers so stop hiding behind your ‘bestfriend’ thing” “you’re really an asshole Draken” both of them started fighting throwing punches and insults at each other’s faces, everyone struggled to pull them away from each other “STOP BOTH OF YOU” shouted Takemichi “how can you both be so careless about (y\n), do you really care about her?” said Mikey angrily “we don’t know anything about her, she may be caught by that bastard and you’re here fighting over you stupid feelings” exclaimed Baji, both of them looked down realizing their mistakes “instead of running away Draken, you could have talked to her and stop hiding your feelings” said Pah-chin “what feelings” he said looking up, eyes wide and heart racing in his chest, does he really have feelings for you. Questions burned in his throat but he’s the one who have answer he just gotta look deep down…in his heart. “We don’t have time for that we have to go and look for her now”. Everyone rushed ready to get on their motorcycles when someone called Mikey. *On the phone* “Mikey I bet you’re worried as hell now” “you motherfucker where did you take her?” “calm down she’s safe..well for now at leas-“ Draken rushed to Mikey and snatched the phone “if you dare to lay a finger on her I’ll chop your hands off” “oh it’s you vice-president..your little girl is with us..she just needs some punishment for what she’s done to our fighters” “don’t you dare..I’ll end your life” “little girl was looking for you everywhere screaming your name…easy to catch, too distracted that we caught her easily” “I’ll find you and I’ll kill you” “no need to find me, we’ll be at the big fight tomorrow and she’ll come along” then he hung up. Draken’s hands were shaking with anger..his heart almost reaching his throat. “Ken-chin! What did he say?” he was just looking down, thinking about you about the possibility of you getting hurt and it was because of him..Because he was a coward running away from you..running away from his feelings. At that moment he realized how much you’re important to him and how he’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep you safe..was it love?..he realized how his heart skips a bit whenever he sees your face..how he feels like punching something when he sees you with Mitsuya. Was it a coincidence? “no” he said to himself..it was love. “Draken for god’s sake focus” he snapped out of his thoughts, veins popping in his face and neck “he said that he’ll bring her tomorrow to our big fight” Mitsuya approached Draken and said putting his hand on his shoulder “you’re the only one who knows very very well that (y\n) is so strong, she doesn’t give up easily no matter what..stay strong for her” “if something happens to her I’ll never forgive myself”..that’s the first time everyone get to see Draken sad like that..he’s usually strong, never showing his weak side to the point that everyone doubts if he actually has a weakness “we can’t leave her there” said Chifuyu out of the blue “we can’t wait till the morning” “fuck of course we can’t” all the boys gathered setting a plan then all of them rushed to their motorcycles, Mikey gave Draken a comforting smile, squeezing his hand softly “everything will be okay..stay strong ..for her..she needs you the most”. *Meanwhile* “That vice-president was extremely worried about you..haha love birds” “should we touch what’s his this time?” “l-love?...don’t you dare touch me I’LL KILL YOU” you yelled your lungs out. That man approached you slowly his hand grabbing your neck and his nose nuzzled in your ear whispering “shh stay still beautiful we still have a long night ahead” “you fucker you’ll pay for this” he lips now were on your neck sucking on your soft skin…tears streamed down your cheeks “ stop yelling, instead let me hear you moan”. That guy wasn’t planning to do something serious to you he just wanted to give you a hickey for Draken to see, he wanted nothing than to make him suffer. Draken was able to take him down in almost every fight and now he can take his revenge by marking his girl. His lips then moved to your face but you were able to hit him with your forehead..he put his hand on his nose and slapped you. It was the moment Toman arrived..the fight reserved for tomorrow started earlier than it was expected “oh shit” said that guy “how did they find us…come here we need to hide you” you started screaming and bit his hand when he tried to cover your mouth. “leave her alone” said Draken entering the room “ I said leave . her . alone “ gritting his teeth, the guy pushed you making you fall and run towards Draken thinking he stands a chance against him. Draken punched the guy but unexpectedly two others appeared from behind and grabbed Draken’s hands “DRAKEN BE CAREFUL” you yelled “let go of him” “(y\n) are you insane, we came here to save you just go, leave this place” “no Draken please..” you said failing to hold you tears, your nose was bleeding. Draken was unable to move his hand in their strong grip and the other guy held a stick ready to him but you ran and threw yourself in front of Draken receiving the hit. You fell in Draken’s chest, your forehead bleeding you looked up at him and smiled your eyes slowly closing. The Toman joined you there and beat the shit out of the others. “(y\n) wake up please..please” said Draken brushing his shaking fingers against your cheeks a tear fell on his face “let’s take her to the hospital” said Mitsuya..all of them were worried about you. “what’s that is that a-“ Draken’s eyes widened when he saw the hickey, he put you down gently and went to that guy, he was already on the ground, he passed out from all the punches “you dare to touch her and put your filthy lips on her…I swear I’ll smash your face” everyone pulled him away before he could kill him, he probably succeeded in breaking his nose. “guys (y\n)! she’s moving” yelled Chifuyu to be joined by the others “slowly..help her sit” “ahh m-my head” you said holding your head “i-it h-hurts” their eyes softened at your sight. They brought you water and Mikey gave you something sweet to eat so you can gain your energy, luckily he moves around with snacks in his pocket. Baji wiped your blood and tied your hair so you can breathe comfortably. Now you’re fully awake munching on the dorayaki, sitting on the ground “do you feel better?” you hummed in response “did he do something to you, did he touch you?”asked Draken, you shook your head “he tried to kiss my lips but it hit him” his fists are now clenching and kicked the chair making you flinch “damn Draken calm down, she’s safe now” everyone excused themselves to give you privacy so you and Draken can talk. There you were, looking at each other awkwardly “You joining our gang was the biggest mistake that Mikey has ever done” “really Draken? After all of this you’re insisting on insulting me huh? You didn’t get enough of hurting my feelings don’t you?” now your eyes watering, tears threatening to fall again but you aggressively blinked them away. “look at you beaten up and you’re not expecting me to worry about you? That fucker tried to kiss you or maybe even fuck you” “but he didn’t and I’m safe now” “why did you throw yourself like that, why did you receive the hit?” “is this how you thank someone for helping you..tch” “I’m supposed to keep you safe it’s not your job to help me” “and you’re not my bodyguard Draken I’m part of Toman now I believe I fought till the end-“ “you can’t get hurt” “why? Does it matter to you? You hurt my feelings on a daily basis, did you consider that? Ofc not” “I WAS SO FUCKING WORRIED” “WHY DRAKEN WHY WOULD YOU BE WORRIED ABOUT SOMEONE YOU HATE?” “I FUCKING LOVE YOU (y\n)” both of you stopped in tracks, you looked at him in shock, did he just confess his feelings? You thought he hated you “w-what ? D-draken ?” he looked away “yes i-I do” “you idiot all this time I thought you hated me” you said grabbing his collar and gently punching his chest “I felt hopeless and now you didn’t even confess properly…aggressive as always tch” “you’re unbelievable I told you that I love you what I am supposed to do get on one knee?” “save that to the proposal.. you’re really a dumb who acts smart” “p-proposal?” “hey calm down I’m just kidding, gosh “ “no no I promise I’ll propose to you one day” you smiled at his sudden softness “oh you’re being soft now” you teased “you’re really getting on my nerves now…just shut up” “make me” you said smirking…man that drove him crazy he approached you, held your little face in his big hand and planted a kiss on your lips, you growled a bit and then pulled away “what you didn’t like the ki-“ “ no no it’s just I have a cut on my lip so kissing hurts a bit” you said blushing “oh okay I’m sorry” “I didn’t say you can’t kiss me tho” you ended your sentence by pulling him to you, kissing his lips hungrily, you wrapped your arms around his neck, he lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his torso his arms holding your hips, his lips moved to your neck kissing each part of it and sucking at your skin “you . belong . to . me”, you pulled away trying to catch your breath, your head fell on his shoulder, you hugged him tight and whispered a soft ” I love you too Draken”. He then put you on your feet and walked you to his motorcycle, everyone was waiting for you “guys we heard everything” joked Baji “yeah guys you were really really loud” everyone laughed and you were a blushing mess “ I can’t believe it..that’s what you call a (y\n) effect, Draken you’re really blushing”. After that you went back to Mikey’s house , you told your family that you’ll spend the night with Emma. *At Mikey’s house* “ take off your shirt” said Draken holding the aid kit “why is it bothering you that much?” you teased “just take it off right now” “no why would I do it…em I’m not ready yet” “huh? Isn’t obvious? I have to check your wounds” “oh is that so” you gasped dramatically. “Eventually I’ll see you naked so no need to be shy now”. You slowly took off your shirt but you still have your sports top on. He gently massaged your shoulder and your back and treated each wound carefully, he left soft kisses on the back of your neck. “c’mon lay on bed now, take those pills they’re helpful for your headache” he kissed your temple and held his jacket ready to leave but you stopped him “can you stay here for tonight?” “really?” “yeah ask Mikey if it’s okay to stay over” “..that’s my second house so I don’t need his permission..move to the side a bit” you did as he said then he laid next to you, he pulled the covers up and put his arms on your waist spooning you. Your bodies pressed to each other. Feeling each part of you. He kissed your head and whispered a “sleep tight my little fighter”. Both of fell asleep quickly, after an exhausting evening. Sleeping soundly in each other’s embrace. “shh they’re sleeping” “they’re so cute together” said the boys and Emma as they entered the room, they didn’t expect to see Draken cuddling next to you but it was a cute view the big strong bear being soft and cuddly for the first time. Mitsuya was so happy for both of you, he really considered you as his best friend more like a sister. All of them were extremely happy, finally Draken found his soulmate. All of them are ready to fight for both of you and to protect you and your relationship no matter what. “ah I’m jealous now Draken will be so protective over her, we won’t be able to spend much time with her” Said Takemichi pouting “Nah guys don’t worry (y\n) will always remain Toman’s little fighter.” Said Mikey proudly. All of them spent the night there they even fell asleep in the same room, so when you wake up in the morning don’t freak out when you see all of them sleeping peacefully.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers draken #draken x reader #draken x y/n #tokyo revengers masterlist #tokyo revengers imagines #sano manjiro #baji keisuke #tokyo revengers mitsuya #tokyo revengers chifuyu #chifuyu matsuno #draken oneshot #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo manji gang #toman x reader #tokyo revengers headcanons #draken headcanons #tokyo revengers mikey

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (chapter 10 - FINALE)

series masterlist

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 6k

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, romcom tropes, lots of swearing, pregnancy mention/minor breeding kink

note: click the asterisk for a hyperlink to a translation when the time comes

Six months later...

“It’s good!” she beamed, setting down the last chunk of pages and taking off her reading glasses. “Oh man, that ending hurt, but it’s really, really good!”

You leaned back into the plush chair and sighed with relief. “You think so?”

“It’s best-seller material,” she assured. “With some editing, of course. God, I can’t believe you were sitting on this for so long.”

“What are the biggest changes you want to make?” you asked.

“Well, I’m thinking we’ll cut the romantic subplot,” she mentioned in passing, like it was no big deal. “It’s distracting.

“Distracing?” you repeated. “Nia, it’s the story. It’s a romance.”

“I thought it was a thriller,” she frowned.

“A romance disguised as a thriller,” you corrected.

“Listen, I get what you mean, but I didn’t get this—” she tapped the nameplate on her desk: ‘NIA BROWN, HEAD PUBLISHER’ in shiny letters— “for nothing. I know what I’m talking about, and I know what your readers want. Violence, gore, drama!”

“It has all that!” you defended. “But it’s all there to talk about the real love he finds in her!”

“What do you mean ‘real love’?” she pressed flatly.

“I mean…” you pondered. “I mean love where you feel like a version of yourself that you actually like. Love where you feel unjudged, no precedents or caveats or back-up plans. Love that fucking hurts because you never wanted to rely on anything or anybody. Love that lives in silence because you don’t even need words.”

She furrowed her brow. “That… sounds nice, I guess, but I don’t think anybody really has that. Everybody needs a back-up plan. Everybody needs words— a writer should know that.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you groaned, your face falling into your hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I had that! I had that, and I let it go! I’m the dumbest bitch on the fucking face of the Earth.”

“Don’t say that,” she soothed, but you were already standing up.

“No, I need to find him,” you decided as you grabbed your coat and briefcase. “I need to go back and try to fix this. I love him, I’ve never— I didn’t know I could love like that, I didn’t know I could be loved like that… oh my god, I need to find him. It isn’t over.”

“It isn’t over?” she repeated incredulously. “You said Michael signed the papers!”

“It’s not Michael,” you rolled your eyes as you stormed out of the office. “It was never Michael.”

You ran into the first telephone box you could find, slamming the door shut as you searched your purse for the business card that probably wasn't even in there.

After a moment, you gasped with delight when you pulled it from a very bottom pocket and began punching in the number as fast as possible with shivering hands, long-distance charges be damned.

“Hello?” the confused voice on the other end answered.

“Mrs. Alberti, hi— does Sebastian still work for you?” you asked hastily.

“No, dear," she sighed, apparently recognizing you by just your voice (and likely your request), "he quit recently, and moved away.”

“Moved?" you repeated with a wrinkled brow. "Where?!”

“I assume back home, sweetheart; to Bucharest.”

“Shit,” you sighed. “Shit!”

“Are you having your ‘run through the airport’ moment, sweetheart?” she realized.

“Yes, I think so— do you have his address?”

“Well, no, but I’ll see what I can find.”

You waited rather impatiently as she shuffled through papers in the background, mumbling to herself as she apparently searched for information that could help you.

“All I’ve got is the address of a previous employer… a carpenter,” she finally explained, breaking the silence. “It was his only reference when he came to work here," she explained.

"Wow, you really did just hire him for his looks," you blurted out.

"He was desperate for work, that boy had nowhere else to go,” she defended.

“Right, well, I guess if that’s my only lead then I’ve gotta go for it,” you decided. “Thank you, Mrs. Alberti.”

“I told you to call me when that book was a hit. Did it happen yet?” she piped up.

“It’s not published yet,” you explained. “It needs some more work… but I think it’s almost ready.”

“I think so, too, dear.”

Learn Romanian in 10 Weeks! A practical language guide.

Week 1, Day 1: Greetings

Hello Salut

Goodbye La revedere

Thank you Mulțumesc

You’re welcome Cu plăcere

Good morning Bună dimineata

Good afternoon Bună ziua

Good evening Bună seara

Good night Noapte bună

You brushed your hair back out of your face with a sigh, turning the page as you mumbled the phrases to yourself. Broken Hungarian and your high school education in Latin were not getting you as far with this as you had been hoping.

How are you? Ce mai faci

I love you Te iubesc

“Te iubesc, te iubesc, te iubesc,” you repeated over and over in a whisper.

Each day you had a new routine: practice Romanian for an hour, check flight prices online (or call the airline), research what you knew about Sebastian and the address Mrs. Alberti had given you, and then get back to practicing Romanian again.

Oh, and occasionally you worked on the edits Nia wanted for your manuscript. You were focusing on the minor changes— grammar errors, rearranging sentences— and putting off her big request for the removal and replacement of the romantic aspects. More than ever, they seemed like the most important thing the book had to offer.

You had a small apartment, just a place to sleep and shower really; much too small to fit everything you’d already taken from Michael’s house (you know, the one that used to be your house) along with what he’d shipped to you that you forgot before. He included a letter in the package as well. You threw it out, unopened.

Truthfully, you never really fully unpacked. As much as you realized you probably should, in order to really feel like you had a real home, you couldn’t bring yourself to empty your suitcases when you knew you’d be packing them again any day now.

You also realized how outrageous this all was. Ignoring the unlikelihood of even finding him in the first place, Sebastian probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you after you broke his heart, left, and then randomly tracked him down after over half a year. But to be totally transparent, you weren’t really doing this to get him back, necessarily. You knew that was probably never going to happen. You were doing this because you needed to try. You needed to go there, and get hurt, and come back knowing you did everything you could: you’d never be able to live with yourself if you did anything less than that.

You couldn’t start your new life until you had put everything else to bed. And if that meant being 100%, painfully certain that you and Sebastian could never be together, then that was just how it needed to be.

After two weeks of looking, there still weren’t any reasonable flights to Bucharest, so you booked another trip by train, figuring you could use the three day trip to brush up on the key Romanian phrases you were going to need as well as prepare your speech.

Yes, your plan was a speech. You didn’t have a back-up plan. You didn’t even have a return ticket back to London yet.

A passage by Yeats came to mind; But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

In all your life, you’d never understood before why someone would want to only have their dreams. But now, here you were… and yes, it felt terrifying and vulnerable and uncomfortably naked, but it felt pretty damn good, too.

With a sigh, you scribbled out the last sentence you’d written, tossing the trash paper aside. You looked up out the window at the scenery flying by in a blur, worried that if you didn’t look out from the train every once in a while you’d get motion sickness.

The sun was beginning to set already, the green of hills and trees tinted orange. You only indulged in it for a moment, though, before getting back to this god-forsaken speech you were deadset on finishing before you arrived in Bucharest tomorrow. At first, you’d figured the translating would be the most difficult part… but writing in English wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, either. You had so much to say, and suddenly so few words for any of it.

You’d probably done more editing on this than any of your novels combined; the crumpled up pages spilling out of your wastebasket were proof enough of that.

“And I’m a fucking writer!” you groaned aloud, to no one in particular. “How is anybody else supposed to be able to do this, if I can’t?”

Other people aren’t as emotionally constipated as you, the voice of your inner critic reminded you plainly, making you roll your eyes at yourself.

A rap at your door made you sit up straighter and turn around. A stewardess slid open the frosted glass slightly to give you a friendly smile. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”

Your brows furrowed at the sound of her accent. “Is that a Romanian accent?” you asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” she nodded.

“So you’re fluent in Romanian and English,” you concluded.

“And Portuguese, yes ma’am,” she agreed.

“Could you come in here for a moment and help me translate something?”

She seemed slightly confused at the request but stepped forward, sliding the door most of the way shut behind her. Leaning beside you on the desk, she picked up your handwritten letter and blinked her wide, brown eyes a few times. You felt slightly embarrassed knowing she was reading such intimate thoughts, but that was how it felt the first time someone read anything you wrote so you were pretty much used to it by now.

“I usually ask the passengers what brings them to Bucharest,” she mumbled after a moment. “This is the most interesting thing so far. Am I reading this correctly, that you intend to confess your love to someone you met—” she scanned the page quickly— “during a vacation in Hungary?”

“Yup,” you smiled awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“And he doesn’t speak English?” she assumed; you nodded. “And… you don’t speak Romanian?”

You nodded again, and she breathed in and out quickly, sitting beside you as she stared at the letter.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she explained.

“Sorry for sucking you into the entropic vortex that is my life,” you chuckled.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she sighed, setting the letter down, and you laughed a little internally at the idea that she was worried about prying when she just read the most personal piece of writing you’d ever put to the page, “but do you think this is… enough? I mean, to build a relationship on?”

You just gave her a shrug. “I have no idea. But, you know, I spent my whole life worrying about stuff like that. I dated my husband for seven years before we got married, because I wanted to be sure. I was initially interested in him because he was successful and ambitious, and it made me feel like this was a really secure relationship that I could rely on. I double majored in English and Computer Science because I wanted a more stable career to fall back on in case being a writer didn’t work out, and even though it did, I’ve spent most of my career publishing what I thought people wanted to read instead of what I wanted to write, so I’d have a better shot at a good paycheck. I grew up thinking the best thing I could ever have was security. And now I’m divorced, watching my royalties shrink every month, more insecure in every way than I’ve ever been, and I’m realizing that the choices I made didn’t give me what I wanted. I gave up so much in the name of safety, and I let the one good thing I’d ever found go, so I could go back to being the same person I always was. I’m ready to settle again, if this doesn’t work… I’m ready to accept that this is just the way life goes, and be thankful that I got a taste of the kind of stuff I thought only existed in the sort of books I’d read but never write.”

She swallowed as she looked at you, and you felt your eyes water as you stared out the window towards the dimming scenery one more time, smiling at the sight of a distant village, a church with a steeple, vineyards and farms. Someone’s whole life is in that little town, you imagined, and they’re just watching your train go by like they see every other day.

“Sebastian gave me more security than I’d ever had before, even though the whole thing was such a ridiculous little whirlwind, and nothing like I ever imagined my life could be. But he made me want to be honest and raw and write sappy letters like the one you just read. He doesn’t have any money, at least as far as I know, and I haven’t known him for seven years, and on paper it makes no sense… but you would understand if you knew him. If you felt that joy that he radiates, if you saw him live his simple little life like it’s the best thing in the world. You would understand if you knew how much I needed this. You would understand if you had been just as miserable being who I’ve been for so long, and finally had a chance to be somebody you think you were maybe meant to be the whole time. So, if I never see him again, I hope I just get to thank him.”

You waited for her to say something, but furrowed your brow at the long moment of silence, looking back from the window finally and finding her staring at you with a tear running down her cheek. When you met her gaze, she quickly wiped it away with a sniffle and looked down at your desk again. “Let’s get to translating, shall we?” she announced with a half-smile.

You noticed the way the other passengers looked at you as everyone was in line to deboard from the train car; you stuck out like a sore thumb, since everybody else was carrying heavy luggage and all you had was a backpack.

In your defense, you really had no idea how to pack for a trip where you knew neither the duration nor the true final destination. So, it was mainly filled with your essentials, a few clothes for any kind of weather, and enough leu to buy anything else you needed along the way.

The stewardess was waving goodbye to everyone as they shuffled out into the train station, occasionally stopping to shake a hand or give directions to nearby destinations. When you were just about to pass by, though, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Good luck,” she whispered, holding you just a moment too long before pulling back and giving you an encouraging look. “If he doesn’t take you back, feel free to blame my translation… because if he knows what’s in your heart, I know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, that’s the hard part isn’t it?” you laughed weakly. “Thank you for your help. I guess if I come back alone for the return trip tonight, you’ll know how bad it went.”

“Then I hope I don’t see you again,” she winked.

It being a major train station and all, cabs were waiting around every corner so it was pretty easy to grab one and give them the address you already had written down for this exact purpose.

“This is pretty far,” the driver explained, “on the edge of town. Not a tourist spot.”

“Good, because I’m not a tourist,” you nodded, already only giving him half your attention as you pulled out the translated speech to practice.

“And you can afford this?” he pressed. You sighed and dug through your bag, pulling out a haphazard stack of bills and handing them through the plastic partition.

“Is this enough?” you asked, and he didn’t answer, just taking the money and starting the car as you smiled and leaned back in your seat.

As much as you had tried to convince yourself to not get your hopes up, the butterflies in your stomach felt more like whole birds at this point, demanding to break free as you practiced the words hand-written on the page over and over again, committing it all to memory.

“What are you reading?” the cab driver asked after several minutes.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, “sorry if I’m bothering you, you can turn on the radio.”

“No, it’s not bothering me, but what you are saying… it’s very odd. It sounds like something from a play, or movie,” he explained.

“Um, it’s not,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “But does it sound like it’s from a good movie? Like, if you heard a character say this to another character, would you think they should get together?”

“I… don’t know,” he answered, sounding confused. “I mean, it depends on what happened, right? How they met, how well they get along…”

So, you told him the whole story, as succinctly as possible (which is not very succinct at all). By the end, he was actually giving commentary as you spoke.

“Why the hell did you leave?” he interjected, clearly irritated with you. “You loved him!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes love isn’t enough! I loved my husband too, and look how that turned out,” you defended.

“But that’s different. That was love for all the wrong reasons.”

“I promise, it felt very real at the time,” you shrugged.

“And now?” he countered. “You realize that this man— Sebastian, right?— is real.”

“I hope I’m right this time,” you offered. “But even if I am, he may not agree.”

The driver scoffed, taking a hand off the wheel to wave dismissively. “If he’s anything like you said, then he will still be completely in love with you. After all, you still feel the same way after all this time apart, don’t you?”

“If anything, I love him more every day,” you admitted, your heart beating quickly just to say it aloud.

“You know, when I met my wife, she was engaged to another man. He was rich, good-looking, and he wasn’t even a bad guy unlike this husband you describe. He was a good man, but he wasn’t right for her. They were… content together, but she wasn’t truly happy. Every night I would come to her window and beg her to marry me, because I knew that she knew we were meant for each other, but she was scared because her family wouldn’t approve and she would be a poor man’s wife.”

“How did you convince her to marry you instead?” you asked eagerly, sucked into the story already.

“I didn’t. On the day of the wedding, some people told me to go and break it up but I didn’t. I thought it would be wrong, to try to ruin her happiness and take it for myself by making a scene at the wedding. I realized she was her own woman and if she wanted to choose him, I had to let her. I had locked myself in my house, not wanting to see anyone that day, and she appeared at my door. I didn’t need to convince her because she knew the truth in her heart, and called off the wedding herself.”

“Wow,” you smiled.

“She was still in her dress!” he recalled with a hearty laugh. “She looked like an angel. We were married just a few days later. And next month will be thirty years,” he added as he lifted his left hand to show the golden band on his finger.

“Thirty years, that’s… a long time,” you sighed.

“It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “But it was always worth it.”

Just as you wondered what you could possibly say to that, you felt the car slow down to a stop.

“This is the address you gave me, this is it,” he explained, pointing out his passenger-side window. You leaned up against the glass and gasped in dawning fear as you saw the storefront dark and empty inside.

“No, nonono,” you whispered rapidly to yourself as you swung open the door and hopped out, pressing your face against the glass to try to get a look inside and finding what was undeniably a closed carpentry business. There was a note on the door, taped on the inside of the glass, and you knew enough Romanian to know it said something about a vacation and three months.

“Shit!” you yelped, holding your face in your hands, wondering if your journey had come to an end before it really began.

“Are you alright?” the driver asked, rolling down his window to speak to you.

“This was my only lead, I don’t have his real address,” you explained. “He used to work here, I thought maybe someone would know him…”

He sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “Get back in, we can search nearby. You came too far to give in yet.”

But getting back in the car felt like giving in, too, which you realized as you looked back at the note taped to the carpenter's door. This was the closest you'd gotten, and it felt wasteful to leave with nothing.

Just as you were ready to hop in the passenger seat and start searching aimlessly through suburban Bucharest, or maybe look around for a Romanian yellow pages, you heard a noise from behind you, across the street; a laugh. His laugh. But it couldn’t be because it was too good to be true… and yet you found yourself whipping your head around and hoping beyond all reason that it was Sebastian.

Across the street was a restaurant, with a large patio where patrons were dining and chatting as they sat at wrought iron tables, and your eyes searched the crowd for any signs of him.

And then your gaze landed on a head of thick brunette hair, red and gold highlights so obvious now when the sunlight hit it this way. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white button-up shirt. He was facing away from you but he was looking to the side so you could see his face; he was smiling, laughing at something someone had said. And it was his smile that you recognized; it was like everything else faded away, and in that moment you thought maybe you could almost be happy with just this, just seeing him be happy even if it had nothing to do with you.

“Sebastian,” you called out to him, but he didn’t react. “Sebastian!”

His whole body turned, his eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but let the tears well in your eyes as you ran across the road to him.

He looked, understandably, stunned, and you realized he was actually waiting on a table at the moment; he said something to them, apparently excusing himself, and stepped closer to you.

But he stopped walking, not coming any closer, not exactly dragging you into his arms like you might've preferred, but with a breath to try to soothe your racing mind, you summoned your memories of the practiced letter and began. *

“Când am venit în Ungaria…” you started slowly, doing your best to remember the words and hoping your pronunciation wasn’t too awful, “nu căutam dragoste. Căutam spațiu, claritate și poate o idee de carte de un milion de dolari. În schimb, am găsit tot ce am căutat toată viața mea…”

You did your best to bite back tears, especially when his expression was nearly unreadable and you had no idea how well this was going.

“Ești tu, Sebastian, bineînțeles că ești tu,” you sighed, laughing slightly. “Ai fost acolo pentru mine când nici nu știam ce vreau de la nimeni. Ai fost prietenul meu fără să spui vreodată un cuvânt - cel puțin nu un cuvânt pe care l-am înțeles. M-ai iubit și nu știam ce să fac cu asta, pentru că uitasem cu mult timp în urmă cum se simțea să fii iubit. Și ce simțeai să iubești cu adevărat pe cineva. Dar te iubesc. Și am fost prost să te las să pleci, atât de neconceput de prost. Vreau să fim noi, Sebastian. Lasă-mă să te iubesc, mai dă-mi o șansă și îți promit că nu te voi mai lăsa să pleci niciodată.

The first thing he said was your name, and just the way he said it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“I… I dream that you would come back,” he shakily replied. “But now I cannot believe. You are my dream.”

Tears were openly flowing at this point and you wanted to run into his arms, but you tried to stay calm and hear him out. He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like you would run away if he got too close too fast.

“I love you, very much that I am sure I am insane person,” he explained with a grin, and you giggled. “We will live anywhere, do anything you would like— be my wife.”

You gasped as he pulled you into him, gripping your arms tightly as his desperation became apparent.

“Marry me?” he asked softly.

“Da,” you nodded, “yes, of course, anything—”

He kissed you suddenly, but gently, and it said more than any words in any language could.

It was a small wedding, in the Hungarian countryside by the lake. You could remember diving into that lake for lost pages of your manuscript; you could remember looking out over the water and dreaming of this moment you were living right now, thinking it was impossible.

He didn’t have much family, but they welcomed you with open arms.

Your family, well, they were too busy with planning another wedding, for your ex-husband and your ex-sister. A few of them sent cards but the rest were suspiciously quiet. You honestly didn’t even notice… you had a new family to attend to, anyhow. And it wasn’t like you didn’t have any guests, since you were able to track down and invite a stewardess named Maria, and a cab driver named Andrei and his wife, Paola.

Sebastian’s cousins weaved flowers into your hair and his grandmother tailored her dress to fit you like a glove. A picture of his parents was hung nearby in tribute; he told you they would’ve wanted to see him get married but that he felt, in some way, they were able to even if they had passed away quite some time ago.

You realized you’d never seen him in anything even mildly formal before; in fact, the suit he wore was rather casual, all things considered, but he looked so painfully cute in it. Sometimes you thought he actually looked a bit out of place wearing a shirt, though, especially one that was buttoned up all the way.

Luckily, the shirt was halfway unbuttoned about ten minutes into the reception.

Mrs. Alberti cooked a massive dinner for everyone, and even grew the flowers that you carried down the cobblestone aisle.

And wow, can Romanians drink. You had to be careful not to try to keep up with them, because if you had you would’ve been blacked out halfway into the night and the last thing you wanted was to forget even a moment of this.

As the night started to wind down to a close, you and your new husband retired to the lakehouse, running up the stairs and finding them as creaky as always.

He wrapped his arms around you in the hall and kissed you eagerly as you stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the doorway and falling onto the bed together.

It felt so right to have his weight on top of you, to feel his smile against your lips, to wrap your arms around his neck.

“This room,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Do you remember first time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “da, I remember, how could I forget?”

He grinned and moved his lips down to your neck. "I thought of you every day… I love you,” he whispered.

“Te iubesc,” you whispered back.

It was almost like the first time in so many ways: passionate, yet oddly hesitant as you rediscovered each other. It was comfortable, though… you couldn’t think of any other person you felt so comfortable with, somebody who finally got you out of your own head and who made you want to experience everything life had to offer.

You were sure you’d never gone so long without worrying about something in all your life.

“My wife,” he whispered against your skin. “This is all I had wanted… from seeing you in very beginning.”

“You’re all I ever wanted,” you sighed in return, “ești tot ce mi-am dorit vreodată, Sebastian.”

Life with Sebastian was beautifully simple. You spent most of the day writing, usually, while he built furniture to sell and occasionally gardened with his spare time. You could always tell how busy you’d been with a new novel lately by how perfectly groomed the hydrangea bushes were.

You’d told him once that you’d come to Hungary looking for a million-dollar book idea. A Killer in Disguise performed alright, but not anywhere near that. The Language of Love, on the other hand, was definitely a million-dollar idea… about eleven times over. Sebastian didn’t seem to worry too much about how much money you made, though; he was just proud to say that he was the inspiration for your hit novel. You secretly suspected that he was more proud of your work reaching enough international notoriety to be translated into Romanian.

His English still needed some work, but you found it endearing. He was determined to get better and spent at least a half-hour each day practicing, but you hoped he wouldn’t get too perfect because you would miss the silly little mistakes he made. At least you could be sure he’d keep the accent forever… damn, that accent; and he knew exactly what it did to you, too.

In fact, you were crossing through the hall in your robe one evening when your husband’s voice stopped you.

“Darling wife,” you heard Sebastian call from the bedroom in a playful sing-song.

“What is it, Seba?” you asked with a smirk.

“Come in here, please…”

You opened the bedroom door to find most of the room covered in rose petals: most of all the bed, which was surrounded by candles, and topped with a shirtless (as per usual) Sebastian, laid on his side seductively with a long-stemmed rose (one you recognized from his very own garden) between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” you laughed. “Is this some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”

You were already searching your mind for what it could be, but your two-year anniversary had passed a few months ago already and since it was spring it couldn’t be the anniversary of when you first met since that was late in the summer.

“Iss not quite a thpecial occathion yeth,” he answered before taking the rose from his mouth so he actually made sense. “I was considering it could be a special occasion, when we’re done…”

You smirked and climbed over the candles and into bed with him, taking the opportunity to run your hands over his chest. “And what occasion would that be?”

“A year from now, it could be the anniversary of when our child was conceived,” he answered.

Your breath caught in your throat, your voice reduced to a whisper of surprise. “Seba—”

“If you’re not ready, I will be understand,” he instantly added, stern yet soft. “Only if you want this, I just thought that maybe—”

You silenced him with a kiss, lacing your fingers into his hair and letting him roll you onto your back. He pulled back just enough to let you answer, but your noses were still bumping into each other and you smiled.

“I’m ready, Sebastian. More than ready,” you whispered.

He grinned and kissed you again, deeper and slower as he held your face with one hand and gripped your waist with the other. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you were interrupted with one pressing thought.

“Can I ask you something?”

He popped up and looked down at you with a smile. “Sure!”

“Why are you wearing ratty old jeans?” you laughed.

“Hey, these worked on you the first time,” he defended.

You gasped. “You don’t mean those are the jeans—”

“Yes,” he nodded, “the jeans that I had been wearing when I was working on Mrs. Alberti’s cottage. And, truly, when I was finding an excuse to work outside your window.”

“Wait,” you sat up, “did you actually work outside my window on purpose?”

He laughed, hanging his head quickly before looking back at you again with a sparkle in his eye. “You are very smart, my love, except for those times when you are— how do you say? Oblivious.”

You chuckled, unfortunately very aware that he was right.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I was building a window frame, nearly a dozen metres away from the window it was for?”

You thought for a moment before dropping your face into your hands and laughing. “No, I didn’t notice that. I was too busy giving you a thorough eye-fuck,” you recalled.

“Yes, because I was not wearing a shirt and this distracted you,” he pondered, sounding suddenly like a scientist explaining a theorem or something. “See, that’s the beauty of wearing the jeans and no shirt. The body distracts you while the jeans seduce you.”

“How about you take the jeans off and put that body on me, capisce?” you pleaded; not that you didn’t love his humor or anything, but maybe his funny bone wasn’t exactly the bone you were interested in at the moment.

He grinned devilishly and suddenly pulled your legs apart, settling his body between them as he kissed your neck again, nipping at your jawline and ear. “You’re being impatient, dragă,” he purred. “You want to have my baby that badly?”

You whined involuntarily, arching your back as his hands roamed your body and finally began to untie your robe and push the silk out of the way. “Yes, Sebastian, please—”

“Let’s just say, theoretically, I wanted to have more than one? Would you have another of my children?” he asked softly as he reached up and palmed at your breasts, teasing your nipples which were already much too hard and sensitive for how little he’d touched you. The rough denim rubbing against the inside of your thighs was oddly arousing— maybe it was the sensation itself, or maybe it was just that this was almost like the first thing you imagined when you saw Sebastian all those years ago.

“Yes,” you moaned out your answer, “yes, you know I’d do anything for you.”

“What if I wanted a big family?” he pressed. “Really big? Like, Catholic big?”

“We can have our own fuckin’ Brady Bunch, Seb, I just need you right now,” you begged, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a hot and desperate kiss.

He decided to wait until afterwards to ask what a ‘Brady Bunch’ was. You decided to wait until afterwards to ask when he’d learned how to use the word ‘theoretically’.

sfarsit; the end

#sebastian stan x reader

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

Text

@damianwayneweek Day 4 (6-16): Reverse batfamily | Hugs | Soulmate

Warnings: Canon typical violence, major injuries, background character death, ✨angst✨

Note: this one ran away from me. It got a mind of its own. If I had more time, this would be so much longer. I've always wanted to write a reverse batfam story with Damian's perspective. Please enjoy.

---

Damian has only spent a month living with his blood father, and he's felt nothing but miserable this entire time. Somehow, life has managed to become even more stressful and exhausting compared to living within the League of Assassins. He... understands why his mother felt he'd be safer here for the time being, but at least, back in Nanda Parbat he knew what he was doing and what the rules were.

He's not sure where he stands with his father. It's obvious that his father doesn't know where he stands with Damian either. Damian, his entire life, had grown up with the knowledge of Bruce Wayne being his father. Batman. Caped Crusader of Gotham. Hero. Bringer of Justice. His mother's dearest, most precious love after Damian himself. She spoke often of him. Highly. Only when alone and no one else to hear them. His father isn't exactly on high standings with his grandfather nor other high ranking members of the League.

Yet, his father knew nothing of him until the day they met. His mother brought him to the streets of Gotham, lured Batman to their location, and introduced them there. His father seemed visibly shocked under that cowl at the information of having a son, yet he didn't question it.

Damian didn't know what to expect after his mother left him for his own safety. He didn't know all too much about culture outside of the League. He was, of course, taught the basics to blend in with American society—as well as other countries—if the need so came, but other than that... He didn't know what to do with himself when he first stepped in the manor to find only one servant and a new home empty of anything to fill his time. The cave where his father operates was locked to him from the get-go.

His father doesn't seem to trust him. He explained the situation to the servant, and then sent Damian off with the servant to find a room with the warning that if Damian "did anything", he'd regret it.

Damian's hardly seen his father since. When he's not working as a CEO, he's out as Batman, and Damian sits in the manor all day and night running out of ways to keep himself entertained.

Sometimes he sees his father at supper, but he doesn't ever start any conversation. Damian doesn't start any either, thinking it's purposeful. He doesn't ask about Damian's stay, or if he's comfortable here, or anything. He doesn't update Damian on any new information about his mother and the league. The only words he speaks to Damian are gruff good nights.

Miserable. It's miserable. He doesn't understand why his mother is so in love with such a miserable man for company.

He doesn't speak up on it, however. If his father is anything like his teachers or his grandfather, questioning him or speaking out of turn will just get him in trouble. He'd like to keep his stay at a tolerable level of misery, thank you very much.

So he doesn't say anything to his father, even though he's itching to go out with him at night to... to do whatever he does. He's seen the television, Superman has a kid fighting with him in Metropolis. Why can't Damian do the same with his father as well? He can wear a mask and change his name. He can easily defend himself, even against this country's love for guns.

He still doesn't say anything, and he spends the days miserable.

-o-o-o-o-

It's the butler, Alfred as he has insisted many times during his stay (Damian humors him by calling him by his first name, being as he's the only one to speak to Damian in this drab house), who suggests school a few months after coming here.

"School," his father says blankly, looking at Alfred like he's lost his mind.

"He's a young, growing boy," Alfred says. "It's not good for the lad to be inside all day like this."

Damian sits at the dining table, stiff like he's stepped on a landmine and is now waiting for it to explode. However, he can't help but look up at his father through his lowered eyebrows to meet his sharp gaze. School... doesn't sound like something that would be any fun, but... but anything to get out of this manor sounds almost heavenly.

His hopes fall when his father shakes his head. "No. It's too dangerous."

And something inside Damian snaps just a little. "Dangerous for who?" He demands, slamming his hands on the table. "For me? Or for the other children?"

His father looks stunned, and Damian's stomach drops as Alfred's eyes widen as well.

He's running out of the dining room before anything else can be said.

He's messed up. He's definitely, royally, messed up.

-o-o-o-o-

Punishment for yelling at his father doesn't come like he expects it to. A week goes by, and there's not a single word of his outburst.

It sets him on edge. It fries his nerves. It makes him jumpy and paranoid and frightened at every shadow.

So much so that he finally decides, one day, to pull the sword hanging above the library entrance off the wall and practice with it. It's heavier than what he's used to back in Nanda Parbat. British history is in the shape of the blade, but he still wields it and practices rusty moves on it until he's sweating in the middle of the library. Usually training makes him feel better, but the more time that passes, the more frustrated he gets.

He gets so frustrated that he imagines enemies surrounding him. He imagines the warmth of blood splattering against his skin as he swings. The taste as it touches his tongue. Their screams of death. He gets so deep in this trance that he doesn't notice he's broken something until the sound of crashing glass reaches his ears; he's swung right through a glass display case, the unprotected remains of a signed classic novel resting inside.

His heart jumps when the door opens to see what the commotion is about, and he drops the sword like it's hot when Alfred is the one to poke his head through.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Alfred gives him a long look, and then he sighs. "Come fetch the broom with me, and we can clean this up."

"Will you tell father?" Damian asks slowly. He can tell it's a loaded question when Alfred pauses and purses his lips.

"Not this time," he says finally, after a few heartbeats. "But I do think it's time I speak with him about some other things. Come along, the quicker we clean this up, the quicker I can get you a cup of tea to stop you from looking like a frightened racoon."

-o-o-o-o-

A few days pass, and his father invites him to follow after dinner. Out of everything Damian expects to come from this, being led into the batcave through a grandfather clock in the study wasn't one of them.

"You can train here," his father said, showing him a massive room in the cave filled to the brim with practice tools of all kinds. Dulled swords, throwing stars, bo-staffs, and straw dummies to name a few. There's locked cases on the far side of the training room, of which Damian suspects are full of much more sharp, dangerous, and fun tools.

No matter. He's already feeling his blood shake with excitement at the thought of finally getting some proper practices again.

"You can come down here only when myself or Alfred are here to supervise you," his father explains. "Nothing here leaves this room, and if anything breaks you tell us immediately."

"Can I start now?" Damian asks, barely managing to hold himself back from running towards the closest, one-handed blade.

His father, surprisingly, nods. "I'm going out, and Alfred will be down to help me with the computer. He will be in charge."

Damian can't stop himself from smiling. Finally there's something to do in this house. Feeling hopeful, he decides to ask one more question.

"Can I go with you? One day?"

Silence is his answer for a few heartbeats, making Damian suddenly fearful that he shouldn't have asked that. Then, his father sighs.

"We will see."

-o-o-o-o-

A few more days pass before they do see. He suspects Alfred must have had another conversation with his father, because he approaches him one night and offers to spar.

It's done in full concentration, not a single word exchanged between the two. Both are too busy studying the other's fighting patterns to say anything.

It's now that Damian realizes what his mother meant whenever she spoke about his father's advanced martial arts. It's brutal and expertly executed. It's only a matter of time before he's pinned. He's disappointed in himself, but not surprised to end up losing.

But not all is lost. He can tell his father is impressed when he releases his pin and tosses Damian a rag to wipe off his sweat.

"We need to talk to Alfred about getting you a suit."

-o-o-o-o-

The suit Alfred makes him is made of the strongest, thinnest material Damian had ever seen. It cannot only be Kevlar, because it would be heavier than this. It must have been created by his father himself, or one of his associates.

Whatever the case, he's in awe by it. Alfred is a master of every craft, it seems. He's managed to create the suit to Damian's submitted designs to the T, only making subtle changes here and there where sketches don't match up with reality.

It's mostly black, because according to his father white isn't a good color to go with in Gotham. It's understandable, as much as Damian dislikes it. He's always liked wearing whites and tans for his outfits, accenting here and there with greens and blues to bring out his eyes. Black is such a boring and dull color, but this, he supposes, he will have to deal with.

And it's not all black, at the least. Just the bits around his shoulders, cape, hood, sides, and legs. On his chest, however, is a splash of dark maroon, as well his boots and gloves. His belt is yellow, like his father's, and filled only with smoke pellets, a grappling gun, and a hanging pair of sticks that triple as escrima, a bo-staff, and nun-chucks. Not his preferred weapon, but his father doesn't seem to be very trustful with him and sharp ones yet.

He goes out into the city, out of the manor, for the first time in what feels like forever. His father keeps a sharp eye on him, reminding him every two seconds to not kill anyone, but Damian doesn't mind too much.

He's just happy to be out, and to finally get glimpses of what his father is truly like outside of the stories of his mother and the silent dinners.

He's ruthless, but not heartless. Strong, but not abusive. He prioritizes justice, above all else, and teaches Damian that even the criminals deserve it. The victims get saved, and his father leaves the criminals to be picked up by the cops to be brought to rehabilitation or wherever else they must go.

Damian's careful to remember these teachings, even though he doesn't understand them. He's been raised to think the only thing bad people deserved was punishment, but after taking down a bank robbery, his father researches the names of the robbers and finds that the bank keeper was blackmailing them to give him money on top of the loans they already had with the bank.

The bank keeper was trying to pay off the gangs to protect the bank from other gangs.

So on and so forth.

Gotham seems to be a big cycle of abuse, with no one willing to end it.

Well, no one besides his father.

It doesn't make sense to Damian why his father would try so hard to stop it, but he can at least respect it.

For now.

-o-o-o-o-

Everything goes almost fine until it doesn't.

For the first time in almost half a year, Damian finds himself separated from his father and Alfred. There's a new big bad in Gotham, a man with half of his face burned off by acid. Two-Face, he calls himself. Harvey Dent, his father informed before he left Damian behind to fight him alone.

"This is personal," he said.

And Damian didn't listen. He wanted to see what a real fight was like in Gotham. These petty bank robberies and classic muggings were getting boring and repetitive. He didn't mean to get so close.

His father was in a standoff with Two-Face, and on a stroke of bad luck one of the goons spotted him watching.

"It's Red Bird!" Shouted the goon. Red Bird is the name Gotham had started to call him by in the papers.

A group of the goons charged after him, the rest kept by Two-Face and his father, sneering as they separated his father from helping with their guns and a baby hostage.

And maybe it was seeing the child in Two-Face's arms that made him see red. Maybe it was the disappointment in himself for being spotted. Maybe it was simply all the pent up frustration that's been building without his knowledge since he's gotten here.

Whatever the case, he fought back a little harder than he meant to. What he was supposed to. He brought most of the goons down to the ground, clutching broken bones and bloodied gashes. His old training kicks in, and he goes to hit one of his opponents in a specific place that would kill them.

"RED BIRD!" His father shouts angrily over the commotion.

And Damian stumbles, stopping in his kill-path. His father sounds disappointed and upset and- and Damian almost disobeyed his orders and his father saw it immediately.

Then, before he can be fearful or horrified or confused, his own skull is hit hard enough that the world fades to black.

He wakes up with his arms tied behind his back and his entire person disarmed. His father stands at a makeshift pair of gallows, another man besides him. Both are hooded.

Two-Face flips his coin and asks Damian heads or tails. He says tails, and saves his father, but the other man hangs.

Then, Two-Face beats Damian with a bat, to the point he can't see straight, and the pain drags him back into unconsciousness. The last thought he has is that he's failed. He's disappointed his father, and he must have disappointed his mother as well if she hasn't come back for him yet.

He's failed.

-o-o-o-o-

He wakes in the batcave's med-bay, his entire body numb. He can only lay there with a tube running up his nose and needles in his arm, listening to the machine besides him voice his heartbeat. Vacantly, he can hear arguing voices outside his door, one of a woman he doesn't recognize and the other of his father.

He closes his eyes when the arguing gets too loud, but opens them sometime later when it stops and someone enters the room.

His father stands in the doorway, his face looking more raw and vulnerable than Damian's ever seen it.

"I thought I lost you," is all he says before he runs to the cot and grabs Damian's hand. The one not in a sling, he realizes. He's so numb he didn't even notice he had so many bandages and casts on him.

Not that he focuses on that for long. In fact, all he can focus on is that his father is clutching his hand like a lifeline and whispering over and over how sorry he is.

"I should have been better," his father rambles. "You're not like Jon, you don't have powers. I'm so stupid for letting you out there- I almost got you killed- your mother is going to murder me-"

Damian doesn't even know what to say. He's so flabbergasted by the actions of his father, that he just lays there as his father continues.

"I knew I wasn't cut out for this. I'm not even in my thirties, and I'm a dad. I tried my best to keep you safe, make sure you didn't get yourself into danger- and I fucked it all up. I don't know what I'm doing, Dami. I don't know- I'm sorry-"

And this continues for a little while longer until the door opens again, revealing Alfred and the woman who must have been yelling at his father before. She has gray hair, curled up like a loose afro around her head, revealing her old age. Behind her glasses, her eyes are sad. Together, Alfred and the woman approach the bed, and the woman lays her hand on his father's shoulder.

"We need to check his bandages," she says.

His father nods, wiping quickly under his eyes before he stands up. She gives Alfred a look before she leads Bruce out.

It's only Alfred and Damian for a moment, and Damian releases a breath.

"He's not going to let me out again."

Silence.

Then Alfred comes to his side and looks at the bandages. "I will talk with him. First, let's get you healed up and properly introduce you to Miss Thompkins."

-o-o-o-o-

Red Bird does go out again, once he's healed up. Alfred's talks with his father do wonders, it seems, as life at the manor has gone back to lonely and miserable—what with his father avoiding him at every chance. But he goes out again, swinging into the night with his father silently beside him having just finished retelling him every rule he must follow.

Damian intends to follow them. He doesn't want to lose this. He's come so close to losing this.

He hopes... That maybe... If he follows the rules... Things will start getting better again.

They fight crime like normal, going their normal routes and working silently by each other. By the time it's time to go home, Damian's feeling more alive than he has since Two-Face beat him with the bat.

Before they can return to the manor, however, a familiar signal is lit in the sky by the police department. His father stills and Damian watches him carefully. His father has been careful to keep him out of the business that comes with that signal, even before Two-Face.

His father sighs, then gives Damian a hard look through his cowl.

"Behave," is all he says before they're on their way to the police station.

There's a man on the roof. Commissioner Jim Gordon. He gives his father a greeting, then pauses when Damian steps out besides him.

"Decided to finally introduce us?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "Just when I thought Red Bird was off the streets for good."

Damian bristles, but his father sighs. "What do you need, Commissioner?"

"Apparently a college teacher went insane and poisoned his students with a gas that made them see their deepest fears. Professor Jonathan Crane. It sounds like something you'd handle quicker, and I can get you the files we have on him after you explain to me why you're still letting a child run around in tights. Especially after you told me he was quote un-quote, 'alive but out of commission'."

"I don't see why it's your business," Damian hisses before he can stop himself.

"Red Bird," Batman scolds, and Damian falls quiet.

His father looks at the Commissioner with a hard look. "He's my responsibility, and I will look after him."

"There were rumors he died, Batman," Gordon argues back. "Two-Face bragged about it all the way to Arkham. He had blood on his face."

His father stiffens his jaw, then says through gritted teeth. "I will never allow something like that to happen ever again. If you want my word, I will give it in saying if anyone like Two-Face tries to hurt him like that again, I will make sure they regret the thought before it can happen. Red Bird will continue to be with me where I can watch him, and you will respect that. Trust me, it's safer for all of us this way."

He looks down at Damian, then almost smiles.

"He will sneak out himself anyways, eventually. Or I won't hear the end of it from a mutual acquaintance."

Damian finds himself smiling back. It seems getting on the good side of Alfred was a good decision on his part. And he's right in the former statement as well. Damian is sure he'd eventually get bored enough of being left behind and go out to prove himself without permission. Red Bird... It's too good to give up. He can't lose it.

It's like a staring contest between Gordon and his father for what feels like an entire minute, but eventually Gordon gives up with a sigh.

"Don't know how you do it. The wife's starting to talk about having a kid... I can't imagine a little one of mine running around doing the things I do, let alone what you do."

He brings a cigarette to his mouth, then pulls out a file with his free hand. "Take the case."

Batman steps up to do as was told, but before Gordon let's go, he gives his father a hard look.

"You better keep your word," he growls, "because if anything happens again to that kid, I'm holding you responsible and I'll bring you in for child endangerment myself."

Batman nods. "I'm counting on it."

-o-o-o-o-

Eventually, the topic of school comes up again.

Which of course brings up the topic that no one actually knows about Bruce Wayne's son. Damian's been kept a secret this entire time, unknown to the public.

"We'll tell them that your mother and I met at the end of highschool, and we have kept you a secret ever since. Due to your mother's weakening health, we decided it would be best for your future to have your custody turned over to me and the mother wishes to remain private. Then, we can-"

"Wait," Damian interrupts. "You're going to let me go to school?"

His father pauses in his verbal plans, then nods.

And suddenly, Damians jumping from his chair with joy, wrapping his arms around his father's neck without thinking about it. However, the second he realizes his action, he attempts to scramble away with horror. He's never hugged his father before. But things have been so good, civil even, to the point where they can be in the same room and have conversations about the weather or the recent sports game or even about a new cartoon Damian found on TV.

But they never hugged.

Afraid he's pressed boundaries, he pushes away, but he doesn't go far before a hand wraps around his shoulder. Damians left halfway on his father's lap where he sits, looking at him with anxiety churning in his stomach and an unreadable expression on his father's face.

Then, gently, Damian's pulled back in so now arms are wrapping around his back. His father's hugs are soft and warm, Damians learns. The opposite of how he fights. Yet he feels so safe and protected that he doesn't resist the action.

"This is really happening," his father says in a whisper. "I have a son. I'm really a dad now. I... I promise I will be better for you. From now on. I'm sorry for how I treated you... In the beginning. I was scared. It's no excuse, but I promise you, I will be better."

And he is. They get ice cream after and then watch a movie before going out as Batman and Red Bird.

Time passes so Damian starts school and makes friends. He meets Clark Kent and his son, Jon, and makes a best friend. He grows older, and happier, to the point he no longer misses the League of Assassins. To the point when his mother does finally return to see him, saying the danger has passed...

Damian tells her he wishes to stay with his father. She smiles, and hugs him, and says that she's proud of him. She promises to visit him as often as she can after they share a good cry.

She leaves, and visits, and time moves on a little more.

Until one day, years later, they notice a kid with a camera following them around and taking pictures. Then, the same kid admits to knowing about their civilian identities when confronted.

His father searches the kid up when they get back to the manor, and after some digging it's revealed his name is Tim Drake and his parents are neglectful and strict.

Damian sees the same look in his father's eyes as when he first told the public he had a son named Damian Wayne, and he gets the feeling the manor is about to get a little more crowded.

This, he thinks, is about to get interesting. It's been awhile since life threw a curve ball. He just didn't expect this one to come in the form of a little brother.

And life goes on.

#damianwayneweek2021 #damian wayne #robin #bruce wayne #batman #dc comics #reverse robins #jin writes #fanfiction #violence tw #injuries tw #death mention tw

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